Parzifal is the “collective tradition of mankind…is not subject to Time or Circumstance.”
Is for those born of the ‘Heart’s Affliction.’
Researching Parzifal led me to the works of C.S. Jones who wrote The Chalice of Ecstasy “to make the points dealt with [in the drama] as comprehensive as possible to the uninitiated enquirer who is prepared to ‘wake and harken the call.’ “
The writing below is an exercise in synthesis.
All quoted text is pulled from The Chalice of Ecstasy.
All quoted text within quotation marks are quotes Jones included in his work.
He also used WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH’s text Parzival as his basis. He does recommend a good translation of the Libretto from R. Wagner’s Parsifal.
Parzival is “written in the keynote of ecstasy” according to Wolfram von Eschenbach and “provides a glimpse of the Eternal Reality.” A key event in the story is Parzival shooting a swan from the sky. The swan represents ecstasy. Parzival should have been condemned for this but is not because of the unique confluence of his circumstances. I like to use the allegory of Parzival which is considered a “living text” as a means of discussing sexuality and gender roles/definition. I also like the idea of the newest incarnation of Parzival being from the perspective of a feminine knight questing for love and understanding with the former.
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My ecstasy has indicated I was “born of the ‘Heart’s Affliction.’ “
I found my “way to that spot where they, ‘scarcely move, yet seem to run’ “.
“Having become one with The Way,” I have just come to Tao.
I “discover that the shifting scenes of the world [I] had though so real, will pass [me] by as a pageant until the Vision of the Grail itself is presented to their pure Understanding.” But howl surprised was I to see both you and I.
I fear I believe that all that is written above has occured to me again and again.
I simply continue for long enough to forget and remember it all over again.
A chALice emptied and refilled.
My heart “learned to beat in time and tune with the Soul of the World.”
Rhythm and vibrations are everything we think we know. What is rhythm but
a wave? A wavelength. An S rotated 90% and crossing an axis. Periodicity of the pendulous arm’s swings.
Rhythm is the steady crashing of waves falling.
The entire ocean is every wave.
¤
I feel my being “to be a highly strung musical instrument.”
Fret awaiting fretting. Tuned to the proper tone to be strummed and plucked upon.
A fitt “burn[s] up the veils which hide [me] from Myself.”
It reveals you. A familiar stranger.
Strum me.
“Will runs over [my] strings” and I come to know how to reveal how it is “causing complete and harmonious vibrations.” Do you choose to experience this in your own being? Show me the “unformulated but delightful melody” that is the same song Whitman sang.
The Song of Myself.
I will dance to your song simply because you choose to perform it for me.
I will conduct your currents as you emit them.
I will empty you to refill you.
I am an empty plenum. I contain everything in my nothingness.
I know not the rituals. Yet still I seek to continually “unite the mind to some pure idea by an act of will.” This is the brick wall against which I slam my head “again and again.” The wall where you found me bleeding and dizzy, next to the eggshell pieces of Humpty Dumpty. Alice remembers her name again.
I know not the “Way of Holiness.” I may not impress upon the consciousness of your onlookers.
No-One is the only one that looks upon me thusly.
I am a pure Fool, ignorant and earnest. Before that I was a dummy. I could not speak. I have always been an idiotē.
I have always been the unaffiliated Maverick roaming through the initiated herds, admiring the brands, the symbols emblazoned upon their skin.
My skin is marred by time and circumstance.
My skin is completely unmarked.
Canvas.
¤
“ “There is a Swan whose name is Ecstasy.” “
Also known as you and I.
I “ “wingeth through the blue” and at “[my] coming they push forth the green” “ because I bring spring.
I herald an easter Sunday for your tired soul.
You shot me down from the sky.
And, you did it by virtue of No-One’s weapon but your own.
A Happy Death for me. A Swan’s life born anew in you.
“ “In all the Universe [a] Swan alone in motionlessness, it seems to move as the Sun seems to move; such is the weakness of sight.” “
“ “O fool!”…”Motion is relative; there is nothing that is still.” “ Let me shoot my arrow at you this time. From your “ “ [feathered] breast poured forth blood” “ and I felt ecstatic and you discovered ichor. Now, let me ecstatically enrapture you until your veins flow with it so richly as to sustain this demiurge. You are no longer a Pure Fool because you know. The men that smote you last time will not let you pass again. But, I can sneak you through the gate. Folly is my protector. Let me use it for the protection of the soul of another.
⊙
I am ignorant of the rule and the action taken breaking the rule was kindly intended.
(says the little boy who cried ‘Wolf’)
(says the collective mind who was “just taking orders”)
⊙
Consequences occur regardless of intention.
Risk is underwritten.
In tension, intension.
Suspension of beginning an action and witnessing the resultant reaction and effects of your affect.
I have been called Artemis, Sagittarius (until the stars changed), centaur and satyr.
