Transcription
Let's jump right in with some teaching. I'm probably going to be quite fluid with the teaching today. There's quite a lot I'd like to get through, and maybe break it up into periods and see what the flow sort of suggests. Is there anyone who feels pretty new to meditation, insight meditation, etc.? Okay. A couple of people. So, two things about that. One is, in the period before lunch, I'll stay in here, and be very, very happy to try and answer any questions about meditation in particular, anything at all, especially if you feel new, but even if you don't feel new. There won't be a lot of material, unlike how I usually try and teach. There probably won't be a lot of material around meditative technique, etc., but there may be some. We'll see how it goes. Feel very free, if there's anything about meditation. I want to pitch at a slightly different level today. There will be that group, and anyone can come, but if you're new feel particularly welcome to come to that and get whatever you need.
Having said that, I think whether you're new or old there will be something today that is new to you, no matter how experienced you are. Can probably guarantee that. Partly it's like, what is the relationship that we have with new ideas and new material? How do we think of ourselves and our individual practice unfolding into new territory, as yet unexplored territory? How do I relate to that personally? And how does the Dharma as a whole relate to moving into what's perhaps new territory to be explored, not completely figured out, not completely concrete territory? So that's a question to maybe run through the back of your mind as the day goes on, for the individual, but for the Dharma as a whole.
Maybe with new material, it's tricky. Sometimes I think, guaranteed for some people today, maybe even the majority -- I don't know -- some of what is said, or some of what we talk about, maybe a lot of what we talk about, the most that it can be today is like scattering seeds, like sowing seeds. So it might not be the right time for you to take some of these ideas and let them germinate inside. Or it might be. Either way is fine. If they're just seeds, you can put them on the shelf, take care of them. This is being recorded. There are other recordings. And you can water them when you want.
Last year, exactly a year ago, I came and talked about imaginal stuff as well. I'm not going to repeat too much. This is a huge, huge area, and I'm going to repeat sort of the bare minimum. So that also makes it maybe a little bit tricky, but I hope that what I say today will cohere in itself and stand alone as a sort of set of teachings. There will be a little bit of repetition. There's other material on the web and in different places if you're interested.
Okay. So, let's jump right in and see how we want to break things down. Start right away with a problem of vocabulary. I've been using words like 'image' and 'fantasy,' and I'll use them interchangeably, and perhaps interchangeably also with a word, 'mythos.' These words, image/fantasy/mythos, I wish there was a better word; I'm not quite sure that I know what it is, or even if there is one. But what do I mean, what do we mean today, when we talk about image/fantasy/mythos? What are we talking about? Maybe there's a better word and I don't know it. Rather than try and define that right away, let's start with, I'll give a few examples, a range of examples. I choose these particular examples not so much for their sort of entertainment value, but to exhibit the range and the sort of different aspects of what's involved when I use these words, image/fantasy/mythos. And I will repeat many times during the day: in our culture, but even more in this meditative culture, the Insight Meditation culture, fantasy is a "bad word." It has a lot of negative connotations. I am not using it with a negative connotation. I'm going to say that probably about ten times today. I do not mean it negatively. I mean something that's actually necessary to us as human beings, necessary to the psyche, to the heart, to the depth of our humanity, to our path also. So image/fantasy/mythos, I do not intend them negatively. I intend them as something beautiful, which I'll try and unfold.
A few examples, and compare and contrast the different examples as they unfold.
(1) Sometime in the last couple of weeks, I can't remember, an image that came for me in my own practice: sitting down to meditate, and this area of the imaginal is something I've been exploring quite intently for a few years now. So I had the intention to look for an image. Sitting in meditation, and an image appeared, sort of evolving in stages, gathering its complexity in stages. A thicket appears, a hedge trimmed very severely, so it's actually quite sharp, with jagged edges. It appears small in front of me, and then around me, so it's surrounding me. Then it bursts into flame, but not consuming the thicket. Great power in my body as the flames erupted. Then they immediately extinguish. This thicket is surrounding me; it feels like it's surrounding me. That's the imagistic sense. It's surrounding me, and I feel myself enclosed, a little bit imprisoned in this thicket.
