On First Looking Into Jung's 'Man And His Symbols' Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Before my birth
words showered down on me.
Before I spoke
I understood.
I tried. I called. I named.
I chatted thoughtlessly
engulfed in rapid discourse,
surging pride.
Before I read
I knew the picture book.
From letters
sounds and syllables arose,
till I was swept away
at every look,
immersed in verse
and dialogue and prose.
Since birth
(before?)
I've dreamt.
But I forgot the horror,
puzzle, bliss
before dawn's glow.
Yet after reading Jung
hot visions shot and spewed up
geyser-like from deep below
infusing my primed conscious mind
with awe, like Keller
at the spigot
shouting 'Waaaaa...'