To evil, break in is the truth, a paper menu of the Easter Supper floating down from the top walls of the New Jerusalem to those camped outside below, trying to get in. Sometime somebody will ask, well, what is the truth? The answer needs no explanation or analysis. Truth is self-evident. What does that mean? You have to see it for yourself. For those the eternal holiness, the righteous of God in Him, the together in heavenly places, this goes on and on. But outside, Revelation 22:15 “For without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.” So since there is nothing to say about the truth the discussion has always been about evil in the poet. What is the truth outside the Walls is the very darkness of Puritan thought at bay, the American Renaissance.
The American Renaissance, to hear Martin Amis and Wallace Stevens’ biographer contend, the elements of transcendentalism and realism in Stevens, already early set the stage for understanding that American poetry is a re-litigation and a religion, as is American fiction. It replaces the stuff from which Whitman and Dickinson, Crane and Stevens got their inspiration in the first place, the enthusiasms of the KJV Bible, but not just the book, the life and surety they drank from their homes among these folk who led them highest, the way Hopkins did Crane in “Lachrymae Christi.” After leavings in the substitute religion of truth, the way Dostoevsky and Kafka are for a slightly wider set, are extractions, not ore mined for gold, but throwing out the gold for pebbles. As everyone knows the gold is in the finding, the process of the knowing is its nearly unspeakable joy. Hillsides of these writers are the gold age Raleigh wanted, where nuggets the size of a walnut or a child’s head could be picked up from the ground. Call them gems in Whitman, Dickinson, Crane, the volcanic pressures that form the carbon into diamond from intense pressure deep within the kimberlite, are rejected for the surface rock when these best critics like Bloom and Hartman want most of all, as does Elon Musk, the experience itself, not what it made, but what it will make in them first hand. That is the experience they long for. To walk in the garden.
The ongoing American Renaissance invents a speaker who writes further chapters of a book where evil is celebrated and lived by its proponents, Hawthorne who inspired Melville to the demonic character of Ahab, as Olson says, but Hawthorne has more darkness celebrated than that. He himself says he does not know what he is saying in Mosses. Further chapters, Crowley Moon child stuff, not sugar coated in Creeley’s account, the essence of an MKUltra child.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&t=161&v=OOdpqkuWkgo&feature=youtu.be
include the occult wisdoms of the Ouija of poet Robert Merrill’s search for illumination, fed by Yeats and Dee, Too Sacred Yeats https://insightstatutes.blogspot.com/2011/06/wisdom-memory.html and John Dee, Bill Yeats, Ron Hubbard, Jack Parsons https://insightstatutes.blogspot.com/2012/10/pergamon-altar-hubbard.html consider Anne Sexton’s reading at USA Poet Episode Anne Sexton https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONIpxRPFv3k and Robert Creeley, The Door, dedicated to Robert Duncan, who was an adopted hermetic of satanic ritual abuse, i.e. theosophy as
After Hawthorne nothing can be understood unless you posit all government, ecclesiastical, social leadership as witches, hidden though, not bald like she with the gold pentagram on her door, never actually seen, who was moved finally by her father and mother in their 60’s, who sat finally on the grass and watched them load. This today passes as normal. The neighbors then came and cut her lawn. The roof was falling in. The previous owner was a religion prof who died in the middle of talking. The communal trash barrels are filled outside the New Jerusalem gates and beyond where such habitat is landscape. At each pickup the can and rag people scavenge to find what they can from the barrels, but when the witch dismounted and the portents cleansed, there were three rag pickers dead unconscious around the barrel from the smell. There were black flies at 6 AM. I used another barrel that day, one with clean trash. You probably think this symbolic but in fact, as much fact as a set of the 80 prints went for one ounce of gold, and 27 of 300 sets sold over four years, John Ruskin burned his Caprichos. Who can blame him: 52, Lo que puede un sastre, a giant, arms frighteningly raised in clerical cloth, women kneeling before, 79, Nadie nos ha visto, friars gorging “unleashed cannibal orality” 195. “The old men of the Church actually eat their flock.” Desolation donkey, satire 37-42, which must be a parable of higher education, donkeys riding students, 42, Tu que no puedes, “the donkeys are the rich, whose burden the poor carry” says the team. How many trips to Denver has he made anyway? Goya thought clergy were brujos. Now the dark seminarians are politicos,. I guess you don’t read those sites. Linda maestra, 68. Pederasts, rapists, demons. There’s your American renaissance trying to sneak insight from datura salve, divination, drugs and ritual, universally among the greats turned on by Leary and Ginsburg, who turned on Olson, who wrote of Melville in Call Me Ishmael as seeking the deep far away things, invisible spheres, telling the truth covertly and by snatches that seems to take a leaf from Yeats, but Yeats lacked pharmacopeia, a name for witchcraft, its possessions covered up by the culture’s expose of CIA slipping acid to Frank Olson https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2017/12/wormwood-errol-morris-review-netflix-cia-mkultra/548486/. We careless consign these figures to their course but regret the immolation of Hart Crane, pyramid thinking being that one can never cease, but must always outdo, undo, redo. So Crane was convinced he could never top The Bridge. So what? That’s what they did to Hemingway, argued he’d lost his stuff. Harold Bloom says “Lachrymae Christi” is beyond him, but the Gerard Manley Hopkins influence in Crane is an opposition of the occult, not understood. We also regret the loss of Charles Olson, or is that Melville? Close apart in the infernal conjuring of Ahab, all too Goetic and Theurgic (Call Me, 56) the very darkness of Puritan thought at bay is the American Renaissance, like a menu floating down from inside the walls of the New Jerusalem vibrating, that might have floated down to those camped outside its wall on Easter Sunday: Tomato Bisque and Boneless Leg of Lamb and Bread of Heaven, but only the reproduction, the paper thereof and not the reality.