I read of the marriage of Christian Rosencrutz. Send them my congratulations and best wishes, please.
Where is the Castle and what of the Tower?
“ “By my word, I know you are Parzival-son of Herat’s Affliction” “-and I have recovered the weapon that you flung off after using it to pluck me down from the sky and into the blue lake.
I have discovered-upon that Might of Love which you used to render me slain. You “succeeded where all others had failed,” dear one.
You say you do “now as yet know [t]he True Name-the Word of [Ewer]-Being, though in the past [you had] been called by many names.”
You mention this: “one thing [you] desired to know and to understand. What is the Grail!”
You have already been told that “ “By no one can it be detected Who by itself is not elected.” “
And, you then did “ “Bestride the Bird of Life [because] thou wouldst know.” “
I desire to know if you came to me by slaying me because you wanted to know or because you wanted to know me. And to what end did you intend this knowledge?
The difference between a means to a desired end and being the end desired.
Dis-ingenuity. Do not be disingenuous, sorrel.
It will make it so much worse for you. Through it you turn three pounds of pleasure into three pounds of misery. Should misery please you, you will never be miserable again, if you act duplicitously or maliciously.
A knight need only be kind. Do not attempt to placate with being nice. Kindness does not impress. It empresses upon. Kindness is a way of being and not an act of valour to be selectively undertaken. Kindness can appear cruel to outsiders.
So, I also ask: are you kind?
I desire to know how you found yourself at the intersection of right now. Face to face with me.
This is the cost of admission. Tell me these things and I shall sneak you through the gate.
I just hope you are as brave as you believe yourself to be. Sometimes it will get dark. You have coronated me a Queen of Magnets. I attract all poles.
Howl I hope it is not just a ceremonial sobriquet, sweet fool.
If you comment: it’s not exactly rocket science, you sound like you think you are a rocket scientist.
⊙
The silver couple arrives. She forgets my name but gives me a new one each day. Curly Sue. Dimples.
Today, I am Goldilocks.
She asks the bartender my name when she thinks I cannot hear. She suggests I read the poem Casey at the Bat. Hum, huh.
The village beach preservation busy body society has two tables held for them. One for the men and one for the women. Twelve seats total. Only three women come. They talk the politics of healthcare and about the addicts in their lives.
Our speakers play almost decent, easy listening blues. If you can imagine such a thing. Almost-Stevie Ray Vaughan comes on.
Nearly-Suite: Judy Blue Eyes plays.
We are slow enough that I actually noticemusic is playing.
And, time moves slowly now.
The reservation for six at noon became 4 at fifteen ’til
.All named Pat.
“You are pulling my leg, right?”
“No! It’s Pat’s Day. Okay, now I am kidding you about that. We are all named Pat.”
He and the other Pat (only two have arrived) laugh uproariously.
And, so, she had raced in and embarrassed herself with a bit too much gusto.
Or, so she assumed.
She wanted him to take her dancing where real players made analogue music in a room where people were still allowed to smoke. It would be loud. It would be crowded. And, their lungs would hurt the next day.
⊙
“Sing into my mouth.”
That’s what she didn’t say. But, she thought it.
“Did you really just ask that of me?” asks the voice of consternation. Her version of Jimney Crickett.
⊙
“How would you know ferocious?”
“Perhaps you have not prompted the ferocity in my nature.”
“Hum. It is there. Abiding patiently with a kind smile. To imagine requires a capacity for imagination.”
The amatory ambit which I occupy indicates, to the ears of my heart, that
I am the succulentstrumpet sometimes called succubus; and it is I to whom you succum/b. My scribbl/es are ascribed to Scribes, all of whom scrieve, for example, scriveners, a penman, and amanuensis.
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Just scratching lead to papyrus.
Ambit: (n) that which bounds; a boundary; also the sphere or scope; circumference.
Amatory: designed to excite love, sexual love specifically .
Succulent: the quality of being juicy and fleshy.!
Strumpet: a prostitute.
Succum: as under a burden, yield; to die.
Succumb: to sink down.
Scrieve: to glide swiftly along; Also, to reel off, as a story.
Succubus: a class of demon who has intercourse with humans while they sleep
Scribbl/es: to write or draw hastily or carelessly; to fill or cover something with careless or worthless writings or drawledenvelope; a piece of writing or a drawing that is done quickly or carelessly
•amanuensis: (n) one employed to write from dictation or to copy manuscript like a calligrapher, copyist, or scribe.
In Latin, the phraseservus a manutranslates loosely as “slave with secretarial duties.” (The nounmanu, meaning “hand,” gave us words such asmanuscript, originally meaning a document written or typed by hand.
In the 17th century the second part of this phrase was borrowed into English to createamanuensis, a word for a person who is employed (willingly) to do the important but sometimes menial work of transcribing the words of another.
writing to you as A’ licentious Alice, a chalice, from AL by way of LA origin-ally, with houndstooth donned:
It is the sense of loving the moment. It is remembering the sensation of meta/physical love and then remembering the sensation of how it feels to lose it. That ache. That sense of how many times will they wreck me?. How many times will I play the Fool?
