The secret of one’s soul

Is the search for Jung’s “Nigredo”

The blackness

I knew half of what happened

But too young to understand

And no one ever explained

I do remember becoming

Eliot’s Drowned Phoenician Sailor

For the count of four minutes

Before dragged from the depths

Of the Atlantic Ocean

Too young to fear death and

Unaware of artificial rebirth

But I revived as a four-year-old

Yet,  deconstructed

No longer the same child

Hallucinating white pigeons

Followed by a lifetime of

Psychopompic birds*

Searching for meaning

Perhaps believing

The answer is waiting

To be awakened

By…by whom?


© 2021 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Caput Corvi


See also:

*A Lifetime of Birds (Rima Royal) © 2014 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

A LIFETIME OF BIRDS | poeturja (