Images of the soul show first of all more feminine connotations. Psyché, in the Greek language, besides being soul denoted a night-moth or butterfly and a particularly beautiful girl in the legend of Eros and Psyche. Our discussion in the previous chapter of the anima as a personified feminine idea continues this line of thinking. There we saw many of her attributes and effects, particularly the relationship of psyche with dream, fantasy, and image. This relationship has also been put mythologically as the soul's connection with the night world, the realm of the dead, and the moon. We still catch our soul's most essential nature in death experiences, in dreams of the night, and in the images of "lunacy."
The world of spirit is different indeed. Its images blaze with light, there is fire, wind, sperm. Spirit is fast, and it quickens what it touches. Its direction is vertical and ascending; it is arrow-straight, knife-sharp, powder-dry, and phallic. It is masculine, the active principle, making forms, order, and clear distinctions. Although there are many spirits, and many kinds of spirit, more and more the notion of "spirit" has come to be carried by the Apollonic archetype, the sublimations of higher and abstract disciplines, the intellectual mind, refinements, and purifications.
We can experience soul and spirit interacting. At moments of intellectual concentration or transcendental meditation, soul invades with natural urges, memories, fantasies, and fears. At times of new psychological insights or experiences, spirit would quickly extract a meaning, put them into action, conceptualize them into rules. Soul sticks to the realm of experience and to reflections within experience. It moves indirectly in circular reasonings, where retreats are as important as advances, prefer- ing labyrinths and corners, giving a metaphorical sense to life through such words as close, near, slow, and deep. Soul involves us in the pack and welter of phenomena and the flow of impressions. It is the "patient" part of us. Soul is vulnerable and suffers; it is passive and remembers. It Is water to the spirit's fire, like a mermaid who beckons the heroic spirit into the depths of passions to extinguish its certainty. Soul is imagination, a cavernous treasury-to use an image from St. Augustine -a confusion and richness, both. Whereas spirit chooses the better part and seeks to make all One. Look up, says spirit, gain distance; there is something beyond and above, and what is above is always, and always superior.
They differ in another way: spirit is after ultimates and it travels by means of a via negativa. “Neti, neti," it says, "not this, not that." Strait is the gate and only first or last things will do. Soul replies by saying, "Yes, this too has place, may find its archetypal significance, belongs in a myth." The cooking vessel of the soul takes in everything, everything can become soul; and by taking into its imagination any and all events, psychic space grows.
I have drawn apart soul and spirit in order to make us feel the differences, and especially to feel what happens to soul when its phenomena are viewed from the perspective of spirit. Then, it seems, the soul must be disciplined, its desires harnessed, imagination emptied, dreams forgotten, involvements dried.?? For soul, says spirit, cannot know, neither truth, nor law, nor cause. The soul is fantasy, all fantasy. The thousand pathologizings that soul is heir to by its natural attachments to the ten thousand things of life in the world shall be cured by making soul into an imitation of spirit. The imitatio Christi was the classical way; now there are other models, gurus from the Far East or Far West, who, if followed to the letter, put one's soul on a spiritual path which supposedly leads to freedom from pathologies. Pathologizing, so says spirit, is by its very nature confined only to soul; only the psyche can be pathological, as the word psychopathology attests. There is no "pneumopathology," and as one German tradition has insisted, there can be no such thing as mental illness ("Geisteskrankheit"), for the spirit cannot pathologize. So there must be spiritual disciplines for the soul, ways in which soul shall conform with models enunciated for it by spirit.
But from the viewpoint of the psyche the humanistic and Oriental movement upward looks like repression. There may well be more psycho- pathology actually going on while transcending than while being immersed in pathologizing. For any attempt at self-realization without full recognition of the psychopathology that resides, as Hegel said, inherently in the soul is in itself pathological, an exercise in self-deception. Such self-realization turns out to be a paranoid delusional system, or even a kind of charlatanism, the psychopathic behavior of an emptied soul.
Many modern methods of psychotherapy want to retain the spirit of analysis but not its soul. They want to retain the methods and forms without the pathologizings. Then the doctor can become a master, and the patient is metamorphosed into a pupil, client, partner, disciple- anything but a patient. Analysis itself is called a dialogue or a trans- action, for "therapy" smacks of pathology. The focus upon inwardness and the goal of integration of the interior person may remain, but disintegration tends to be excluded, without which such integration has no significance. In their view, falling apart is never for the sake of the parts, the multiple persons who are the richness of psychic life; falling apart is but a phase preliminary to reconstituting a stronger ego.
