The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

I listened to the podcast and enjoyed it:

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss Coleridge’s poem of a grim voyage in which a sailor shoots an albatross and is forced to tell the story of his crime forever.

More info, but I wanted to see the Dore Images.  Here is one:

Wikipedia

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (originally The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere) is the longest major poem by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, written in 1797–98 and published in 1798 in the first edition of Lyrical Ballads. Some modern editions use a revised version printed in 1817 that featured a gloss.[1] Along with other poems in Lyrical Ballads, it is often considered a signal shift to modern poetry and the beginning of British Romantic literature.[2]

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43997/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-text-of-1834

 

 

Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)

Listened to – On Being with Krista Tippett

Drew Lanham’I Worship Every Bird that I See’

Drew related to Mercy Mercy Me as an ecology anthem. Yes.

I watched these two kererū as I listened.

Marvin Gaye

Apple

Whoa, oh, mercy mercy me

Oh, things ain’t what they used to be, no no
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the North and South and East
Continue reading “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology)”

The Ballad of the Drover

 

Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plain,
Young Harry Dale, the drover, comes riding home again.
And well his stock-horse bears him, and light of heart is he,
And stoutly his old pack-horse is trotting by his knee.
Up Queensland way with cattle he travelled regions vast;
And many months have vanished since home-folk saw him last.
He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon;
And hobble-chains and camp-ware keep jingling to the tune.
Beyond the hazy dado against the lower skies,
And yon blue line of ranges the homestead station lies.
Thitherward the drover jogs through the lazy noon,
While hobble-chains and camp-ware keep jingling to a tune.


An hour has filled the heavens with storm-clouds inky black;
At times the lightning trickles around the drover’s track;
But Harry pushes onward, his horses’ strength he tries,
In hope to reach the river before the flood shall rise.
The thunder stealing o’er him goes rolling down the plain;
And sing on thirsty pastures in past the flashing rain.
And every creek and gully sends forth its trival flood,
The river runs with anger, all stained with yellow mud.
Now Harry speaks to Rover, the best dog on the plains,
And to his hardy horses, and strokes their shaggy manes;
“We’ve breasted bigger rivers when floods were at their height,
Nor shall this gutter stop us from getting home to-night!”

The thunder growls a warning, the blue fork lightnings streaks,
As the drover turns his horses to swim the fatal creek.
But, oh! the flood runs stronger than e’er it ran before;
The saddle-horse is failing, and only half-way o’er!
When flashes next the lightning, the flood’s grey breast is blank,
And a cattle dog and pack-horse are struggling up the bank.
But in the lonely homestead the girl shall wait in vain
He’ll never pass the stations, in charge of stock again.
The faithful dog a moment lies panting on the bank,
And then pluges through the current to where his master sank.
And round and round in circles he fights with failing strength,
Till, ripped by wilder waters, he fails and sinks at length.
O’er the flooded lowlands and slopes of sodden loam
The pack-horse struggles bravely, to take dumb tidings home.
And mud-stained, wet, and weary, he goes by rock and tree,
With flagon, chains and tinware are sounding eerily.

We are born into a pattern of relationships

We are born into a pattern of relationships.
This pattern influences us deeply.
It has a tendency to repeat and persist. 

This brief summary is the basis of psychotherapy, of the unconscious and we work with these patterns in psychodrama.  I’m  pleased with the crisp summation.  I’m  satisfied that it captures the relational nature of our being. The relationship nature of the unconscious, or self.  It is alive as this pattern “repeats and persists”.  And does so even as repair and grapple with the tendencies as they persist.

However the summation is not as soulful or as wild as the process.

Continue reading “We are born into a pattern of relationships”