Jon Orsi bad day. thats an understatement

Sunday- work all day. After spending my entire horrible day at work fantasizing about making and having good Chinese food in Montana (is this possible?)I spent way too much money at the co-op (greedy faux-societal-aware, capitalist-classicism-perpetuating-pigs) subsequently over-drafted my account -damn-. Then drove to Big Sky, cooked food but it fell short of exceptions of anything "Chinese" or "food". After "dinner" i get in number of arguments, resulting in poor, terror-gripped nightmare sleep (grizzly bear beavers and a cheating girlfriend)...but this is just the night before my bad day.
Next day: I wake up way too late. Only have time for coffee and cereal, sadly there is only raisin bran. While carrying cereal and coffee to table, I drop the coffee cup into my bowl of cereal which results in a mess I fail to clean up, which results in yet another argument
that I lose.
Driving recklessly as I often do, I drop my second cup of coffee of the morning, this time in my lap. I swear, punch the steering wheel, hurt my hand. Red light. Damn. Red light. Dammnn. Red light... why?...
It's about 8:03 as I make it to campus, class started about three minutes ago, but at least I'm here. Right?
no, you aren't.
Blue lights in the rear-view (I will omit the profuse profanity).
Me- "sorry officer, just running late for school"
Officer Javert "oh don't worry about it, I'll get you set up in just a minute so you don't miss class"
Promptly -thirty-five minutes no joke- later i am cited for driving without proof of insurance, driving without a valid registration, driving without a valid drivers license, and speeding.
I give him a high handed salute and say thank you.
I missed my class so I just went home.
I get to my house and step out of my car, which is subsequently is directly into a pile of dog poop.
Finally make my way into the house and then I find I have to clean my entire house just to sit down and cook food. After doing this, I let off some steam by yelling at Yogi for pooping in the yard. But then I feel bad, so I tell em' "he's a good boy" which gets him all excited and he pees on my feet.
Then a few uneventful hours pass.
Then... I see one of my roommates has fabricated a tattoo gun and given himself a pretty good tattoo.

So. and this is actually the point where my day went wrong.

I get a tattoo.
yes.

and in the words of Johnny Cash, "I hung my head and cried"

Jon Orsi-- Tyger by the Tale

Reading John Nay’s poetry has further solidified and understanding of the way we are, that for long years I have come to accept. The central idea is that of the two way ladder, while we descend, we simultaneously ascend-the action being entirely independent or unintentional of the outcome, yet the outcome is a direct product of the action.

What epitomized this for me in John’s poetry was through his descent of the ages—gold to iron—the poetics took off in unbound flight. With his closing stanza being a saturation of understanding. And only through the full conceptualization and experience of decline can one see, wholly, the image of the poem/life/world (considerably synonyms).  After complete decay comes rebirth, phoenix like—more brilliant in its second coming, and more radiant by its contrast to the bleakness of its present context.
The idea though, is that the composition of the poem  or any poem for that matter is an act of creation. And as the poem itself is completed upon the conclusion, its birth is present in the moment of death- and this cycle begets itself. It may also beget new understanding away from itself. Poetics, mythos, logos- may all serve as catalyst for those exposed. This effect on future generations may be unseen or unnoticed, but it may too serve as a moment of great awakening.

 These epiphanic happenings may serve as the flood--in all its occurrences-- to cleanse, to unveil, to enlighten.

as with Nay's poem, and  Ovid's, and the Bible... flood flows forth on unclean grounds. In these dystopic visions, the world* shattered by understanding, by the poetic. It is a barbaric yawp that awakens the sleeping. It unclouds the eyes.

As in Steven’s Poem Disillusionment of Ten O’clock  -from my newly acquired collected poems (thank you Vargos- support your local bookstore) – the beauty of the world is reserved for those free of illusion, but the illusion is not the dream, rather the absence of dream. The illusion is the limitations of life that we subscribe to, that we-unable to see beyond, are limited to.

Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock 

The houses are haunted

By white night-gowns.

None are green,

Or purple with green rings,

Or green with yellow rings,

Or yellow with blue rings.

None of them are strange,

With socks of lace

And beaded ceintures.

People are not going

To dream of baboons and periwinkles.

Only, here and there, an old sailor,

Drunk and asleep in his boots,

Catches Tigers

In red weather. 

The absurdity is not catching tigers, or technicolored nightgown schemes. But, rather the absurdity is the formula of white- nightgowns, the absurdity of life devoid of absurd possibilities.

Subjected to limitations of any age, or anything for that matter our world becomes limited. In one of Dustin’s blogs he speaks about “the gaze” Rather than paraphrase or misinterpreted what Dustin put most eloquently, I will instead give a piece of what he as written “To gaze upon something is not to open oneself to it, but to impose an organizational structure upon it: the gaze makes sense rather than receiving it.”

