"For when the poet wakens from the dream the Presence is 'there more than ever, / as if she had miraculously / related herself to time here'" -- Albert Gelpi quoting and discussing H.D. in "Re-membering the Mother" in the Anthology Signets. The Prescence from the dream that stays after the dream has evaporated -- part of the dream but beyond the dream. The Harlem flapper was the Presence, she was the beginning of an alchemical transformative time. She ushered it in perhaps, if the alchemy-time was not part and parcel of the love devastation that preceded it...it was Her, pushing it through, ensuring that the work is not evaded.

Easter

Easter: rebirth, transformation. The alchemy of love.
The alchemy of love, the alchemy of love,
how it changes you, morphs you from the inside,
turns you inside out nothing but heart. gooey warm
pulsing on the outside now. eggs and rabbits -- fertility
and sex. Transcendence of death. Love is its own
alchemical purifying process, it is its own initiation.

Easter epiphanies come but it is no longer easter, perhaps the epiphany is Gift from beyond and does not necessarily come at what one would see as the perfect time, or the appropriate time. In the gift economy, the gift is returned to one much later than it is issued forth. Not a linear progression, but in the words of Adalaide Morris:

"In the exchanges characteristic of a gift culture... the bestowals [are] not simultaneous or even predictably related in time" and "before the return donation, the gift leaves the boundary of the ego and circles into mystery" (From the essay "A Relay of Power and Peace: H.D. and the Spirit of Gift" by Adalaide Morris in Signets ed. by Friedman/Duplessis).

Sometimes it stays within mystery for a time before issuing out to find its recipient. The heart that resides itself within mystery has much more of a chance of finding the gift, the epiphany. We remind it what its purpose was when it was issued forth and lost its way daydreaming in the clouds. It sees us, recognizes us, and remembers.

Krishna with his flute: not a vision but an actual experience. Perhaps vision is initiation into the inexplicable, preparing the way for a reality to come. The visions happen less and less the more the soul can accept it and integrate it into their experience of reality. A cycle of seven years preparing the body, seven years it has been since the first vision. The first vision: a Harlem Flapper with a tambourine and bob haircut, dancing -- she had been a dream image but upon waking she is still there. From that point on until now, life has been a preparation of meeting Krishna, meeting actual myth in waking life. All the terrors, fears, shaking angers, orgasms, and even depressions and numbnesses, preparing, making way for a new reality, a reality fully integrated with myth.

MY BLOGGING INTENTION

I'm joining the blogging craze but I don't want my blog to be mundane random thoughts, I have my livejournal for that. I want to talk about my visions, my dreams that have a visionary or oracular quality to them and I will post only my poems that have to do with vision and oracle. I will also post poems from others that I come across that have these qualities and write prose posts about my research and thoughts on the oracular poetries of others, espcially H.D., E.D., and R.D. (Doolittle, Dickinson, Duncan) and maybe later revisit Blake and look at his visionary qualities...

Someone is calling in the mist
a white foam stills the shadows.
The boat putters slowly. There is nothing
to see – each moment produces more
of the previous moment. Moments
become undifferentiated – all moments
are the same. In every moment the same
piece of seaweed brushes against my hand
floating in the water. The seaweed is
an oracle of the future. The seaweed is meaningless,
predicting only the present. This present moment
opens my heart
and the future seeps into it, moment by moment.

The future becomes an oracle of the present.

I forget about the mist I remember
I am the mist.