To call a revival of the ancient Mesopotamia where the divination, horoscopy and astronomy practiced by the apkallu sages produced that flowering of “civilization” a renaissance implying new birth is a misnomer. Subsequent poets seek and speak, in essence the effort to dispense divine knowledge to humanity for its own sake, little or no thought for the consequences. That this is the fact regardless of whether we know it is evident from revival of ancient scrolls of Qumran, clay tablets of Gilgamesh, with studies like Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World edited by Amar Annus. Any poet might ask, why not, what’s wrong with being like the gods, even as they burn their own illuminated menus. The answer being human depravity and demons like to dress up as divines. That this ancient lore is now available could be seen as a precursor for somewhat more. Back to Yeats, surely some revelation is at hand? That being a hybrid nexus of human and demonic divine by art?
What does renaissance mean but revival of the divine arts, science, exploration included, generalizations intolerantly glib compared to the learned tradition that once held sway, itself swamped in ignorance and illusion, but 21st century glib excels all. Just to be clear though, the 16th century medieval renaissance was replete with egregore constructs as we know them in a kind of Platonism where “the region between earth and moon is crowded with airy creatures who are capable of fertile unions with our own species” (Lewis. English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, 10, the whole first chapter). St Augustine is laboring to expel all through the eighth and ninth books of De Civitate Dei Hermetic, Sibylline, Orphic, Cabala, Plotinus, Iamblichius [Zohar, Talmud] spiritual cosmologies of the invisible population of the universe, middle and low between the angelical and human” (Lewis, 11) which. Lewis is at pains to reserve from damnation in “an innocent traffic with the unseen and therefor of high magic…the Florentines, sometimes appear to think that Man can become any kind of creature he pleases” (13) which megalomania predominates speculation in labs today. But Lewis wants “no Satanism and no Faustian compact” (7) in the high magic of scholars of the royal courts and academies, all very hot house and theoretical.
To be so profoundly alienated from the world as it shows in the modern condition of an era without a name, where every news report is false and only false flags wave should be a great sadness to the reader. We would ask liberally, how could this have happened, who was at fault, always assuming in this of course that the subject is deluded in this belief and the world with all its faults is the best and brightest. The American Renaissance looks back upon the fall for all its inspiration and there it finds the happy flaw that makes beauty and encourages loneliness and love, and that is the world we have known of the earth. But this moment of the Unnamed looks forward to Shoah where in the midst of it Safety and Justice cry out for danger and judgment for the world. How can it be a Shoah and we not know it? Surely some revelation is at hand! But consider Noah. Nobody knew until they went into the ark. Were they blind? CAST OUT JUNG! Are people allowed to just say that? Sounds like it’s time at the least for some re-education. It only they didn’t call them French Camps. Hey. Will they let anybody get a PhD? That’s the crux.
