Showing posts with label climate catastrophe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label climate catastrophe. Show all posts

Monday, September 30, 2019

Solutions for the End of the World 5




This time, section 5 of the seven-part poem,
Solutions for the End of the World.



Section 1 can be found here.
Section 2 can be found here.
Section 3 can be found here. 
Section 4 can be found here.




In this section Maria formulates her famous Axiom of Maria: “One becomes two, and two becomes three, and out of the third comes the one that is the fourth.”

Oh, those cryptic alchemical recipes. Seeming nonsense.

While I have some issues with Jungian Psychology, I find Jung’s interpretation of this Axiom compelling:

One is seen as unconscious wholeness (think about an infant’s experience – where the self is undifferentiated from everything else). 

Two is the conflict of opposites: Rising out of the chaos of unconsciousness, into the world of duality. Me, you. This, that. Good, bad.

Three is something that will enable the resolution of those opposites. 

The fourth is the transformed state of consciousness that has come from working through the tension of opposites, when the tension between the unconscious and consciousness result in something new.

So, the journey in this axiom is from undifferentiated unconsciousness (wholeness) to individual consciousness (wholeness). 

Remedios Varo/To Be Reborn

I found this axiom interesting in relation to the journey of my (and many others’) internal mirroring the external chaos of climate catastrophe. How do we process it, how do we keep processing it, work with the reality of it? 

I think this has a lot to do with Extinction Rebellion’s way of looking at the crisis:

“Our world is in crisis. Life itself is under threat. Yet every crisis contains the possibility of transformation.”


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5.    The Feathered Eel Gives Maria Prophetissa
The Idea for the First Alchemical Formula


                                    Maria the Prophet bends down,
                                                touches the flank of a fish, shriveled in sand.
                        She stares into the empty socket where the eye used to be.

                                    Less than 30 vaquita remain in the wild.

                                                Sand lice like stars spin inside the body,
                        between delicate rib bones, cradle of emptiness, the emptiness
                                                   from which everything comes –

                                                                                                the one.

                                    Less than 25 vaquita remain in the wild.

                                      She breaks off a rib bone, raises it, closes her eyes.
                        Bone against sun, stone against water, fishermen against gulls,
                             sea-shadow against sea, the furious conflict of opposites –
                                                                                               
                                                                                           and so, two.

                                    Less than 20 vaquita remain in the wild.

                                    She sees the fishbone merge with the sun –
                          and the great Eel emerges out of the sea, shadow across sky.
                                    She watches it eat scour the city.
                                                                                    Egyptian, Greek, Roman,
                   filtered through savage teeth. The Eel eats the wounds, the scars,
                                                                                                   the dead, devouring
                         children and so the children’s children…

                                                                                    She sees. Accepts. Says:

                        It’s going to devour the world, it’s going to devour the wounds.
                          It’s going to devour the world, it’s going to devour the wounds.
                                         The world, the wounds; the wounds, the world…”

                         The Eel plunges back into the sea, dissolves into a gull cry.

                                                       “Silence,” Goya says. 

                                           And she knows the Eel is the three –
                         the union of opposites. And in this union,
                                                                                      four is achieved.
              Wholeness.

                        Less than 15 vaquita remain in the wild.
                               
                                                                              "One becomes two," she says
               “and two becomes three…

                          and out of the third comes the one that is the fourth.”

                      Words spoken into the sun, into the mouth of a dead fish,
                         into the sky, into the furious eye of the Eel, maw open.
                                               
                                                          Her solution.

                                                 “Silence!” Goya shouts.

                                             Less than 10 vaquita remain.


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

Vaquita – Spanish for “little cow.” It is an endangered porpoise and the world’s smallest cetacean. It is found only in the shallow waters of the northern Gulf of California, Mexico. It is the most endangered marine mammal on earth.


About the Vaquita:




Thursday, September 26, 2019

Solutions for the End of the World 3



This is the third section of a seven-part poem called
Solutions for the End of the World.



This time Maria Prophetissa ruminates on seeing the feathered eel in her solution, and then remembers a time when she was a child, knowing that giant eel was out there somewhere…all the while, Goya keeps mocking the poem…

Alchemists doing their thing...
Section 1 can be found here.

Section 2 can be found here.




3.   The Alchemist Tries to Understand What She Sees…And Then Remembers…


Maria stares at the shadow in the vessel,
                                             sucks in a breath, startled. What is this?
                                                 
     Catastrophically widespread die-offs of many creatures could be inevitable
                      if human activities continue to lead to more acid oceans…

                        Is this what it’s like to have a heart without
                                                                        a future, insoluble?

                        No future and so past erased, insoluble?

                        The wind, the sun, the rain, insoluble?
           
                                                                                                         Goya laughs:
        “Increasing temperature frequently improves the solubility of a solute.
                        A paradox. What did she expect?”

Maria Prophetissa, Daughter of Plato, wanders
                        out of the Alexandrian Gate of The Sun, down
                                    to the harbor, image of the Eel inside her eyes,
                                                                                                               insoluble.

          Melting permafrost from global heating has made it easier for locals to
            retrieve the remains of woolly mammoths…and sell them on to China,
                              where the ivory is fashioned into jewelry…

She sees the Pharos lighthouse across the harbor.
                                                As a girl, she stood on this same strand, focused
            on the sea –
                        how the sea-breeze lifted the boiled sun off blown sand –
            and knew that something would eventually rise out of the green expanse
 because that expanse was too great for there not to be something as vast beneath –

                        the shadow of the sea –

                                                and she would rise to greet it, terrified… 

       In the past year, an area the size of 500,000 soccer fields has been destroyed
                             in the Amazon. Nearly half a billion trees torn down…

                        She knows the shadow of the sea is the sea;
                                            and that the sea’s shadow
             is the shadow of the sea in the eye staring into the face of the sea –

             fish among ruins, cycle of desire, anemones enfolding tiny darting
                          creatures into its body deep in the sea’s rubble.
                                     
                        The calls of fishermen merge with the call of gulls.

            (The gulls, the black-backed gulls…cursed with one drop of blood
                                                                                    on their beak –
                        first taste of life and so, first taste of death –
                   blood burned onto all their beaks by the sea’s shadow,
                                                                                       insoluble. Siren-red,
                        a red scream, mirrors the gull’s appetite, how they
                                     lift the shell into the clear blue, drop it against rocks,
                        offerings to the sea-shadow,
                                                                                             white-winged
                           extensions of the shadow of the sea, insoluble.)

            Goya shakes his head:
                                    “This part of the poem is shit! An alchemist
                        who sees the great Eel devouring the world in the future?
                        A character who has the long view? Are you saying you
                                                   have the long view?”

                                                                                                She draws
            the sign of Mercury in the sand, envelops that sign
                                                with a circle that is the sign of the Feathered Eel, eating
                           its own tail,
                                                and waits for it to rise from the sea.

                                                More than 200 reindeer have
                        died of starvation on the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard,
                             with scientists blaming their deaths on climate change.

                                                                         Goya laughs again:
             “This is absurd, magical thinking,
                                    invoking imaginary beasts to understand the true beast,
            the beast right in front of you…”

                                      Tomorrow’s world will not just be hungrier:
                        it will increasingly face undernutrition. More carbon dioxide
                                            means harvests with lower protein…