Daimon and Duende
Sep. 30th, 2022 08:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootDrawn in by this;
Finding it's an advert cleverly calling itself The Daimon and Duende. In fact it is selling this:
https://appliedjung.com/art-of-individuation-2022-fb-2/
Almost tempted, but Jung is past it, surely? Aren't they all?
The evidence I've seen of a collective overmind suggests that it is a strange needy thing. Individuation's real and done. Much of what we are seeing in society is an attempt to reverse it, or at least get to the stage of reconnection above all else. We are seeing a desperate scramble back to cells of definition, boxes we can tick and defend together, we are therefore I am. Trouble is, it needs they are not, a sentiment that defines much of Humanity's most heinous behaviour. It's frantic, disrespectful, not very clever. It rewards those who can tap into it with great power. It lulls the Daimon to sleep, it tries to force the Duende into a social construct. If involved with art at at all, it is is the point at which the struggle ends or, more likely, never begins.
It is comfort.
One cannot reconnect with some aspects of society; even if such a thing is wanted, that collective overmind won't have it. There is something ironic about using this photo to sell Jungian lectures; Lorca was shot, Dali exploited, individuation for them was not a thing they could avoid. They were lucky to be applauded for it... and then they were not lucky. Duende and Daimon cannot be explained, but must be experienced. So then what?
On the other hand, I am now extremely unproductive. And so tired. Those stories must be sorted!
And my stories? Though it cannot compare with Lorca's immensity, here sings my Daimon, very weary but still interwoven with Duende that I feel and may be alone in feeling. It's all right not to care for it; I don't know if it cares for you or me.
You won’t shake
Though some clutch at you,
Playing your bones
scraping old brittle words
for new edges
You’ll tell them
I am intensely honest,
I just can’t help
saying the opposite
Of what I mean
You won’t shake
When a slow drum sounds for
one who knew
the old vulture days
And the noise you spat out
When you said
I am intensely dishonest,
I just can’t help
saying exactly
what I mean
held long and sly
like a curved lagoon,
or a clock at midnight
And that’s when
you’ll say nothing at all.
But you’ll shake.
Finding it's an advert cleverly calling itself The Daimon and Duende. In fact it is selling this:
https://appliedjung.com/art-of-individuation-2022-fb-2/
Almost tempted, but Jung is past it, surely? Aren't they all?
The evidence I've seen of a collective overmind suggests that it is a strange needy thing. Individuation's real and done. Much of what we are seeing in society is an attempt to reverse it, or at least get to the stage of reconnection above all else. We are seeing a desperate scramble back to cells of definition, boxes we can tick and defend together, we are therefore I am. Trouble is, it needs they are not, a sentiment that defines much of Humanity's most heinous behaviour. It's frantic, disrespectful, not very clever. It rewards those who can tap into it with great power. It lulls the Daimon to sleep, it tries to force the Duende into a social construct. If involved with art at at all, it is is the point at which the struggle ends or, more likely, never begins.
It is comfort.
One cannot reconnect with some aspects of society; even if such a thing is wanted, that collective overmind won't have it. There is something ironic about using this photo to sell Jungian lectures; Lorca was shot, Dali exploited, individuation for them was not a thing they could avoid. They were lucky to be applauded for it... and then they were not lucky. Duende and Daimon cannot be explained, but must be experienced. So then what?
On the other hand, I am now extremely unproductive. And so tired. Those stories must be sorted!
And my stories? Though it cannot compare with Lorca's immensity, here sings my Daimon, very weary but still interwoven with Duende that I feel and may be alone in feeling. It's all right not to care for it; I don't know if it cares for you or me.
You won’t shake
Though some clutch at you,
Playing your bones
scraping old brittle words
for new edges
You’ll tell them
I am intensely honest,
I just can’t help
saying the opposite
Of what I mean
You won’t shake
When a slow drum sounds for
one who knew
the old vulture days
And the noise you spat out
When you said
I am intensely dishonest,
I just can’t help
saying exactly
what I mean
held long and sly
like a curved lagoon,
or a clock at midnight
And that’s when
you’ll say nothing at all.
But you’ll shake.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}