#campbell — Public Fediverse posts

¿Quién decide lo que te dice la IA? Campbell Brown, alguna vez principal de noticiero de Meta, tiene pensamientos #alguna #Brown #Campbell #Campbell_Brown #decide #dice #Foro_AI #jefe #Lerer_Hippeau #Meta #Noticias #pensamientos #quién #tiene #vez #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/quien-decide-lo-que-te-dice-la-ia-campbell-brown-alguna-vez-principal-de-noticiero-de-meta-tiene-pensamientos/?feed_id=81237&_unique_id=6a05c674c14b8

¿Quién decide lo que te dice la IA? Campbell Brown, alguna vez principal de noticiero de Meta, tiene pensamientos #alguna #Brown #Campbell #Campbell_Brown #decide #dice #Foro_AI #jefe #Lerer_Hippeau #Meta #Noticias #pensamientos #quién #tiene #vez #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/quien-decide-lo-que-te-dice-la-ia-campbell-brown-alguna-vez-principal-de-noticiero-de-meta-tiene-pensamientos/?feed_id=81237&_unique_id=6a05c674c14b8

¿Quién decide lo que te dice la IA? Campbell Brown, alguna vez principal de noticiero de Meta, tiene pensamientos #alguna #Brown #Campbell #Campbell_Brown #decide #dice #Foro_AI #jefe #Lerer_Hippeau #Meta #Noticias #pensamientos #quién #tiene #vez #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/quien-decide-lo-que-te-dice-la-ia-campbell-brown-alguna-vez-principal-de-noticiero-de-meta-tiene-pensamientos/?feed_id=81237&_unique_id=6a05c674c14b8

¿Quién decide lo que te dice la IA? Campbell Brown, alguna vez principal de noticiero de Meta, tiene pensamientos #alguna #Brown #Campbell #Campbell_Brown #decide #dice #Foro_AI #jefe #Lerer_Hippeau #Meta #Noticias #pensamientos #quién #tiene #vez #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/quien-decide-lo-que-te-dice-la-ia-campbell-brown-alguna-vez-principal-de-noticiero-de-meta-tiene-pensamientos/?feed_id=81237&_unique_id=6a05c674c14b8

¿Quién decide lo que te dice la IA? Campbell Brown, alguna vez principal de noticiero de Meta, tiene pensamientos #alguna #Brown #Campbell #Campbell_Brown #decide #dice #Foro_AI #jefe #Lerer_Hippeau #Meta #Noticias #pensamientos #quién #tiene #vez #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/quien-decide-lo-que-te-dice-la-ia-campbell-brown-alguna-vez-principal-de-noticiero-de-meta-tiene-pensamientos/?feed_id=81237&_unique_id=6a05c674c14b8

J #SCOTT #CAMPBELL multi-search-tag-explorer.headlines-world.com/advanced-sea... #FRANÇOIS LE #CLERC search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... SEO - Creates Semantic Nodes and Clusters. Do you like AÉPIOT ( #aePiot ) semantics? Donate to the aéPiot semantic platform: www.paypal.com/donate?busin...

MultiSearch Tag Explorer

J #SCOTT #CAMPBELL multi-search-tag-explorer.headlines-world.com/advanced-sea... #FRANÇOIS LE #CLERC search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... SEO - Creates Semantic Nodes and Clusters. Do you like AÉPIOT ( #aePiot ) semantics? Donate to the aéPiot semantic platform: www.paypal.com/donate?busin...

MultiSearch Tag Explorer

creates semantic nodes and clusters #LOCAL #GOVERNMENT #SCOTLAND #ACT 1929 www.perplexity.ai/search/new?q... #KATE #CAMPBELL #SCOTTISH #POLITICIAN advanced-search.allgraph.ro/advanced-sea... Do you like aéPiot semantics? Donate to the aéPiot semantic platform: www.paypal.com/donate?busin...

Perplexity

creates semantic nodes and clusters #LOCAL #GOVERNMENT #SCOTLAND #ACT 1929 www.perplexity.ai/search/new?q... #KATE #CAMPBELL #SCOTTISH #POLITICIAN advanced-search.allgraph.ro/advanced-sea... Do you like aéPiot semantics? Donate to the aéPiot semantic platform: www.paypal.com/donate?busin...

Perplexity

creates semantic nodes and clusters #RACHEL #CAMPBELL #JOHNSTON multi-search-tag-explorer.aepiot.ro/advanced-sea... #JAMES #MADIDILANE search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): aepiot.ro

MultiSearch Tag Explorer

creates semantic nodes and clusters #RACHEL #CAMPBELL #JOHNSTON multi-search-tag-explorer.aepiot.ro/advanced-sea... #JAMES #MADIDILANE search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): aepiot.ro

MultiSearch Tag Explorer

https://www.europesays.com/at/150338/ Baby-Glück – Diese Stars bekamen ihre Kinder durch Leihmütter – Kronen Zeitung #AT #Austria #BenjiMadden #CameronDiaz #Campbell #CarterReum #Celebrities #Chicago #Chropra #Diaz #Entertainment #Hilton #Kardashian #KimKardashian #MaltiMarie #NaomiCampbell #NickJonas #Österreich #ParisHilton #Phoenix #PriyankaChopra #Prominente #Unterhaltung

Hype for the Future 183J: City of Lynchburg, Virginia

https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2026/05/02/hype-for-the-future-183j-city-of-lynchburg-virginia/

Sontag’s Two Doors, Campbell’s Underworld

In a television interview that has circulated for years, Susan Sontag offers a small theory of storytelling. She points out that the English word “story” carries a double valence. We say “tell me the real story” to demand truth, and we say “that’s only a story” to dismiss invention. Stories, she argues, face two directions at once, toward fact and toward fantasy, and this doubleness sits at the center of what stories do.

The observation is correct as far as it travels, and the format of a televised exchange does not give a thinker of Sontag’s caliber room to develop the qualifications she would have written into print. Sontag is reliable on the surface phenomena. The deathbed scene she describes, where family secrets surface around mortality, is psychologically accurate. Her returning voyager who brings news from elsewhere is one of the oldest functions of narrative, traceable from Odysseus through Marco Polo and Mary Kingsley to the embedded war correspondent. We are also gripped, as Sontag says, by stories precisely because they describe what cannot happen. Readers of Kafka know Gregor Samsa did not wake as an insect, and that knowledge intensifies the story’s force.

Where Sontag falters is in locating this doubleness at “the very center of the whole enterprise of storytelling.” The tension she identifies is a feature of post-Enlightenment English usage. Other languages partition the territory differently. German separates Geschichte from Erzählung, the chronicle from the tale. Ancient Greek separates mythos from logos and historia. Sanskrit holds itihasa, the account of what happened, distinct from purana, the ancient telling. Yoruba oral tradition separates itan, the sacred and ancestral narrative, from àló, the entertaining household tale. The ambiguity Sontag treats as constitutive is partly an artifact of English vocabulary collapsing distinctions that other tongues hold apart. To say storytelling faces two directions, truth and lie, is to inherit a Cartesian frame that pre-modern peoples would have found alien to the question.

This is exactly where Joseph Campbell would intervene. For Campbell, the truth-versus-fiction axis was a symptom of modern literalism, useful for tracking what one cultural moment had lost but useless for explaining how myth operates. Drawing on Jung and on comparative anthropology, he argued that stories carry psychological reality independent of historical reality. The hero’s descent to the underworld, the dying and rising god, the trickster who exposes the king, these belong to a third register that Sontag’s binary cannot accommodate. They register as neither historical claim nor fantasy opposed to fact. As Campbell argued throughout his career, mythology is what we call other people’s religion, and he was pointing at the failure of the truth/lie axis to capture what religious narrative does for those who live inside it.

Campbell would likely call Sontag’s voyager model one motif among several, including myths of descent, metamorphosis, cosmogony, and trickster disruption, while also insisting that the voyager holds special centrality because it externalizes the interior process by which the soul ventures into the unconscious and returns with knowledge. He traced this structure from the shamanic vision quest through Joyce’s Ulysses into the popular cinema of his late life, and his reading of Star Wars as a contemporary monomyth was either his most generous gift to popular culture or his most embarrassing capitulation to it, depending on which scholar you read. Maureen Murdock’s challenge to the male hero’s quest, developed in The Heroine’s Journey in 1990, sharpened the critique that Campbell’s pattern was less universal than his rhetoric implied. Robert Ellwood in The Politics of Myth and Brendan Gill in The New York Review of Books raised harder questions about Campbell’s politics and his unguarded private writings, and those critiques have not been resolved by his admirers so much as set aside.

Even granting those qualifications, Campbell’s instinct about register stands. He saw that stories carry meaning along a vertical axis, downward into the unconscious and upward into shared cultural reference, and the truth/lie binary slices that axis horizontally and loses the depth.

Saul Kripke offers a second escape from Sontag’s binary, arriving from a tradition Campbell never engaged. In his John Locke Lectures delivered at Oxford in 1973 and published as Reference and Existence in 2013, Kripke extended the rigid-designator theory of his Naming and Necessity to fictional and mythological names, arguing that such names refer to abstract objects brought into existence by the storytelling act itself. The name “Odysseus” refers, in Kripke’s account, to a fictional character: an abstract artifact created by Homeric composition and sustained by every subsequent reader and translator who has carried that reference forward. Kripke gives storytelling a creative-ontological power Sontag’s truth/fiction frame cannot register. Two traditions sharing almost no methodological vocabulary, depth psychology and analytic philosophy of language, arrive at the same conclusion: the truth/lie axis fails because storytelling produces a third class of object the axis cannot measure.