These approaches that would synthesize rather than analyse, integrate rather than differentiate, and keep the therapeutic rituals without the pathological contents, neglect one of the deepest insights resulting from the last century of psychotherapy. The psyche does not exist without pathologizing. Since the unconscious was discovered as an operative factor in every soul, pathologizing has been recognized as an inherent aspect of the interior personality. Freud declared this succinctly: "We can catch the unconscious only in pathological material." And after her last visit to Freud in 1913 Lou Salomé wrote:"... he put exceptionally strong emphasis on the necessity of maintaining the closest and most persistent contact with the pathological material. . .”
Pathologizing is present not only at moments of special crisis but in the everyday lives of all of us. It is present most profoundly in the individual’s sense of death, which he carries wherever he goes. It is present also in each person's inward feeling of his peculiar differentness which includes, and may be even based upon, his sense of individual “craziness". For we each have a private fantasy of mental illness; "crazy," "mad, “insane”- all their substitutes, colloquialisms, and synonyms- -form a regular part of our daily speech. As we cast our internal deviance from us with these exclamations about others, we are at the same time acknowledging that we each have a deviant, odd second (or third) personality that provides another perspective to our regular life. Indeed, pathologizing supplies material out of which we build our regular lives. Their styles, their concerns, their loves, reflect patterns that have pathologized strands woven all through them. The deeper we know ourselves and the other persons of our complexes, the more we recognize how well we, too, fit into the textbook sketches of abnormal psychology. Those case histories are also our own biographies. To put it in sociological language: nearly every individual in the United States of America has been, now is, or will have been in the hands of professional soul care of one kind or another, for a shorter or longer period, for one reason or another.
Discovery of the unconscious has meant the widespread and overwhelming recognition of the psyche's autonomous activity of pathologizing. That discovery and that recognition have led to one even more significant: the rediscovery of soul. But unfortunately and mistakenly we have confused these three interrelated discoveries: the unconscious, pathologizing, and soul. We confusedly believe that everyone needs professional therapy as if that is where soul could be refound. But this is not so. For then we are confusing the rediscovery of soul during the twentieth century with the place where it happened-- therapeutic analysis. But therapy or analysis was not the carrier of that discovery. Psychopathology was. Symptoms, not therapists, led this century to soul. The persistent pathologizings in Freud and in Jung and in their patients- pathologizings that refused to be repressed, transformed, or cured, or even understood- led this century's main explorers of the psyche ever deeper. Their movement through pathology into soul is an experience repeated in each of us. We owe them much, but we owe our pathologizing more. We owe our symptoms an immense debt. The soul can exist without its therapists but not without its afflictions.
Analysis has merely given psychopathology a hearing outside the asylums, prisons, and church institutions where it had been kept; the new therapy provided the only place given secular sanction for a prolonged and intense involvement with pathologizing. Symptoms were the very point and focus of its attention. So analysis offered the vessel into which our unconscious pathologizing could be poured and then cooked long enough for its significance to emerge, for it to make soul. Out of psyché-pathos-logos came the meaning of suffering of the soul, or the soul's suffering of meaning.
Again a confusion beset this experience: a special state of being- “being-in-therapy"- seemed required for this discovery of soul through pathologizing, and so for many people therapy became a religious ritual, even replacing religious ritual. One was “in" analysis, and analysis was “in." There were the initiates: those who had been analysed. And there were the others: those who had never even been in therapy or had not been “properly” or "thoroughly" analysed. To refind the sense of soul one had to "go through" analysis with its regular appointments, its techniques, and its stages of "beginning an analysis." "working through," and "terminating." Inevitably and without knowing it, the ritual of analysis had produced a new cult of soul. Finally, some have taken this religious direction literally, declaring that actually this is what therapy is all about, an expression of the religious activity of the soul: the psychotherapeutic movement is correctly a religious movement; therapists are indeed a new kind of ministers to soul--gurus or priests.