But then I notice there's a gap in the circumference of this thicket, so actually I could go in and out. But it still feels something of a prison. I'm meditating on this, focusing on the image, very sensitive in what I call the 'energy body.' We'll talk about this later today. Very sensitive to the resonances, the nuances, the complexity, the texture of all the emotion and what's associated with the whole thing. It feels somewhat imprisoned. There's a sense of being a little bit imprisoned. And then suddenly, a little bluebird appears. It flies into the thicket and appears in front of me. So touching to the heart, but I don't know what it means. I can't say "it means this," or "it represents that," or "this has to do with this or that." But exquisite and beautiful and deeply touching my heart. The bluebird was loving me. It came with love. I say "a message of love," but it's not so much a verbal message. It came there, it was in the thicket, and then sort of on me a little bit. There was some communication of the heart, between the sense of self and the bluebird.
Deep, deeply beautiful, very, very moving, but in a subtle way. I could vaguely sense that there was some relationship with things that were going on in my life and emotions, but it felt like beyond that. It's not something you can put into that box and explain, "Oh, this relates to this." The visual details of such an image I could explain to you: "Oh, the bluebird had a yellow breast." I could go into the pixelation of its feathers, etc. But that's not where we're so much interested in here. It's the nuances and the complexity and the resonances of everything that it suggests to the being and to the psyche. Some of it is just semi-graspable, semi-sensible. So those resonances are difficult to sum up in words. They're difficult to articulate in language, or even fully encapsulate in language. So that's one image.
(2) Second image. Reported to me by a student. This is contrasting because of a number of features. One is, it was a series, over at least fifteen years. It began about fifteen years ago. This woman used to suffer quite bad periods of depression, very down, very dark, for some days. She was in one of those some years ago, lying on her bed, sort of curled up, feeling very down, very dark. Suddenly appears what she calls "a black devil man." He has the skin of a pitch-black snake, featureless, with horns, and lying on top her body, mimicking the contours of her body, and oppressing her. She felt oppressed by this character, this being, as if he was squashing her. She couldn't move. There was a real sense of arrogance and pressure and oppression. She felt, at the time, "He is evil. This is evil." And it really freaked her out. She didn't tell anyone -- not her therapist, no one.
Several times, over quite some years, but very, very sporadically, this image reappeared, with the same sense that this character, this black devil man, was quite arrogant and very oppressive, and a sense of being really locked in by something. But gradually, over the years, she was able to move a little bit her body underneath this devil man. Some time ago, she was moving her body, very late at night before going to sleep, and it ended up that she and this black devil man ended up having what she calls "wild and furious sex," which she said was completely wonderful, and very unexpected. She ends up making love with this devil man. Very intense. And then the devil man gets up off of her, and lets out this huge, roaring bellow. All through that process, over fifteen years, something had changed. He was still dark, still intensely powerful, but now an ally, a deeply powerful ally. Something had shifted in the whole relationship with that, and also with her depression, in fact. So contrast that, because it's a series, and also because it's pretty dramatic and far out as a sort of image.
(3) Contrast that with a third one. The image is one of mine: me, on a train -- actually, the train that I take most in my life these days, the train from Newton Abbot, the station nearest Gaia House, to Paddington in London. I take it a lot, usually sit in the quiet carriage, try and get a window seat. Wearing clothes, very specific clothes for some reason, to the image, clothes that I already have. Totally lifelike, totally unremarkable. Head leaning on the window. The image, though easily dismissible, was pregnant with all kinds of subtlety and complexity and nuance to do with -- what was in it wasn't obvious, but a certain relationship with a big piece of work that was just finished, and the weariness of that, the tiredness of that; a restlessness, so resting, but also restlessness, pushing forward into new territories of investigation. So this mixture of resting and restlessness, solitude, perhaps loneliness even, and underneath it all, peace and happiness. None of that was obvious until I went into the image, which was completely unremarkable, and let it fill out. I was feeling quite weary, and perhaps a little bit disconnected from something before contacting the image, and then contacting that image, and having it come alive, the whole being came alive with energy.
