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SDPC Part One: Chapter 2 5/56 (9%) poems peach moons aesthetic poetry
– Seth, Dreams and Projections of Consciousness
– © 2011 Laurel Davies-Butts
– Part One: Intrusions from the Interior Universe — A Subjective Journal
– Chapter 2: A Note of Subjective Background — The Impetus Behind Unconscious Intrusions

[... 1 paragraph ...]

But what initiated the “Idea Construction” experience? Even when I wrote The Seth Material, I didn’t clearly understand why it happened or connect it in any way with my previous life or beliefs. It seemed like a complete intrusion. This present book, devoted to dreams and subjective experience, led me into deeper self-examination. In preparation, I reread my own records and poetry. The poetry itself provides a clear record of subjective thoughts and emotions. And it was through reading this old poetry that I found clues that showed me the points of continuity between my life before my psychic initiation and after it.

[... 2 paragraphs ...]

The poems show my attitude toward life in general just before my psychic experiences began. When you see the type of poetry that I was writing then, you will understand immediately why the ideas in “Idea Construction” were such a revelation to me. Incidentally, I considered these poems as aesthetic creations. I made no effort at the time to examine my own subjective states — I simply expressed them as best I could and then criticized the poems on their aesthetic merits. The way I saw life was the way life was! It never occurred to me that my own attitudes had anything to do with it.

[... 20 paragraphs ...]

In other words, my poetry finally revealed to me my state of mind before “Idea Construction” and Seth. Little by little, using it as a guide, other memories came back to me — all trivial in comparison to real tragedy and yet, to me, bitterly depressing. The death of a kitten that year led me to write:

[... 11 paragraphs ...]

Now I remember that spring, recall sitting at my desk writing poetry, caught up in a feeling that nature was betraying us all with its promise of hope and renewal. It was almost mechanical, I thought, as if some second-hand god kept reusing the same leaves each year, over and over again, and we were too childish to see beneath the subterfuge.

Yet that same May, while I was writing the most pessimistic of poetry, I also remember a break in my mood, a quickening of spirit that was reflected in two poems of quite a different nature. The first was written on my birthday.

[... 16 paragraphs ...]

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