What an iterinent college student traverses among banana and coffee plantation, works in central America we shall digress. I pull the wool off his eyes of semaphore and privilege. The wool was worn. The military was worn, the legality, the right was worn. The same light verses he knew were used to enslave, except the military had its own light, politics, and politics had its own gods. He worn his pants inside out to write that, his stomach rumbling from eating eight grapes. That is the short of saying he had found the fate of success in the world was rigged. Think how many workshop writers, grad stubes, probe poets think it is a real system of reward for excellence. It is a reward for conformity to ensure the control of them all. Do what you’re told. Tell what you re told. We have mind monitors for that.. Just make sure you find out like Tate that the bottom of a rivers is a very unventilated room. Then you will Yale the Younger series and have a career. A successful career means you are a slave. Ersatz. Everything Hawthorne, Emerson, Whathimna they stole from shamans. Merrill stole from weggee boards. Crane stole from perverseion and self immolation. Eliot from Bergson. Poe escapes.They are all fallen out of the way there is none that doeth good no not one. Even Constable’s winslow homer’s waves and landscapes are too human projects joah eardley escapes. They play in the rigging like pirates so why not privatize them too. Call it what it is us. Literature is is a sop for a giant pig. Which we call bestat empire. Politics a game of cockroachers. That’s when he wrote expeeswa fto the pickly pear. The altillery are lined up to bring civilization to cuzxo. what loathing Faaulkner has for his own people and land, either that or it is as evil as the spring Elijah healed, which caused miscarriages, people misshapen, ominous as himself and what ill begotten harms he bodes and endures. Insular, suspicious, popeye takes a book as a gun, F’s symbol heavy handed ignorance. Come to think Hawthorne has no very different view in essence in Scarlet Leter of his own horror visited upon the darkness of New England. Fair or unfair, that fiction is a visitation upon nature and humanity the darkness in the writer, like a blanket
Tales isn’t a family. Among islanders the tales are much the same. That the branches of civilization ate like the the fobs thrown to a hog to fatten for the feast explains all the boasting and grunting, synonyms for politics and war. its main branches. Southlanders call politics a gang of cockroachers to describe the many branches and layers of intrigue, but only war describes the sacrifices of life over and over pointlessly for no reason, with a year of peace between, than more war. Jimmy Crist became a frogman but graduated to Sargent in the forces to take K2 in the Korean winter and came home to boast about it, lauded by the whole town until the next went off to fight. The many branches are fested in yearly or so banquets at the Tystes Inn and the Zeus with beheadings and pallor told in the tale. One hitch in the Island is the characters are all women, giant huge bulking beasts of the female who lurch from the starts in the end but in the beginning are made out as two neighbors who come over to sit on the berm. Pagan tales are that wary. They pretend great horrors warped up in the ordinary. This is no Goldfarb family then, but a family of the gods themselves that rule the cosmos. If the blood of such bores you that is the stuff of myth deconstructed. Left in the natural it is nasty enough, but seen from above and not below, symbol is open to interpretation. We pretend its cousin allegory, as if there were some point to it all, that being to wake the reader up to his predicament among the fobs of civilization fed to these giants. Wake them up to do what? It never quite says what the purpose of myth is. That ‘s why we bite off a lesser branch than politics and war here and take up their handmaid, literature, the sop of this great pig eaten by that old sow. The old sow that eats the pig in a universe of consumpation, creating and destroying, might be entropy or black hold or quark, but giants call it chaos that sees to undo even the evil that it did. This is all the pagans got until their gottedammerung, which fractal production is evident in Breughels fish coming out of the mouth of another fish, but here it’s pigs going into the mouth of other pigs, reversing the motion of the fractal, consumpokng them all, which is what pigs are best at, consumpoking. Back to the fattening up for market and slaughter and war, the gigging and the pudding, the smoking in the old tale we start with, being the Dame with it’s own set of vectors and references, we soon enough become familiar. So having said, on with the tale of giants eaten by the gods.
The truly illowis snowbelt career Frey and Frigg, Frieda and fritag
Iceland gods and giants on vacation in the west are reincarnate Iceland gods. You’d think they’d melt. They don’t even get damp. I can not explain the physiology of ice flesh anyway, or reincarnation. Gods of course may do this over and over until they long for an honest death, which they will get, just not in time. I was rusty on my Iceland gods so went to the sagas I used to read in the winters on the cold rainy wet whale backs outside town where the dirt was one inch deep on the top of the limestone slabs. The stone flats looked so much like whale backs you had to watch where you stepped to avoid the blowhole, which is only a Hopi site where the wind blows up through a hole in the earth after long miles of cool caverns and ice cream in summer. The low whistling rush of air is like the flute of the openings Chuang Tzu played from his hideouts under bridges in the bandit years. I always liked those sounds, especially the breath of praise. But anyway the gods are much the same in their palaces. Waters tell their masks and dances, their races from the peaks to bring water to the parched lands in the desert, where the whale backs swim in deeper seas. In Iceland the mists hang low over the glaciers and we don’t go too far afield less we mean the giant Gunnar chainsaw Hansen guy, gentle Texas for all that. I guess that’s why the whole island is completely vaxxed, to drive off the wards and these outlaws. A lot of this and more must be behind the move west, the extrano environment comparing Mars to Iceland, or Norway where these beings take their rest. At that time these giants were seen living at the bottom of Grand Canyon. And don’t trouble whether it was giants or gods, much the same from our view, but of course the gods are eating the giants as the giants are eating the rest, which fractal creation emerging from itself over and over, propagating like a fish coming out of the mouth of another fish is not the case here, being reversed. Here creation consumes itself, rather overtaken from behind. The tree is swallowed by the man swallowed by the giants by the god, and there are all sorts of variants in sacrifice to giant power by the men, but the principle of entropy is the same. These gods appear differently in times and place. In old Iceland or Third Mesa we see them more traditional, but over the major capital cities of the Potomac they appear as human bodies stretched up and down and across the sky. What else though? Giants and gods are not creative sorts any more that are fractal fish or pig. Coming out they are fish, going back they are pigs, for creation is not a machine repetition of itself, just the opposite, each being unique beyond the age of the universe. The god bodies stretch like balloons of body parts up into sky and above them only the blind can see, blind because they can’t see the original beauty of life but only this ugliness. Sop, pig or sow are symbols of applied evil, the essence is pure symbol of some spiritual pyramid of alteration always changing to deceive, esp. its name, the way a woman sitting in the midst of an ephad of lead represents all economic exploitation, the cement gallery throws back into the weight of the ephah and sealed with the lead on its mouth, collapsed into the metal and transported by two women with wings like storks to the land of Shinar and set upon its own base—outside the holy city.
