My Monsignor, how can you flee
the stars, the night, the dawn,
the dusk, the seasons, weather,
animals, plants, nymphs, fauns,
and all the rest?
This be the life alternative
to the rote annoyant life
that the conscious presents
before our eyes
that the Earth tempts us
towards
power, glory, wealth and
all the rest.
My Monsignor, how can you flee
the Alternative World?
After all nearly half
of life's hours all be constrained
to sleep.
For that be the reign of the
Sub-Conscious.
And
the reign of the Sub-Conscious must not
be denied.
If so, will not Earth remain only
with tragedy upon tragedy on its hands?
Night heals the Earth from the day's
wounds.
Sleep heals the body and its woes from
daily tragedies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The key line is THE REIGN OF THE UNCONSCIOUS MUST NOT BE DENIED, and what follows from that about our and the Earth's need to cleanse itself in the entirely different ambiance of the unconscious. There is genuine urgency in the voice you adopt to convince the monsignor to join the rest of us in seeking it as a higher condition of our being. This is not the regression to savagery as in LORD OF THE FLIES, but rather a mature acceptance of our limitations being mortal but you, we are drawn yet again to this common space where poet and readers, priest and worshipers, humans and their rescuing angels can meet and negotiate their spiritual futures.