Again and again.
Why lose the Fool of yourself? If I killed the Fool inside to be hip, where did the real me go? With whom do you share your inner fool? Can guarding it be anything authentic?
In this mp3 and streaming world, a mix CD burned,
a cassette tapemade,
breaks my heart right open. Is that why we have one?
This is not sadness; it is a necessary devouring of self.
Here, where the desire to conduct currents raises meta/physical energy in the nerve endings concealed under my skin.
What a waste to not make use of it.
I would waste that energy on you alone.
Waste it in the face of
your silence.
I will howl until you howl back, to punish you.
Does that spook you,
you ghost of the man of May?
Giggle-snarl.
I espied your inconsistency immediately since taking my flight of departure.
Curious.
It was my mistake. I should not have allowed you to let me leave. I thought I was being kind, but I was only being polite. Stay. That’s what I really meant to say or do this time.
I abide still. I stoke fires. I test the limit.
I care for you. That is all. I can unconditionally hold you(,) dear.
My love is not tethered to needing love.
My devotion is my loyalty to my beloved. You endeared yourself to me.
I desire you. Now you must suffer the cost of your own, odd charms.
It is no matter of ‘should’ you, but rather, ‘could’ you
tell me true?
If you could, I hold you(,) dear.
If you could not, I hold you(,) dear.
<>
There is heavy magic in your air and I am magnetized.
Some integral things reduce to simple vibrations, to sounds, to sounds like bays, being transmitted through our air.
I wrote all these words first
in longhand to show you how inane I can be.
How frighteningly unafraid
you could be,
should you so choose, ewe.
Or, perhaps, your hands are tied.
Perhaps you have no choice but to be so.
I learn the record of your timeframes
still.
Deliciously diabolical it seems: both your pleasure and your desperation.
Does it make you forget which side of the road on which you ought to be driving?
Were you just checking out your mojo?
Taking me for a ride in your fast car?
There. Am I impressed?
Hum.
Good question.
Can you answer this: if I told you that your heart belongs to me now, would you hold your head up high in the air?
Could you even if you wanted?
Could you even say if you didn’t?
The difference between ‘can’ and ‘may.’
Simon says he went birdwatching but only saw his own feet.
Not many birds to be seen in that scene?
Just grounded, flightless birds, you adorable dodo.
<>
I saw a porcupine ripping out its own quills,
one by one by one,
by one at a time.
Onlookers horrified at the sight of so much blood.
The porcupine stabs them while they are stunned into stillness by the reverie-stupor of their surprise.
He heard him directly asked twice, separately, and all he would give up is:
I work here.
He returns nightly.
He emerges from the back of house with a
fresh bus rag. He flaps it,
like a matador,
before folding it into a small square.
He does not even give up
a smile.
He magically produces a broom and dust pan to
sweep the carpet.
They don’t make ’em like that anymore?
Hardest working man in show business.
<>
The smell of cologne breaks through, suddenly.
I breathe it in deep. Try to see the source.
That was a fun song: the singer says, tuning his guitar.
He and the fellow on keys banter between songs. Long enough to be ready for the next song. Not too long.
The bass and drums do not laugh along or smile.
The funky bassist.
There is a reason he is front and center.
He has no mic. He does not solo.
Nothing is the only part he overplayed.
He is perfectly on point. Tight.
Anchoring.
A self-indulgent guitar solo becomes necessary at his command.
The guitarist announces the set break.
We now pause for this brief station identification: I think.
Guitar and keys wander out the back door
to the smoker haven.
Bass bums around with the crowd.
The perfectly understated drummer (rarest of the rare) escapes my awareness.
I look up at the screen above me and am informed carpet is being liquidated.
I stop looking at the screen.
The bassist is the first to return to his position.
Standing in his spot. Waiting.
The drummer appears moments later. Seated at his station.
Tick, tick.
The bassist sits down on an amp and starts playing along with the song on the jukebox.
/gotta have that funk/
You got it: I think.
He plucks a quick harmonic, wrapping up, as the guitar and keys return to the stage.
Stands back up, he takes his place between the two.
Guitar and the fellow on keys banter. Long enough to be ready for the next song. A bit closer to too long this time.
Tuning strings, the singer says: all right. We are gonna play the same set for you all over again…you guys look like you’re having a good enough time that you won’t even notice.
Hell, half of ’em probably don’t realize that you are a cover band: I think.
Deep cuts selected.
Covers of covers.
An undercover, cover band.
<>
Clearing empties and wiping away the sticky of slightly, sloshed beer spills,
R. stops by my table.
He calls me by first and last name.
When did I tell you that information, sly, observant one?
WrittenCasey 