DARK Angel, with thine aching lust

To rid the world of penitence:

Malicious Angel, who still dost

My soul such subtile violence!

Because of thee, no thought, no thing,

Abides for me undesecrate:

Dark Angel, ever on the wing,

Who never reachest me too late!

When music sounds, then changest thou

Its silvery to a sultry fire:

Nor will thine envious heart allow

Delight untortured by desire.

Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,

To Furies, O mine Enemy!

And all the things of beauty burn

With flames of evil ecstasy.

Because of thee, the land of dreams

Becomes a gathering place of fears:

Until tormented slumber seems

One vehemence of useless tears.

When sunlight glows upon the flowers,

Or ripples down the dancing sea:

Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,

Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.

Within the breath of autumn woods,

Within the winter silences:

Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,

O Master of impieties!

The ardour of red flame is thine,

And thine the steely soul of ice:

Thou poisonest the fair design

Of nature, with unfair device.

Apples of ashes, golden bright;

Waters of bitterness, how sweet!

O banquet of a foul delight,

Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!

Thou art the whisper in the gloom,

The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:

Thou art the adorner of my tomb,

The minstrel of mine epitaph.

I fight thee, in the Holy Name!

Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:

Tempter! should I escape thy flame,

Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:

The second Death, that never dies,

That cannot die, when time is dead:

Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,

Eternally uncomforted.

Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!

Of two defeats, of two despairs:

Less dread, a change to drifting dust,

Than thine eternity of cares.

Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,

Dark Angel! triumph over me:

Lonely, unto the Lone I go;

Divine, to the Divinity.

Lionel Johnson DARK ANGEL

Ulysses
Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Ulysses
Alfred Lord Tennyson

PARADISE LOST by John Milton From line 190


What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
-Thus, Satan talking to his nearest mate
With head uplift above the waves, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended large and huge
Lay floating many a rood, as bulk and huge
Titanian or earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim the ocean stream:
Him haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays:
So stretched out huge in length the arch-fiend lay
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace and mercy shown
On man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath and vengeance poured.

To Line 220 to be contd.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

CARL GUSTAV JUNG, DREAMS (Captions from pictures).


Time-symbol of the lapis: the cross and the evangelical emblems mark its analogy with Christ.-Thomas Aquinas ( pseud.) "De alchimia.

Horoscope, showing the houses, zodiac and planets.- Woodcut by Erhard Schoen for the Nativity calendar of Leonard Reymann.

Christ in the mandorla, surrounded by the symbols of the four evangelists.- Mural painting, church o Saint-Jacquea-des-Guerets, Loir-et-Cher, France.

Osiris, with the four sons of Horus on the lotus.-Budge, The Book of The Dead.

Sponsus et sponsa.- Detail from Polittico con l' Incoronazione, by Stefano da Sant' Agnese.

God as Father and Logos creating the zodiac.- Peter Lombard, "De Sacramentis".





"Elixir of the moon".-Codex Reginensis Latinus 1458.

Virgin carrying the Saviour.-"Speculum humanae saluacionis".

Maya, eternal weaver of the illusory world of the senses, encircled by the Uroboros.-Damaged vignette from a collection of Brahiminic sayings.

*** *** *** *** ***

A STAFF .. .. ... NO BREAD (Anonymous)


Corned beef on rye no slaw on the side
Pickles, mustard, that's an extra 5p mate
Crumbs at the table drop off -
Hey pigeon, starling get offa my turf!

Tuppence for a lolly, but who'll pay the rent?
Who'll look to the bairns when the missus, I both dead?
In Africa they call it pap or samp or Jungle oats
Thats staff of life there.No bread.

A salt lick-you got one mate?
They give it to a horse
In the horse's trough.
Lick horse, lick they say
No bleeding salt in a handful of hey.

Corned beef on rye? Bully for you mate
I got me some over ripe, well rotting apples
But nothing for to make no tart, no pie.
The staff. The staff and the shepherd's hook
Slaughtering lambs in a hilly nook.

Rose petals, shiny sunflower seeds,
Yeah mate, I'd make myself a meal from these.
In Africa they shrivel meat, boil up
Reheat
Makes a mush, a dandy treat I believe.

Eat snow? not bleeding likely Jo
Mind, if there where fish beneath?
Get my harpoon and in I'd go!
Bread, the staff. Why eat bread when there's fish!
Bread, beef, apples and fish. Staffs. and pap.

DARK NIGHTS OF THE SOUL by Thomas Moore.


WHY IS LOVE SO FRUSTRATING:

A woman named Amy told me recently of a man she has loved for many years at a considerable distance. He is the meaning of her life, and yet, she says, he can't express his emotions and can't satisfy her need for a real lover. She goes on with her active life, but all the love in her stays focused on him. Friends tell her that he will never be available to her, but she hangs on.

