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Language has always been one of my interests. I pursued this interest by undergoing a "radioactive core meltdown of the imagination." Starting in junior high, and continuing for many, many years, I created an entire intricate language known as Hermetic.
This project soon went beyond mere considerations of vocabulary and grammar. I plunged into nuances of semantics-- the finely shaded inward "feel" of the language, of terms and idioms and concepts which defy translation. How can I convey the meaning of Hermetic terms such as dhnamo and athlo? Each denotes awesome power, and yet dhnamo is the power of lightning, of the sword stroke, of main and might. While athlo is the power of the unforeseen chess gambit, of architectural form, of perfect balance, of the craftsman's master touch. To the Hermetic mind, it is obvious that the sun is dhnama, while the moon is athla.
I wrote a book entitled Mna Sipri Cilama (The Celestial Labors). I wrote it in Hermetic, and translated it into English as an afterthought. It was the scripture of Hermetic Dualism-- in some ways a take on gnosticism, although here it was the evil sun-god, Rotas, who was trying to free the world from multiplicity and return it to the undivided unity of the primordial point. While it was the good moon-god, Dhalbembu, who was struggling to preserve the "myriad-faceted jewel" of this tangled world in all its diversity.
Years later I laid all this out before a friend who knows a great deal more than I do about the thinking of Carl Jung. My friend was fascinated. He tells me the whole work is crawling with archetypes. I'll take his word for it: me, I can't tell a Jungian archetype from a hole in the ground.
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