There is a temperamental and political difference between Sontag and Campbell worth naming directly. Sontag wrote in the long aftermath of the Holocaust and the Cold War, suspicious of any totalizing narrative. She had watched fascism weaponize national myth in Germany and Italy, and her caution reflects that experience honestly. Campbell was an American comparativist working in the wake of Frazer and Jung, drawn to pattern across cultures, and his posthumously published journals raised real questions about his political instincts. Sontag’s suspicion functions as a corrective against political weaponization. Campbell’s pattern recognition functions as recognition of common structure across cultures that have never met. The disagreement between them is genuine and should not be smoothed over for the comfort of synthesis.

My position is partial agreement with Sontag and deeper agreement with the Campbell answer she did not stay alive long enough to receive. The truth/fiction ambiguity she describes belongs to modern Western reading habits and shows up wherever those habits travel. The deeper question of what narrative does across cultures requires a different lens. Campbell goes closer to the bone when he asks what stories do across human societies, treating function as the proper unit of analysis, which lets him see patterns Sontag’s frame keeps hidden. Stories organize experience, transmit pattern across generations, rehearse mortality, model possible selves, and bind communities through shared reference. Whether the events “really happened” is a question that stories themselves typically dissolve, which is why we still read Homer and the Book of Job long after their cosmologies have been falsified.

The synthesis Sontag misses, Campbell only gestures toward, and Kripke names from a third direction is that stories operate at multiple registers simultaneously: as durable structures of consciousness, as historically situated cultural artifacts, and as creators of abstract reference objects that take on real life within communities who carry the names forward. The Odyssey is psychologically accurate about return and recognition, it is a specific Bronze Age Greek text carrying specific class and gender assumptions, and it brought “Odysseus” into existence as a name that refers to something real, even if not historical. Collapsing any of these registers into another impoverishes the reading. Sontag’s caution prevents the first kind of collapse, where myth becomes a timeless template that erases the particular hands that made the particular text. Campbell’s depth prevents the second kind of collapse, where a poem becomes a museum object emptied of the psychological force it still exerts on readers who pick it up. Kripke prevents a third collapse altogether, the one in which storytelling is denied its world-making authority and reduced to description of things that already exist. None of the three alone reaches the full target.

What Sontag could not see from the angle of her camera is that the voyager she names as one model among many is the externalization of the tension she places at the center of storytelling. The voyager who returns with news is also the dreamer who returns from the underworld. The bringer of facts and the bringer of vision occupy the same archetypal position, which is why storytelling moves along a single descending axis with truth and invention braided together at the bottom of the well. Sontag stopped at the doorway. Campbell walked down the stairs.

Sontag’s Two Doors, Campbell’s Underworld

In a television interview that has circulated for years, Susan Sontag offers a small theory of storytelling. She points out that the English word “story” carries a double valence. We say “tell me the real story” to demand truth, and we say “that’s only a story” to dismiss invention. Stories, she argues, face two directions at once, toward fact and toward fantasy, and this doubleness sits at the center of what stories do.

The observation is correct as far as it travels, and the format of a televised exchange does not give a thinker of Sontag’s caliber room to develop the qualifications she would have written into print. Sontag is reliable on the surface phenomena. The deathbed scene she describes, where family secrets surface around mortality, is psychologically accurate. Her returning voyager who brings news from elsewhere is one of the oldest functions of narrative, traceable from Odysseus through Marco Polo and Mary Kingsley to the embedded war correspondent. We are also gripped, as Sontag says, by stories precisely because they describe what cannot happen. Readers of Kafka know Gregor Samsa did not wake as an insect, and that knowledge intensifies the story’s force.

Where Sontag falters is in locating this doubleness at “the very center of the whole enterprise of storytelling.” The tension she identifies is a feature of post-Enlightenment English usage. Other languages partition the territory differently. German separates Geschichte from Erzählung, the chronicle from the tale. Ancient Greek separates mythos from logos and historia. Sanskrit holds itihasa, the account of what happened, distinct from purana, the ancient telling. Yoruba oral tradition separates itan, the sacred and ancestral narrative, from àló, the entertaining household tale. The ambiguity Sontag treats as constitutive is partly an artifact of English vocabulary collapsing distinctions that other tongues hold apart. To say storytelling faces two directions, truth and lie, is to inherit a Cartesian frame that pre-modern peoples would have found alien to the question.

This is exactly where Joseph Campbell would intervene. For Campbell, the truth-versus-fiction axis was a symptom of modern literalism, useful for tracking what one cultural moment had lost but useless for explaining how myth operates. Drawing on Jung and on comparative anthropology, he argued that stories carry psychological reality independent of historical reality. The hero’s descent to the underworld, the dying and rising god, the trickster who exposes the king, these belong to a third register that Sontag’s binary cannot accommodate. They register as neither historical claim nor fantasy opposed to fact. As Campbell argued throughout his career, mythology is what we call other people’s religion, and he was pointing at the failure of the truth/lie axis to capture what religious narrative does for those who live inside it.

Campbell would likely call Sontag’s voyager model one motif among several, including myths of descent, metamorphosis, cosmogony, and trickster disruption, while also insisting that the voyager holds special centrality because it externalizes the interior process by which the soul ventures into the unconscious and returns with knowledge. He traced this structure from the shamanic vision quest through Joyce’s Ulysses into the popular cinema of his late life, and his reading of Star Wars as a contemporary monomyth was either his most generous gift to popular culture or his most embarrassing capitulation to it, depending on which scholar you read. Maureen Murdock’s challenge to the male hero’s quest, developed in The Heroine’s Journey in 1990, sharpened the critique that Campbell’s pattern was less universal than his rhetoric implied. Robert Ellwood in The Politics of Myth and Brendan Gill in The New York Review of Books raised harder questions about Campbell’s politics and his unguarded private writings, and those critiques have not been resolved by his admirers so much as set aside.

Even granting those qualifications, Campbell’s instinct about register stands. He saw that stories carry meaning along a vertical axis, downward into the unconscious and upward into shared cultural reference, and the truth/lie binary slices that axis horizontally and loses the depth.

Saul Kripke offers a second escape from Sontag’s binary, arriving from a tradition Campbell never engaged. In his John Locke Lectures delivered at Oxford in 1973 and published as Reference and Existence in 2013, Kripke extended the rigid-designator theory of his Naming and Necessity to fictional and mythological names, arguing that such names refer to abstract objects brought into existence by the storytelling act itself. The name “Odysseus” refers, in Kripke’s account, to a fictional character: an abstract artifact created by Homeric composition and sustained by every subsequent reader and translator who has carried that reference forward. Kripke gives storytelling a creative-ontological power Sontag’s truth/fiction frame cannot register. Two traditions sharing almost no methodological vocabulary, depth psychology and analytic philosophy of language, arrive at the same conclusion: the truth/lie axis fails because storytelling produces a third class of object the axis cannot measure.

There is a temperamental and political difference between Sontag and Campbell worth naming directly. Sontag wrote in the long aftermath of the Holocaust and the Cold War, suspicious of any totalizing narrative. She had watched fascism weaponize national myth in Germany and Italy, and her caution reflects that experience honestly. Campbell was an American comparativist working in the wake of Frazer and Jung, drawn to pattern across cultures, and his posthumously published journals raised real questions about his political instincts. Sontag’s suspicion functions as a corrective against political weaponization. Campbell’s pattern recognition functions as recognition of common structure across cultures that have never met. The disagreement between them is genuine and should not be smoothed over for the comfort of synthesis.

My position is partial agreement with Sontag and deeper agreement with the Campbell answer she did not stay alive long enough to receive. The truth/fiction ambiguity she describes belongs to modern Western reading habits and shows up wherever those habits travel. The deeper question of what narrative does across cultures requires a different lens. Campbell goes closer to the bone when he asks what stories do across human societies, treating function as the proper unit of analysis, which lets him see patterns Sontag’s frame keeps hidden. Stories organize experience, transmit pattern across generations, rehearse mortality, model possible selves, and bind communities through shared reference. Whether the events “really happened” is a question that stories themselves typically dissolve, which is why we still read Homer and the Book of Job long after their cosmologies have been falsified.

The synthesis Sontag misses, Campbell only gestures toward, and Kripke names from a third direction is that stories operate at multiple registers simultaneously: as durable structures of consciousness, as historically situated cultural artifacts, and as creators of abstract reference objects that take on real life within communities who carry the names forward. The Odyssey is psychologically accurate about return and recognition, it is a specific Bronze Age Greek text carrying specific class and gender assumptions, and it brought “Odysseus” into existence as a name that refers to something real, even if not historical. Collapsing any of these registers into another impoverishes the reading. Sontag’s caution prevents the first kind of collapse, where myth becomes a timeless template that erases the particular hands that made the particular text. Campbell’s depth prevents the second kind of collapse, where a poem becomes a museum object emptied of the psychological force it still exerts on readers who pick it up. Kripke prevents a third collapse altogether, the one in which storytelling is denied its world-making authority and reduced to description of things that already exist. None of the three alone reaches the full target.

