conscious and unconscious, imagination, art, body and soul

Our life is the pattern of the muse no matter how conscious or unconscious.  We are the pattern of our own internal starvations looking for food to masticate into something palpable enough to live through – to live as our own body.  You need the cud to get through the days and nights – the cud to mix the saliva – to activate the imaginary tract that becomes the gate to our existence and destinies.  Imagination is where it all starts and ends – either in bliss or doubt. 

I need to bounce off of something in the world – I need to feel my presence in front of me – to see my validation between the cracks in the pavement.  Somewhere there are splinters of me gathering on a carpenter’s floor as sawdust from all the work of the lathe.  Right now I exist in the piles in the corners and not in the piece of art that’s slowly being generated by my invisible musings.  It’s undercover at night and in the day I’m not allowed in to see the artist at work – the sculpture that’s trying to emerge from a slight piece of stone as body and soul.

Alchemical, shamanic, Jungian, and muse writings, by Tanis M.

*