To see this was a harrowing of the mind and mischief night of retching, white blood cells 20k left shift, emergency room visit all to myself and my watchers, then discharge Halloween morn but with infection, in urine, billed tests and changes in life like the cleaning of stables. It’s as if there are wallpaper patterns of afterimages on the inside of the eyes, drapes that partition or move slightly in a breeze then fade away, or hallways that extend out or up in infection? When I applied Blood to the lintels of my doorposts this lanky creature sauntered off and did not return! Later watching a game the graphics looked unfamiliar the voices, plays, pictures hanging disorientated, couldn’t recognize the terrain. Sarcasm to this migraine headache is like a razor blade through the center of your mind.
Everything physical is a picture of the spiritual. The Lord shall suddenly come to his temple is a picture of the father begetting his son, the worship in that temple of the child before birth in communion with the father is a picture of the son of Ps 16 conversation in heaven before creation began.
incunables shipwrecks of the spirit,like pide cow of writing where but one copy exists in transcripts stored in vaults of the future past like dreams of persian caliphs embroidered in cities navavigated without traffic lights, all the electic gone off and sunken in mlists so that it is a chance to get whereever we do get but then receive unforeseen help from rooms that at first have no doors
–The painting of the books.b. tak AB to phx art llibr !!!
-all oppressed enslaved peoples adopt passive aggressive strategies toward their capitves, pretend to go along and conform this was the yes em to death of slaves of American history, enslaved people have resisted bondage in a variety of ways: some escaped, rebelled, or sabotaged work tools or work product. They also resisted in more subtle ways, refusing privately to use names given to them by slave holders and maintaining their identity by keeping track of family members. Music, folk tales, and other African cultural forms also became weapons of resistance
Pseudonyms are a passive resist to censorship
In Fanon the revolution wants to provoke greater atrocities to make the mass revolt
we have transferred corporate ownership of our writing to the organization of personas loosed from individuality, which of course the hive minders desire above all else for that pesky buzzing of bees is wanted, but not the dadfly that bites the side of the corporate deer against good order. Hence we confound our team like any competitive group cooperating together in one multifaceted group of products in the corporate charter, which while it has some variation continues to bind with chains of iron, to confront principalities and powers. That’s some calling when captivity has so startled, to consume the world and its digital livers, waves set out for thoughts, viral broadcasts instantly uttered by the mass, for the corporation echoes itself as alpha steps forward, beta steps back together, beta’s task to doubt alpha to strengthen it sets the table, hence all work in tandem, left and right simplistically mirroring each black and white.
We have some analogies to captivity in Babylon where the Jews adopted the theologies of ur in place of their own, served sweet cakes with the images of Ishtar baked in on the way into the city. This compares with free iphones and service to all the world, satellite nets,
am- Saw the eyes of three first in atruck stoped to ask had she seen a black dog, like the one being walked, prolonged. I walked another dog right between them. His eyes wer dead. 2. A chicana in red shirt atheletic jogging canal s of oak south side past a black encamper, fierce anyway, but as I passed her she was concerned at th greater danger to her side, not me, who encounterd her after the loop completed she coming soutn me north at oak, sill fierce, noacknowledgment, 3, just before the bridge over canal tow school boys coming north past me, the smaller one full of talk, the larger brouwn skin shinan doesn’t acknowledgme my presence as I slightly nod, but he glashes the whites of his eyes as we pass, real fast. Three non encounters with a whate man. The way luis Salvavat thought the now something aout racism and oppression and me, the way ron in OK thought he knew the woods and the wild better than me! I encounere JFK just before the assin, and taught in a black college at Dr. Kings.
