Sweet delirium
Awaits at the door
I praise you
Oh great one
Remove the pain
Another drop
Of your blood
A shot to the soul
Lifting, tilting
I dance,
Euphoric.
The wind whispers your name
A thousand names
Each older than the first
Each truer than the last
Spilling over time
I partake
The ancient ritual
Passing the goblet
It rests on my lips
Fire sent to my heart
As I, too,
Become God.
About Me
- Bakchos
- The essential artist, [Jung] insists, is an unwitting mouthpiece for the psychic secrets of his time, and often remains as unconscious as a sleepwalker. Since he lives closer to both the archetypal realm and the zeitgeist than do ordinary men who, circumscribed by their social functions, are confined to life's surface, the artist can directly apprehend the true nature of the cultural and psychic forces he encounters and translate his vision into art form. Thus the poetical character makes archetypal visions accessible to all men. [. . .] Because the artist can speak the language of dreams directly through image and symbol, he enjoys a peculiar power to create myths and identities that possess an archetypal import and fascination that philosophical reasoning cannot equal.(10, 11)
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