Tim Hanson

Tim Hanson

Soul Myth Energy and Healing

Sonnet XVII
Neruda, Pablo

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Tim Hanson (me)


Flowers are to Honey
what Lives are to Soul.

C. G. Jung

The dread and resistance which every natural human being experiences when it comes to delving into themselves is, at bottom, the fear of the journey to Hades.



From the Elders of the Hopi Nation

Here is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift that there are those
who will be afraid, who will try to hold on to the shore.
They are being torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know that the river has its destination.
The elders say we must let go of the shore.
Push off into the middle of the river,
and keep our heads above water.

And I say see who is there with you and celebrate.
At this time in history,
we are to take nothing personally,
least of all ourselves,
for the moment we do,
our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over.
Gather yourselves.
Banish the word struggle from you attitude
and vocabulary.

in a sacred manner and in celebration.
For we are the ones we have been waiting for.

Tim Hanson (me)


A cloud of misery
to a road of pain.

a direction.

A Table in the Wilderness
Li-Young Lee

I draw a window
and a man sitting inside it.

I draw a bird in flight above the lintel.

That's my picture of thinking.

If I put a woman there instead
of the man, it's a picture of speaking.

in the woman's lap, it's ministering.

A third flying below her feet.
Now it's singing.

Or erase the birds,
make ivy branching
around the woman's ankles, clinging
to her knees, and it becomes remembering.

You'll have to find your own
pictures, whoever you are,
whatever your need.

As for me, many small hands
issuing from a waterfall
means silence
mothered me.

The hours hung like fruit in night's tree
means when I close my eyes
and look inside me,

a thousand open eyes
span the moment of my waking.

Meanwhile, the clock
adding a grain to a grain
and not getting bigger,

subtracting a day from a day
and never having less, means the honey

lies awake all night
inside the honeycomb
wondering who its parents are.

And even my death isn't my death
unless it's the unfathomed brow
of a nameless face.

Even my name isn't my name
except the bees assemble

a table to grant a stranger
light and moment in a wilderness
of Who? Where?

if there are any heavens

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)
have one.
It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)

standing near my

(swaying over her
with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
which whisper
This is my beloved my

..........................................(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

& the whole garden will bow)

Marsilio Ficino
Commentary on Plato’s Phaedrus

Let me explain this a little more. Just as there are three main powers in fire-heat, light, and fleeting subtlety-so there are three similar powers in the soul's essence: the power of life, of understanding, and of desiring .... At different times the soul brings forth its variety of seeds more or less in profusion.

The Thought of the Heart

Speech is not of the tougue, but of the heart.  The tongue is merely the instrument with which one speaks. He who is dumb is dumb in the heart, not in his tounge..... As you speak, so is your heart.


Woman and Nature, by
Susan Griffin

The Force Of Character, by 
James Hillman

The Soul's Code, by 
James Hillman

Kinds of Power, by
James Hillman

A Blue Fire, by
James Hillman

Healing Fictions, by
James Hillman

The Dream and the UNDERWORLD, by
James Hillman

Book of My Nights, by 
Li-Young Lee

The way of the Superior Man, by 
David Deida

The ILIAD, by 
(Translated by Robert Fitzgerald).

The Theogony, by 

Agamemnon, by 
(Translated by Edith Hamilton).

Prometheus Bound, by 
(Translated by Edith Hamilton).

Trojan Women, by 
(Translated by Edith Hamilton).


Aeschylus (524 BC)

1st Translatation by: Edith Hamilton

God, whose law it is that he who learns must suffer.
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget,
falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despite, against our will,
comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.


2nd Translatation by: Edith Hamilton

Knowledge won through suffering.
Drop, drop, in our sleep, upon our hearts,
sorrow  falls, memory's pain,
and to us, though against our very wills,
even in our own despite,
comes wisdom,
by the awful grace of God.


3rd Translatation by:  Ann Carlson

Yet there drips in sleep before my heart
a grief remembering pain.
Good sense comes the hard way.
And the grace of the gods
(I'm pretty sure)
is a grace that comes by violence.

From: On A Night of The Full Moon
Audre Lorde

Out of my flesh that hungers
and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking
for reason.

Tim Hanson Soul Myth Energy and Healing
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