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How Poetic Storytelling Aligns the Spirit with its Cosmic Self

Written by:
Maggs Vibo

Capstone Advisor:
Dr. Robert Price

Second Reader:

Dr. Laurence Murphy

Author Note

This Capstone Project is partial fulfillment of the requirements of the Master of Arts in Liberal

Studies degree, the Office of Graduate Studies, Thomas Edison State University.

Date: 2 December 2010

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Abstract

Quantum mechanical theory and many contemporary scientific concepts more closely mirror

ancient cosmologies, myths, and religious expressions than previously imagined. In fact,

physicists explore ancient poetic language to help navigate explanation of theoretical paradigms.

Critics, however, see such reflections as little more than mystic musings or word trickery.

Nevertheless, universal dreams, symbols, narratives, and metaphorical devices align the human

spirit with its cosmic-metacosmic oneness—and this sentiment echoes throughout the ages. By

failing to embrace a poetic self, humans limit a grasp within spacetime. In this essay, poetic

storytelling explores the cosmic cradle to the infinite beyond. Alongside pieces by inspired

artists, my journey uncovers the premise of the origins of conflict, mental wombs, nature’s

genesis and the cosmic self.

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Gratitude:

My journey continues only because the following people believe I have stories worth sharing:

To my Great Mother, you keep my poemories alive

By preserving the Fox Tale

To my Ohana, for teaching me how to breathe & picking me up when I stop…

You carry me

To Fanny, for learning with me that flesh-n-blood is born from Hysteria, which translates:

Into the womb

To Birdman, for knowing the meaning of my art

To illuminate the mystery of the moon

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VESSEL OF CONTENTS

Abstract…………...…………………………………………………………………………...…..3

Gratitude…………...………………………………………………………………………….…..4

Vessel of Contents………..…………………………………………………………………….....5

Paradox…………..……………………………………………………………………………......6

PARTS OF THE WOMB:

Journey 1: Origins of Conflict………………………………………………………...…7

a. A Parable by Jarrell
b. Translation of the Parable

Journey 2: Mental Womb…………………………………………...…………………..11

a. A Parable by Vibo
b. Translation of the Parable

Journey 3: Nature’s Genesis…………………………………….…….………………..14

a. A Parable by the Buddha

b. Translation of the Parable

Journey ∞: Cosmic Self………………………………………………..……….………17

Answer to the Riddle……………………………………………...…………….……………….27

Βιβλιογραφία…………….………..……………………………………………………………..28

Storytelling into Infinity...………...…………………………………..…………………………35

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Paradox

How does something come from nothing? This is the greatest riddle of all time. Our

universe has an origin; therefore, an analogy for a universal womb exists. On top of this, if we

believe that anything is possible, it is likely that more than one universe is ‘out there’ in the

vastness of spacetime.¥1 The premise of ‘bubble’ analogies even makes it probable to envision

universes carried full-term, while others are miscarried. And this process goes on bearing life

and losing life as an (∞) infinity womb. The aforementioned is my version of an origins

poemory: poem = memory = herstory = poemory.¥2 This is but one poetic example of how I

explain my place within the cosmos. All of my artistic pieces act as a time capsule, for the mere

action of thinking and creating poetic artifacts brings me closer to my infinite capacity. This is

the first part of my poemoric journey.

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How Poetic Storytelling Aligns the Spirit with its Cosmic Self

I cannot recall my herstory without visualizing poetry in motion. Indeed, the history of

human civilization is a poem of epic proportions. My place within the human story harkens back

to the cradle of all life, and even further back in time than the Big Bang itself. Whether my

origins were made of water, oil, mind, or spirit I do not know, yet the universe offers so many

clues. These hints exist within planets, constellations, oceans, caves, mounds, ruins, temples,

stones and bones. It is how I decipher the message that is up for debate and these deliberations

are part of what make up the womb of conflict.

Origins of Conflict

Oil is but one possible cradle, which spews out many challenges because of its

paradoxical nature. I look at such treasure as being a resource curse, which fuels conflict.1 For

within this slick womb, an oily umbilical cord both feeds and starves worldkind of much

richness. I was the sole contributor to my own deprivation. My demise occurred in 2003 during

a mission to protect crude interests. The goal: protect fields of opaque gold from the torch.

Somewhere between the cradle of civilization and the cradle of greed, I swam in the

serpent of Ur. Neumann (1955/1983) wrote of my ancestral elementary tie, “This early magical-

psychic image of the body and the outside world is correlated not only with certain powers but
1
Scientists have found, “ancient oil in rocks that dated back 3.2 billion years.” The bacteria inside the rock regarded
as “…among the earliest inhabitants of our planet” and the sulfur springs conceivably represent earth’s womb
(“Ancient oil,” 2000). In this way, I review the paradoxical nature of oil. The “resource curse thesis” was argued by
Richard M. Auty, and discussed at length by scholars in political science (Perry, 2010). Regardless of whether a
curse exists, I emphasize the idea that oil is an elephant in the room—seemingly hexed and idolized by peoples from
every corner of the spectrum. Throughout my personal womb of conflict, I deal with oil as a metaphor. For
instance, in “The fall of Roman Dominoes,” my verbiage of Rome is symbolic for my power struggle, and a military
might that crumbles at the height of its so-called glory. A “woman wearing black” in line 1, is both symbolic of a
burqa and land abundant in black oil; in line 10 of “Heart of Kabul,” I discuss “Petroleum Greed”; and in line 2 of
“Silence,” I refer back to a rape of natural resources (Vibo, M., 2010 b, d, f).
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also with colors, regions, plants, elements, and so forth” (p.41). My link with the elements

greeted an intense warning from the sky. When the Scud alarms sounded, I donned my

protective gear and crammed into the first stone lodging I could find. Inside my concrete bunker,

a combination of heat exhaustion, claustrophobia, filth, and fear made Dickenson’s carriage draw

near.3 Dickenson (1830-1886) wrote probably the most meaningful expressions of the womb of

conflict. She wrote that a lifetime lasts an instant, and then humans stop at “a swelling of the

ground” (line 18)—a metaphor for a tomb or burial mound. Inside my makeshift sweat lodge,

mind control kept away crippling dread and this deeply meditative state brought me into the

womb.

