Downloadable WORD document February 10, 2025
THEMES
Psyche as an eternal role characterised as a dream traveller
Time & Duration
Date-Instilled memories
The Scarlet Leaf
Passage of forces: 1-2-3 -1 -3-2-1-2-3
Andrei Tarkovsky
The muffled light from the flashlight; the child is under the comforter with her head pointed towards the foot of the bed. She is reading a book called Magic and Smoke. She knew about Magic, But Smoke?
Suddenly, the flashlight goes out. The puffy white down comforter surrounds her in a dark enfolding softness. Her astral radiance intersperses through the netherworld like a feather.
Then, a little pink sunray peeks through. The little girl pushes the comforter aside and looks out the window. A roundish-looking cloud passes above like a puff of smoke. She rises from her bed and picks up the comforter and carries it outside, and hangs it on the clothes line. The comforter blows freely in the magical breeze like a freshly laundered shirt. The imbedded dreams dissipate.
Thomas Fenn
Why does she forget?
Antoine Artaud
The events relative to personal past are woven into time’s passage. The memories of these events and the events themselves, whether subconscious or conscious, are referred to as date-instilled memories. The currents of duration, however, stream through diverse channels. These channels are envisioned as canals that weave through the etheric fabric of the collective unconscious. We must learn to journey along these channels. Otherwise all singular memories are thrust under the surface and one forgets.
Thomas Fenn
I meet so many people over time, and then they disappear. But do I disappear in relation to them? Is death a complete erasure? Or do I die and come back through another flower arranged in this bouquet of dimensions?
Andrei Tarkovsky
Time is a leaf, and the chapter is a branch, whilst the epic is the enchanted tree. The branch and the tree are hermetically sealed by allegiance. Time is constantly renewed in the leaf.
Caithlin Ni Houlihan
And so let us return once again, as we reflect.
Please begin in 1969 and recount to us the incident with the truck. In this way, we shall individuate and transform a dateless memory into a date instilled memory and the reverse.
Thomas Fenn
Thank you for inducing a more lucid orientation and the ability to navigate through this labyrinth. I shall continue, then.
It was the summer of 1969, the year of my graduation from high school; I drove to San Francisco from Boston that summer. My father had kindly lent me the family car. I remember arriving near San Francisco and going to a very special rest stop with a view overlooking the emerald-green marine landscape of the Bay area. I can envisage the glint of the moon rays upon the water at the very point of disappearance to the other side of the horizon, and it was all scintillating under the glowing sunset and the rising moon.
As I looked out, I heard the folk song Atlantis. And a voice said to me from behind my right ear: ‘California is Atlantis.’
And so I drove along the Pacific ocean and went to the beaches, watched people at their fires, and listened to some people playing guitars. I would pick up hitchhikers and take them to where they were going, and then, at the end of a few weeks, I began my drive back to Boston.
I was driving in Utah along a high speed two way road when the silver glint of the front of the truck suddenly appeared. The truck had changed lane and he was driving directly towards me. We should have crashed.
Antoine Artaud
And indeed, that is what occurred. There was a tremendous impact. And your etheric body was instantaneously reflected into another channel of duration. Although we cannot speak of sequential events quite yet, within that instantaneity, your sentient body was reinserted into your physical body, and there you stood wide-eyed, looking at the driver, who was looking back at you.
Thomas Fenn
And what of the world or sheath in which the head-on accident occurred? Did my lifeless body remain?
Antoine Artaud
Your physicality disappeared and reappeared inside this date-instilled memory, whilst the dateless-memory of your transmutation is hermetically interlaced inside the Waterford Globe. Remember! This hermetic process creates a new bud for the leaf on the branch, such that all leaves are infused as a required sub-process for the whole branch to be infused. We may carry this model to the relationship between you and the car and its impact. You should know that the impact of the truck dislodged your physical body, and your physical body emerged with a particular shift. All that was before was of before, and yet was not.