Amy remains stuck because she believes that her man is capable of opening up and he never does. As so often happens, there is a magnetic pull toward impasse. It's as though the soul wants to be stuck. It doesn't want success, and it doesn't want life to flow and move in. Friends and family don't understand this situation, because they are concerned about life, not soul. They want their children and their friends to be happy and to show signs of success in everything-family, work, and love. If they could look into the of their friend and child, they might understand that it's not time Yet for happy conclusions. The soul has its own timetable and its own needs. If those needs are not met, the stalemate may stretch out for a long while.

Amy talks about her frustrations in love as though they were completely external. She firmly believes that if the man she adores shows his love to her, everything will be fine. But I doubt that's the case. When love is stuck or frustrated, you have to look at yourself and your own part in it. Yes, it is very likely that your loved one is also stuck, and has a problem with love. But your impasse indicates that your imagination may have to broaden. You may have to look closely at the way you are living , because it is this life of yours that you are bringing to the unhappy relationship. You have to look at yourself, not just at the other, and you have to consider the whole of your life. Your love is not disconnected from all other dimensions of your daily experience.

Although it may seem obvious that love is all about getting people together to share a life, it is also, if not primarily, an introduction to further depths of the soul. You may never have meditated or contemplated before, but now you are forced to brood and think. You may never have felt so affected by your emotions, and now your emotions crowd out most other considerations. You may never have given yourself much to fantasy and daydream, but now that is your preoccupation. All of these developments show an increase in the activity of the deep soul.

Now, as the relationship develops, it can become, as Jung says, a container for the soul. As you change and as the relationship goes through many stages, you are introduced even further into the soul. If the relationship doesn't get far or has an unexpected ending, even then you may feel compelled to feel your emotions and rehearse your story again and again in a process that may sculpt out the space you need just to have a soul.

At this point, some couples reconnect, but often it takes a new relationship to build a mature form of love.

As the religious traditions say, love is the creative force, making out of your life and experience an articulated world, a life of meaning and sophistication. People who are experienced in love are at a different stage in development compared to those who have yet to go through this particular kind of initiation. Love fuels every dimension of life, and what looks like romance or relationship may be development of a more widespread passion for life. That is why our love initiations are crucial. If we can work them out, all of life can have erotic quality.

*** **** *** ****

AFRICA, SHE TOO CAN CRY (Anonymous)

Vestibules, vestry, sack cloth
Not all is Africa. Sahara,
Mountain, mountain bike okay and lots of
Dry ice.
Shake it to me baby!
Come smoke my pipe.
Africa. Oh Africa she too can moan, groan
And in her finale?
Let rip.
Dusty sandals, Noah s sweat, Gabriel's sigh
Africa, you. Oh Africa, she too can cry.

Gnomes, Gideon, folklore
Rent a camel, a sway in his back.
Pyramids, Tutenkhamenn, Egypt screams:
Africa, beloved country
She too can cry.
Cymbals in the desert, dried air, a tent
Calling, calling, let the shepherds and their goats in.
A scroll, a message in a bottle, a paper clip
Sing, bard, sing anthems, praises, stern choirs
Oh Africa! Our Africa! Africa she too can cry!

Foam
swims with dolphins, sack cloth
to make you dry.
Shabeens, braais, paper deliveries,
Africa's people.
The desert rose, a crystal and
a shimmer in the misty heat.
Baobabs, tubular men throw up their arms,
Panic? Statues, desperate frozen relief.
The Namib, the child of, the bosom to . . . .
Africa.
Africa weeps for her people in shanty town
Weep Africa, weep.
Africa, Africa she too can cry!

! ! ! ! ! * ! ! ! ! !

UNTITLED POEM (Anonymous)

A filly, a colt,
Five men in a boat.
A fern, a feather, a tortoise sleeps,
Bluebells in Autumn, shrivel, weep.
Oranges, limes. chili, and feverfew.
A pinch of sage?
No thank you!

A horse and its carriage, trot on, trot slow
Whipped up whip, collar, cap, ribboned bow.
Fur on a coat, lace around the full face
Working up a sweat, Horse, increase your pace!
In the deep forest and the earthen bowl
A man gathers roots, food, rice.
Gather, gather too, mountain dew.

A horse at the fence, bridle, bit
Who holds back, time after time?
A sonnet, a sabre, sharp at the lip.
In time, in time, another day, another time.

Bravery escalate,
What s your bent,
Folklore and army dress.
Say not. Swear not,
In time. . . .In time
A horse, his mare
Gallop and fancy free!