The sweat lodge practice of native tribes, such as the Sac and Fox, is a reenactment of

returning to the womb of Mother Earth. While cocooned in stone, a vision greeted me.

Airtight Vacuum:

A storm crackled outside. Lodge-boy and Thrown-away said they journeyed to Ur to

pierce El Lagarto’s crimson eyes. They needed to slay the beast before harm could pass

to Tinmiukpak’s young. I told the twins that alligators belonged to the wetlands and had

no place in the desert. At this, they agreed. Each bestowed a gift of pollen and charcoal.

By the flash of lightning, we created a ‘chantway’ on the ceiling of our cave. I painted a

nest filled with aurora eggs bursting open with treasure as tiny gator feet crawled out

from the muck one step at a time. The sirens hushed, and the ‘Beloved Two’ vanished

into a cloud. I was calmed by the beating of a thunderous echo in my ears.4

The sweat lodge practice consists of painful cleansing by exposure to heat and other

elements symbolic of the womb (Billard, 1974, p. 301; Mackey, 2010, entire; Neihardt,
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1932/2008, pp. 144, 148, 167; Tick, 2005, pp. 207, 211-16, 225, 232-34; Waldman, 1985, p. 52).

Of the purification process, Tick (2005) described:

It is called the place of the spirits because, in the inipi, [Lakota name for

sweat/purification lodge] we leave secular space behind and drop the ordinary barriers

that stand between the spirit world and us. In the inipi, we may have visions and be

entered by spirits, or, if you prefer, awaken archetypal energies and images (p. 211).

My five archetypal elements consisted of Sand (Earth), Sweat/Steam (Water), Smoke (Air), Heat

(Fire), and Visions. I lathered in primordial components, which made up a part of my rebirth.

Carl Jung described the Uroborus [serpent biting its own tail] in elemental and transformative

terms.2 To me, it is mythopoetic that Ur feeds into Uroboros.

As Jung before him, Mackey (2010) described the totality of cognitions within the sweat

lodge through alchemical means (pp. 103, 105). My encounter with oil plumes, in natural

abundance in Iraq, acted as a communal portal between the spirit world and me. I was not the

first or last to forgo such a pilgrimage. In times of conflict, many warriors meet with spirits.

Randall Jarrell (1914-1965) wrote of an interior warrior womb in his WWII poem:

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State

2
My sweat lodge trip was a symbolic trek back to the goddess, or a Jungian journey into an “eternal circle.”

Miller (2009) described the story of Carl Jung’s interpretations of Wolfgang Pauli’s dreams:

The Uroboros symbolizes the eternal circle, the process by which the four elements (earth, water, air, and

fire) transform into one another. The circular form [serpent biting its own tail] taken by the Uroboros is

also the first hint of the symmetrical form of Mandala, [“a diagram, usually based on a circle or square,

with four symbolic objects symmetrically placed- and a key archetype and ancient symbolic device in

cultures around the world”] suggesting that change is beginning (Miller, 2009, pp. 16, 134).
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And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,

I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters

When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose

(Roberts, 2003, p. 467).

Jarrell’s description, although characteristic of another time, undeniably focuses on the womb of

war and the wound of conflict. Through conflict, womb and wound are intrinsically linked.

It is how a birth shelter, a womb, converts into a pit of hell that unlocks the mystery. A

womb is supposed to be a place that sustains creative forces, and acts as a life pod for all

humans. And when I envision the womb, it typically conjures images of tranquility and oceanic

rhythm. However, seas churn and not all dwellings are peaceful. In other words, the womb isn’t

always the haven of security I conjure in my mind. In fact, anthropologist Charles D. Laughlin,

Jr. stated, “…the intrauterine and early post uterine environments are anything but impervious to

stressful intrusion” (1990). Sjoo & Mor (1991) translated the womb the following way:

“Hysteria means “womb” (Hustera: “womb-consciousness”) and “hysteria is a hypersensitive

state…” (p. 189). It was in a hypersensitive warrior mode that I entered a village near Tallil,

Iraq, and encountered a veiled woman.3

3
The veiled woman specifically refers to the woman from my poem entitled, “The Fall of Roman Dominoes” (Vibo,
2010b). My veiled woman wears a burqa and stands in a village. She acts as a catalyst for many nightmares,
visions, and artwork pieces. The veiled woman is described in Miller (2009) as symbolic of the “anima” or
unconscious stirring (pp. 134-36). It is not surprising to me that Neumann (1955/1991) wrote, “The anima is the
vehicle par excellence of the transformative character” and the bringer of “creative forces” (pp. 33-36, 46, 64, 70).
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In the following poem, the youngest of society are aborted from war’s womb:

The fall of Roman Dominoes

The woman wearing black

Looked like any other

And the child beside her

Stood up to her waist

Both of them frozen

Stunned like any other

At the men laying flat

Tied up with defeat

My Sights glaring red

Clearly unlike the others

At the targets before me

Laid out in such haste

Both of them frozen

Blinded like any other

By the rank I wear

No option. No retreat.