Thee puritans were not Platonists they were allegorists. Taking those rough stalks and breeding them in front of the smooth, peel them out, the ring-straked, speckled and grisled, and making into Platonists is a lot like Jacob before the water troughs breeding sheep for his own herd and depriving poor Laban, an even poorer specimen than Jacob. The tricksters of the later generations of New England stock, according to Perry Miller’s dig, after the first generation got poorer and poorer, nor purer and purer, until by the lovely twentieth century turned all but their tails into Platonists, “the founders had been great men, but that their children and grandchildren progressively deteriorated’ (Errand into the Wilderness, 7). All talk of Ficino to Colet to Cambridge of loose concepts, generalizations to weave a redefinition of Hooker as a Platonist, or that “he could have been,” but so could we all–but we’re not, is a species of contemplation and communion of the Italians, Ficino to Bruno, a species of alchemy foregrounded with “the soul must separate itself from the passions of the flesh and tread down its imaginings before it can rise pure and free to the contemplation of the mystery of the Divine” (Eugene Rice 244). For them all, Bush, Ficino, Spenser, Hooker, et. al. God is the contemplation of a concept, who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen nor can see (I Tim 6.16), which is as it is said, but of course we have seen the only Begotten of the Father full of grace and truth as well. I would say, that the soul must see through the counterfeit of the spiritual psychologies and philosophies that run the world and its academy, that union with God is accomplished by struggle and stages, for in union with God, as the Pietists say, opposed to the Platonists, the soul does not move in its ascent toward union with God. It has and knows now. The Ficino Bush pawn off on Hooker sums from Kristeller that all the <upward stages> lead to redemption (its pyramid), but it does not. This is like saying as some do now that God does not ordain culture, equivocating culture for nation and people, but He does do, not that I speak for Him understand, but that is a scriptural notion of the founding of a people. He that is a person founded a people.
There was a reception for new M.A. candidates at the Episcopalian church in Iowa City that fall of ’64 where my wife and I met Sargent Bush (Blair Academy, Princeton magna cum laude) and Cynthia (Bryn Mawr College). The woman I had just married was tall, slender and noble so it might have been assumed i was too, but my enthusiasms soon cured that. If the honors and powers seem English in blood and temper it’s not that all the authorities are born royal. They apprentice by work and temperament to become so, then ape the spirituality of the classic forms of composition and belief, as much in government as in religion. They have to ape it because they don’t feel it. Preferment is a carrot, blackmail a stick. He and his wife behaved impeccably, and no doubt my wife was the reason they lingered, noble, tall and graceful, but I’m sure he could tell I was no John Colet but a bouncing humanist as I boasted later at lunch at the Folger Library, part satire, enthusiasm, raw power, openness and profane. I had walked on at Iowa because Sterge O’Dell had an in with John Gerber and sent three people there that year, but we were all business/technical grads, and then when I walked on at the Writers Workshop without invitation after pressing 15 poems on George Starbuck, I drew the Donald Justice section. This was a contrast. The democracy of that timescape allowed a peasant from Philadelphia to walk into a class with Geoffrey Hartman among the all stars like Sargent Bush and James Tate. From that you’re going to say natural talent rises to the top to join the elite, but I say that’s a lie. Every person is a born genius and all they have to do is connect, light The True Light That Lights https://parousiamagazine.com/the-true-light-that-light-by-ae-reiff-parousia-christian-poetry-chapbook-no-7-parousia-magazine/ everyone born into the world.
Philip Gould’s obit illustrates the point twice, 1) “Like the New England Puritans whom he so passionately studied, Sarge experienced “conversion” very early on in life, and switched careers. He left the world of banking and began his graduate work at the University of Iowa where he worked under the renowned American Renaissance scholar John Gerber,” and 2) that “Like the ministers whom he studied, he believed in the sanctity of the written word.” This shows exactly how the higher has so abstracted itself from the truth so it can allow its superiority a pass. After all, citing facetiously a change from banking to English makes conversion a joke, and second, the written word is the living Word of God, not Hooker. These abstractions of the truth, changing them into shells with no content illustrate exactly how all human civilization is abstracted from the truth so that none of it is true. None. If that seems like a hard swallow, a choke and a gag, now you know what the counterfeit is. It cannot tolerate exposure. There are explanations of this by some writers, like Space Malebolge @ https://sites.google.com/view/a-neon-g-a7-r-d-e-n/neon-garden-issue-7/augusto-todoele. I had access to the same faculty that Sarge did. A brilliant collection of minds in those years. This mix of blue blood and red was a social phenom of that time, uncommon before and unlikely after as explained to me by a fellow doctorate in Social-Psych. Many middle class reds were getting PhD s. In essence it was a money thing of the population bulge. There were 600 TAs teaching English to the lower classes in those years at Texas, all with two classes each and paid about $2000 a class.