Perhaps my even mentioning of this blog, Johns blog, or my even mentioning at all is an act of futility because I am imposing structure, but I am trying to receive.
But, my point is with John’s or Ovid full realization or omnipotence over the ages and over himself he has become free from the boundaries of ages or self.

There is a great Blake quote I often turn to because it provides me solace and inspiration.

"If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern."

This is a passage from his work The Marriage of Heaven and Hell which too, works along the two way ladder. For he envisioned a world inverted since the fall of man, the only way up is down.

And if we descend down into our subconscious level, the shared consciousness of the world. A world dictated by archetypes, we may find our lives too, dictated.  There are happening at bay that are out of our control, out of our consciousness even. But if we understand that these are all threads of the web of the collective,if we understand and become familiar with the subconscious, the archetypes of our lives, the mythic tradition of the world, then perhaps we may become masters of that world. We may become the artificer, or we may finally realize that we have been all along.

Jon Orsi. The beginnings of beginnings

These are, the beginning ideas on the beginning of things.
bear with me, the ideas may seem fragmented and un-realized but they may hopefully ignite the excitement they do in me.
-and tonight hopefully i will provide the unabridged version of all things considered.
but fore now, please regard the following story.

"The soul of a sleeper is supposed to wander away from his body and actually to visit the places, to see the persons, and to perform the acts of which he dreams. For example, when an Indian of Brazil or Guiana wakes up from a sound sleep, he is firmly convinced that his soul has really been away hunting, fishing, felling trees, or whatever else he has dreamed of doing, while all the time his body has been lying motionless in his hammock. A whole Bororo village has been thrown into a panic and nearly deserted because somebody had dreamed that he saw enemies stealthily approaching it. A Macusi Indian in weak health, who dreamed that his employer had made him haul the canoe up a series of difficult cataracts, bitterly reproached his master next morning for his want of consideration in thus making a poor invalid go out and toil during the night. The Indians of the Gran Chaco are often heard to relate the most incredible stories as things which they have themselves seen and heard; hence strangers who do not know them intimately say in their haste that these Indians are liars. In point of fact the Indians are firmly convinced of the truth of what they relate; for these wonderful adventures are simply their dreams, which they do not distinguish from waking realities" The Golden Bough pg 218

How is it, that through our dreams we are exposed to a world entirely unknown yet simultaneously familiar? Our dreams are, after all, our own creations. Yet within these creations manifest unlearned truths. I have often awoken from a dream with information, accurate information, on subjects I have never before studied. Who hasn't in their waking life encounter a new place, a new happening that was somehow familiar? Whether we say things like, "I've been here before, in a long forgotten dream" or the Keanue depleted "Whoa...dejavu" there is something unidentifiable, mystical mechanism at work, when we find ourselves attune to to an unlearned world, that is however remembered. 

This siphoning of the unknown cistern of knowledge, flows daily. It is constantly nourishing and irrigating our present, from the archaic waters of the past. The source of these rivers, the headwaters of time may at a glance be an elusive apparition, but the consciousness of self as a tributary is entirely possible realization. We may drink of these waters, but we are of them, and into them we shall continuously flow.

Cambell, and Jung have access to this aquifer of archetypes, the fountainhead of myth...the collective unconscious. How shall I even begin? ...I will return.

What is most interesting to me, this the power of connection to this underworld of understanding. Limitless. The hollywoodization of these thematics has for some unveiled a great number of truths, for others it has merely done what Hollywood has always done. Blind us.
There is something very real, and very sacred even behind "Morpheus and Neo's Excellent Adventure"

Another surprising movie discovery was the Cohen Brothers (you really can't go wrong) movie Men Who Stare at Goats. It was fairly good humor and so forth, but until I saw and read some of the information lead up to the creation of this movie (that um, these happenings are real--people dropping goats with their minds...remote viewing) that I realized that this was yet another piece to the puzzled picture that ascribes our world, and its limitless nature.

For any of you that haven't been turned on to this, Remote Viewing is a practice of deep meditation that conjures accurate information about a place or object that the "viewer" has never seen, been near, had any training or prior information about, or even heard of. This is a program that has been multi million dollarly funded by the U.S. government as a military weapon. no joke.

a quote from one of the founders of this program on how it works is as follows, "During this process, the viewer becomes linked directly to the collective unconscious - also referred to as the Matrix. The process works whether the target is in the next room or on the other side of the world. This information can exist anywhere in time or at any point in the Universe, as mind exists outside of time and space."

I have endless oceans more to say about all of these things, but for the time being i just need to get them out there.