In this movement toward religion pathology now tends to be left behind. By shifting its ground from pathology to self-development, recent analysis no longer recognizes the primacy of affliction. One goes to therapy to grow, not because one is afflicted-as if growth and affliction excluded each other. A gulf has developed between soul and symptom. On the one hand analysis regards itself as a professional contract for solving problems, a variety of medical science without soul, ritual, or mystery. On the other, it imitates the transcendental disciplines, foster- ing ritual, community, and teachings. Pathologizing again foundered upon its old division, illness or sin, and a further division emerged. Now, to be in soul therapy for growth and realization of personality, symptoms are left out; to be in medical or behavioral therapy for relief of symptomatic afflictions, soul is left out. Soul and symptom have broken in two.
This chapter and this book want to mend that division. By retaining psychopathology as a descriptive language of the psyche which indeed speaks to and of the soul, I would keep psyche and pathology close together. If I seem to be making the soul sick again by such stress on pathologizing, I am at the same time giving sickness soul again. By returning symptoms to the soul, I am attempting to return soul to symptoms, restoring them to the central value in life that soul itself has.
“When we dance, we wake up, we get down and juicy with ourselves, we have fun and forget all the heavy shit we carry around. In the dance we get real, get free, get over ourselves. Movement kicks ass. When you truly surrender to your own rhythm, you look so cool, so mysterious, so seductive— the way you deep down really want to look but don’t trust that you do.”
Gabrielle Roth, Connections: The Threads of Intuitive Wisdom
The aesthetic finish calls up an image of genteel elders passing serenely away. This is not at all what I mean by “aesthetics.” The word roots itself in a gasp (aisthou), a sudden short intake of breath in the face of wonder, or horror. Aesthetics begins in the startle of surprise, the breath caught, held in astonishment. Aesthetics arises from an epiphanic image, the full force of character revealed as in a work of art.
Can a person become an epiphany?
Can we entertain the idea that all along our earthly life has been phenomenal, a showing, a presentation? Can we imagine that at the essence of human being is an insistence upon being witnessed–by others, by gods, by the cosmos itself….and that the inner force of character cannot be concealed from this display. The image will out, and the last years put the final finish to the image.
It is then only natural that we become more like apparitions, already sepulchral effigies, stand-ins for ancestors. Visits to us become ceremonies; gifts, offerings; conversations, liturgical repetitions. We are left as traces, lasting in our very thinness like the scarcely visible lines on a Chinese silkscreen, microlayers of pigment and carbon, which can yet portray the substantial pro- fundities of a face. Lasting no longer than a little melody, a unique composition of disharmonious notes, yet echoing long after we are gone. This is the thinness of our aesthetic reality, this old, very dear image that is left and lasts.
James Hillman, the Force of Character and the lasting life
Happy the Artist had some of my Ai art printed in vinyl for my car!
I build shelter out of scraps Of form left behind Scattered in my mind Out of place Just a face of the task at hand And the wilderness is free It beckons me Leaps out at me when I try to Stand, its Been so long since my feet Have touched land And the beasts they form A circle around me Praying for me At first I am afraid and I Fail to see But gradually I am allowed in To see the light I’m Wallowing in And I make love to the leopards Of my own making Touch tongue to the gentle Awakening Healing taking place between This world and this scream That opens the door, In this valley, in this forge And how high can I fly When my spirit is untethered My feathers bending with The wind As I am gathered in By the hands of the one I am cradled and gently Laying stable upon This shaking ground This haven I have found And dwelt upon Till now But I remake myself I trace the fake parts of This hell And make them new I make them true I dance with them until They are no longer blue I am taking this shadow And teaching it form Without walls Pure storm I let it gently cascade over me As my body bathes in the breeze Of spirit passing over me…
Words do not a Poet make; A beating heart that bleeds To break Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the open I that struggles through time To weave the words that wake the mind As Holy Athanor holds inside The broken Shards of Soul and Sines- Waving magic in tragic rhymes Bleeding seeds that tie and bind The love affair of Space and Time;
Words do not a Poet make; A desperate dance with the daemons Of fate Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the whispered wisdom that bears thru pain A lucid truth that fractures the brain As sacred Golgothas hidden codes Implode within the neural nodes- The Christed seed is born anew From heavens leaven, the holy Dew The Time is Now and the Poem is You.