The Mother wearing red

With her daughter beside

Doesn’t know of my aim

Or the reason I died

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(Vibo, 2003/2010b).

While I never thought the day would come that I should find a reason to discuss the

inhumane potential (my potential) to strip my conscience bare, it is a part of my poemory that

deserves an audience (Augustine, 1961, Book II, p.49). It is imperative that I discuss night

terrors of battle frenzies, and the impact actions inflict on the most fragile. Saint Benedict

discussed the inclination of people to be compassionate towards the elderly and children

(Benedict, 1981/1998, Chapter 37). Nevertheless, I feel the human community needs constant

reminders of war wombs otherwise I and You continue a campaign of shock and shame.

A Brief Discussion on Warfare tactics:

Genetically modified drone bees—a stinging species—flies out every day into the vast

wilderness. And while this predator seemingly removes derogatory labels aimed at warriors, it

does not end the attacks; this is a fight for all the treasures of the world. Native American author

Tom Whitecloud (1914-1972) described the spirit struggle through an analogy with the natural

resource of water, or rather, groaning water.∞∞ I can no more stop the moans of my native

spirits, than I can stop the ringing of the bells and voices in the dawn. I am the veteran who

suffocates to escape memories and drowns in a pool of self-destruction. If swarms of bees attack

the world’s honey, I am ultimately to blame. The only way to accomplish an alternative outcome

is to work towards my full mental capacity.4

4
In this paragraph, I compare remote controlled warfare (drone weaponry) to the “alien” drone bee. When

I refer to drone bees, this is indicative of Bachofen drones (Neumann, 1955/1991, pp. 265-67). I also

compare/contrast my experiences alongside that of Goethe’s protagonist, Dr. Faust; the ‘baby killer’ label Margareta

received after she drowned her own child; and worldview conflicts mentioned by Tom Whitecloud (Ref: Goethe,

1949, trans. 1954, pp. 45, 193; Tick, 2005, p. 81; Blue Winds Dancing, 2003, pp. 121-125). Many service personnel

endure derogatory stigmas. In truth, we all drown in shame at the loss of innocent life.
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Mental Womb

A Parable of my Mind:

My lonely cliff dwelling where I healed my mind and soul had visits from many healers.

I plunged into icy seas and floated in the great milky snake, but was too weighted in lead

poison to slip past anemôha. Eventually, I reasoned that my body existed as an entity

apart from my mettā self. Even once I washed off my warrior paint, black hawk feathers

beat against drums in my dream quests. With my soul split thrice, I reclaimed my rusty

warrior paws: I kept bow and arrows next to my dream skins; I set up snares throughout

my bark covering; and whenever I heard the blare of horns, I reached for a mask. I went

into seclusion from my people with the exception of a small band. I eventually soared

out of my enticing trance when medicine brought instead a scaffold burial. As it turned

out, death within a cave coaxed the healing power of my mind. But other things

whispered of clarity as well. Like when I communed with Wisaka, she instructed me to

write in black. Charcoal words weaved into a spider tale of how the Wounding of 1832

sliced up my family, left me decapitated, and blew my soul to bits. Eventually, my heart

dusted up to Andromeda and beyond the cosmic desert of time and space. Now as a star I

glow and I dim, to be born anew again and again.5

Translation of the Parable:

This idea of a soul wound is as ancient as conflict itself. I need only look at antediluvian

texts to see that war is embedded into my mental womb deeply. Thomas (1980) wrote about a

5
This entire scene is symbolic of a great many journeys throughout time. When I speak of “plunging into icy
seas,” I am referencing a “fatalistic” journey made by the elderly from the East Greenland Inuit tribe who “threw
themselves into the sea” (Leitch, 1979, p. 155; Billard, 1974, p.90). I believe that terms like “fatalistic” wrestle
against mortality. The soul split or soul wound is a term used by many Native Americans (Leitch, 1979, p. 540;
Tick, 2005, entire). When I speak of a spirit dog (anemôho) and scaffold burials, these are references to the spirit
world of my ancestors; my Grandmother was born at a Sac and Fox reservation (Leitch, 1979, p. 410).
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document that “probably is the earliest known suicide note in existence” (p. 286, para 1). If I

travel back in time 4,000 years, I can talk with this suicidal ancient Egyptian writer. And I, too,

can write on papyrus of the “odour of crocodiles; myrrh; and lotus” (Jamison, 1999, pp. 75-76).

Perhaps I can debate with my ancient friend on bipolar disorder and whether or not it is a

condition of the mind or a mere truth of cosmic existence. At the very least, I can lay my soul

bare with the poetics of the body and mind. I can tell my new friend that while the mind is

powerful, it does not control my every waking bodily function.

Moore (1992) discussed the ways modern medicine has given credence to the all-

powerful brain while reducing the other organs in the body to mostly muscles with specific

functions. Moore discussed the word origins for other parts of the body and then asked, “Is this

mere poetic license, or is it the power of the body in its many varied parts to create a polycentric

field for the soul?” (1992, p.158). I cannot reduce my entire body to merely muscles controlled

by my brain, or I am no better than a naked shell of a drone. To me, a soul wound is a naked

mode of being and synonymous with silence…silence in all its plethora of volumes. In both the

myth of Quetzalcoatl and the epic poem from the Book of Job there exists a common “bare”

theme. In fact, the naked archetype occurs repeatedly throughout all art. Job stated, “Naked I

came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart…” (New International Version,

1973/2005, Book of Job 1:21). Perhaps, the poet understands that intelligence exists throughout

the body and the body is a metaphor for all of life. I have to listen to the rhythm of a collective

heart together with a collective cosmic soul, so that I can wholly exist at peace with all.

