The second of my two very vivid childhood dreams reveals why I am not crushed by the other one, where our world crumbles away beneath our feet. While that dream foretold the extinction event we are currently experiencing, this one reminds me that no matter how much terror, anxiety, depression or grief we experience, there is wisdom in the shadows.
In this dream, i am a boy, wearing a classical toga and leather sandals. I run across the desert sands to an enormous dome building. I am very comfortable here and climb some stairs, which wrap around the dome to a flat concourse. There is simple, unreflective joy in my heart – the kind we experience so easily as children and so rarely as adults.
Suddenly, something moves in a shadow to my left. I look back, jolted by a ripple of fear in response to this movement. Out of the shadow of a stairwell an old man appears. We stare at each other for a moment, while I am frozen to the spot, wondering what will happen next, still a little scared. He smiles. There is warmth in his eyes, knowing emanates from his visage; he is comfortable in the world and wants me to feel the same.
At his smile, my childish innocence and faith in life instantly reappear. I turn back to run along the rampart. As i do, i look more closely into the clay bricks of the domed wall. There i see tiny capillaries in the wall, which i had never noticed before.
The renewed depth i discover in my vision, as a result of this apparition, works to balance the joyful innocence of the boy. Importantly, out of the shadows appears not threat, but comfort; the wise old man of archetypal power contains a frisson of danger, as true gnosis (or inner knowing) always has. But with his smile I do not fall into fear, but into an edge of discovering the unknown instead; it is the mystery that lasts and draws me along.
The Old Man expresses that wisdom or spark in us that is beyond the comforts of everyday life, what we have become used to, the personality we identify with. He is not an emissary of conventional religion, like the priests who promise hope for our lives after death if we obey their holy writ. He obeys only the imperative that is crystallised in the image: the archetypal Old Man brings wisdom from the realms beyond what we are thus far aware of; that is the whole point. Jung became wise enough through his contact with the archetypes to know they bring together a wide range of possibilities.
Coming out of the darkness, he brings wisdom – and we never needed it more than now, as we face the catastrophic, combined realities of anthropogenic climate change, ecosystem breakdown, increasing political instability and the widespread extinction event that has already begun. However, it would be facile to claim that out of the darkness (of what is happening to our planet right now) a light will come. I write of my dream now not to promise a new dawn, or comfort us with any other simplistic metaphor designed to avoid taking responsibility for the ecocide our species is responsible for. Empty hope and cheap consolation do not honour the untold suffering that will be visited upon humanity as we begin to discover what crop failures, superstorms, megafires and freakish flood events really feel like. The extinction of so many of our animal cousins and plant kin alike deserves more. It deserves awareness.
We can develop deeper awareness by looking into the Shadow, seeking the wisdom that arises from our place of not knowing. This is how the Mystery Schools found faith in gnosis for over 2,000 years. Yet, while we explore our own inner realms and Wizened Old figures, staring into the darkness without guidance can lead to despair. For as Nietzsche so presciently wrote, when we stare into the abyss, it stares back into us. What do I find when I look into the shadow, of myself and of my race? Something tells me that, if I look deeply enough, I will find not only what I fear, but what grants me greater insight, too – and perhaps even an element of solace.
I have written before about how we can find this, even when we realise that we are enmeshed in, and therefore part of, the system that is destroying the earth. With the dream of the Old Man, I recall that there is wisdom beyond courage; beyond environmental activism, beyond righteous indignation at the failure of our leaders, beyond the sad but inevitable realisation that the world as we know it is now collapsing beneath our feet.
The Old Man does not forgive the evils of transnational corporate greed, which have ensured our downfall; nor does he forget the corrupt media that sells the stories of the military industrial complex. But neither does the archetypal Old Man want to beat us up with guilt, since we have failed to stop the madness and destruction. He understands that the evolution of technology, the politics of power, the fact that we were born into this damnable system without willing it, the way we were sold the modern mythology of work, profit, holidays, breeding up and finally retiring to play Scrabble or bowls … all of this is beyond our power to change, except to the extent that we can make better choices.
The better choice we could make right now is to transfer our values from the damaging system of capitalist profiteering to the timeless tales of power, wisdom, grace that remain available to us in our dreams, our myths, our symptoms and even in our nightmares. The Mystery School lives on, because it is a representation of the ancient wisdom coursing through our veins and dancing in our DNA right now.