What Sontag could not see from the angle of her camera is that the voyager she names as one model among many is the externalization of the tension she places at the center of storytelling. The voyager who returns with news is also the dreamer who returns from the underworld. The bringer of facts and the bringer of vision occupy the same archetypal position, which is why storytelling moves along a single descending axis with truth and invention braided together at the bottom of the well. Sontag stopped at the doorway. Campbell walked down the stairs.

Sontag’s Two Doors, Campbell’s Underworld

In a television interview that has circulated for years, Susan Sontag offers a small theory of storytelling. She points out that the English word “story” carries a double valence. We say “tell me the real story” to demand truth, and we say “that’s only a story” to dismiss invention. Stories, she argues, face two directions at once, toward fact and toward fantasy, and this doubleness sits at the center of what stories do.

The observation is correct as far as it travels, and the format of a televised exchange does not give a thinker of Sontag’s caliber room to develop the qualifications she would have written into print. Sontag is reliable on the surface phenomena. The deathbed scene she describes, where family secrets surface around mortality, is psychologically accurate. Her returning voyager who brings news from elsewhere is one of the oldest functions of narrative, traceable from Odysseus through Marco Polo and Mary Kingsley to the embedded war correspondent. We are also gripped, as Sontag says, by stories precisely because they describe what cannot happen. Readers of Kafka know Gregor Samsa did not wake as an insect, and that knowledge intensifies the story’s force.

Where Sontag falters is in locating this doubleness at “the very center of the whole enterprise of storytelling.” The tension she identifies is a feature of post-Enlightenment English usage. Other languages partition the territory differently. German separates Geschichte from Erzählung, the chronicle from the tale. Ancient Greek separates mythos from logos and historia. Sanskrit holds itihasa, the account of what happened, distinct from purana, the ancient telling. Yoruba oral tradition separates itan, the sacred and ancestral narrative, from àló, the entertaining household tale. The ambiguity Sontag treats as constitutive is partly an artifact of English vocabulary collapsing distinctions that other tongues hold apart. To say storytelling faces two directions, truth and lie, is to inherit a Cartesian frame that pre-modern peoples would have found alien to the question.

This is exactly where Joseph Campbell would intervene. For Campbell, the truth-versus-fiction axis was a symptom of modern literalism, useful for tracking what one cultural moment had lost but useless for explaining how myth operates. Drawing on Jung and on comparative anthropology, he argued that stories carry psychological reality independent of historical reality. The hero’s descent to the underworld, the dying and rising god, the trickster who exposes the king, these belong to a third register that Sontag’s binary cannot accommodate. They register as neither historical claim nor fantasy opposed to fact. As Campbell argued throughout his career, mythology is what we call other people’s religion, and he was pointing at the failure of the truth/lie axis to capture what religious narrative does for those who live inside it.

Campbell would likely call Sontag’s voyager model one motif among several, including myths of descent, metamorphosis, cosmogony, and trickster disruption, while also insisting that the voyager holds special centrality because it externalizes the interior process by which the soul ventures into the unconscious and returns with knowledge. He traced this structure from the shamanic vision quest through Joyce’s Ulysses into the popular cinema of his late life, and his reading of Star Wars as a contemporary monomyth was either his most generous gift to popular culture or his most embarrassing capitulation to it, depending on which scholar you read. Maureen Murdock’s challenge to the male hero’s quest, developed in The Heroine’s Journey in 1990, sharpened the critique that Campbell’s pattern was less universal than his rhetoric implied. Robert Ellwood in The Politics of Myth and Brendan Gill in The New York Review of Books raised harder questions about Campbell’s politics and his unguarded private writings, and those critiques have not been resolved by his admirers so much as set aside.

Even granting those qualifications, Campbell’s instinct about register stands. He saw that stories carry meaning along a vertical axis, downward into the unconscious and upward into shared cultural reference, and the truth/lie binary slices that axis horizontally and loses the depth.

Saul Kripke offers a second escape from Sontag’s binary, arriving from a tradition Campbell never engaged. In his John Locke Lectures delivered at Oxford in 1973 and published as Reference and Existence in 2013, Kripke extended the rigid-designator theory of his Naming and Necessity to fictional and mythological names, arguing that such names refer to abstract objects brought into existence by the storytelling act itself. The name “Odysseus” refers, in Kripke’s account, to a fictional character: an abstract artifact created by Homeric composition and sustained by every subsequent reader and translator who has carried that reference forward. Kripke gives storytelling a creative-ontological power Sontag’s truth/fiction frame cannot register. Two traditions sharing almost no methodological vocabulary, depth psychology and analytic philosophy of language, arrive at the same conclusion: the truth/lie axis fails because storytelling produces a third class of object the axis cannot measure.

There is a temperamental and political difference between Sontag and Campbell worth naming directly. Sontag wrote in the long aftermath of the Holocaust and the Cold War, suspicious of any totalizing narrative. She had watched fascism weaponize national myth in Germany and Italy, and her caution reflects that experience honestly. Campbell was an American comparativist working in the wake of Frazer and Jung, drawn to pattern across cultures, and his posthumously published journals raised real questions about his political instincts. Sontag’s suspicion functions as a corrective against political weaponization. Campbell’s pattern recognition functions as recognition of common structure across cultures that have never met. The disagreement between them is genuine and should not be smoothed over for the comfort of synthesis.

My position is partial agreement with Sontag and deeper agreement with the Campbell answer she did not stay alive long enough to receive. The truth/fiction ambiguity she describes belongs to modern Western reading habits and shows up wherever those habits travel. The deeper question of what narrative does across cultures requires a different lens. Campbell goes closer to the bone when he asks what stories do across human societies, treating function as the proper unit of analysis, which lets him see patterns Sontag’s frame keeps hidden. Stories organize experience, transmit pattern across generations, rehearse mortality, model possible selves, and bind communities through shared reference. Whether the events “really happened” is a question that stories themselves typically dissolve, which is why we still read Homer and the Book of Job long after their cosmologies have been falsified.

The synthesis Sontag misses, Campbell only gestures toward, and Kripke names from a third direction is that stories operate at multiple registers simultaneously: as durable structures of consciousness, as historically situated cultural artifacts, and as creators of abstract reference objects that take on real life within communities who carry the names forward. The Odyssey is psychologically accurate about return and recognition, it is a specific Bronze Age Greek text carrying specific class and gender assumptions, and it brought “Odysseus” into existence as a name that refers to something real, even if not historical. Collapsing any of these registers into another impoverishes the reading. Sontag’s caution prevents the first kind of collapse, where myth becomes a timeless template that erases the particular hands that made the particular text. Campbell’s depth prevents the second kind of collapse, where a poem becomes a museum object emptied of the psychological force it still exerts on readers who pick it up. Kripke prevents a third collapse altogether, the one in which storytelling is denied its world-making authority and reduced to description of things that already exist. None of the three alone reaches the full target.

What Sontag could not see from the angle of her camera is that the voyager she names as one model among many is the externalization of the tension she places at the center of storytelling. The voyager who returns with news is also the dreamer who returns from the underworld. The bringer of facts and the bringer of vision occupy the same archetypal position, which is why storytelling moves along a single descending axis with truth and invention braided together at the bottom of the well. Sontag stopped at the doorway. Campbell walked down the stairs.

Sontag’s Two Doors, Campbell’s Underworld

In a television interview that has circulated for years, Susan Sontag offers a small theory of storytelling. She points out that the English word “story” carries a double valence. We say “tell me the real story” to demand truth, and we say “that’s only a story” to dismiss invention. Stories, she argues, face two directions at once, toward fact and toward fantasy, and this doubleness sits at the center of what stories do.

The observation is correct as far as it travels, and the format of a televised exchange does not give a thinker of Sontag’s caliber room to develop the qualifications she would have written into print. Sontag is reliable on the surface phenomena. The deathbed scene she describes, where family secrets surface around mortality, is psychologically accurate. Her returning voyager who brings news from elsewhere is one of the oldest functions of narrative, traceable from Odysseus through Marco Polo and Mary Kingsley to the embedded war correspondent. We are also gripped, as Sontag says, by stories precisely because they describe what cannot happen. Readers of Kafka know Gregor Samsa did not wake as an insect, and that knowledge intensifies the story’s force.

Where Sontag falters is in locating this doubleness at “the very center of the whole enterprise of storytelling.” The tension she identifies is a feature of post-Enlightenment English usage. Other languages partition the territory differently. German separates Geschichte from Erzählung, the chronicle from the tale. Ancient Greek separates mythos from logos and historia. Sanskrit holds itihasa, the account of what happened, distinct from purana, the ancient telling. Yoruba oral tradition separates itan, the sacred and ancestral narrative, from àló, the entertaining household tale. The ambiguity Sontag treats as constitutive is partly an artifact of English vocabulary collapsing distinctions that other tongues hold apart. To say storytelling faces two directions, truth and lie, is to inherit a Cartesian frame that pre-modern peoples would have found alien to the question.

This is exactly where Joseph Campbell would intervene. For Campbell, the truth-versus-fiction axis was a symptom of modern literalism, useful for tracking what one cultural moment had lost but useless for explaining how myth operates. Drawing on Jung and on comparative anthropology, he argued that stories carry psychological reality independent of historical reality. The hero’s descent to the underworld, the dying and rising god, the trickster who exposes the king, these belong to a third register that Sontag’s binary cannot accommodate. They register as neither historical claim nor fantasy opposed to fact. As Campbell argued throughout his career, mythology is what we call other people’s religion, and he was pointing at the failure of the truth/lie axis to capture what religious narrative does for those who live inside it.