(4) Fourth image. This one's quite subtle, even more subtle. I don't know -- how many people are musicians, perhaps, or artists? Okay. So, I don't know. I used to be a jazz musician, a jazz guitar player, and maybe this might apply for an artist in the studio, or something else. It has to do with materials that you work with. I know playing guitar, there's a certain point when you're sort of -- you begin to get a little bit of mastery of your materials. You're learning the language, learning the instrument. It becomes your own. You're making something your own. Meditation is the same. At that point, the way, maybe at certain times, the way that you touch the instrument, the way that the hands move on the instrument, is extremely subtle. But it's full of something. It becomes -- I'll come back to this word -- there's a soulfulness in the relationship. It's very subtle, but it's in the movement, and in the subtlety of touch. Or maybe the artist with their paints and the brush and the texture, or whatever it is.
Also wrapped up in that moment of image (still mindful, very present with the sound and with the creativity that was happening, very aware), but almost in the background, it's infused, in my case, in this example, with a sense of particular figures in the jazz tradition, particularly one jazz saxophone player, Dewey Redman. Plays with a certain style. Everything that he meant to me, coming through, translated to a way of moving the fingers. It's in the background, the sense of tradition, of figure, this figure, what that means -- everything that's packed into that, how that affects the self in the moment. I'm not lost in fantasy; I'm right there with the sound, present with the moment. It's imbued with something very subtle, amplifying it with meaning. But very subtle. So the 'image' there, that's why I said it's a difficult word: "Image? What are we talking about?" It's not visual. It's tactile, if you like, kinaesthetic, kinetic, sonic, something else. And it has to do with the past and certain other images in the past.
(5) Fifth example. Again, this is a series, over a little time. Someone shared with me that there appeared to her, bursting out of her heart with great force, a huge phoenix, bird, enormous wingspan. Bursting out of her heart, exploding out of her heart, flying away, great power. And coming back and landing on her shoulder, shedding a tear that landed on her breast. Immense healing in that tear of the phoenix landing on the body. This was a figure that kept coming back several times. At a certain point, it came back, this phoenix, huge bird, and enveloped her in its wings. In that enveloping was all kinds of love -- pregnant with love, with this holding of the being. Something very healing happening.
Why I mention this image is for another instance of this particular one. This woman was involved in a relationship -- we don't need to go into the details -- but many, many years ago, decades ago. That relationship lived in the psyche in a very painful way, ongoing. There was a lot of shame involved in having been in that relationship: "I shouldn't have been in that relationship. I let myself get involved with something. It was wrong." There was ongoing pain and shame associated with that whole memory of that time, really quite deep. One day in the meditation, this phoenix came, and placed itself, or appeared, in the memory of the room, of the apartment where she lived with this lover, and the bed, where they shared the bed -- the whole scene, exactly how it was. Then, on the bed, pregnant with the shame, but the phoenix is there with its wings outspread, and jewels on its wings. Looking into the phoenix, and seeing how is the phoenix seeing this situation -- I see it with shame, I cannot see other than through the lenses of shame, and I see how the phoenix sees it, and the phoenix sees it differently, sees it with love. Something is healed. Something is healed, and the power of that.
(6) Sixth example. I have some good friends. They've been married decades. Very healthy, loving relationship. But I wonder if their intimacy and their loving -- which, this is not a problem; I'm just trying to expose something -- I'm wondering if actually their love and their intimacy is dependent on a fantasy, dependent on a mutual fantasy. That fantasy is quite a common one in these kind of circles. It's a fantasy of the past, perhaps family, etc., setting up certain patterns in the being, in the psyche, that are problematic, that are constricting, that are painful. So being obstructed by those patterns as one moves into life and through life, and then, through practice and through psychotherapy, etc., learning to open those patterns, heal those patterns, psychological wounds and patterns, and supporting each other in that.
So that's a whole what I would call 'fantasy.' There are ideas. There's an idea involved in this fantasy, a mutual belief, and a mutual seeing, both self and other, in a certain fantasy. It's not bad at all. But what if one of them, at some point, decided, "You know what? I don't really believe this any more. I don't really buy it. I place the problems we have, for instance, down to socio-economic or political class causes." And the other is still in the old idea. What would happen to their intimacy? Is it the case that when we love, part of what supports our love is a mutuality of what I call 'fantasy,' and ideas are woven into that, and an image of self and other in the current of a certain fantasy? Not a problem. But just something perhaps to be aware of.
