COL~LAB~ORATION

Ode #24 - Trans~Scribed Poetic Dictation, Elaborate(d) Ode

[It has been approximately three weeks since the 23rd Ode came through. And what a three weeks it has been. So many threads and currents. We are all left a bit bedraggled by it, one way or another. From my end, I was successfully able to renovate my debut collection from 33 pieces to 22, and the organization has completely changed, as well as the title. From Odes for a Golden Age to The Burning Tower. Not long after, my beloved 6 year old computer’s SSD harddrive decided to spontaneously fail — while I was in the middle of publishing this ode a couple days ago no less! The dreaded ~blue screen of death~, followed by “A bootable device has not been detected.” I and several clever others have tried our various tricks at resuscitation, to no avail. I am fortunate most of my archive and creative life exists on the cloud or is otherwise backed up. What looks to be lost are my settings, my docx formatting documents, my adobe indesign files, a trove of images, movies, and appdata. I have one more step left before I declare it a total loss and move on. A balancing of achievements, discombobulations, deaths, renewals, griefs, and hope, clarity, ground-seeing. Clearing. Burning is both painful and necessary. Ananke. The compulsion of fate will not yield on this. The goal is not to put out the fire, but to get out of the burning tower(/house). This departure will look different for each of us. Some, like St. Wiborada, will choose to stay and pray for those whose lives will be lost. They accept what comes to them. We can only do what it is we must do — and it is up to us to discover what that is. May it be together. May it be a great and beautiful collaboration! Something the likes of which has been yet unseen. And will not soon be forgotten~ ] Received 2/6/2026 | 2:12-3pm

Companion Missive #24 - SUPER CONDUCIVE ATMOSPHERE (10/28/2023)

Listen to the Recitation:

COL~LAB~ORATION
Hic labor est
The chimera in the outlines 
Undermined, the perilous sense
Initiation does not happen in isolation
The world is always speaking to you
A bird, a pillow, a stone, a ghost
The words on this page, alive
No thing is a tool, to me
Every thing is always talking
Even I am talking, and not of my design
Not exclusively, at least not
Trichronic trialogic — we all authorize
Are authoritative, authoritatively 
Deferring authority to another
Who recognizes our authority, and so receives
An authority their own, only to pass it on
To the next — a game of ball
Triangulating meaning, witnessing vocal
Participants witnessing being witnessed
As the meaning moves on its own
From dwelling to dwelling, emerging
An evolution of its containment
We make and mix and rearrange truth 
To our best ability, we aspire
To lead without leaving behind
To follow without losing ourself
To honor the non-vocal third, which guides
From one bastion to the next
A sealing sound, finding ground
Commonality — to a shared reality
Where we can translate completely 
And coacknowledge fully, organismically
Recognize the antecedent, the antedote 
Before we devoted to doting
All the world our golden calf
The son a golden calf, the temple, the mother
Earth cracks open to inundate the whole
Transmigration of essence below 
To a newfound above, which is not better
And yet, is still above — I wonder
Where the meaning tills the land, where
It will land — among us
Bewildered and bemused, an anchoress 
Stylite pronouncement, heard from the pillar
Cast to the winds, traveling far 
Reaching into the mist, a veil of its own accord
We realize — the shroud was not meant to be crossed
We are meant to work together
And we are never not working together
On this, the paddock crypt 
Unlocking the gate, to let it swing
And release the unicorn within
Who has been kept, safely — as they wished
Until we were ready to see

The egg has opened.
Ananke opened it

---

Anchoress St. Wiborada in her cell, from The Lives of the Saints Gallus, Magnus, Otmar and Wiborada in German, 1451–60. Anchoresses often chose to sequester in small cells or enclosures, which had small openings to receive offerings and offer counsel to those who would visit seeking it. Wiborada predicted a Magyar invasion of the area and provided sufficient warning for those in the monastery to escape with their books and wine to nearby caves. She remained in her cell to pray for those in the city of St. Gallen. The Hungarian marauders arrived and destroyed both city and St. Magnus Monastery. Entering her cell by breaking in the roof, they found her kneeling in prayer and clove her skull with a shepherd’s axe. For her stalwart piety, she is honored as a martyr.

The Martyrdom of Wiborada (ca. 1451-60)

Miniature Portrait of St. Wiborada (c. 1430)

Carel Willink, Simeon the Stylite (1939) — said to be a prophetic piece, on the eve of WWII — the stylite is not far removed from the city. Only as far as the outskirts.

Paolo Uccello, Saint George and the Dragon (ca. 1470)

“The Unicorn Tapestries” Seventh Tapestry (ca. 1495–1505) — likely designed in Paris and woven by Flemish weavers. The colors are from plant dyes: weld (yellow), madder (red), and woad (blue). When viewing the series, this tapestry, presented as the final, is singular. Some argue it may have been made separately the others (which depict the brutal hunting of the unicorns). The red on this unicorn is more likely from the pomegranates above than from a wound, as the unicorn does not seem particularly bothered. I have always found the image quite laden. The fence is low, and more symbolic than anything. Is it designed to keep the unicorn in, or to hide the unicorn from sight? The tree of life is linked to them, which leads some to see the unicorn as a symbol of resurrection, of new life — awaiting the time when humans are ready, at last, to partake of the fruit of this final, second Tree of the original Garden.