That's intriguing, Arthur, in more ways than one. (I'll explain at the end - it's a case of synchronicity as Jung would say)

A colleague of mine confessed to me once that she was an 'old soul'. I immediately grasped her meaning and I've pondered her words ever since. She was into Yoga and eastern thought so she believed in past lives which I don't. I do, however, believe there is some evidence of generational memory being passed down through a family - I explored that idea in a poem I posted recently called "Spring 1917 …Impossibly In Memory"

But I fully grasp the implications of what you're saying and why you don't trust your subconscious impulses. You have a fully developed philosophy and it's fairly consistent although not without ambiguities, but so too is life and I can live with some paradoxes.

Anyway, while I was writing today's poem, I kept searching for a suitable photo and kept being drawn back to a Paul Cezanne painting called The Kiss of the Muse. It could have been used for tonight's poem but it seemed to have another significance. I passed on the photo because it reminded me too much of another poem I posted a few weeks ago called, Wrestling in the Dark with God about Jacob wrestling with an angel, but the image haunted me and kept recurring, especially today.

When I saw your reply tonight it made me realize I was somehow 'wrestling' with many of the same ideas you were, albeit from a different perspective. You may find this inconsequential, but I don't - this is the way things work for me, in art as in life. Don't know if this helps or muddies the waters, but I had to tell you, Arthur.