(7) If we stay with that theme, a seventh thing. This is something for you to ask yourself, or reflect a little bit introspectively, if we stay with love. Think about sexuality, or making love, or having sex with someone. This is a question. Is it not the case that there is something, when we're in the flow of that, and in that, and it feels good, and it feels right, that there is not something autoerotic -- I don't know if that's the right word -- autoerotic going on? Meaning that as much as it's about pleasant sensation, it's not just about pleasant sensation. Nor is it just about loving the other person and caring about them. I mean, certainly those two things are there. But isn't there something else going on as well? Is it not that there's a kind of autoerotic image that one needs to see? Sure, I need to see the other as sexy, have that perception of them, the image of them as a sexy being. But also oneself as sexy. There's an autoerotic sort of background image of oneself as sexy. That's part of what's involved in lovemaking. Again, you say, "Well, that sounds egoic or problematic." Or is it not just the case and part of what goes on?
It's interesting, for the monks and nuns, certainly in the Theravādan tradition, when you're beset by lust for someone, one of the instructions, if you want to cut the lust, get rid of this hindrance of lust (or what's regarded as a hindrance), to contemplate the foulness of the body. But not their body -- your own body. Why? When I contemplate the foulness of the body, I no longer feel myself as potentially sexy, and it cuts something, because the feeling of -- whatever you want to call it; sexual arousal is not the right word, but that whole sense is dependent on feeling oneself as sexy. So there's image of self and other in some particular way. It's not just about the maximizing pleasant sensations. It's certainly not just about being mindful of sensations with bare attention. And neither is it only about melting. I mean, it might be about melting and merging in union. That's one possibility. But is it only that? Or can we not see there are other things going on there?
(8) Last one. How many people have been to Gaia House? How many people love Gaia House? [laughter] I'm not sure whether I would put my hand up either. [laughter] So, if you love Gaia House, is it not the case that Gaia House exists for you -- I mean, obviously it's a place in Devon. You can buy a ticket, you get the taxi, and you end up at Gaia House. It's a place, a physical place. But is it not that Gaia House exists for you as a sort of imaginal place as well? It becomes filled with magic, if you love it. 'Magic' and 'imaginal,' the roots are the same of the word there.
So it's not just, "I really like Gaia House," and you have a list of sort of specific amenities which it satisfies -- vegetarian food, tick [laughter]; yoga room, tick ... sometimes [laughter], etc. And it's like, "Oh, therefore I love Gaia House." Something else is coming alive, and it exists for you, if you really love it, it exists in the imagination. The imagination imbues it with a certain life and magic.
One of my teachers, I heard so many talks from him about the time when he was a monk in Thailand at a certain monastery. I've never been to that monastery. I almost certainly will never go to that monastery. I heard so many stories about the hours and hours and hours of walking and standing meditation that they used to do there, and the other monks and nuns, etc. That place is alive for me as an imaginal place in the psyche. And when I walk, and do my walking meditation, standing meditation, sometimes that place, and that whole mythic place, if you like, is in the very background of my practice, inspiring. It's infusing the moment, and infusing the mindfulness. There is mindfulness, there is all of that, but in the background, there's something which gives the moment and the whole -- it places me in this tradition of monks and nuns that I've heard about, and the lineage and everything. Something very beautiful.
So what's happening here is image and fantasy can sort of enliven our present environment, whether that's Gaia House, or whether that's me or someone in standing meditation somewhere. The environment itself gets enlivened through image/fantasy. This can go to quite some extremes. In the Western tradition, the master of this was William Blake, to whom all this came very, very naturally. Listen to this. Someone asked him, "When the sun rises, do you not see a round disk of fire, somewhat like a guinea?", a big golden coin. He's playing with them a little bit, of course, but he's saying:
Oh! no, no! I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host, crying: 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty!'[1]
Seeing the present moment differently. There's a capacity to infuse it with something, or open to something, see this world differently. Birds, for William Blake, were angels and angelic beings, portals into another dimension, if you like. In tantric practice, this becomes a deliberate practice: can you see the world as a maṇḍala, or the palace of a deity? Can you see other beings as divine beings? It's actual practice, using the imagination.
How are you doing? Why don't we just take one minute of silence, because there's some more I want to say, and I don't want to overload you. Maybe just let this land, and ask yourself if any of this is recognizable in any of your experience -- anything like this.