Plenty of veterans return from conflict bare and vulnerable from the experience. In truth,

all of us are changed through war. A shift occurs whenever even one person plans for death…to

say nothing of an entire people. I am stripped raw from wrath, puncture, and conscience.
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For if SOUL = WILL, then it is extremely fitting that a signature on the Last Will and Testament

is part of the deployment readiness process for service personnel prior to departing for war. But

signing documents and planning for death does not ensure I am at peace when or if I return home

alive. Physical selfdom is not a guarantee that my soul is healthy when my body departs from

the supernatural.

It is precisely this “quest to remain upright and whole” in use by many in a palliative care

as a means to work beyond the cures medication provides (see Breitbart, 2007, pp. 347-349;

Tick, 2005, pp. 279-289; Horrigan, 2004, entire). Breitbart et al. refer back to self-healing

technique whereby I remain connected to the meaning of life, find a means to cope with conflict,

and hold onto purpose in everything. The trick is to do so even when faced with death. And

these treatment strategies are similar to themes within Tibetan writings. Buddhist texts explain

that all of life is suffering from birth onward. From The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milaerpa,

Shindormo stated, “I do not know how to observe the suffering of birth. Please instruct me how

to meditate on it” (Chang,1966/1997, pp.553-554; Irving, 1989, p.3). While I do believe to

suffer is to be human, the beast of war longs to mute distress.

My Herstory with the Beast:

Isolation and silence abound as womb archetypes. Neumann (1955/1991) wrote of the

womb-tomb concept, “…as a tomb; the vessel character of the Feminine not only shelters the

unborn, but …takes back the dead into the vessel of death, a cave, or coffin, the tomb or urn” (p.

45). My poem “Silence,” demonstrates how the lack of all audible sound is a coffin:

Silence

It's a plunging elevator

Single cable, 'bout to snap

Dangling.  Pounding.
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Sweat-drenched-fear

My heart isn't mine

Sirens blare

I grab my mask

Suck. Breathe. Clear.

Please, God, Please

Fresh. Clean. Air.

Don't let me die without saying

White elephant leave

I've grown weary of you

Sucking my life

Punching my soul

Taking my last

Sigh, get a clue

I whisper

good

I convoyed into Iraq shortly after news of the 507th reached my brigade’s tactical

operation center.5 My mission, not unlike that of the maintenance company, was to provide

support. However, the military police couldn’t be everywhere at once during the start of

operations in Iraq. As the only qualified machine gunner in our convoy, I pulled security. As a
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defensive measure, I kept diligent watch for road obstacles; especially the kind which caused

decapitation. When I returned back home, I felt wounded. It seemed that not only was my head

gone, but my soul was missing as well—in essence, I was not a whole person.

Throughout this post-deployment period, I shot hundreds of first-person photographs.

These headless images captured my essence. Douglas E. Harding described the headless way as

a method of self-enquiry. Harding wrote, “You are not distant from yourself, not outside

yourself. You-and you alone-are therefore perfectly placed to see what you are at Centre. All

you have to do is look” (“The Headless Way,” n.d.). My photos were/are an exercise to seek my

true nature. Through imagery emerges a synthesis of memories, and words into poetry. This

image-word-partnership is evidenced in no better fashion than through mythology. I am not

alone in awe and wonder the communication left behind by my ancestors. Many hieroglyphs

depict the severance of snakes, heads, and life cords by early peoples. Upon return from the

desert, my mental womb was filled with likeminded scenes.

Pychoanalyst Edward Tick wrote of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD):

When a person is exposed to severe violence, the soul gets misaligned along primal poles.

Life and death, creation and destruction, war and peace—these exchange places and

influence the soul. One of the characteristics of PTSD is that the wound is so big that it

completely fills the person’s consciousness. All the rest of life… recedes into a tiny

space. Death has taken over (Horrigan, 2004, p.64; Tick, 2005, pp. 5, 15, 104-18, 192).

A Gory Nightmare:

I was a criminal sentenced in my mental tribunal. Some thoughts were gory. My hands

trembled, rocked, and spewed a volcano of blood and ash. I was after-shocked, with just

a knife blade between obsidian and me. A night tremor raged as I slept. A thin blade
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separated me from an intergalactic explosion. I was a cold white knife who sliced apart

womanity. Tezcatlipoca-obsidian god wielded a sickle-like weapon. And she was me. I

sawed at life-and-death in every village and ravine of my mind: decayed flesh, blood,

corpses, and maggots. My legs shook, but I stood erect at my moon perch, ever watchful,

head exposed as lava rained down from the starry sky. This was my allegory of the

southern circle of hell. Headless, I wandered into nature’s womb, which acted as the

trigger to my serenity. (Neumann, 1955/1991, pp. 154, 186, 190-92, 260).6

Nature’s Genesis

I attempt to understand the magic of nature for I have come from the earth and to the

earth I shall return. And so it is that I offer a piece (peace) of myself for the ones who come after

me to study. This is, was, and always shall be the nature of being human and nature’s womb.

The question to answer today and always: What message do I want to communicate, and what do

I possibly leave as a legacy. My answer: A Healed Soul. From the study of art, nature,

hieroglyphs, pictographs, ancient texts, and poetry I know a soul is not affected even if the rest of

the body is “cut into fragments” (Plato, Book X, part XI). Many Native Americans turn to

dreams, visions, and nature for clues into just why it is that the soul is so powerful.