There is no future – the kids doing tang ping have figured it out – but there never really was. What is left to us now, beyond apathy and resignation, is deepening of the soul, refining of the spirit, transformation of the self. Nothing good will come of our planetary death throes and no amount of hand wringing, sobbing or admission of guilt will alleviate this awful reality. Rather, i will recall the wisdom of that old man and consider the life of the butterfly as my guiding metaphor. We crawl away to create a cocoon, withdraw within it, and dissolve into goop. These old selves must die.
Every traditional culture teaches that part of us passes over to another realm. With an ear on that wisdom, i have faith that my soul will crystallize into a new lifeform, in a new dimension, where i will find the strength to grow, until i am ready to break out and fly free, on another adventure. One day i will be that old man, looking out from the shadows, unexpectedly frightening the children i meant to comfort, while helping them to see that looking into the depths will deepen their vision, their insight, their capacity to look more clearly into who they are and what their relationship to the earth is.
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Images: Featured Photo by Ivana Cajina on Unsplash;; clay Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash; Painting of a sea monster by Carl Jung, from his Red Book; painting of a fire serpent by Carl Jung, from his Red Book.
Depth psychologist Carl Jung was fascinated by the medieval Alchemists, who apparently tried to turn lead to gold. It probably comes as no surprise that this was always a metaphor. It is as if they knew that by refining metals they were exposing themselves to the powers of the gods, seeking a higher truth from earthly existence. Lead revealed Saturn, the ruler of dark matter, the cold, dark ground of being; Tin expressed Jupiter’s breath of life; Iron the military will of Mars; Copper the irresistible beauty of Venus; Mercury the fluid messenger; Silver the intuitive Moon and Gold the Sun, the incorruptible soul and aim of Alchemy. We work through the aspects of the earthly life, just as we learn each personality trait of the Zodiac, or try to balance out the extrovert and introvert sides of ourselves, or undergo any other training towards a more centred, self-aware self.
The Alchemist was clearly a pagan, or nature lover. They found inspiration everywhere, with English alchemist Sir George Ripley (c. 1415–90) writing that “birds and fishes” bring us the gold, “it is in every place, in you, in me, in everything, in time and space.” In fact, I believe that the language of Alchemy was notoriously obscure because they knew they were dabbling in heresy and wanted to avoid persecution by the Christian church. While the Alchemists were careful to praise God in ‘His’ heavens, they sought an enlightened state from within the body of the earth, searching among the elements for the mysterious powers placed there by the planets, who of course to this point in history have been closely associated with the pagan gods and goddesses of early astrology. As such, I see Alchemy as another valid attempt by European natural philosophers to rebalance Christianity’s dissociative state when it comes to our human relationship with nature and the divine.
So, what might be the enlightened existence we could imagine as the goal of an alchemical process today? Jung was no New Age idealist; he knew that we have to work on our own Shadow, or dark side, if we are to attain a true light within. If we are to radiate with self-awareness, we can recall the ancient dictum to Know Thyself. But we know nowadays that this can’t be an unbalanced consciousness of merely mental power; it also includes emotional intelligence, a connection with gut instinct, and generally a more embodied notion of an enlightened or awakened person whose glow emanates from the whole body.
And, it must be more than merely a personal quest; we must aim for the awakening of all beings and the vitality of the entire ecosystem. This is another return to tradition, in order to become more fully awake in the current moment (one of my favourite themes). When someone from an indigenous tribe went on a vision quest, it wasn’t for personal power or selfish aims; it was for the people, the land, the collective, including human and more-than-human beings.
That means, nowadays, that we have to integrate our own shadow, as well as dealing with the archetypal poisons of greed, hatred and ignorance in humanity as a whole. We can’t do this for anyone else, but again, we can look to powerful stories that have stood the test of time to find out what they might suggest to us today.
Taoist symbol of integration, dark and light and all seemingly opposing forces working together
Light is born from darkness, and ends up back there, just as we are born out of the matter of the universe and return to it upon death. When we get more comfortable with this, we can come to a place where we honour the ‘darkness’ of the earth and express our love for it, giving thanks for being the ancient, timeless birthplace out of which consciousness emerges. What we don’t know is not the enemy, it just needs a midwife. We must be gentle, loving, compassionate and generous towards what we think is the darkness, because it is also the ancient mystery, home of the Goddess, who has all too often been suppressed by a patriarchal power complex.
