In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
         You only really begin to see thing when you are in despair..  Light only is meaningful in contrast to darkness
  I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
Faces the things that are haunting; the parts of his unconscious that he has repressed.
                                                             I hear my echo in the echoing wood--
he's trapped. Boxed in.  Everything repeating, Wood is typical scene where people are lost.  Dante

                                                             A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
seems inflated-- pattern of oppositions
                                                             I live between the heron and the wren,
                                                             Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

                                                             What's madness but nobility of soul
                                                             At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
                                                             I know the purity of pure despair,
                                                             My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
                                                             That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
                                                             Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
Crisis of despair

                                                             A steady storm of correspondences!
                                                             A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
                                                             And in broad day the midnight come again!
                                                             A man goes far to find out what he is--
                                                             Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
                                                             All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
things turn-- light flows back as the Self dies

                                                             Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
                                                             My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
                                                             Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
                                                             A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
                                                             The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
                                                             And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Crossing the final, return threshold to a feeling of oneness with god.