PortalInner Worlds And Creative Emergencies
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Inner Worlds And Creative Emergencies
by wodouvhaox Sun Nov 06, 2022 9:53 am
By David Price
Dionysos is not the God behind the mask. He is the mask.
In our psychological culture, the quest for the real and true Self conceals an anti-Dionysian fantasy and a typically monotheistic one. We do not easily recognize Dionysos, patron of actors, who invites us to play every role, tragic as well as comic, grotesque as well as solemn, with intensity, with spirit and brio. … As God of the carnival, of the masquerade, he is concerned with the constant metamorphosis of identity and opposed to any fixed identification with a role.
The ascetic, who will never allow a little fun, a little drunkenness, who forbids excess and fears intensity, is not the only anti-Dionysian type. The fantasy that one day I will find my authentic self, the one behind the mask, behind the mirror, behind the roles, is also anti-Dionysian…
"No masks can belong to us definitively or exclusively; masks belong to the divinities…."
— Ginette Paris
*
“There is no place that this blaze of radiant awareness does not penetrate…
Consciousness is the most delicate vibration and unity of the hum of a cosmic wakefulness. This ocean that roars, ranges to a stillness so still that it reflects the whole memory of existence in my — everyone’s — awareness. My experience is like a great fire in the shape of a golden, universal egg. It is the intelligent sound and sight — or universal knowingness — of Self-awareness; it is cool, warm and delicate; it is beyond words and the safe haven of all thoughts. Around me the Devata values of creation sing and dance in purposeful rhythms of unending joy without disturbing the ocean of universal simplicity.
— Harri Aalto
*
The only way to create what you want to create in life is to fashion some kind of dependable structure to live and then cultivate the inner voices. That sentence may take some explaining. I think that we ourselves are structures where the gods can play. We are like stage sets where a drama takes place. There is an intention in being born, in each of us. There are energies that long to come through us, if we can hear and allow them — more than that — aid and abet them.
They contradict each other sometimes, which confuses us. We try to follow society’s dictates, which trains us to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to our larger nature. Trying to be captain of our little ship can turn out to be a very big job when the weather gets rough. We do the best we can with what we have.
Some of us are overwhelmed by a culture that installs a very firm mask on us from an early age. It takes a sensitive and free consciousness to see through our conditioning, which is hard to come by in our world the way we have made it. Of course, we can only make things from the consciousness we have.
Those who intentionally listen to the inner voices, the poets and artists, seem to have an uncanny vision of reality that contradicts everything we’re told as we grow up.
I recently had a decade when the structures I had created all broke down and I could no longer practice my art. Everything came into question until I was able to reconfigure my external life in a way that still left the essentials, creativity, love, and beauty. It would have been easier had I been fifty years younger but the same trajectory applies.
There was an unexpected transmutation of inner forces as my little ship was tossed about. I can’t say I consciously figured out what to do, rather that I had sudden openings that I followed and then one thing led to another. In the end, it looks like the whole process was taken charge of by a larger intelligence. I’m able to create again, just not in the way I would have predicted.
I do wonder just how much of that drama was orchestrated by what Hillman calls “the gods.” I don’t have any trouble believing they were behind the whole thing because they simply refused to let me go to the end of my lifetime without writing. Instead of it being a catastrophe it starts to look like what you might call a “creative emergency.”
John Duncan (1866–1945) — Yorinda and Yoringel in the Witch’s Wood, 1909
Catrin Welz-Stein
Dionysos is not the God behind the mask. He is the mask.
In our psychological culture, the quest for the real and true Self conceals an anti-Dionysian fantasy and a typically monotheistic one. We do not easily recognize Dionysos, patron of actors, who invites us to play every role, tragic as well as comic, grotesque as well as solemn, with intensity, with spirit and brio. … As God of the carnival, of the masquerade, he is concerned with the constant metamorphosis of identity and opposed to any fixed identification with a role.
The ascetic, who will never allow a little fun, a little drunkenness, who forbids excess and fears intensity, is not the only anti-Dionysian type. The fantasy that one day I will find my authentic self, the one behind the mask, behind the mirror, behind the roles, is also anti-Dionysian…
"No masks can belong to us definitively or exclusively; masks belong to the divinities…."
— Ginette Paris
*
“There is no place that this blaze of radiant awareness does not penetrate…
Consciousness is the most delicate vibration and unity of the hum of a cosmic wakefulness. This ocean that roars, ranges to a stillness so still that it reflects the whole memory of existence in my — everyone’s — awareness. My experience is like a great fire in the shape of a golden, universal egg. It is the intelligent sound and sight — or universal knowingness — of Self-awareness; it is cool, warm and delicate; it is beyond words and the safe haven of all thoughts. Around me the Devata values of creation sing and dance in purposeful rhythms of unending joy without disturbing the ocean of universal simplicity.
— Harri Aalto
*
The only way to create what you want to create in life is to fashion some kind of dependable structure to live and then cultivate the inner voices. That sentence may take some explaining. I think that we ourselves are structures where the gods can play. We are like stage sets where a drama takes place. There is an intention in being born, in each of us. There are energies that long to come through us, if we can hear and allow them — more than that — aid and abet them.
They contradict each other sometimes, which confuses us. We try to follow society’s dictates, which trains us to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to our larger nature. Trying to be captain of our little ship can turn out to be a very big job when the weather gets rough. We do the best we can with what we have.
Some of us are overwhelmed by a culture that installs a very firm mask on us from an early age. It takes a sensitive and free consciousness to see through our conditioning, which is hard to come by in our world the way we have made it. Of course, we can only make things from the consciousness we have.
Those who intentionally listen to the inner voices, the poets and artists, seem to have an uncanny vision of reality that contradicts everything we’re told as we grow up.
I recently had a decade when the structures I had created all broke down and I could no longer practice my art. Everything came into question until I was able to reconfigure my external life in a way that still left the essentials, creativity, love, and beauty. It would have been easier had I been fifty years younger but the same trajectory applies.
There was an unexpected transmutation of inner forces as my little ship was tossed about. I can’t say I consciously figured out what to do, rather that I had sudden openings that I followed and then one thing led to another. In the end, it looks like the whole process was taken charge of by a larger intelligence. I’m able to create again, just not in the way I would have predicted.
I do wonder just how much of that drama was orchestrated by what Hillman calls “the gods.” I don’t have any trouble believing they were behind the whole thing because they simply refused to let me go to the end of my lifetime without writing. Instead of it being a catastrophe it starts to look like what you might call a “creative emergency.”
John Duncan (1866–1945) — Yorinda and Yoringel in the Witch’s Wood, 1909
Catrin Welz-Stein
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