The eternal return
Percephone's hand grows like a lily
her thighs bitten unripe
eyebrows two mating snakes
We may find it degrading - the scream which bursts the seed to light
Does a husk learn to die, to bear life?
Yet, there is much to contemplate
which force
is of higher virtues innate
Pluto's beard
curled coiling roots
scours elements scavenging food
ploughs through rocks layers of stone
crawling the tunnels
of the rummaging worm
If we were to blame
the dark for the lack of light
the sun will likely burn our sight
Lines inspired by Bernini’s famous sculpture The Rape of Procerpina written after visiting The Borghese Gallery in Rome where the piece resides.
photo retrieved from: https://janeheiress.blogspot.com/2013/06/italian-eminence-bernini
Pluto ( Hades) the ruler of the underworld abducts Percephone, the daughter of Ceres and goddess of seed. A piece steeped in myth, inverting reality and revered for Bernini’s masterful transgression of rock into flesh - the ceased thigh of Procerpina.
An immense emotional tension of push-pull forces negate one another in a particle of eternity. Deeming their contact a dynamic state of equilibrium, the viewer may be equally drawn by the gravity of the pulling force and grace of ascension.
The allegory of the eternal return crawls out of my notes and packs its way to the bottom of the suitcase. In a studio an ocean away, it blooms through any formulations of clay and daily walk observations.
It unravels the corporal empathy of the once nursing breast. My breast. Any breast. Milk cries through the swollen eyes of the wounded tree. Her tears - of a mother who sways the sacred bundle of shadow and light to sleep. But Eve didn’t fall in a dream.
She bit of the wholeness of duality and the self-perpetuating cycle of regeneration split in doubt. The sin was born from knowledge but not knowing of its form.
May we fallen be.
Witnesses of: the brittle arch of an autumn leaf diving into the soil.
Witnesses of: the seed surrenders to the womb before emerging into light.
Witnessing the shadow of substance.
Witnesses of the vitally interrupted. Duality is sacred only in whole - said the snake and bit its tale. And time witnessed its own self-undoing, and sank into the negative where night made love to the seed. From the seed sprouted time, growing to witness how light made love to darkness and all was none.
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