A catastrophic conversion right out of the 16th century marks many reversals of field. The experience of the early Protestant found me of itself praising and searching compassion boundless with joy and hope tasting of eternal life. Decades after I discovered my Pennsylvania forebears deep in these waters. Abraham Godshalk’s (Doylestown, 1838) Description of the New Creature, attests to these affirmations praising the Word, of Jesus the Messiah, the one who has authority to forgive sin. I have been drawn further and further into the War these poet predecessors fought, reliving constantly the new worlds of astronomy and geography, John Donne saying New philosophy calls all in doubt, with all the profound deliberations of Galileo, Copernicus and Kepler and continuing echoes of O my America, my newfound land. These enabled a thinking about the unthinkable couched in the fiction research of Kurk Wold, Scientist. I was seriously moved after this first encounter of the Savior of the New Creature who fights in these wars, so Godshalk’s Description reminds me of that state afresh where “if any one be in Christ he is a new creature, old things are passed away, behold all things are become new,” and the representation where Godshalk says that “regeneration, at least in its commencement, is a work of the mind, and when it first takes place, it has the lusts of the flesh, yea, all the evil inclinations to war against; and even ignorance itself, together with the temptations and allurements from without.” The stelliums of these writers are excellent models against our century of mutation, hybridization and breaking dimensions. “The man who has passed through feels like one who has walked from nightmare into ecstasy…all the initiative has been on God’s side; all has been free, unbounded grace…Bliss is not for sale, cannot be earned. It is faith alone that has saved him; faith bestowed by sheer gift. From this buoyant humility, this farewell to the self with all its good resolutions, anxiety, scruples, and motive-scratchings, all the Protestant doctrines originally sprang.” (C.S. Lewis. English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, 32f). What this produces is a fight against the world and the gods, something a blue blood cannot allow in the midst of the life long specific indoctrination undergone in all the clubs, handshakes, tacit agreements and reserved winks. One thing is sure, a man is not a man who gives these a pass.
An obit is not a life, so those attempts to justify puritan studies are not the only spiritual story. This encounter of the high and low, blue blood with the red, was not to repeat, but for the moment, the hour allowed an implicit exchange of Christian faith, his what it obviously became in the Thomas Hooker here, a platonic puritan captain of his class, and mine the enthusiasms of a poet. The high protestant was not then burdened with the anti-Trump morality of say Chris Hedges, but the patrician bloodlines have long since exhausted their vitality all over Europe and America. They hold the mainstream of power over the peasant, carefully inbreeding their minds right up until the end.
I come to be writing this after reading Kelpius, the Pennsylvania Wissahickon mystic and especially his letter to Hester Palmer 1706 on the THREE WILDERNESSES. https://archive.org/stream/diariumofmagiste2425kelp#page/86/mode/2up I take it as further proof of the PA Dutch mystic thought of Arndt etc that the platonic journey of the soul is counterfeit, that it is no journey, and that its greatest danger is the influence from other souls of the counterfeit itself, which Platonism more or less rules the spiritual world. In short the PA pietist held that the wilderness the puritan faced was within not outside in the woods and trees. This is held in Ch. 6 of the soon to be issued The Way Into the Flowering Heart:
It is offensive to common sense to have illumination in a rough state of being. Arndt’s point is that you can’t have it any other way. Union occurs to the grossly undeserving. Illumination occurs in that nasty state. Only after union and illumination begin to be assimilated can reformation, purgation, perfection begin. This assimilation takes time. Union may occur in a second and perfection in a century.
This reversal made Arndt loved by the Pennsylvania Dutch and the Mennonites, but hated by the rationalists. Any farm hand can get life and illumination? It goes against the grain. There is no social status in identity with farm hands or subscribing to the patently irrational. These pietists were charged with being anti-intellectual, hyper-individual and separatist. But Arndt’s appeal celebrates, as do all the Pennsylvania Dutch, the simple glory, praise and magnificence of Christ. Arndt says that “you must be established in Christ through faith and be righteous in him before you can do any good work” (46), that “through the new birth the image of God begins to be slowly renewed….”
Sargent’s propriety enabled him to climb the ladder to head the department at Wisconsin, with all the requisite publications withal, which he was more or less born to from his own father and the New England pieties. What are they? The belief that Hawthorne, Melville, Whitman, Dickinson are sources of spiritual truth instead of indoctrinations of counterfeit, wonderful as that is.
There is a cure for the intellect, to walk in the dark before dawn under the stars, piece out as you go Aldebaran and the Pleiades as you work your way through the heavens in the cold air without thought. That is Psalm 8. God gave to man dominion of his hands. https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2019/12/heavens-man-ae-reiff_26.html
I have seen this to be true in diverse circumstances with people of the most extreme origins. To be human makes them real. Hence the rulers are the imposters and the most unhappy to boot. You have to look beneath the surface to see the man, who does not know, but he will, oh yes he will. So the years took all that away and left this which I now exercise in discussion of some pages in his Hooker.
