..by Lindsay Clarke, the book I’m currently inhabiting. It’s marvellous.
“My verse was obscure because I was obscure to myself. I was a young man then…a young fool. I heard the music but I had no inkling how serious these matters were. Or how dangerous.”
He returned from a pained abstraction, and smiled at me a little ruefully. “I was much like you – infatuated with my own talent, worshipping only my own intellect…A crime for which, as Ficino points out, a capital punishment is appointed. And in the symbolic domain the punishment is entirely appropriate – dismemberment, beheading.”
The undertaking of the Great Work actually has many forms – I’ve been engaged in my own version for years – and mostly, they sound very similar when you pass into the realm of symbols. Which is, in fact, the only way to do this Work.
Right, then – I’m off back to bed to nurse a broken brain and legs which won’t work.