Campbell would likely call Sontag’s voyager model one motif among several, including myths of descent, metamorphosis, cosmogony, and trickster disruption, while also insisting that the voyager holds special centrality because it externalizes the interior process by which the soul ventures into the unconscious and returns with knowledge. He traced this structure from the shamanic vision quest through Joyce’s Ulysses into the popular cinema of his late life, and his reading of Star Wars as a contemporary monomyth was either his most generous gift to popular culture or his most embarrassing capitulation to it, depending on which scholar you read. Maureen Murdock’s challenge to the male hero’s quest, developed in The Heroine’s Journey in 1990, sharpened the critique that Campbell’s pattern was less universal than his rhetoric implied. Robert Ellwood in The Politics of Myth and Brendan Gill in The New York Review of Books raised harder questions about Campbell’s politics and his unguarded private writings, and those critiques have not been resolved by his admirers so much as set aside.

Even granting those qualifications, Campbell’s instinct about register stands. He saw that stories carry meaning along a vertical axis, downward into the unconscious and upward into shared cultural reference, and the truth/lie binary slices that axis horizontally and loses the depth.

Saul Kripke offers a second escape from Sontag’s binary, arriving from a tradition Campbell never engaged. In his John Locke Lectures delivered at Oxford in 1973 and published as Reference and Existence in 2013, Kripke extended the rigid-designator theory of his Naming and Necessity to fictional and mythological names, arguing that such names refer to abstract objects brought into existence by the storytelling act itself. The name “Odysseus” refers, in Kripke’s account, to a fictional character: an abstract artifact created by Homeric composition and sustained by every subsequent reader and translator who has carried that reference forward. Kripke gives storytelling a creative-ontological power Sontag’s truth/fiction frame cannot register. Two traditions sharing almost no methodological vocabulary, depth psychology and analytic philosophy of language, arrive at the same conclusion: the truth/lie axis fails because storytelling produces a third class of object the axis cannot measure.

There is a temperamental and political difference between Sontag and Campbell worth naming directly. Sontag wrote in the long aftermath of the Holocaust and the Cold War, suspicious of any totalizing narrative. She had watched fascism weaponize national myth in Germany and Italy, and her caution reflects that experience honestly. Campbell was an American comparativist working in the wake of Frazer and Jung, drawn to pattern across cultures, and his posthumously published journals raised real questions about his political instincts. Sontag’s suspicion functions as a corrective against political weaponization. Campbell’s pattern recognition functions as recognition of common structure across cultures that have never met. The disagreement between them is genuine and should not be smoothed over for the comfort of synthesis.

My position is partial agreement with Sontag and deeper agreement with the Campbell answer she did not stay alive long enough to receive. The truth/fiction ambiguity she describes belongs to modern Western reading habits and shows up wherever those habits travel. The deeper question of what narrative does across cultures requires a different lens. Campbell goes closer to the bone when he asks what stories do across human societies, treating function as the proper unit of analysis, which lets him see patterns Sontag’s frame keeps hidden. Stories organize experience, transmit pattern across generations, rehearse mortality, model possible selves, and bind communities through shared reference. Whether the events “really happened” is a question that stories themselves typically dissolve, which is why we still read Homer and the Book of Job long after their cosmologies have been falsified.

The synthesis Sontag misses, Campbell only gestures toward, and Kripke names from a third direction is that stories operate at multiple registers simultaneously: as durable structures of consciousness, as historically situated cultural artifacts, and as creators of abstract reference objects that take on real life within communities who carry the names forward. The Odyssey is psychologically accurate about return and recognition, it is a specific Bronze Age Greek text carrying specific class and gender assumptions, and it brought “Odysseus” into existence as a name that refers to something real, even if not historical. Collapsing any of these registers into another impoverishes the reading. Sontag’s caution prevents the first kind of collapse, where myth becomes a timeless template that erases the particular hands that made the particular text. Campbell’s depth prevents the second kind of collapse, where a poem becomes a museum object emptied of the psychological force it still exerts on readers who pick it up. Kripke prevents a third collapse altogether, the one in which storytelling is denied its world-making authority and reduced to description of things that already exist. None of the three alone reaches the full target.

What Sontag could not see from the angle of her camera is that the voyager she names as one model among many is the externalization of the tension she places at the center of storytelling. The voyager who returns with news is also the dreamer who returns from the underworld. The bringer of facts and the bringer of vision occupy the same archetypal position, which is why storytelling moves along a single descending axis with truth and invention braided together at the bottom of the well. Sontag stopped at the doorway. Campbell walked down the stairs.

Sontag’s Two Doors, Campbell’s Underworld

In a television interview that has circulated for years, Susan Sontag offers a small theory of storytelling. She points out that the English word “story” carries a double valence. We say “tell me the real story” to demand truth, and we say “that’s only a story” to dismiss invention. Stories, she argues, face two directions at once, toward fact and toward fantasy, and this doubleness sits at the center of what stories do.

The observation is correct as far as it travels, and the format of a televised exchange does not give a thinker of Sontag’s caliber room to develop the qualifications she would have written into print. Sontag is reliable on the surface phenomena. The deathbed scene she describes, where family secrets surface around mortality, is psychologically accurate. Her returning voyager who brings news from elsewhere is one of the oldest functions of narrative, traceable from Odysseus through Marco Polo and Mary Kingsley to the embedded war correspondent. We are also gripped, as Sontag says, by stories precisely because they describe what cannot happen. Readers of Kafka know Gregor Samsa did not wake as an insect, and that knowledge intensifies the story’s force.

Where Sontag falters is in locating this doubleness at “the very center of the whole enterprise of storytelling.” The tension she identifies is a feature of post-Enlightenment English usage. Other languages partition the territory differently. German separates Geschichte from Erzählung, the chronicle from the tale. Ancient Greek separates mythos from logos and historia. Sanskrit holds itihasa, the account of what happened, distinct from purana, the ancient telling. Yoruba oral tradition separates itan, the sacred and ancestral narrative, from àló, the entertaining household tale. The ambiguity Sontag treats as constitutive is partly an artifact of English vocabulary collapsing distinctions that other tongues hold apart. To say storytelling faces two directions, truth and lie, is to inherit a Cartesian frame that pre-modern peoples would have found alien to the question.

This is exactly where Joseph Campbell would intervene. For Campbell, the truth-versus-fiction axis was a symptom of modern literalism, useful for tracking what one cultural moment had lost but useless for explaining how myth operates. Drawing on Jung and on comparative anthropology, he argued that stories carry psychological reality independent of historical reality. The hero’s descent to the underworld, the dying and rising god, the trickster who exposes the king, these belong to a third register that Sontag’s binary cannot accommodate. They register as neither historical claim nor fantasy opposed to fact. As Campbell argued throughout his career, mythology is what we call other people’s religion, and he was pointing at the failure of the truth/lie axis to capture what religious narrative does for those who live inside it.

Campbell would likely call Sontag’s voyager model one motif among several, including myths of descent, metamorphosis, cosmogony, and trickster disruption, while also insisting that the voyager holds special centrality because it externalizes the interior process by which the soul ventures into the unconscious and returns with knowledge. He traced this structure from the shamanic vision quest through Joyce’s Ulysses into the popular cinema of his late life, and his reading of Star Wars as a contemporary monomyth was either his most generous gift to popular culture or his most embarrassing capitulation to it, depending on which scholar you read. Maureen Murdock’s challenge to the male hero’s quest, developed in The Heroine’s Journey in 1990, sharpened the critique that Campbell’s pattern was less universal than his rhetoric implied. Robert Ellwood in The Politics of Myth and Brendan Gill in The New York Review of Books raised harder questions about Campbell’s politics and his unguarded private writings, and those critiques have not been resolved by his admirers so much as set aside.

Even granting those qualifications, Campbell’s instinct about register stands. He saw that stories carry meaning along a vertical axis, downward into the unconscious and upward into shared cultural reference, and the truth/lie binary slices that axis horizontally and loses the depth.

Saul Kripke offers a second escape from Sontag’s binary, arriving from a tradition Campbell never engaged. In his John Locke Lectures delivered at Oxford in 1973 and published as Reference and Existence in 2013, Kripke extended the rigid-designator theory of his Naming and Necessity to fictional and mythological names, arguing that such names refer to abstract objects brought into existence by the storytelling act itself. The name “Odysseus” refers, in Kripke’s account, to a fictional character: an abstract artifact created by Homeric composition and sustained by every subsequent reader and translator who has carried that reference forward. Kripke gives storytelling a creative-ontological power Sontag’s truth/fiction frame cannot register. Two traditions sharing almost no methodological vocabulary, depth psychology and analytic philosophy of language, arrive at the same conclusion: the truth/lie axis fails because storytelling produces a third class of object the axis cannot measure.

There is a temperamental and political difference between Sontag and Campbell worth naming directly. Sontag wrote in the long aftermath of the Holocaust and the Cold War, suspicious of any totalizing narrative. She had watched fascism weaponize national myth in Germany and Italy, and her caution reflects that experience honestly. Campbell was an American comparativist working in the wake of Frazer and Jung, drawn to pattern across cultures, and his posthumously published journals raised real questions about his political instincts. Sontag’s suspicion functions as a corrective against political weaponization. Campbell’s pattern recognition functions as recognition of common structure across cultures that have never met. The disagreement between them is genuine and should not be smoothed over for the comfort of synthesis.