In order to treat this sufficiently and believably we have to invent a speaker who argues the further chapters of the ongoing American Renaissance in a book where evil is celebrated and lived by the proponents. The origin of evil in the American renaissance is Hawthorne who inspired Melville to the demonic character of Ahab, as Charles Olson says, and Hawthorne has much more darkness celebrated than that. He himself says he does not know what he is saying in Mosses. Consider Anne Sexton’s reading at USA Poet Episode: Anne Sexton https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONIpxRPFv3k and Robert Creeley, The Door, dedicated to Robert Duncan, who was an adopted hermetic of SR abuse, as further chapters, Crowley Moonchild stuff, not sugar coated in Creeley https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&t=161&v=OOdpqkuWkgo&feature=youtu.be
These matters literally include the occult wisdoms of the Ouija of poet Robert Merrill, the search for illumination, fed by the too sacred Yeats and John Dee, Ron Hubbard, Jack Parsons. There’s your American renaissance trying to sneak insight from datura salve, divination, drugs and ritual, universally among the greats turned on by Leary and Ginsburg, who turned on Olson, who wrote of Melville in Call Me Ishmael as seeking the deep far away things, invisible spheres, telling the truth covertly and by snatches that seem to take a leaf from Yeats, but Yeats lacked the pharmacopeia, another name for witchcraft, possessions covered up by the culture’s expose of CIA slipping acid to Frank Olson https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2017/12/wormwood-errol-morris-review-netflix-cia-mkultra/548486/. We careless consign these minor figures to their course but regret the immolation of Hart Crane in it, pyramid thinking being that one can never cease, but must always outdo, undo, redo. So Crane was convinced he could never top The Bridge. Harold Bloom says “Lachrymae Christi” is beyond him, but the Gerard Manley Hopkins influence in this Crane is a step against the occult, not that it is understood. We also regret the loss of Charles Olson, or is that Melville? Close apart in the infernal conjuring of Ahab, all too Goetic and Theurgic (Call, 56). The very darkness of Puritan thought at bay is the American Renaissance.
To call this a renaissance implying new birth is a misnomer. It is a revival of the ancient Mesopotamia where the divination, horoscopy and astronomy practiced by the Apkallu produced that flowering of “civilization” of which subsequent poets speak and seek, in essence a dispersing of divine knowledge to humanity for its own sake, with intended consequences. That this is the fact regardless of whether we know has become evident from revival of ancient scrolls of Qumran, clay tablets of Gilgamesh, with studies like Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World edited by Amar Annus. Any poet might ask, why not, what’s wrong with being like the gods, even as they burn in the fire of their own illumination. The answer being human depravity and demons, who like to dress up as divines. That much of this ancient lore has only just become available could be seen as a precursor for somewhat more. Back to Yeats. “Surely some revelation is at hand?” That being a hybrid nexus of human and demonic divine by art?
What does renaissance mean but this revival of the divine arts, science, exploration included? Yes these generalizations are tolerably glib compared to the learned tradition that once held sway, itself swamped in ignorance and illusion, but the 21st century glib excels all imagination. Just to be clear though, the 16th century medieval renaissance was replete with egregore constructs as we know them, in a kind of Platonism where “the region between earth and moon is crowded with airy creatures who are capable of fertile unions with our own species” (Lewis. English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, 10, but the whole first chapter), Hermetic, Sibylline, Orphic, Cabala, Plotinus, Iamblichius [Zohar, Talmud] of a spiritual cosmology of the invisible population of the universe, middle and low between the angelical and human” (Lewis, 11) which “St Augustine is laboring to expel all through the eighth and ninth books of the De Civitate Dei.” Lewis is at pains to reserve some from damnation in this, “an innocent traffic with the unseen and therefore of high magic…the Florentines, sometimes appear to think that Man can become any kind of creature he pleases” (13) which megalomania predominates speculation in labs today. But Lewis wants “no Satanism and no Faustian compact” (7) in the high magic of scholars of the royal courts and academies, all very hot house and theoretical.
To be so profoundly alienated from the world as it shows in the modern condition of an era without a name, where every news report is false and only false flags wave should be a great sadness to the reader. We would ask liberally, how could this have happened, who was at fault, always assuming in this of course that the subject is deluded in this belief and the world with all its faults is the best and brightest. The American Renaissance looks back upon the fall for all its inspiration and there it finds the happy flaw that makes beauty and encourages loneliness and love, and that is the world we have known of the earth. But this moment of the Unnamed looks forward to Shoah where in the midst of it Safety and Justice cry out for danger and judgment for the world. How can it be a Shoah and we not know it? Surely some revelation is at hand! But consider Noah. Nobody knew until they went into the ark. Were they blind? CAST OUT JUNG! Are people allowed to just say that? Sounds like it’s time at the least for some re-education. It only they didn’t call them French Camps Hey. Will they let anybody get a PhD? That’s the crux.
If the honors and powers seem English in blood and temper it’s not that all the authorities are born royal. They apprentice by work and temperament to become so, then ape the spirituality of the classic forms of composition and belief, as much in government as in religion. They have to ape it because they don’t feel it. Preferment is a carrot, blackmail a stick behaved impeccably.
Philip Gould’s obit of Sargent Bush Jr. illustrates the point twice, 1) “Like the New England Puritans whom he so passionately studied, Sarge experienced “conversion” very early on in life, and switched careers. He left the world of banking and began his graduate work at the University of Iowa where he worked under the renowned American Renaissance scholar John Gerber,” and 2) that “Like the ministers whom he studied, he believed in the sanctity of the written word.” This shows exactly how the higher has so abstracted itself from the truth so it can allow its superiority a pass. After all, citing facetiously a change from banking to English makes conversion a joke, and second, the written word is the living Word of God, not Hooker. These abstractions of the truth, changing them into shells with no content illustrate exactly how all human civilization is abstracted from the truth so that none of it is true. None. If that seems like a hard swallow, a choke and a gag, now you know what the counterfeit is. It cannot tolerate exposure. There are explanations of this by some writers, like Space Malebolge @ https://sites.google.com/view/a-neon-g-a7-r-d-e-n/neon-garden-issue-7/augusto-todoele.
