A mythology comes from the feeling and an experience— not from thinking. The difference between an ideology and a mythology is the difference between the ego and the self: ideology comes from the thinking system and mythology comes from the being.
Joseph Campbell, The Hero’s Journey: Joseph Campbell on His Life and Work

“I thought maybe it was just another emotion that would pass, that the clarity would disappear and I’d be stuck again. I can’t begin to tell you how awful my mind was, how my emotions just bounced around day after day. I tried to kill myself so I could die with clarity, inside clarity. But of course I failed. I didn’t know for a long time why I failed, but now I realize I wasn’t meant to die until I saw you again. Until I was with you again. Because maybe when I die I’ll disappear into you. I’ll be inside you. I’m almost certain now that’s how it works.”

— Willy Vlautin, The Free

White Butterfly

Alabaster velvet wings flutter above smooth marble

                                                where snow-white irises lay withering

Days, years, decades of fresh blossoms:

                                                                         an era has ended

She dives into the air, twirling, dancing in exhilaration

            Flittering fairy-like through the cemetery, the garden, the town

Darting through the mortuary’s open window

                                                            she sees

                                                                        the decrepit body of her human lover

                                                                                    placed inside a cocoon

She waits

The physician and the philosopher have different ways of defining the diseases of the soul. For instance anger for the philosopher is a sentiment born of the desire to return an offense, whereas for the physician it is a surging of blood around the heart.
Aristotle, De Anima
Idle Tales: Collapse

After all the trees have been harvested for houses, furniture and sundries now gone to rot, after all the hunted elephants lay decomposing in shallow graves, one last piano on the island remains, even now that there’s nothing left to burn, because its melodies keep our souls warm through the cold, bitter nights.

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At twenty years of age, the will reigns; at thirty, the wit; and at forty, the judgement.
Benjamin Franklin