My position is partial agreement with Sontag and deeper agreement with the Campbell answer she did not stay alive long enough to receive. The truth/fiction ambiguity she describes belongs to modern Western reading habits and shows up wherever those habits travel. The deeper question of what narrative does across cultures requires a different lens. Campbell goes closer to the bone when he asks what stories do across human societies, treating function as the proper unit of analysis, which lets him see patterns Sontag’s frame keeps hidden. Stories organize experience, transmit pattern across generations, rehearse mortality, model possible selves, and bind communities through shared reference. Whether the events “really happened” is a question that stories themselves typically dissolve, which is why we still read Homer and the Book of Job long after their cosmologies have been falsified.

The synthesis Sontag misses, Campbell only gestures toward, and Kripke names from a third direction is that stories operate at multiple registers simultaneously: as durable structures of consciousness, as historically situated cultural artifacts, and as creators of abstract reference objects that take on real life within communities who carry the names forward. The Odyssey is psychologically accurate about return and recognition, it is a specific Bronze Age Greek text carrying specific class and gender assumptions, and it brought “Odysseus” into existence as a name that refers to something real, even if not historical. Collapsing any of these registers into another impoverishes the reading. Sontag’s caution prevents the first kind of collapse, where myth becomes a timeless template that erases the particular hands that made the particular text. Campbell’s depth prevents the second kind of collapse, where a poem becomes a museum object emptied of the psychological force it still exerts on readers who pick it up. Kripke prevents a third collapse altogether, the one in which storytelling is denied its world-making authority and reduced to description of things that already exist. None of the three alone reaches the full target.

What Sontag could not see from the angle of her camera is that the voyager she names as one model among many is the externalization of the tension she places at the center of storytelling. The voyager who returns with news is also the dreamer who returns from the underworld. The bringer of facts and the bringer of vision occupy the same archetypal position, which is why storytelling moves along a single descending axis with truth and invention braided together at the bottom of the well. Sontag stopped at the doorway. Campbell walked down the stairs.

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TAROT

For centuries, across cultures, people have spoken of a world beyond the physical. Some call it the supernatural or God, others the subtle body, the collective unconscious or the ethereal. Whether connecting with something deep within or something divine beyond us, this non‑physical realm has long fascinated both sages and scholars. Though modern science and mysticism often clash, I have always been drawn to their boundary—a liminal space where metaphysics and quantum theory blur into what some call the ‘secrets of the universe.’ 

Historically, people have developed tools and methods to commune with this unseen world. With this column, I hope to explore these divination practices—both to demystify the idea that we can engage with the unseen and to consider how they might help us connect more deeply with ourselves and each other. Theorists like Albert Einstein, who envisioned an interconnected universe, and Carl Jung, who wrote about archetypes and the collective unconscious, have suggested a hidden web. I believe divination can help us tap into it, offering insight and self‑understanding. 

One of the most well‑known tools today is the tarot. While tarot as we know it differs from its origins, the practice of cartomancy (using cards as divination tools) began in the Tang dynasty in seventh-century China before traveling west and evolving into the 15th‑century Italian tarot deck. Contemporary tarot decks still maintain the 78‑card structure developed in the Renaissance era, which is divided into the Minor and Major Arcana. 

The Minor Arcana mirrors a traditional deck of playing cards, with four suits—pentacles (or coins), swords, wands and cups—each aligning with one of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water. Within each suit, ten numbered cards trace a personal journey through the challenges, growth and lessons of that element.  

These culminate with the court cards—Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings—which reflect stages of maturity. Pages carry the curiosity of beginnings and knights the restless energy of adolescence, while queens and kings embody mastery of the inner and outer realms. Together, the suits form a story of self‑actualization through the elements that shape our lives. 

The Major Arcana, a set of 22 cards, speaks to our broader existential journey. They follow the fool through symbolic stages of life. The fool encounters figures like the Empress, Strength, Death, and the Star that echo the hero’s journey described by Joseph Campbell. These archetypes appear across global mythologies, alchemical traditions, and Jungian psychology, offering a symbolic map of transformation. 

In essence, a tarot deck is a guide to the process of becoming. It’s an archetypal narrative found everywhere from ancient myths to Alice in Wonderland and Star Wars. It mirrors what spiritual practitioners call the dark night of the soul: the leap into the unknown, the trials, the adventures, and eventually the revelations. 

For this month’s collective reading, I’ve chosen the Smith-Waite deck. It was illustrated in 1909 by artist and occultist Pamela Colman Smith. Commissioned by Arthur Edward Waite, the deck was created through Smith’s intuitive practice, and her imagery has since become the foundation for countless tarot decks.  

Every reader approaches tarot differently, but I begin by grounding myself, often with a quiet prayer or affirmation, before shuffling and pulling the cards the spread calls for. This month, I’ve drawn three cards for the collective: one for our past, one for the present moment, and a third for what awaits us. 

In the past position, we have the Ace of Swords. This suggests the collective has recently moved through a period of sharp, and maybe even uncomfortable clarity. An essential truth has been revealed. The Ace appears when illusions fade and we’re asked to see things as they truly are. For many, this may have been a moment of honesty, a shift in perspective, or the realization that something could no longer be overlooked. 

In the present, we meet The Emperor. He brings structure, discipline, and a call for grounded authority. After the clarity of the Ace, the Emperor asks us to act on what we now understand. This is a moment to establish boundaries and take leadership into our own hands. Collectively, it signals a need to envision new systems, routines, or foundations that support long‑term stability and growth. 

Looking ahead, the Six of Pentacles points toward a future shaped by reciprocity and balanced exchange. We are invited to consider how we share our resources and to do so with fairness, generosity, and integrity. 

Together, these cards paint a trajectory from clarity to structure to compassionate action. What we understand now becomes the blueprint for a more balanced and mutually supportive future. While I hesitate to use these tools for fortune‑telling, I use them instead as cues for reflection, and this reading suggests a collective movement toward reciprocity, —something I can happily stand behind. 

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TAROT

For centuries, across cultures, people have spoken of a world beyond the physical. Some call it the supernatural or God, others the subtle body, the collective unconscious or the ethereal. Whether connecting with something deep within or something divine beyond us, this non‑physical realm has long fascinated both sages and scholars. Though modern science and mysticism often clash, I have always been drawn to their boundary—a liminal space where metaphysics and quantum theory blur into what some call the ‘secrets of the universe.’ 

Historically, people have developed tools and methods to commune with this unseen world. With this column, I hope to explore these divination practices—both to demystify the idea that we can engage with the unseen and to consider how they might help us connect more deeply with ourselves and each other. Theorists like Albert Einstein, who envisioned an interconnected universe, and Carl Jung, who wrote about archetypes and the collective unconscious, have suggested a hidden web. I believe divination can help us tap into it, offering insight and self‑understanding. 

One of the most well‑known tools today is the tarot. While tarot as we know it differs from its origins, the practice of cartomancy (using cards as divination tools) began in the Tang dynasty in seventh-century China before traveling west and evolving into the 15th‑century Italian tarot deck. Contemporary tarot decks still maintain the 78‑card structure developed in the Renaissance era, which is divided into the Minor and Major Arcana. 

The Minor Arcana mirrors a traditional deck of playing cards, with four suits—pentacles (or coins), swords, wands and cups—each aligning with one of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water. Within each suit, ten numbered cards trace a personal journey through the challenges, growth and lessons of that element.  

These culminate with the court cards—Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings—which reflect stages of maturity. Pages carry the curiosity of beginnings and knights the restless energy of adolescence, while queens and kings embody mastery of the inner and outer realms. Together, the suits form a story of self‑actualization through the elements that shape our lives. 

The Major Arcana, a set of 22 cards, speaks to our broader existential journey. They follow the fool through symbolic stages of life. The fool encounters figures like the Empress, Strength, Death, and the Star that echo the hero’s journey described by Joseph Campbell. These archetypes appear across global mythologies, alchemical traditions, and Jungian psychology, offering a symbolic map of transformation. 

In essence, a tarot deck is a guide to the process of becoming. It’s an archetypal narrative found everywhere from ancient myths to Alice in Wonderland and Star Wars. It mirrors what spiritual practitioners call the dark night of the soul: the leap into the unknown, the trials, the adventures, and eventually the revelations. 

For this month’s collective reading, I’ve chosen the Smith-Waite deck. It was illustrated in 1909 by artist and occultist Pamela Colman Smith. Commissioned by Arthur Edward Waite, the deck was created through Smith’s intuitive practice, and her imagery has since become the foundation for countless tarot decks.  

Every reader approaches tarot differently, but I begin by grounding myself, often with a quiet prayer or affirmation, before shuffling and pulling the cards the spread calls for. This month, I’ve drawn three cards for the collective: one for our past, one for the present moment, and a third for what awaits us. 

In the past position, we have the Ace of Swords. This suggests the collective has recently moved through a period of sharp, and maybe even uncomfortable clarity. An essential truth has been revealed. The Ace appears when illusions fade and we’re asked to see things as they truly are. For many, this may have been a moment of honesty, a shift in perspective, or the realization that something could no longer be overlooked. 

In the present, we meet The Emperor. He brings structure, discipline, and a call for grounded authority. After the clarity of the Ace, the Emperor asks us to act on what we now understand. This is a moment to establish boundaries and take leadership into our own hands. Collectively, it signals a need to envision new systems, routines, or foundations that support long‑term stability and growth. 