A catastrophic conversion right out of the 16th century marks many reversals of field. The experience of the early Protestant of itself praising and searching compassion boundless with joy and hope tasting of eternal life in Abraham Godshalk’s Description of the New Creature (Doylestown, 1838), attests to these affirmations praising the Word, of Jesus the Messiah, the one who has authority to forgive sin. Further and further into the War these poet predecessors relive constantly the new worlds of astronomy and geography, John Donne saying New philosophy calls all in doubt, with all the profound deliberations of Galileo, Copernicus and Kepler and continuing echoes of O my America, my newfound land. These enable a thinking about the unthinkable couched in fiction seriously moved of the New Creature who fights in these wars, so Godshalk’s Description reminds of that state afresh where “if any one be in Christ he is a new creature, old things are passed away, behold all things are become new,” and the representation where Godshalk says that “regeneration, at least in its commencement, is a work of the mind, and when it first takes place, it has the lusts of the flesh, yea, all the evil inclinations to war against; and even ignorance itself, together with the temptations and allurements from without.” The stelliums of these writers are excellent models against the present century of mutation, hybridization and breaking dimensions. “The man who has passed through feels like one who has walked from nightmare into ecstasy…all the initiative has been on God’s side; all has been free, unbounded grace…Bliss is not for sale, cannot be earned. It is faith alone that has saved him; faith bestowed by sheer gift. From this buoyant humility, this farewell to the self with all its good resolutions, anxiety, scruples, and motive-scratchings, all the Protestant doctrines originally sprang.” (C.S. Lewis. English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, 32f). What this produces is a fight against the world and the gods, something a blue blood cannot allow in the midst of the life long specific indoctrination undergone in all the clubs, handshakes, tacit agreements and reserved winks. One thing is sure of those who give this a pass.
An obit is not a life, so attempts to justify puritan studies are not the only spiritual story. This encounter of the high and low, blue blood with the red for the moment allow an implicit exchange of Christian faith, of platonic puritan captains of class, and the enthusiasms of a poet. The high protestant was not then burdened with the anti-Trump morality of say Chris Hedges, but the patrician bloodlines have long since exhausted their vitality all over Europe and America. They hold the mainstream of power over the peasant, carefully inbreeding their minds right up until the end.
The puritans were not Platonists they were allegorists. Taking those rough stalks and breeding them in front of the smooth, peel them out, the ring-straked, speckled and grisled, and making into Platonists is a lot like Jacob before the water troughs breeding sheep for his own herd and depriving “poor” Laban, an even poorer specimen than Jacob. The tricksters of the later generations of New England stock, according to Perry Miller’s dig, after the first generation got poorer and poorer, nor purer and purer, until by the lovely twentieth century all turned tail into Platonists, “the founders had been great men, but that their children and grandchildren progressively deteriorated’ (Errand into the Wilderness, Miller, 7). All talk of Ficino to Colet to Cambridge of loose concepts, generalizations to weave a redefinition as a Platonist, or that “he could have been,” but so could we all–but we’re not, is a species of contemplation and communion of the Italians, Ficino to Bruno, a species of alchemy foregrounded with “the soul must separate itself from the passions of the flesh and tread down its imaginings before it can rise pure and free to the contemplation of the mystery of the Divine” (Eugene Rice 244).
For them all, Ficino, Spenser, Hooker, et. al. God is the contemplation of a concept, who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen nor can see, (I Tim 6.16), which is as it is said, but of course we have seen the only Begotten of the Father full of grace and truth as well. After Arndt, the soul must see through the counterfeit of the spiritual psychologies and philosophies that run the world and its academy that union with God is accomplished by struggle and stages, for in union with God, as the Pietists say, opposed to the Platonists, the soul does not move in its ascent toward union with God. It has and knows now. The Ficino pawn off on Hooker sums from Kristeller that all the <upward stages> lead to redemption (its pyramid), but it does not. This is like saying as some do now that God does not ordain culture, equivocating culture for nation and people, but He does do, not that I speak for Him understand, but that is a scriptural notion of the founding of a people. He that is a person founded a people.
The cure for this intellect, to walk in the dark before dawn under the stars, piece out as you go Aldebaran and the Pleiades as you work your way through the heavens in the cold air without thought will be seen true in diverse circumstances with people of the most extreme origins. To be human makes them real. Hence the rulers are the imposters and the most unhappy to boot. You have to look beneath the surface to see who does not know, but they will, oh yes they will. So the years take all that away and leave the wonderful belief of the American Renaissance that Hawthorne, Melville, Whitman, Dickinson are sources of spiritual truth instead of indoctrinations of counterfeit.
AEReiff 