Crossing to Avalon, Jean Shinoda BolenWilliam Styron , Darkness Visible Dante’s Inferno
🌱Viriditas🌱
My bedtime reading a reminder of the lush greening and the moisture of aliveness. Venus in the glory of bountiful natural juiciness of expression in abundant hues of green. Taurean fertility and adoration of the sensual world that saturates and quickens the blood. The Power of the Greening. That which is alive is wet, is moist, and as Time takes it’s toll, demands payment, it is in moisture, removed……Saturn is Dry. It contracts and dries things out. As moisture dries up, Life dries up. Turns to salt? Saturn is salt. Salt is wisdom. The journey from Green Venusion birth into the sensual realm of aliveness and bodily experience. Ole Saturn, through Time pulls the moisture out, condenses, constricts, makes dry and brittle and rigid. The wisdom that comes from embodiment and disembodiment in patterns and cycles of knowing and forgetting, being, and letting …be. Saturn is melancholia. The darkness that overtakes when the moisture of life has gone. The Melencholia of intense depression states, the complete loss of all the juice of living. If you know you know. Saturn is a harsh task master but always wise. If you’re worth your salt, your worth your sea as the womb space of psyches dream pulls you in.
Went to bed with these contemplations. But never slept. So eventually re/lit my candles, and grabbed a book that had been in que. William Styron ‘Darkness Visible’ about his descent into Melencholia and Madness. Saturns initiation. If you know you know. Read the whole thing before falling sleep. The journey of Saturns slow wicking off moisture from the body and mind and heart. The seemingly inexplicable dance with the leaden realm that makes the Viriditas ever so sweeter when the waters return. Saturn and Venus and their dance.
I went into a laughing fit that lasted probably ten minutes, towards the end of Styrons book. One single paragraph seemed to me so hilarious…..he spoke so articulately sardonic and it was so metaphoric of how little the ‘system’ understands the ramifications of Madness of Melancholia when Saturns slow shrivel has dried up every last bit of wetness from the soul. (See photo of the excerpt).
“Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, Ché la diritta via era smarrita” ~Dante
I awoke to the sound of the pouring rain outside, could feel the earths reception of these heavenly waters as a tonic for her thirst. Ah. The greening. And the wet juiciness of life. The green hue that surrounds my house a reminder of the love for living that Saturns dark lessons make New and make pertinent. Knowing the hot dry temperatures coming up in the next week, I felt myself relax into this rainy downpour that quenches the parched earth.
You are … Essentially….an electromagnetic Battery… A Torus Field …. An Infinte Free Energy Alchemical Lab that can Generate its own perfect Health and Joy. Everything you’ve been taught in the Mainstream Script Timeline is inverted. There are very few basic needs …. And one of those is Grounding Oneself in Earth…. The soles of ones feet are fractal Foundations and Function as one pole of your SovereignSelfMagnet. It is Essential for the connection between your body and Earth and Ground to happen, and in conjunction with Sunlight on your Skin and in your Eyes. With feet on earth and Sun on skin… You Charge your Vehicle. Pure and Energized Water is absolutely vital…. Water is Alive, and has been held captive with poisonous programming. Air and the act of breathing with awareness and Intention is akin to Magic. With Breath you cAn unlock your own inner pharmacology. You contain everything in Existence within your Body. Your Mind Steers with Intent. Your Nervous System is the most technologically advanced Integrel quantum Computing System …. Learning to use it…. You will be ReMembering that you are Beyond Powerful here in this CoCreative Dream and Dynamic Dance on the Cosmic Chessboard….
Challenging and Pushing the Body and Emotions and Will develops ones Capacity to Hold Charge. Like a battery….if there is no Juice, there is no Will not Joy nor Aliveness….there is enervation and dis-ease and desperation and dependence on temporary situations that lead to further loss of Charge.
