Tentative steps toward the water line in the first
New people, new language, new water; will I fit
in, be good enough, stay afloat?
What foreign land have I arrived in, with names and
words I’ve never heard before?
Am I already over my head? Oh, Oedipus, old friend,
a familiar name and face!
Freud and Jung, names from conversations, and jokes
on Frasier. I know so little.
And that is why I am here, as I state when asked that
I am here to learn why I am here; here at Pacifica,
here on Earth, here in Life.
Overwhelming and intimidating book titles sit on the
Mysticism and Alchemy—have I come to the right place?
A book on the Discovery of the Unconscious—hasn’t
it always been there?
And The Passion of the Western Mind—have I stepped
back into business school?
And with each book, again, I realize how little I know.
Jump in! Swim around with the words, get the language;
and feel as well as think.
Find those balancing points where the connections are
A mystic’s experience of Love, of the Divine, of
the Unknown, of the Beyond.
I can relate!
A journey into the depths, to swim with Carl and the
Long familiar and residing patiently in the dreamy
dark spirals of mind!
A session on the couch with Sigmund; words and theories
bob and weave around me,
Larger ideas than I can ingest and digest in this short
Next, time travel with Von Franz to Isis and Alchemy:
Mystic science, immortal goals.
Then a leap to Sappho: a circling back to Love. And
the question, what is love?
Is it real, or just a projection? I ask, along with
more questions on the meaning of life.
How will I deal with the continuing changes I experience
with each diving lesson?
How can I talk this new language with the folks back
Those who do not dive into the Unknown? Who do not
address the Unconsious?
Or is this all a singular experience, ineffable, indescribably
How can I live this solo journey? Is this heroic or
foolish? Real or fantasy?
Or is it simply Ambiguity? Neither either-or, but both-and.
I am afraid of a schism in the psyche – and of telling
the wrong people what I see.
Afraid the veil will be rent, shredded to untenable
filaments, and that I,
Who only lives partially in this world, will lose my
functional place in it.
Will I be able to maintain a sense of what is Waking
Known and Unknown? Conscious and Unconsicious?
Do I want to? Do I need to?
And will I make the journey awash in emotion
so I will cry with every third footstep,
And then laugh, as I skip and hop in
You left a whisper on my pillow.
Breath, warm and shaped,
Round and full.
Stirring and pregnant,
A globe floating near,
Brushing against my cheek
And kissing me awake
As if you were right there.
A blessed morning prayer.
October, 10, 2008
© Estelle M. Kelley