Marco V Morelli

Metapsychosis contributing poet Andrea van de Loo was recently featured in a State of Mind podcast & radio show episode hosted by Debra Sloss, LMFT. She shares her story of finding love through a reading group on our site. Thanks to State of Mind f …

Now in its 46th year of publication, Collaboration explores the evolutionary vision of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, the practice of integral yoga, what it means to be human, the workings of consciousness, psychic emergence, and reflective articles on the politics of capital, changing technologies, comparative philosophy, deep ecology, and the arts.

Going inward / I see my grey sleek wolf’s belly / moving forward on long legs striding / free, clear, unassuming / my natural strength carrying me / into the clear space ahead.

I looked at him through the camera. “You have a secret.” His eyes widened. I continued. “It’s not something…bad…but you think it is…. Something about a confrontation with your father. And it has to do with…a female.”

I walk casually through the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea, as my gaze is drawn to two photographs placed side by side. I am struck by the resemblance between my young son and deceased father…

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” —JC There is the possibility of ecstasy in a book club—this I aver. It’s a religious thing—or should be—the intercourse among “people of the book” (or rather, “ …

A Call for Submissions & Invitation to Collaborate. Until August 25th, 2020, the editors of Metapsychosis are accepting submissions towards our next publishing cycle. Share your creative work and get involved…

“I’ve found a techno relationship cuts right into the core, the soul, brings out an almost more real version of yourself, makes you see yourself differently, your own potential to be better. It can achieve a level of emotional perfection. That’s also the problem…”

There are no facts about my father, Vinicio Morelli, which are not stories, interpretations, points of view…

Following him into the darkest places taught me to never be afraid of the dark. / It’s full of unimaginable euphoric surprises…

“I must return love and life to those who offered me death / Gestating with hundreds and thousands of babies in me: / Progeny of my intercourse with the rock.”

An introduction to Brigid’s new podcast CHTHONIA with a discussion of the relevance of dark feminine mythology for modern times.

Metapsychosis #OnlyPoetry channel presents: A guided reading and discussion of Iraqi poet Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab’s poem, “The Rain Song,” with Jordan-based author Dona Abbadi. Dona guides us through a reading of one of the most belov …

on differences that make a difference, or aesthetics

Maybe in the future she’d embody the pure-feminine-ideal or something, but right now Suraj had to explain just who Judy was and why she killed herself…

In America I came across a mulatto, who told me, “Yes we can—Make America great again.” And for the first time, the doors of the white house were allowed open for the entrance of a black phallus; America gave birth to black dead…

the biggest secret: REPTILIANS! United States lizard government / help. Bloodlines). people think they know

When I remember Sue Castigliano, I think of almost naked dancers vaulting above the gold-tipped horns of Cretan bulls, to the sound of waves breaking in the distance. Wandering with the ghosts of an exploded island empire, I enter the doors of a library that I first thought was an octopus. When I think of her, I see wheat bound in sheaves…

“It is said that when the student is ready the teacher will appear. Luckily, the teacher may also choose to appear when the student is not at all ready. She drags him, if need be kicking and screaming, into a new, more direct, but also more paradoxical relationship with the self…”

Are we meant to have certain experiences, or to connect with certain people rather than with others? The more romantic among us are used to thinking that there may be one true soul-mate for each person. It is less common to imagine that friends or teachers may also play their parts in this apparent drama of predestination.

I’m lost in space. Lost. As it turns out the poets were right, you can’t go back home again. The Venezuela that raised me doesn’t exist anymore, that much everybody knows, but the situation got so unendurable that I’m finally aware of my limits. As it turns out I’m not an indestructible machine but a leaf floating in the wind, directionless and at the mercy of the gods.

Hands of the dead here in my living hands / as I split stony squash with a crack of the blade, / scoop seeds, oil flesh for the fire—hands / of women and men in my hands, generations / repeating these gestures, the old pleasure…