We're talking about something quite broad. The range here is quite broad, and some of it's really quite subtle. It can be very dramatic or very subtle. It manifests in many different ways. You've got that sense from the range of examples. The poet Ezra Pound, a great poet, defined an 'image' as "that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time."[2] There's something very condensed, powerfully condensed, in what we're calling 'image' or 'fantasy.' It constellates a lot in terms of the resonances of ideas and emotions and associations and all else, within something that can be instantaneous.
Drawing out some more common elements from that list of examples:
(1) Love was common to all of them. Love was common to all of those examples. I would even maybe go so far as to say that where there is love, there there is image or fantasy. Where there is love, there there is image or fantasy. I think I can maybe say that as a rule. I can almost say the opposite, that where there is image or fantasy, let's say there is at least the potential of love. Let's say that. So love is common to this, but the kinds of love are very, very specific. The love of that bluebird was very, very particular, very, very hard to describe, but very, very precise in its kind of loving. Different than the phoenix enveloping, different than the black devil man, certainly. Love was involved in all of them, but the love is particular, particularly and precisely expressed through the image. So that's one thing.
(2) Second, they all have what I would call -- this is not a word that we hear much in Dharma at all, but I'm going to use it; second problem is the word is kind of undefinable -- they all have soulfulness. They all have or give a certain quality of soulfulness. What does that mean? What do I mean by that? Hard to totally encapsulate, but something about this pregnancy with different resonances, a multiplicity of resonances that move the being at different levels and in different ways. Pregnant with meaningfulness, which is different than meaning this or that. Meaningfulness is more open. They have a sense of depth to them. They have a sense of not being able to box them in. They have love, as I said. Beauty, also, particular kinds of beauty are involved in all of them. And they do something to the self. The self is expanded in particular ways beyond its usual notion of itself.
So it's that, primarily, that makes something -- whatever language we're going to use, an image or fantasy or mythos -- it's that quality of giving rise to soulfulness that makes it an image or fantasy in the language that I'm using. So what that means is that when I say 'image,' 'fantasy,' 'mythos,' I'm including not just the bluebird, the object, but the whole perspective of it, the whole way of looking at it, the whole relationship with it, and conceptual framework that's related to it. So if there's a conceptual framework that helps to give rise to this kind of soulfulness ... The poet John Keats talked about 'soulmaking.' He's not using 'soul' as some kind of entity, but soulmaking -- we make soulfulness by entering into certain kinds of relationship with things.
When the perspective gives rise to that, that whole thing, the object and the way of looking, are what we call 'image' and 'fantasy,' what I'm calling 'image.' Some people want to say, "Well, anything can be an image," or "There's always an image." I'm tempted to say that, but I probably would rather say now instead: potentially everything can be an image. It depends whether something invigorates it that way or it is invigorated. So the relationship with, the conceptual framework, the eidos -- that Greek word, which our word 'idea' comes from that word, eidos -- you look through an idea. It's related to the way we see. So the way we see, the conceptual framework, is part of the image, gives rise to whether it's an image or not. This image is not separate from the conceptual framework and the way of relating. A dream image, a dream, in itself, is nothing. It's nothing. It's not yet what I would call an 'image.' It's just a dream event or something, unless it comes to life in a certain way.
Are you guys okay? Can I speak for five or ten more minutes? Is that okay? Let's draw out a few more aspects just to highlight what we're talking about here.
(1) First, sometimes we're not aware -- maybe oftentimes we're not aware of what's operating for us as human beings as image/fantasy/mythos. I think I used this example last year: holy war. Holy war is, you could say, an archetypal image. It's something maybe that for human beings, for some human beings, is a necessary thing. If I'm not aware of it as image, then I take it literally, and I don't realize what's operating, and I actually wage holy war. Those years ago, Osama Bin Laden declares holy war, jihad, on the West. It's literalized. And then a little while later, President George W. Bush declares -- what was he calling it? -- a "war on evil" or whatever it was. The notion of it was also as a righteous holy war. Everyone buys into this. It's an archetypal image not realized as being -- we're not aware of what's operating in us as image, as fantasy, and we're just plugged into something and taking it literally. So sometimes we're aware, and oftentimes we're not.
(2) Second thing: as a human being, I can move in the world and in relationship to things and people and situations in many different ways. If I move towards or away from something or some person, and really my movement is coming [from] just seeking to increase pleasure, pleasant sensations, and decrease unpleasant sensations, in the language that I'm using, that's lacking in soul. It's lacking in soulfulness. I'm just chasing pleasant sensations and trying to avoid unpleasant sensations.