The Origin of the Buffalo:

The buffalo originated under the earth. It is said that in the olden times, a [wo]man who

was journeying came to a hill where there were many holes in the ground. [S]he

explored them, and when [s]he had gone within one of them, [s]he found plenty of

buffalo chips, and buffalo tracks were on all sides; and here and there [s]he found buffalo

hair which had come out when the animals rubbed against the walls. These animals were
6
This allegory captures a scene beyond the demilitarized zone. A blade knife is a reference to the grenade pins
acting as a thin blade ready to sever everything in its path. An explosion of a roadside bomb is like the eruption of a
volcano. I “sawed though” is a reference to the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW), which literally slices
through bodies. My SAW was mounted to the top of my vehicle with its dismal capabilities present.
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the real buffalo who dwelt underground, and some of them came up to this earth and

increased to many herds. These buffalo had many earth lodges, and there they raised

their children. They did many strange things. Therefore when a [wo]man can barely be

wounded by a few, the people believe that the former has seen the buffalo in dreams or

visions, and on that account has received mysterious help from those animals. All such

[wo]men who dream of the buffalo, act like them and dance like them and dance the

buffalo (bull) dance. And the [wo]man who acts the buffalo is said to have a real buffalo

inside him [her], and a chrysalis lies within the flat part of the body near the shoulder

blade; on account of which the [wo]man is hard to kill; no matter how often they wound

him [her]. [S]he does not die. As the people know that the buffalo live in earth lodges,

they never dance the buffalo dance in vain.

—A Study of Siouan Cults (Dorsey, 1984, pp. 476-477; Neihardt, 1932/2008, p. 164).

This is but one mental model of nature’s reality, but there are many. Maiden (1997)

wrote about the birth worldviews of Indigenous Aboriginal, Tibetan, Balinese, Basque, and

Cherokee cultures. Her findings reintegrate the study of birth and cosmology from previously

divided disciplines of “medicine, midwifery, nursing, psychology, spirituality, ecology,

education, biology, sociology, politics, economics, and art” (p. 1).

To read about cosmogony is one thing, but to see it play out in nature is another.

Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote in his book about the importance of each cell:

When we look deeply into a flower, we see the elements that have come together to allow

it to manifest. We can see clouds manifesting as rain. Without the rain, nothing can

grow. When I touch the flower, I’m touching the cloud and touching rain. This is not just
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poetry, it’s reality. If we take the clouds and the rain out of the flower, the flower will not

be there” (Hanh, 2008, pp. 99).

What needs to happen is this same philosophy whereby womb unity and the reintegration of

womb cosmology extends to “birthing mother, family, their interdependent tribal, village or

extended family, and earth” (Maiden, 1997, p.1). I now realize that whatever happens to a child

in the desert affects me (affects my psyche). Likewise, a mother in faraway lands is affected by

my actions. Inside a village an arrow will pierce through a child more easily than an eagle’s

talon. What’s more remarkable is that both of us affect one another even with five rivers or eons

between us. If I look closely, I see that both of us are composed of flowers from Utnapishtim’s

cosmic garden. There are many who write about the interbeing of life…

A Parable by the Buddha:

A couple and their young son were crossing a vast desert on their way to seek asylum in

another land. But they hadn’t planned well and were only halfway across the desert when

they ran out of food. Realizing that all three of them would die in the desert, the parents

made a horrifying decision: they decided to kill and eat their child.

Every morning they ate a morsel of his flesh, just enough for the energy to walk a little

further, all the while crying, “Where is our little boy?” They carried the rest of their son’s

flesh on their shoulders, so it could continue to dry in the sun.

Every night the couple looked at each other and asked, “Where is our beloved child

now?” And they cried and pulled their hair, and beat their chests with grief. Finally, they

were able to cross the desert and arrive in the new land (Hanh, 2008, pp. 17-18).

The Buddha’s parable is about mindfulness in consumption. He said, “We have to practice

eating in such a way that will retain compassion in our heart. We have to eat in mindfulness.
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Otherwise, we will be eating the flesh of our own children” (Hanh, 2008, p.18). What is striking

about the parable is that it is about more than just food. It is about birth, conflict, the mind,

nature, and the entire cosmos. By living a just and right life, I preserve the human species—this

was a message understood by those of the past, and something my ∞ children could understand.

It is the hope of every artist that their work will resonate with people, even with epochs

between. Aside from bridging one’s primal and future selves, another way that art helps

interchange ideas is through the process itself. For instance, all of my infinity womb

photographs and poems are a healing mechanism meant to filter haze from my origins of conflict

that deal with loss, grief, and infertility. Just as Tick, Maiden, Hanh and the Buddha, I want to

show the interconnectedness of nature and the pulse of worldviews.

In many of my pieces, I deal with the womb as a subject. For me, the vessel imbues the

eternal as soma; nectar; mead; diamonds; pearls; aqua vitae; summum bonum; the ‘Eight

Immortals’; the ‘Great Round’; and the ‘sea of milk’ (Neumann, 1955/1991, p. 59; Wilkinson,

2006, 48; Leeming, 1937/2005, p. 125). In fact, Irving listed over seventy artistic symbols

representing birth/womb/tomb imagery. And if I reference ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, I find a

magnitude of inspiration… especially from The Book of the Earth. I believe that I could choose

any artistic piece and relate it back to the womb. I am in good company, as Neumann

(1955/1991) wrote:

If we survey the whole of the symbolic sphere determined by the vessel [womb] character

of the Archetypal Feminine, we find that in its elementary and transformative character

the Feminine as “creative principle” encompasses the whole world. This is the totality of

nature in its original unity, from which all life arises and unfolds, assuming, in its highest

transformation, the form of the spirit (p.62).