Jung pointed towards the Sacred Marriage, an ancient rite whereby we unite the polarities of the genders, the male and female within. To get beyond the personal and really stretch ourselves as ecological citizens, kin with the other animals and plants and places, not just arrogant users and abusers of the earth, we need to integrate the light and dark energies of life. This means getting comfortable with cycles of life and death, predator and prey, agricultural seasons of emergence, harvest and withdrawal. The call comes from deep within nature, either from within our inner souls or from within nature itself, outside of our bodies, from the rocks and trees, animals and elements.
Calling upon nature – within and without, earthly and celestial – for its mystical powers is closely related to animist practices, which we can embrace as our birthright and cultural history too. We can consort with animal spirits as totems and familiars, call up the spellbinding powers of the plants and planets, make compacts with the ancient gods and goddesses of the heavens and the local spirits of place, or genius loci, and become more complete in any time and place. With practice and guidance, we can realise our completely unique manifestation as a person, every moment and experience of which has never happened before and can never be repeated, utterly complete and impermanent at the same time, another flowering of the endless manifestation of humanity out of the soil of the earth. This is Alchemy today, the Heroic Journey, Grail Quest or Sacred Marriage of the 2020s. These are the rites of transformative initiation that shift us into another phase of life.
Join Dr Geoff Berry in your practice of transformation now.
Contact via the Nature Calling website or FB page for your personal rites, which will deepen your connection to the sacred powers of nature within and without, earthly and celestial.
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Have you ever noticed how many traditions ask you to start your exercise with the right side? “Now, reach out with your right hand …”
The right hand side is associated with action in the world. Sometimes, i feel sympathy for my left side. Like it always comes second, left out in the darkness, while the right side enjoys the limelight, the focus, the initiatory glow. While it shines for the world, my left side is left in the shadows, the unconscious realms compared to the conscious, the passive, the unknown. I always thought this was a patriarchy thing, but it seems to cross boundaries and occur even in the most goddess loving circles. Maybe it’s just an inherited trait, a cultural habit … but still, those come from somewhere too and they continue because they are supported and not undermined, dissolved, marginalised by a stronger habit, a better choice.
But it struck me as i stretched towards the sky with my right hand, that the left hand of darkness is not secondary, left behind or out, but the support for our action or work as we reach out. The left hand side is what holds us together as we go out into the world, as we seek aid and build alliances, as we stretch out beyond our comfort zone, as we test our limits. The left hand (and foot, etc) is what we rest in, rely on, hold to, act out of. We are grounded in shadow, whether we like it or not, when we present our light to the world.
And like all good spiritual insights, this also works vice versa; the right hand becomes support as our left hand reaches out into the world. Thus, we build confidence throughout our system, round out character, become more whole. It is a matter of balance; one side out, one side down. Then, the other side out, the other side down.
As above, so below; as right, so left; as in, so out … and so on. Let 2021 be your year of focusing on your inner world, as you act in the outer world, so that both act in consort, one grounding and supporting the other, in turn, until all paths become one, as they always were. An ecologically inspired politics, growing out of a deep sense of comfort with ourselves and with our role in the cosmic tragicomic drama; with our lives, with our deaths; with our feeling for what happens and with our dreams, with our breath and heartbeat and muscles and sinews and nervous systems and our entire bodymind and consciousness free of all limit as well. With everything.
In Anima, Thom Yorke follows a trail that was set out for his soul when his European ancestors crossed paths in the great forest.
For this new audiovisual feast from Paul Thomas Anderson is fairy tale, folks, mark my words. And as a writer who has long explored the deep trails made across our psyches by the play of light and darkness since time immemorial, the idea of ancient tales with modern significance is something dear to my heart. This isn’t myth as falsehood, but myth as powerful storytelling, opening doors to our secret longings, our hidden hopes, our romantic selves.