Looking ahead, the Six of Pentacles points toward a future shaped by reciprocity and balanced exchange. We are invited to consider how we share our resources and to do so with fairness, generosity, and integrity. 

Together, these cards paint a trajectory from clarity to structure to compassionate action. What we understand now becomes the blueprint for a more balanced and mutually supportive future. While I hesitate to use these tools for fortune‑telling, I use them instead as cues for reflection, and this reading suggests a collective movement toward reciprocity, —something I can happily stand behind. 

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TAROT

For centuries, across cultures, people have spoken of a world beyond the physical. Some call it the supernatural or God, others the subtle body, the collective unconscious or the ethereal. Whether connecting with something deep within or something divine beyond us, this non‑physical realm has long fascinated both sages and scholars. Though modern science and mysticism often clash, I have always been drawn to their boundary—a liminal space where metaphysics and quantum theory blur into what some call the ‘secrets of the universe.’ 

Historically, people have developed tools and methods to commune with this unseen world. With this column, I hope to explore these divination practices—both to demystify the idea that we can engage with the unseen and to consider how they might help us connect more deeply with ourselves and each other. Theorists like Albert Einstein, who envisioned an interconnected universe, and Carl Jung, who wrote about archetypes and the collective unconscious, have suggested a hidden web. I believe divination can help us tap into it, offering insight and self‑understanding. 

One of the most well‑known tools today is the tarot. While tarot as we know it differs from its origins, the practice of cartomancy (using cards as divination tools) began in the Tang dynasty in seventh-century China before traveling west and evolving into the 15th‑century Italian tarot deck. Contemporary tarot decks still maintain the 78‑card structure developed in the Renaissance era, which is divided into the Minor and Major Arcana. 

The Minor Arcana mirrors a traditional deck of playing cards, with four suits—pentacles (or coins), swords, wands and cups—each aligning with one of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water. Within each suit, ten numbered cards trace a personal journey through the challenges, growth and lessons of that element.  

These culminate with the court cards—Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings—which reflect stages of maturity. Pages carry the curiosity of beginnings and knights the restless energy of adolescence, while queens and kings embody mastery of the inner and outer realms. Together, the suits form a story of self‑actualization through the elements that shape our lives. 

The Major Arcana, a set of 22 cards, speaks to our broader existential journey. They follow the fool through symbolic stages of life. The fool encounters figures like the Empress, Strength, Death, and the Star that echo the hero’s journey described by Joseph Campbell. These archetypes appear across global mythologies, alchemical traditions, and Jungian psychology, offering a symbolic map of transformation. 

In essence, a tarot deck is a guide to the process of becoming. It’s an archetypal narrative found everywhere from ancient myths to Alice in Wonderland and Star Wars. It mirrors what spiritual practitioners call the dark night of the soul: the leap into the unknown, the trials, the adventures, and eventually the revelations. 

For this month’s collective reading, I’ve chosen the Smith-Waite deck. It was illustrated in 1909 by artist and occultist Pamela Colman Smith. Commissioned by Arthur Edward Waite, the deck was created through Smith’s intuitive practice, and her imagery has since become the foundation for countless tarot decks.  

Every reader approaches tarot differently, but I begin by grounding myself, often with a quiet prayer or affirmation, before shuffling and pulling the cards the spread calls for. This month, I’ve drawn three cards for the collective: one for our past, one for the present moment, and a third for what awaits us. 

In the past position, we have the Ace of Swords. This suggests the collective has recently moved through a period of sharp, and maybe even uncomfortable clarity. An essential truth has been revealed. The Ace appears when illusions fade and we’re asked to see things as they truly are. For many, this may have been a moment of honesty, a shift in perspective, or the realization that something could no longer be overlooked. 

In the present, we meet The Emperor. He brings structure, discipline, and a call for grounded authority. After the clarity of the Ace, the Emperor asks us to act on what we now understand. This is a moment to establish boundaries and take leadership into our own hands. Collectively, it signals a need to envision new systems, routines, or foundations that support long‑term stability and growth. 

Looking ahead, the Six of Pentacles points toward a future shaped by reciprocity and balanced exchange. We are invited to consider how we share our resources and to do so with fairness, generosity, and integrity. 

Together, these cards paint a trajectory from clarity to structure to compassionate action. What we understand now becomes the blueprint for a more balanced and mutually supportive future. While I hesitate to use these tools for fortune‑telling, I use them instead as cues for reflection, and this reading suggests a collective movement toward reciprocity, —something I can happily stand behind. 

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TAROT

For centuries, across cultures, people have spoken of a world beyond the physical. Some call it the supernatural or God, others the subtle body, the collective unconscious or the ethereal. Whether connecting with something deep within or something divine beyond us, this non‑physical realm has long fascinated both sages and scholars. Though modern science and mysticism often clash, I have always been drawn to their boundary—a liminal space where metaphysics and quantum theory blur into what some call the ‘secrets of the universe.’ 

Historically, people have developed tools and methods to commune with this unseen world. With this column, I hope to explore these divination practices—both to demystify the idea that we can engage with the unseen and to consider how they might help us connect more deeply with ourselves and each other. Theorists like Albert Einstein, who envisioned an interconnected universe, and Carl Jung, who wrote about archetypes and the collective unconscious, have suggested a hidden web. I believe divination can help us tap into it, offering insight and self‑understanding. 

One of the most well‑known tools today is the tarot. While tarot as we know it differs from its origins, the practice of cartomancy (using cards as divination tools) began in the Tang dynasty in seventh-century China before traveling west and evolving into the 15th‑century Italian tarot deck. Contemporary tarot decks still maintain the 78‑card structure developed in the Renaissance era, which is divided into the Minor and Major Arcana. 

The Minor Arcana mirrors a traditional deck of playing cards, with four suits—pentacles (or coins), swords, wands and cups—each aligning with one of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water. Within each suit, ten numbered cards trace a personal journey through the challenges, growth and lessons of that element.  

These culminate with the court cards—Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings—which reflect stages of maturity. Pages carry the curiosity of beginnings and knights the restless energy of adolescence, while queens and kings embody mastery of the inner and outer realms. Together, the suits form a story of self‑actualization through the elements that shape our lives. 

The Major Arcana, a set of 22 cards, speaks to our broader existential journey. They follow the fool through symbolic stages of life. The fool encounters figures like the Empress, Strength, Death, and the Star that echo the hero’s journey described by Joseph Campbell. These archetypes appear across global mythologies, alchemical traditions, and Jungian psychology, offering a symbolic map of transformation. 

In essence, a tarot deck is a guide to the process of becoming. It’s an archetypal narrative found everywhere from ancient myths to Alice in Wonderland and Star Wars. It mirrors what spiritual practitioners call the dark night of the soul: the leap into the unknown, the trials, the adventures, and eventually the revelations. 

For this month’s collective reading, I’ve chosen the Smith-Waite deck. It was illustrated in 1909 by artist and occultist Pamela Colman Smith. Commissioned by Arthur Edward Waite, the deck was created through Smith’s intuitive practice, and her imagery has since become the foundation for countless tarot decks.  

Every reader approaches tarot differently, but I begin by grounding myself, often with a quiet prayer or affirmation, before shuffling and pulling the cards the spread calls for. This month, I’ve drawn three cards for the collective: one for our past, one for the present moment, and a third for what awaits us. 

In the past position, we have the Ace of Swords. This suggests the collective has recently moved through a period of sharp, and maybe even uncomfortable clarity. An essential truth has been revealed. The Ace appears when illusions fade and we’re asked to see things as they truly are. For many, this may have been a moment of honesty, a shift in perspective, or the realization that something could no longer be overlooked. 

In the present, we meet The Emperor. He brings structure, discipline, and a call for grounded authority. After the clarity of the Ace, the Emperor asks us to act on what we now understand. This is a moment to establish boundaries and take leadership into our own hands. Collectively, it signals a need to envision new systems, routines, or foundations that support long‑term stability and growth. 

Looking ahead, the Six of Pentacles points toward a future shaped by reciprocity and balanced exchange. We are invited to consider how we share our resources and to do so with fairness, generosity, and integrity. 

Together, these cards paint a trajectory from clarity to structure to compassionate action. What we understand now becomes the blueprint for a more balanced and mutually supportive future. While I hesitate to use these tools for fortune‑telling, I use them instead as cues for reflection, and this reading suggests a collective movement toward reciprocity, —something I can happily stand behind. 

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE TAROT

For centuries, across cultures, people have spoken of a world beyond the physical. Some call it the supernatural or God, others the subtle body, the collective unconscious or the ethereal. Whether connecting with something deep within or something divine beyond us, this non‑physical realm has long fascinated both sages and scholars. Though modern science and mysticism often clash, I have always been drawn to their boundary—a liminal space where metaphysics and quantum theory blur into what some call the ‘secrets of the universe.’ 

Historically, people have developed tools and methods to commune with this unseen world. With this column, I hope to explore these divination practices—both to demystify the idea that we can engage with the unseen and to consider how they might help us connect more deeply with ourselves and each other. Theorists like Albert Einstein, who envisioned an interconnected universe, and Carl Jung, who wrote about archetypes and the collective unconscious, have suggested a hidden web. I believe divination can help us tap into it, offering insight and self‑understanding. 