Spending time with as much skin to Sun contact as possible , in nature, Feet to Earth, Breathe to Heart In Awareness, With Pure Water ….. Will help you Be the best version of yourSelf in this Play, so…. Let the Ninjapocalypse Unfold And Let’s Enfold a New Script from between the Seams of this Dying Dream and Rebirth the EarthSeeds in Selves of Radiant Wild Warrior Beings✨🃏✨⭐️🗝⭐️✨🃏✨
A little flip book of pattern play…. Hidden agendas and timelines of pain The master orchestrator always remains The being that’s seeing thru the eyes in our brain Majestic mazes of manipulated minds Creating a Space that challenges Time Eating images and projecting reality Holographic breeding of dystopian fallacy minds under siege as fearful hearts close The challenge to balance the whys and woes The fingers point outward in terrified blame Initiating the lock on the grid of the game The architect cleverly hidden inside The engineers blueprints of cold dead light The synthetic overlay ushered thru stages As the prophets, poets, saints and sages Paint the picture with poignant passion Proclaim the Game as their Saving Mission Whichever Timeline in the fractal you choose There is no Final Boss Stronger than You You will decide in each belief that you Eat How the story goes whether loss or defeat And when the jesters Chessboard is cleared We’ll Play again with Tears and Years To ReMember ones Power in the face of Pain Is to Step into the Joy of Process again To joyfully inhabit ones body and Place To face The tangled web of Destinys Grace Is to Simply reMember you Rolled the Dice In the First Place
Imagine….How easily, the Transfer has happened, the downloaded Dimensional Devastation as Humans are Trafficked and Territory is reMapped and trapped in saturated frequencies of ghastly Stories of Limitation….
Imagine this….they Say….coders imploding DNA and neurolinguistically enfolding a New Way To Play This Game…mama and daddy holed up in static attics of decay labeled Nursing Homes and Centers for Elderly Stay…. No hope no more of touch or warmth Just a Cold Sterile Hand to help them to the Grave….no rope in the Storm to pull them to the banks of this River of Pain… We Step Aside…. Pretend to cry about this situation…. The InsemiNation of Artificial PlayStations where Creation springs from binary Minds and Satiation brings no Hope for the Scope of this Trick of Light…..
Imagine this…. Into Being…. They Say….. Knowing the glowing power of the Mind to Create inside the Lines they’ve sketched for your Lives….. But Weight…..Of Flesh is the Gate thats kept in Blessed Stasis , just a magic oasis for the baseless claims to take Hold, the Body is the Key to the Heart and the Soul…. And we’ve left our Mothers and Fathers Dying Alone in the Cold….The Disk Drive of the New Timeline rides on the Wiped Files of the Old…….
Imagine This…. They Say… It’s all for your Safety, stay brave and face this calamity behind 4 protected Bars of Irony, 5G(o)D will project it’s Tyrany in ways that make no Visible Waves , Dialed Up soldiers and Digital Slaves , the Progeny of Pornographic Passageways onto the Mass Stage of Awakening in these Last Days of Reckoning…..
Imagine This…. They Say…. Follow your Bliss this way…electroMagnetic Policy will Insure you remain Protected from Pain… No Stain on that soft Skin, their Claims will gather you In and keep you free from Sin, Sure…. Censored by Siri , Us vs Them in a teary Mirror of Theory that’s clearly mired in Sirius Error and Fallacy thats nearing Idiocy…..
Imagine This…. They say….knowing the Codes that Upload your DNA into the Clouds, the Eyes and the Nows are Portals that Round up the Number of Slumbering Souls that Allow this blundering highBrow crowd to Shroud the Skin of Human Men and Women who Stand up loud and proud to remain on the Ground Of Being, Bleeding and Feeling and Risking the peeling layers of decay, fearlessly slaying the predators who prey on the Shame and the Blame that is created from day One in this Game, resisting the blistering of the acid rain that eats away the brain of sane trains of thought…. Who cannot be bought and sold with cryptoGold and Mined and primed by artificial Lines of demarcation….. Masquerading as Salvation as the Battle begins for this metaphoric damNation….
Imagine This…. They Say…. Resistance is an insistence on endangering your neighbor, a crime to be enforced and punished by Angry gang bangers with trigger happy fingers waiting for the neural slice and splice of the Lightsaber Device that strangles organic Sight and paves the way for the GameChanger of digital deLight. Is this the Wager, is this the Fight? Is this the Dream that Mars the Night?
Imagine This…..they say….. Keep your Eyes on the mediaL Nerve…. But I Say … You Deserve Better…. DeServe unFettered Life that still bleeds and Sings Blessings Together in hordes of human Offering. Imagine Carefully…. I Say…. Because I Mages enCode the Wisdom of the Way and our Power is The Pinnacle of Creation in this Play.