(3) Third thing, and I touched on this before: image/fantasy are not interpretable singularly. I cannot say, "This is the definition of this. This is what this means." There's something about them that's infinite, something bottomless in them. I cannot explain them. That word, ex + plain, is related to 'plain,' 'making flat.' I cannot explain, make this thing flat. If I do, I kill it. Its nature is not to be fully explained. I say it's only perhaps alive for me soulfully if it has that infiniteness, that unreachable depth to it. I can get some of it, but it's not fully graspable. I don't know; what's a classic image from the culture? The burning bush, the bush that Moses saw that was aflame but didn't go out. Or the Crucifixion, or the Resurrection. Those images are so dead by now in the culture for most people, they almost don't register at all. But we cannot take an image like that and say, "It represents this. The Resurrection represents this." I mean, you could, but then you kill something.
And when we do that, we're usually interpreting it according to some system. Here's the word difficulty. If I use the word 'symbol,' maybe that's a word of something that means something else: "This symbolizes X. X symbolizes Y." But that's not what we're talking about so much today. Moshe Idel is a scholar of Jewish Mysticism. He said, "Symbols" -- or images -- "rarely maintain their freshness, ambiguity, and allusive characteristics." There's something inherently ambiguous and inherently multiply eluding.
[Symbols] rarely maintain their freshness, ambiguity and allusive characteristics when they become integrated into a more elaborate and detailed structure.[3]
There's something about what's image that's open-ended, ongoing. At a certain stage, it might come to mean something for me: "It means this. The phoenix means this," perhaps. But only for a while, and then it opens up again if it's really alive.
(4) Fourth and last thing for now: anyone, and you may recognize in yourself, anyone who feels something this way will say to you, in their own language, "There is a truth here for me. This image expresses a truth. There's a reality to it." But here, and I'm going to come back to this today, 'truth,' 'reality,' we're usually too simplistic in how we relate to those words. Much too simplistic, our notions of truth and reality. So simplistically black and white. But anyone who has experienced this kind of thing will say, "There is a truth here for me." There is a reality for the individual. Often in our culture, in the dominant paradigm of our culture, it's not true or real unless it's publicly shared. If you can see it, too, if everyone in this room can see that phoenix, then it's real, and then it's true. But if it's individual, it's not. It's not a socially agreed-upon reality or truth either. We don't generally, in this culture, believe in this reality, whatever kind of reality that is. Generally, we tend to think about truth and reality, it needs to be publicly shared, socially agreed on, hopefully 'kickable' (to quote Dr Johnson), solid, material, measurable -- even better; then it's in the scientific paradigm, etc. -- and hopefully secular. Then we say, "This is true or real." But actually, maybe there's a kind of truth, a kind of reality, that's a different kind. I'm going to come back to this later.
But to stop now: images are more than emotions. There's more going on there in terms of, if I'm mindful of an emotion, there's more complexity and more nuance in an image. It's much more subtle and more pregnant. It's also more than an idea. It involves emotions, it involves ideas, but condensed, a constellation. Ezra Pound said:
[An] Image is more than an idea [more than a concept]. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with energy....[4] a vortex, from which, and through which, and into which, ideas are constantly rushing.[5]
There's something complex here. So what does that have to do with Dharma? How does the Dharma input into all that? And how does all that input or influence or shed light on our Dharma practice? That's what I want to go into today. But that's enough for now.
Alexander Gilchrist, "A Vision of the Last Judgment," Life of William Blake, Vol II (London: Macmillan and Co., 1880), 200. ↩︎
Ezra Pound, "A Few Don'ts By an Imagiste," Poetry: A Magazine of Verse (March 1913), 200, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=58900, accessed 1 Dec. 2020. ↩︎
Moshe Idel, Kabbalah: New Perspectives (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), 217. ↩︎
Ezra Pound, The New Age, XVI (28 Jan. 1915), 349. ↩︎
Ezra Pound, "Vorticism," The Fortnightly Review, 96 (1 Sept. 1914), 461--71, https://fortnightlyreview.co.uk/vorticism/, accessed 1 Dec. 2020. ↩︎