One of the most well‑known tools today is the tarot. While tarot as we know it differs from its origins, the practice of cartomancy (using cards as divination tools) began in the Tang dynasty in seventh-century China before traveling west and evolving into the 15th‑century Italian tarot deck. Contemporary tarot decks still maintain the 78‑card structure developed in the Renaissance era, which is divided into the Minor and Major Arcana. 

The Minor Arcana mirrors a traditional deck of playing cards, with four suits—pentacles (or coins), swords, wands and cups—each aligning with one of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water. Within each suit, ten numbered cards trace a personal journey through the challenges, growth and lessons of that element.  

These culminate with the court cards—Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings—which reflect stages of maturity. Pages carry the curiosity of beginnings and knights the restless energy of adolescence, while queens and kings embody mastery of the inner and outer realms. Together, the suits form a story of self‑actualization through the elements that shape our lives. 

The Major Arcana, a set of 22 cards, speaks to our broader existential journey. They follow the fool through symbolic stages of life. The fool encounters figures like the Empress, Strength, Death, and the Star that echo the hero’s journey described by Joseph Campbell. These archetypes appear across global mythologies, alchemical traditions, and Jungian psychology, offering a symbolic map of transformation. 

In essence, a tarot deck is a guide to the process of becoming. It’s an archetypal narrative found everywhere from ancient myths to Alice in Wonderland and Star Wars. It mirrors what spiritual practitioners call the dark night of the soul: the leap into the unknown, the trials, the adventures, and eventually the revelations. 

For this month’s collective reading, I’ve chosen the Smith-Waite deck. It was illustrated in 1909 by artist and occultist Pamela Colman Smith. Commissioned by Arthur Edward Waite, the deck was created through Smith’s intuitive practice, and her imagery has since become the foundation for countless tarot decks.  

Every reader approaches tarot differently, but I begin by grounding myself, often with a quiet prayer or affirmation, before shuffling and pulling the cards the spread calls for. This month, I’ve drawn three cards for the collective: one for our past, one for the present moment, and a third for what awaits us. 

In the past position, we have the Ace of Swords. This suggests the collective has recently moved through a period of sharp, and maybe even uncomfortable clarity. An essential truth has been revealed. The Ace appears when illusions fade and we’re asked to see things as they truly are. For many, this may have been a moment of honesty, a shift in perspective, or the realization that something could no longer be overlooked. 

In the present, we meet The Emperor. He brings structure, discipline, and a call for grounded authority. After the clarity of the Ace, the Emperor asks us to act on what we now understand. This is a moment to establish boundaries and take leadership into our own hands. Collectively, it signals a need to envision new systems, routines, or foundations that support long‑term stability and growth. 

Looking ahead, the Six of Pentacles points toward a future shaped by reciprocity and balanced exchange. We are invited to consider how we share our resources and to do so with fairness, generosity, and integrity. 

Together, these cards paint a trajectory from clarity to structure to compassionate action. What we understand now becomes the blueprint for a more balanced and mutually supportive future. While I hesitate to use these tools for fortune‑telling, I use them instead as cues for reflection, and this reading suggests a collective movement toward reciprocity, —something I can happily stand behind. 

@bookstodon

“Gordon of Achruach was at feud with Campbell of Kentallan, who hired certain Gregora, landless men, who took the Gordon unawares while he was hunting in the Mamore…”

—from “The Gordon Women” by George MacDonald Fraser – one of his “McAuslan” stories – in THE SHEIKH & THE DUSTBIN (1988)

5/6

#Scottish #literature #history #folklore #clan #Macgregor #Gordon #Campbell

@bookstodon

“Gordon of Achruach was at feud with Campbell of Kentallan, who hired certain Gregora, landless men, who took the Gordon unawares while he was hunting in the Mamore…”

—from “The Gordon Women” by George MacDonald Fraser – one of his “McAuslan” stories – in THE SHEIKH & THE DUSTBIN (1988)

5/6

#Scottish #literature #history #folklore #clan #Macgregor #Gordon #Campbell

@bookstodon

“Gordon of Achruach was at feud with Campbell of Kentallan, who hired certain Gregora, landless men, who took the Gordon unawares while he was hunting in the Mamore…”

—from “The Gordon Women” by George MacDonald Fraser – one of his “McAuslan” stories – in THE SHEIKH & THE DUSTBIN (1988)

5/6

#Scottish #literature #history #folklore #clan #Macgregor #Gordon #Campbell

@bookstodon

“Gordon of Achruach was at feud with Campbell of Kentallan, who hired certain Gregora, landless men, who took the Gordon unawares while he was hunting in the Mamore…”

—from “The Gordon Women” by George MacDonald Fraser – one of his “McAuslan” stories – in THE SHEIKH & THE DUSTBIN (1988)

5/6

#Scottish #literature #history #folklore #clan #Macgregor #Gordon #Campbell

@bookstodon

“Gordon of Achruach was at feud with Campbell of Kentallan, who hired certain Gregora, landless men, who took the Gordon unawares while he was hunting in the Mamore…”

—from “The Gordon Women” by George MacDonald Fraser – one of his “McAuslan” stories – in THE SHEIKH & THE DUSTBIN (1988)

5/6

#Scottish #literature #history #folklore #clan #Macgregor #Gordon #Campbell

Hype for the Future 122A: What is “Northern Kentucky?”

https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2026/03/02/hype-for-the-future-122a-what-is-northern-kentucky/

https://www.fogolf.com/1173357/liv-golfer-ben-campbell-eyes-breakthrough-new-zealand-open-title/ LIV golfer Ben Campbell eyes breakthrough New Zealand Open title #105th #Ben #BLOWING #Breakthrough #campbell #Eyes #Fairways #first #Golf #GolfNews #golfer #hole #Hopes #Liv #look #Millbrook #new #open #Tees #Tight #TITLE #When #wind #Zealand

https://www.fogolf.com/1173357/liv-golfer-ben-campbell-eyes-breakthrough-new-zealand-open-title/ LIV golfer Ben Campbell eyes breakthrough New Zealand Open title #105th #Ben #BLOWING #Breakthrough #campbell #Eyes #Fairways #first #Golf #GolfNews #golfer #hole #Hopes #Liv #look #Millbrook #new #open #Tees #Tight #TITLE #When #wind #Zealand

ECU Baseball falls to Campbell 2-1 https://www.rawchili.com/mlb/578869/ #Baseball #campbell #College #EASTCAROLINA #ECU #pirates #record #schedule #score #tuesday

Brainstorming Candidates For Penn State Football’s Wide Receivers Coach Opening https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/749592/ #BigTen #BigTenFootball #BobbyEngram #campbell #ChaseSowell #DennisSimmons #DyrellRoberts #Football #Franklin #HinesWars #IowaState #IowaStateFootball #JamesFranklin #JoshGattis #MattCampbell #MattSimon #PennState #PennStateFootball #PittsburghSteelers #psu #TiquanUnderwood #ZohnBurden

Brainstorming Candidates For Penn State Football’s Wide Receivers Coach Opening https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/749592/ #BigTen #BigTenFootball #BobbyEngram #campbell #ChaseSowell #DennisSimmons #DyrellRoberts #Football #Franklin #HinesWars #IowaState #IowaStateFootball #JamesFranklin #JoshGattis #MattCampbell #MattSimon #PennState #PennStateFootball #PittsburghSteelers #psu #TiquanUnderwood #ZohnBurden

Hype for the Future 98I: Patrick Henry’s Red Hill

https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2026/02/06/hype-for-the-future-98i-patrick-henrys-red-hill/

El tackle izquierdo de los Patriots, Will Campbell, comparte el miedo único que tiene fuera del fútbol #Campbell #comparte #del #fuera #futbol #izquierdo #los #miedo #Patriots #Tackle #tiene #único #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/el-tackle-izquierdo-de-los-patriots-will-campbell-comparte-el-miedo-unico-que-tiene-fuera-del-futbol/?feed_id=68334&_unique_id=698401eb04fa0

El tackle izquierdo de los Patriots, Will Campbell, comparte el miedo único que tiene fuera del fútbol #Campbell #comparte #del #fuera #futbol #izquierdo #los #miedo #Patriots #Tackle #tiene #único #ButterWord #Spanish_News Comenta tu opinión 👇
https://butterword.com/el-tackle-izquierdo-de-los-patriots-will-campbell-comparte-el-miedo-unico-que-tiene-fuera-del-futbol/?feed_id=68334&_unique_id=698401eb04fa0

Seemingly...

Seemingly all the same, but slightly different,

Campbell's soup cans feature in a variety

Of flavours. It depends on our temperament

Or mood, whether we choose chicken , tomato, pea,

Bean or mushroom: all for a reasonable price;

All at the centre of consumerism's dreams:

Where lifestyle choices glisten in our eager eyes.

No one can ever tell us that we are not free.