W∞MB 21

I believe the reason I focus on the womb in my subjects has to do with a direct link to my

unconscious mind. Through art, I was encouraged to tap into fantasies and a dream world at a

young age. In addition, my Mom always told stories about our extended family and kept alive an

oral storytelling tradition. She encouraged walks in the countryside, songs, dance, and respect

for creepy crawlers. From my father, I learned of camping in the wild, the trance of fires,

gardens, and music appreciation. Nowadays, however, this lifestyle is not as commonplace.

I, a modern human, am under a fog of “repression” that did not exist for earlier cultures.

Renggli (2002) stated:

With the ancient Egyptians, the embryonic or fetal world was still represented

everywhere in everyday life. All of Stricker’s [Dutch historian of Egyptian mythology]

research enables us on the one hand to understand the mythology of other cultures and on

the other opens a way to explore a baby’s experiences in a mother’s womb (p. 215).

Renggli studied Bruno Hugo Sticker’s expansive research of Egyptian mythology which spans

from the 1940s onward (2002, para 1). Hugo demonstrated that the ancient Egyptian culture

“tries to understand the development of a baby in the womb of its mother as a basis to

comprehend the origin of the world” (Renggli, 2002, pp. 215-232). It is specifically this origins

premise that the remainder of my weave quest explores. I travel a place beyond war wombs,

mental wombs, and nature’s womb—into another realm I call the W∞mb.

Cosmic Self

I believe my art is a feministation of this longing to share and conceive a piece of myself

(self + mettā = mettāself) which will continue once I am physically gone from this form. Martin

Buber wrote of this artist’s view as, “Not a figment of his [her] soul but something that appears

to the soul and demands the souls creative power” (1970/1996, p.60). This artistic process is not
W∞MB 22

unlike the native dream-catcher, the symbolism inherent in spider webs, or Socrates’ daimon.

All of art binds time together through the experience…which is why I never have a specific plan

when I start an artistic piece and yet know how a story must unfold. There is always an

important message at the center with dialogue flowing round in a circular shape—all of life

flows in geometric patterns.

When I began this process, I paused at something Buber discussed in I and Thou, and I

knew I had to dig deeper into the following expansive sentence:

The prenatal life of the child is a pure natural association, a flowing toward each other, a

bodily reciprocity; and the life horizon of the developing being appears uniquely

inscribed, and yet also not inscribed, in that of the being that carries it; for the womb in

which it dwells is not solely that of the human mother

(Buber, 1970/1996, p. 76).

I immediately realized that Buber’s message strikes at the very core of my art. From reading

Burke (2000), I knew “…serendipity plays a key role in the historical sequence and process of

change” (p. 14). So, by way of happenstance in my life, the aforementioned had to align with

my poems, such as Belly Jazz.∞∞ As it turns out, many (maybe all) of the pieces I create deal

with the subject of eggs, fertility, infertility, and uterine metamorphosis. All of this, if taken

together, echoes themes by artists like Salvador Dali and Niki de Saint Phalle to name but two.

And this premise puzzles in with all of the art I have created in the last decade. My

quest, the human quest, has to do with telling a story about the womb. Buber wrote of the Great

Mother’s Womb:

Every developing child rests, like all developing beings, in the womb of the great mother

—the undifferentiated, not yet formed primal world. From this it detaches itself to enter a
W∞MB 23

personal life, and it is only in dark hours when we slip out of this again (as happens even

to the healthy night after night) that we are close to her again”

(1970/1996, p. 76-77).

My poem, Paprika Sheep and Her Wolf (Vibo, 2010c) is reminiscent of themes from the

Jewish myth Buber discussed in I and Thou). In my poem, I discuss floating into a dream world

amongst the constellations to touch my origins. Buber wrote, “…in his Mother’s womb man

knows the universe and forgets it at birth” (Buber, 1970/1996, pp. 76-79). But way before Buber

and I described the womb of the great mother, the Egyptians wrote:

‘Ra, I’m passing through this mysterious cave, large of fire.

Oh, mysterious one, who thou burns the body in Hades and guards the darkness.

Look at me! I pass through you, you mysterious one!

I am coming through you, great fire’

(Renggli, 2002, p. 228).

If I focus on research by historian Bruno Hugo Stricker and psychoanalyst Dr. Franz Renggli, I

know that the ancients focused on the “prenatal key” within their mythology (p. 215). And many

modern researchers within the scientific community now recognize the benefits of this prenatal

key—and how through poetic storytelling exist answers to questions beyond textbooks. In fact,

many within prenatal and perinatal health write about parenting before conception.

The research more than suggests life before birth and how traumatic pain experiences

occur in the womb and on the way out (Chamberlain, 1999; Laughlin, 1989; Laughlin, 1992).

“All societies seem to recognize that the periods of birth and the puerperium are life-threatening

to both mother and child” stated Laughlin (1992, Conclusions para.). Irving (1989) vividly

described birth as so “…horrendously painful, its scars deeply imprinted within the psyche”
W∞MB 24

(1989). He then listed many of the universally recognizable natal archetypes of the womb, and

the “cellular consciousness” we use to understand collectively shared womb metaphors (1989).