So how does this modern mythmaking work? Well, where once wise old crones shared secrets beneath the wild spreading branches of an oak or elm, or curious children allowed themselves to become enchanted by the thrilling call of a songbird until they were lost in the forest, Yorke is drawn along this heartfelt tale by similar instincts. His character in this romance is on the scent of the chase, following a girl of his dreams, yearning to return her lunch case, which is as precious to him as any other form of lost treasure could be. By the time he has woken up on his crowded train, dodged countless commuters on crammed escalators, and faced other barriers to his distant love interest, Yorke is following the golden imperative of the mythic journey: the hero is inspired to set things right, by returning the case and maybe meeting someone to care about in the deal. The foes and barriers, the challenges to his path, the obstacles that threaten to derail the fruition of his dream … these are all inevitable in the hunt, or life is not being lived. The thorns cross the path, the villain stands in the way, the mountain must be climbed. Our goal may seem just out of reach, but it is in such a quest that we are reminded of our power, as Joseph Campbell so often reminded us.
But while the chase is timeless, the imagery of Anima reflects our new ‘natural environment’: the city. The opening, submerged in the subway, enfolds us within a train shooting along a tunnel, like a probe into our everyday underworld. We don’t want to over-analyze the film – as Martin Shaw wrote, the best stories remain dark around the edges, they leave us in mystery, grappling with our own inner truths and conflicts, unsure rather than overly confident in our self-knowledge. But the nodding of the commuters, Yorke included, seems to stand as the inevitable process of socialization, a dance we all join in order to get by, a way of being that lets us be in the world. Turning it into dance is the magic that art, in this case film, allows us – to settle into the truths of our lives while also making them part of a greater whole. We play the game, we know we play the game, but we know we are also more than this, that we come from a place of unlimited potential and ultimately we belong in that place, as much as we do here, in our world of limit and dissolution.
In this world, Yorke and Anderson play with the familiar while feeling out its edges. As soon as Yorke glimpses his Anima – a Jungian term for the feminine within – his otherwise tired character is opened out into new worlds of excitement, with the possibility that everyday life might not leave us flattened but invigorated; that something might change for the better, after all. The chase includes a classic flying dream sequence, as well as epic scenery, and Yorke’s character responds with passing episodes of passive acceptance, fleeting anger, playful exploration and hopeless resignation in turns. All of these human responses are bound within another mythic signalling: towards the wonder of awe. Can it be true? Is it real? The dream of Anima speaks of these gentle inner experiences, which we all know and hold dear but too often let slide along the rigmarole of modern life.
The eventual meeting, the reuniting of two lost souls who complement each other in the endless dance of being around being, rolling along a laneway wall, is a testament to the hope of our unquenchable longing. Anima draws us down and reminds us where we come from and where we belong. This is Home, a place we have sometimes forgotten is also a planet with limits, forests and lakes, seas and other creatures that need protecting.
Whatever parts of us face the world – our Persona to society, family and each other – find relief in the depths of Anima. Psyche, or mind; self, the individual, you person, the mind/body, your vehicle for getting by … that person seeks their dance partner beneath the surface, where she lives and breathes and waits for us to remember. Take the trip, again …
Geoff Berry wrote his PhD on the symbol of light, his MA on dreams and myths, and sings along similar themes with Melbourne post-punk band SEVERINS.
Initiation makes us into something we weren’t before. Successful ritual transforms our consciousness, expanding our minds beyond a little circle of desire and gratification, connecting us to the more-than-human world of nature all around us, the ecosystem we depend upon, the creatures who are our earthly kin, as well as connecting us to the spirit of life in the cosmos itself. This is what we used to get consistently in premodern society and what some people in more traditional societies, which are more resistant to the modern disease of disconnection, still get.
For those of us born into large-scale modernising cultures, religion tries to fill the gap, which is left as we turn away from this world of animistic life, but it gets so cold in those dusty halls and generally misses the meaty, gristly, blood-pumping point of the matter. That is, the living matter …
The best book I ever read on this subject was “Nature and Madness” by Paul Shepard. He pointed out what we had lost, how the turn towards technological domination of the planet came at such a great cost, as we allowed our initiation rituals to become severed from the word around us, and led by new types of elders, whose loyalties were to king and army rather than our fellow animals, our ancient homes in the forests and the mountains, the deserts and the seas. It’s a great book, but like my PhD on the meaning of light, it spends most of its time diagnosing the problem, leaving us to find solutions.
So I wrote this song, as a hint towards some things we could be doing to take our power back, as a signpost, a call to arms, an ecopoetic symbolic evocation of that world, as it calls us back to ourselves and to its living significance, within and without …