#paintings
#andy warhol
#campbell's soup cans
#pop art
#1962
#ironic

Rocks in the Storm by Bernd Schunack

https://tmblr.co/Z7VXvxieOD9l8W00

#12 #twelve #apostles #rock #formation #cliff #erosion #dramatic #clouds #rain #storm #stormy #weather #morning #great #ocean #road #australia #port #campbell #marine #national #park #gibson #steps #victoria #water #pacific #surf #beach

Detroit Lions’ playoff hopes fading after loss in LA https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/602089/ #American #AmericanFootball #AmonRa #AmonRaSt.Brown #Angeles #Bears #Brown #California #campbell #Chicago #ChicagoBears #detroit #DetroitLions #DetroitLions #Football #Goff #Hub #jack #JackCampbell #jameson #JamesonWilliams #jared #JaredGoff #lions #Los #LosAngelesRams #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Rams #Sports #SportsNews #st #williams

Detroit Lions’ playoff hopes fading after loss in LA https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/602089/ #American #AmericanFootball #AmonRa #AmonRaSt.Brown #Angeles #Bears #Brown #California #campbell #Chicago #ChicagoBears #detroit #DetroitLions #DetroitLions #Football #Goff #Hub #jack #JackCampbell #jameson #JamesonWilliams #jared #JaredGoff #lions #Los #LosAngelesRams #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Rams #Sports #SportsNews #st #williams

Detroit Lions no longer control own destiny to postseason https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/602011/ #American #AmericanFootball #AmonRa #AmonRaSt.Brown #Angeles #Bay #Bears #Brown #campbell #Chicago #ChicagoBears #Conference #detroit #DetroitLions #DetroitLions #Football #green #GreenBayPackers #Hub #jack #JackCampbell #lions #Los #LosAngelesRams #National #NationalFootballConference #NationalSports #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Packers #Rams #Sports #SportsNews #st

Detroit Lions no longer control own destiny to postseason https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/602011/ #American #AmericanFootball #AmonRa #AmonRaSt.Brown #Angeles #Bay #Bears #Brown #campbell #Chicago #ChicagoBears #Conference #detroit #DetroitLions #DetroitLions #Football #green #GreenBayPackers #Hub #jack #JackCampbell #lions #Los #LosAngelesRams #National #NationalFootballConference #NationalSports #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Packers #Rams #Sports #SportsNews #st

https://www.fogolf.com/1100156/new-zealand-open-2026-ben-campbell-steven-alker-lead-kiwi-stars-confirmed-for-nz-open/ New Zealand Open 2026: Ben Campbell, Steven Alker lead Kiwi stars confirmed for NZ Open #2026 #Alker #Ben #campbell #Confirmed #for #Golf #GolfNews #Kiwi #Lead #Lineup #Millbrook #new #next% #NZ #open #resort #return #STARS #Steven #Strong #talent #their #YEARS #Zealand

Wine writer Bob Campbell on dinner party disasters and wines to accompany the chaos

The table was laden with our wedding-prese…
#dining #cooking #diet #food #NewZealandWine #accompany #And #Auckland #bob #campbell #chaos #dinner #disasters #favourite #NewZealand #NewZealandwine #on #party #picks #Recalls #the #to #Wine #WinefromNewZealand #WineofNewZealand #wines #writer
https://www.diningandcooking.com/2316038/wine-writer-bob-campbell-on-dinner-party-disasters-and-wines-to-accompany-the-chaos/

Wine writer Bob Campbell on dinner party disasters and wines to accompany the chaos https://www.diningandcooking.com/2316038/wine-writer-bob-campbell-on-dinner-party-disasters-and-wines-to-accompany-the-chaos/ #accompany #And #Auckland #bob #campbell #chaos #dinner #disasters #favourite #NewZealand #NewZealandWine #on #party #picks #Recalls #the #to #Wine #WineFromNewZealand #WineOfNewZealand #wines #writer

James Conner exits Arizona Cardinals-49ers game with injury https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/390986/ #American #AmericanFootball #Arizona #ArizonaCardinals #ArizonaCardinals #benson #Calais #CalaisCampbell #campbell #Cardinals #carter #conner #Elliott #espn #ESPNInc #Football #Hub #Inc #James #JamesConner #Jordan #JordanElliott #knight #Kyler #KylerMurray #michael #MichaelCarter #murray #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Sports #SportsNews #Trey #TreyBenson #Zonovan #ZonovanKnight

James Conner exits Arizona Cardinals-49ers game with injury https://www.rawchili.com/nfl/390986/ #American #AmericanFootball #Arizona #ArizonaCardinals #ArizonaCardinals #benson #Calais #CalaisCampbell #campbell #Cardinals #carter #conner #Elliott #espn #ESPNInc #Football #Hub #Inc #James #JamesConner #Jordan #JordanElliott #knight #Kyler #KylerMurray #michael #MichaelCarter #murray #Neutral #news #NFL #NFLHub #Overall #OverallNeutral #Sports #SportsNews #Trey #TreyBenson #Zonovan #ZonovanKnight

Dan Campbell explains why Detroit is dream fit, doesn’t want to leave

It’s easy to see from the outside looking in that Dan Campbell is a great fit in Detroit.…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #NFL #campbell #dan #detroit #detroit-lions-news #detroit-lions-quotes #doesn #dream #explains #fit #front-page #is #leave #of #pride #Sports #t #to #want #why
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/6911/

Why We Want to Die. The roots of evil, & our desire for annihilation, are to be found at our beginnings. And what we can do about that.

How to Acquire Michael Adzema’s truly revolutionary work, *Wounded Deer and Centaurs: The Necessary Hero and the Prenatal Matrix of Human Events*.

It is available for free, right now.…

.

.

 January 1st thru January 5th, 2025, *Wounded Deer and Centaurs: The Necessary Hero and the Prenatal Matrix of Human Events*

by Michael Adzema is free at Amazon.

Free, 1/1 thru 1/5, ebook version. Click link

See $0.00 to buy, click “Buy now with…” It’s yours

Enjoy with my compliments

.

…

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This book, also, reveals the ones—people probably like you—who are here now & destined to save this planet…or die trying. For this book, *Wounded Deer and Centaurs*, confronts a situation in current times where we are on the brink of an apocalypse of unimaginable dimensions. We are bringing about both a suicidal-style ending of humans on Earth, a humanicide, as well as are taking down with us all other life on this planet…we are committing an ecocide.

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This impending eco-humanicide requires of those currently alive to sacrifice on a scale previously uncalled for to forestall the consequences of the actions of generations of ancestors. This book deals with these elements of sacrifice; it shows where we have gone wrong; & it reveals where we could finally, after thousands of years of failure in righting the wrongs of evil, greed, injustice, war, & barbarity, finally, finally get it right.

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We can finally understand the roots of the evil that lies within humanity. We can see how & why they come into being within humanity…& within humanity, alone, of all species.

And we find those discoveries of the causes of evil in humanity lie alongside the happy revelation that that evil within humanity is not part of our deepest humanity, so it is not inevitable that we act it out! Humanity can do better. And we need to!

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Luckily, there is a movement afoot in global humanity giving rise to individuals uniquely qualified, able, & willing to be the self-sacrificing ones required right now. This book introduces these personalities—these ones who, rather than act out the traumas & pain handed down for thousands of years, instead say “Let it end with me.” These wounded deer & centaurs are spotlighted in this book.

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Generation after generation of humans have passed down their personal pain & trauma, in some form or other, onto their offspring. Back into unrecorded history this vicious cycle has perpetuated itself. But many of us in these extraordinary times, & goaded on by the specter of global catastrophe, are saying, “Let us not continue this madness any further!” Attempting to break the cycle of hurting & then inflicting hurt, attempting to halt the prevailing insanity, we make the Gandhian effort to take the energy into ourselves, to change ourselves lest we, also, be like the generation before — forever passing on the insane legacy.

This book reveals the deepest roots of that human insanity that would end our species. They are found in the experiences in the womb & at birth. We see here how they have led to the atrocities & wars of all time, & how they can be finally gone beyond.

We discover, in these chapters, how these earliest of human experiences set humans up to be the species separate from Nature. We can understand through these pages how & why exactly we as humans are insisting on self-annihilation. We can grok why we do not heed the warnings and continue depleting the Nature upon which we depend, even though it guarantees the end of humanity & the likely death of our children before their times.

Revealed here are the origins of the rapacious greed infecting hierarchical societies, from the beginnings of civilization, which today has created a two-tiered global society of haves and have-nots, with 1% shoring up their wealth at the expense of the lives & livelihoods of the remaining ones.

In these pages we can behold what needs to be done, how we can save our children, our planet, & even ourselves. Herein we receive the encouragement & spiritual conviction to take up our roles as the necessary heroes of our times—to right all these wrongs, to protect our precious Earth & its inhabitants, to save the lives of our children.

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….

What readers say about *Wounded Deer & Centaurs*:

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Invite you to

join me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/sillymickel

friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sillymickel

Connect with me on Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/mickeladzema/

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…….

For any of the 15 of Michael Adzema’s works currently in print go to Michael Adzema’s Authors Page at Amazon

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Elaina Jeansonne stands her ground in front of police after Occupy Denver protestors clash with police in Civic Center Park after a downtown march converged at the Capitol and the park on Saturday, Oct. 29, 2011. Police used tear gas and batons in an attempt to control the crowd. Kathryn Scott Osler, The Denver Post

Funny God, Cosmic Overstanding Chapter 33 …. free chapter & free book, Wounded Deer and Centaurs by Michael Adzema

……..

#activism #birth #campbell #childDevelopment #climate #consciousness #demause #developmentalPsychology #devo #devolution #earth #eco #ecocide #ecopsychology #extinction #ffffff #gaia #lloydDemause #mentalHealth #necessaryHero #patriarchy #philosophy2 #pme #pmes #preAndPerinatalPsychology #prenatalMatrixOfEvil #prenatalMatrixOfHumanEvents #primal #psyche #psychology2 #rainbowWarriors #ritesOfPassage #science #spirituality #tao #war