Through dreams and memories I detach the weight from my hump-back to emerge from

my lapis chrysalis (Eight Upanisads, 2008/1957, p. 3). This process involves metamorphosis (or

mettā-morph-self-is). This transformation is especially powerful at night as Neumann

(1955/1991) wrote, “…rebirth can occur through sleep in the nocturnal cave, through descent to

the underworld realm of the spirits and ancestors, through a journey over the night sea, or

through the death of an old personality” (p. 292). My poemories about birth, war, life, death, and

rebirth show that I died in 2003, but reemerged with creative purpose. Undoubtedly, I will never

forget my other self and will always experience depression. But nightmares have morphed into

dreams and real healing makes me a whole person. And I realize the importance of the soul as a

legacy, which lives on. It can be said that all creative expression goes back to a time before birth

and after death. Michael C. Irving Dali, Black Elk, Buber, Plato, and countless others echo the

Myth of Er:

When all the souls have chosen lives, in the same order as the lots that had drawn, they

went forward to Lachesis. And she sent with each the demon he had chosen as a guardian

of the life and a fulfiller of what was chosen.

The demon first led the soul to Clothos under her hand as it turned the whirling spindle,

thus ratifying the fate it had drawn and chosen…

(Armstrong, 2000, p.1; Plato, Book X, part XI, pp. 367- 68).

Myths, like all great poetics stories, tell about the cosmos. It is my belief that modern

science is finally catching up to what the ancients knew all along. I am in this body for an

instant, but the whole process is much bigger than even my imagination. It involves multiverses
W∞MB 25

that go on into infinity. Jastrow (1992) ended his book God and the Astronomers in a way that I

would like to end my essay. His final sentence simply stated, “It is no more logical to argue that

the world has no ultimate cause or purpose than to argue that it does—in both cases the empirical

or scientific evidence for deciding the matter is inadequate” (p. 138). I add my answer to the

womb riddle with a puzzle of my own. And YES (!) I phrase my answer as a poem:

Paprika Sheep and her Wolf

Once capsicum numbs the tongue,

It idles inside a cupboard for its unsuspecting prey.

An achromatic Canine pokes his puffy tail inside,

He sprinkles spice into the deep and upon the constellations.

His huge pimento paw prints hint at ravenous advances,

And this amatory chance appeals to spice and wolf alike.

Isaiah’s discordant pitch howling out in perfect fifths,

And unequaled temperaments stretch beyond melodious.

A Tunis lamb is born and her wolf sleeps right beside,

And their harmony resides upon old galaxies of young.

(Vibo, 2009).

Answer to the Riddle:

Something does not come from nothing. Something comes from something. It is my

belief that the great something of life consists of our collective war wombs, mental wombs,

wombs of nature, and continues into the infinity womb to begin again and again. My W∞MB

journey continues at vibography.com

W∞MB 26

Βιβλιογραφία:

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W∞MB 27

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Horrigan, B.  (2004). Edward Tick, PhD: On Asklepios, dream healing, and talking with the

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told through John G. Neihardt (Flaming rainbow); annotated by Raymond J. DeMallie

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Storytelling into Infinity:

 1
¥ I add my name to the list of those who ponder the theory of a universe that extends to

infinity. I believe most people like to imagine such ‘far out’ topics. Jastrow (1992) hinted at the

insurmountable task of pursuing the creation of life “further back in time” than the cosmic fireball

(p.107), and Dr. John A. O’Keffe discussed more on the topic of this so-called ‘new cosmology’

(Jastrow, 1992, p. 118). The premise of a “vacuum genesis” was reviewed in Coming of Age in the

Milky Way. Perhaps the most exciting mention was as follows:

Several leading cosmologists, notably Andrei Linde of Standford University, have constructed

consistent and physically reasonable models in which our universe is one amongst many,

perhaps an infinite number of universes. In these models, “new” universes bubble up out of the

vacuum of preexisting ones. Many never attain a state in which life can exist—some quickly

collapse, and others keep expanding at faster-than-life velocities forever, never forming matter

—but some, like ours, can harbor life. The anthropic principle begins to make more sense in

such models, inasmuch as it simply describes (or attempts to describe) the cosmological

conditions required for life to appear in a given universe and for its existence therefore to be

registered by intelligent observers. These models may help us understand how our universe got

started, but they do so at the price of removing the ultimate question of genesis to a perhaps

unattainable distance. Linde, who likes to imagine bubble universes as akin to apples on a tree,

has attempted to calculate how many apples there may be, and how far in spacetime the original

genesis event—the taproot of the tree—may be. Such calculations are of course based on many

admittedly speculative assumptions, but for what it’s worth, Linde usually gets an infinite

number of apples and an infinite distance from an average universe to taproot. If so, the meta-

universe looks infinite in both space and historical time, and the question of whether it ever had

an origin cannot be answered (excerpt from Ferris, 2003, pp. 393-394).

What makes the aforementioned so magnificent is the recent attention that has been given to the
premise of multiverses, which is, in no small part, thanks to the January 2010 issue of Scientific
American magazine entitled “Looking for Life in the Multiverse” (Florida State University, 2010). The
research suggests (at least hypothetically) that there are an infinite number of universes (!).
2
¥ In the book The Great Mother, (Neumann, 1955/1991) stated the following:

“Woman = body = vessel = world” (p. 43). In my piece, I create my own equation:

Poem = memory = herstory = poemory.

3
¥In its entirety, here is the womb of conflict poem by Emily Dickenson (ca.1863):

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death-

He kindly stopped for me-
The Carriage stopped for just Ourselves-
And Immortality

We slowly drove-He knew no haste

And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility-

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess-In the Ring-
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-
We passed the Setting Sun-

Or rather-He passed Us-

The Dews drew quivering and chill-
For only Gossamer, my Gown-
My Tippet-only Tulle-

We passed before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground-
The Roof was scarcely visible-
The Cornice- in the Ground-

Since then-‘tis Centuries-and yet

Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity-
(Roberts & Jacobs, 2003, p. 463).
4
¥ Airtight Vacuum is a vision, which represents my symbolic passage into the womb. In my

curing ceremony, the scud bunker morphs into my womb vacuum. When I write that the cave is

“airtight” this is a reference to the seal of a protective mask or any protective shield. The characters

Lodge-boy, Thrown-away, and Tinmiukpak are mythological guardian spirits/helpers sometimes seen in

visions. Some animating forces act as an “aid or guide” in life. Leitch (1979) wrote, “Religion
centered around guardian spirits… through purification, fasting, and visiting remote places, to give

them [humans] power in the form of skills, luck or achievements” (pp. 320, 389). Tinmiukpak is the

name of Thunderbird, an incorporeal consciousness; warrior bird of the night sky; nature personified;

and storm deity (Leeming, 1937/2005, p. 382; Billard, 1974, pp. 27, 228, 233, 237, 298, 307;

Wilkinson, 2006, pp.16, 97, 100, 103). The twins or ‘Beloved Ones’, Lodge-boy and Thrown-away, are

the names of folk heroes who take on dangerous situations (Wilkinson, 2006, p. 100). One such tale

was described by Wilkinson (2006):

The twins Lodge-boy and Thrown-away were taken from their mother’s womb when she died.

They became famous heroes, always daring to rid the world of dangers. They killed a deadly

alligator, slew vicious snakes, and caught an otter that was eating Thunderbird’s young (p.100).

In my story, I am the alligator and the visit ritual is meant to heal my soul split. Chantways, animals,
spirits, dreams, vision quests, deity visits, healings, rainbows, tricksters, and all the other imagery I use
in the poemory, are meant to call on the powers for help with curing my mind/soul connection.
∞
This is a reference to a story by Tom Whitecloud (1914-1972):

Blue Winds Dancing

I hear the ice groan on the lake, and remember the story of the old woman under the ice, trying

to get out, so she can punish some runaway lovers. I think to myself, “If I am white I will not

believe that story; If I am Indian, I will know that there is an old woman under the ice.” I listen

for a while, and I know that there is an old woman under the ice. I look again at the lights, and

go in

(Roberts & Jacobs, 2003, pp. 121-125; Blue Winds Dancing, 2007/1938; Preble, 2004, pp. 121-

125).

Whitecloud discussed the spirit struggle between people of differing worldviews (namely WASP
Americans and Native Americans. It is true, I am a pale woman, but white light reflects all colors…
even colors from faraway lands. I am a sister to the Sauk, Fox, Kickapoo, Meskwaki, Iraqis, oil, and
bees. In fact, my tribe encompasses beyond the stars.
5
¥ The following is the press release about the 507th Maintenance Company, an Air Defense

support unit from Fort Bliss:

 The attack on the 507th Maintenance Company at An Nasiriyah was a tragedy not unlike those

that have occurred in past conflicts in which this nation has engaged. Although violence and

loss of life are realities of combat for Soldiers, the United States Army is committed to

understanding this particular event in an effort to learn lessons and provide a means of closure

for the families of those who made the ultimate sacrifice. The element of the 507th Maintenance

Company that bravely fought through An Nasiriyah found itself in a desperate situation due to a

navigational error caused by the combined effects of the operational pace, acute fatigue,

isolation and the harsh environmental conditions. The tragic results of this error placed the

Soldiers of the 507th Maintenance Company in a torrent of fire from an adaptive enemy

employing asymmetrical tactics (excerpt from U.S. Army Homepage, “507th Maintenance

Company”).

Because of a policy that tries to eliminate a PVT Ryan repeat, I was given an assignment to Tallil, and
my husband was sent further north towards Baghdad. I was located at a place where supplies were
distributed throughout Iraq and detainees kept nearby. My mission was that of a support capacity. My
poem “Silence” is written in a topographical arrangement to echo the feeling of a plunging elevator, the
look of a missile, and the mind sinking into thoughts of suicide—all of which are deliberate themes. In
my poem, I discuss the backwards instructions for clearing an Army M40 chemical-biological field
protective mask (FPM), and this is a reference to suicide through the lack of an airtight seal.  The
cement bunker is meant to heighten the feelings of security, lack of security, solitude, and
intense claustrophobia.  The heartbeat and breathing (both of which are done involuntarily in normal
situations), become forced labors that are intensely amplified in times of conflict.  In fact, a bunker is a
place crammed with soldiers—not a quiet place—and wearing a promask is also not a silent task. And
while death is the ultimate silence, waiting for death is anything but. All of these elements run
contradictory with one another. War is the ultimate conflict, and the war womb is my origin of conflict.
*Additional Note: The promask is meant to “provide respiratory, eye and face protection against
chemical and biological agents, radioactive fallout particles, and battlefield contaminants” (excerpt
taken from U. S. Army Homepage, “Field Protective Mask, M40/M42-Series,” n.d.).
∞
Belly jazz
I am a fetus, and I ragtime waltz inside your water band.
I hear a muffled echoing, but only when yo’ mad.
I rat-a-tat upon your keys to show my Byard flow.
All of a sudden I stop because I hear arpeggio.

I hear the beats from beyond your womb…More artists in our band?
Oh’ Daddy-O, our fearless one… I call him Mister Jazz!
He raps the mic and then he shouts, ‘Hey tell me how ya’ll do?’
I ball my fist, as in reply, to show I’m here wit’ you
Then we scat down the vocals.
I sho’ bebop the best.
Calm stalls our night of improve.
Heartbeat timpani’s rest.