Caithlin Ni Houlihan
Every manifestation of an action or event is deconstructed into tonalities that are reconfigured and tuned to the placement wherein one finds oneself within the specific channel of duration. Howeser, Thomas, do not confuse movements along the channels of duration with the twinkling process of crystalization, as we have mentioned with the Waterford globe. They are separate processes.
Thomas Fenn
Yes, I am brought back to an in-between moment, that is between the appearance of the truck and the impact! I begin to see the metal of my car becoming fluid or molecular, and then the car passes through the truck, modulating itself to the form of the truck as it passes through, and then the car comes out the other side of the truck and spins around in the cornfield. At that moment, I look up at the sky and see or hear my grandfather speak to me from beyond the clouds.
Antoine Artaud
And thus your grandfather instills himself as a dateless-memory into the date-instilled memory.
Thomas Fenn
Yes, and what is strange? He died in January, 1964 in a head-on incident with a truck in North Carolina. I remember his opaque countenance appearing to my mind’s eye the night after his death. I was fourteen years old.
Antoine Artaud
The mystical Poet said, ‘Eternity is in love with the products of time’. Your name with its history, the leaf, and this chapter, the branch, became wedded at the instance of this transition. You became a bud.
Andrey Tarkovsky
And so it is: The scarlet leaf quivers on the branch, lending herself to the last rays of the Sun whilst an old fallen leaf lies at the bottom of the tree- stuck to the frozen ground – wet and flat. Her autumnal colour has been returned to the Sun. As the poet says, ‘these things must be.’
Thomas Fenn
My soul gazes over this abyss of evanescent memories, and within this unwinding, I must ask: what then of Dixie Brooks? Is she the scarlet leaf independent and radiant, forever attached to the branch like a fragile amethyst crystal?
And what of her Self, or what you call her quintessential perception and experience?
Does she disappear into another sliver of time, especially during the incident with the truck? Or is she eternally independent as a projection from dateless memory and acts with independent will and awareness?
Then I must ask: Is she aware of being a human being independent of her eternal image? Or is she the little girl in your story to whom you refer as Psyche, naïve in her infinite beauty?
Andrei Tarkovsky
Dixie Brooks is the selected daughter of the muse within a purely feminine lineage that originated in Atlantis and surfaced during the Renaissance in Italy. We refer to this lineage as the Oracular Sistren.
Thomas Fenn
When you tell me this, I am silent and amazed. I remember her recounting stories of Florence in 1966 when she lived there with her family. This was the time when the Arno reached over her banks to flood the streets of Florence.
She would speak of Jacopo da Pontormo. She told me that he talked to her in dreams. He would refer to her as Ginevra De Benci and recite poetry in ancient Italian. I could not understand what she meant until I moved to Florence. At that time, I would visit the church Santa Felicita, where his fresco La Desposizione is housed. I would gaze into the tonalities and textures and realize that my inner world was composed of such textures and tonalities and that Jacopo da Pontormo was a guide.
Later in 1974, after having been in a psychiatric institute, I wrote the following entry in my journal.
What is this awareness whereupon human beings move and disappear, storefronts dissolve on the city streets to regenerate into time-new structures, and the chess games in the park continue to be played by different players who lose and win at the same game? But is that all that I see? Yes, there is the song of a single, lark. But. where are you now? And why do I look from behind myself backwards in time and not see you?
Antoine Artaud
The song of the muse does not last for more than a thousand years. After this, the poet is sent to a small cave that overlooks a red-blue ocean in front of which the emerald sand is being tickled in eddies of flashing diamond mineral-specks where he must compose for another thousand years. This is the nature of transitional poetry on the level of the epic.
Thomas Fenn
Thank you for this stirring image. You help me to remember a letter I wrote to Dixie Brooks as I gazed out at the stone-white full moon on a cold November night. I could sense her emanation like the scent of sage in an empty stone room.
Sadness speaks in quiet tones unseen by the sun but nurtured by his light. The sun passes over sadness, And the sadness retreats to nestle in all that is sad, and all that is sad then encircles the sadness in a dance of shadows. Sadness is not a name or an event; it flutters above the Earth like a thin mist and an unrhymable verse.
And she wrote back as follows: