Spiritual Archetypes vs. Spiritual People

Lately I’ve had a series of reminders why I need both spiritual archetypes and spiritual people in my spiritual journey.

This is something new for me because I didn’t always know how to discern an archetype from a person. 

Of course I knew that they were not the same, but it took a painful sequence of eye-opening personal experiences (as most of our hard-won wisdom does) to become more skillful in how I engage with an archetype versus a person, and to know which would be more helpful or harmful to me in any given moment.

I am also more skillful now in noting when someone else is interacting or projecting an archetype onto a human being or vice versa.

It has helped that as a parent of a 7 and 3 year-old I have gotten to read an endless supply of fairy tales and Disney movies nearly every day because if you are at all unclear about what is an archetype, just open up any number of children’s books or sit down and watch 20 minutes of an animated movie, and the archetypes of Jung, Campbell and Estes will jump right out at you.

Here is an image I found that artistically names a few of the major archetypes:

 I was recently re-watching the 2006 movie version of E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, and I was struck by the flawless representation of the mother archetype in the character of the spider, Charlotte, played by actress Julia Roberts.  It was perfect.

But here's the catch.

An archetype is one, maybe two, dimensional. It is consistent and predictable—which is of course part of the appeal—but it is not, and I believe not meant to be, human.

I have to say, I am very grateful to have fine-tuned this skill because in these transitioning political times it has allowed me to interact with people up close and at a distance (including those government folks in Washington D.C.) with more equanimity internally- which translates into greater openness and generosity externally during those moments of human fragility, brokenness and imperfect contradictions.

Political figures aside, I think individuals who are spiritual leaders, writers, speakers, and figure-heads are also particularly vulnerable to being cast as an archetype (e.g. hero, villain, mother, father, sage, caretaker, what have you), as opposed to a person, and I believe this is a dangerous predicament.

In psychotherapy, my day job, it’s similar to when a patient puts their therapist way up on a pedestal due to their feelings of gratitude or admiration for the credible counsel they feel they have received. 

But then, when the therapist forgets the name of the patient’s dog or schedules another patient at the same appointment time, there is only one direction that the therapist—who had at one time been way up in the clouds—can go: down, down, crashing down.

Undeniably I think it’s good practice to hold people accountable for their actions. 

But when does that decision to hold someone accountable stop you from seeing the forest for the trees.

 

For instance, I remember the first time I heard that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. plagiarized a part of his doctoral dissertation at Boston University.  (See article in The New York Times called “Plagiarism Seen by Scholars In King's Ph.D. Dissertation” from 11/10/90).  I recall asking myself the following questions:

1.)Does this change the way I feel about him?

2.)Will this information change the way others feel about him?

3.)Does this make his public persona as a model for justice, equality and fairness obsolete?

4.)If the public sees Dr. King as more human and less archetype will it help his universal and eternal message, or hurt it?

 

Or, in 2007 when Mother Teresa’s journals were published publically, and the world began to read about her extensive periods of doubt that she had kept very private during her many years of public life as an exemplar of faith. (See article in the New York Times called “A Saint’s Dark Night” from 8/29/07).

What is one to do with these apparent contradictions? 

Or are they contradictions at all?

I once heard this quote by a 20^th Century Jewish-American writer and literary critic named Alfred Kazin that I found very useful:

 

Man’s life is full of contradiction and he must be; we see through a glass darkly- we want more than we can have; we see more than we can understand. But a contradiction that is faced leads to true knowledge.

For me, the latter quotation is a Middle Path in this balancing act of accountability versus blind faith of wise people (or contempt toward the villains) who by all biological authority, are still oh-so-human.

Once I’ve clarified that individuals like Dr. King, Mother Teresa and other great spiritual figures were people (not one-dimensional archetypes), then I can view their lives as a series of unfolding moments (and mistakes), that they had a choice to grow from and awaken or remain stagnant.

On a much smaller scale, last year I read a comments section on an NPR radio show website regarding an interview with author Elizabeth Gilbert about her newest book Big Magic. 

As you recall, this is the same author of the very famous 2006 book Eat, Pray, Love.

 

On the website, among many other reflections of a different opinion, one person wrote:

I was disappointed to see that On Being interviewed Elizabeth Gilbert. Her behavior struck me as extremely narcissistic when I was only a couple chapters in to Eat Pray Love, and Gilbert's disturbing article about being a serial cheater only confirmed that impression: She has repeatedly ‘chosen curiosity over fear’  for her own benefit at the expense of others, which goes against the whole spirit of On Being.

The article this listener was referring too was also in The New York Times, and it was called “Confessions of a Seduction Addict” (6/24/15).

The interesting thing is, Ms. Gilbert’s article in The Times ended with this sentence:

I walked away alone but calm. And that’s when I realized that the better part of my life had already begun.

It would seem, after a period of engaging in a conditioned habit, Ms. Gilbert then came to a cross- roads where she chose a different path.

Haven’t we all done that at some point?

I think as long as we hold Ms. Gilbert, or any other person in our private or public lives, as a person, not an archetype (e.g. victim or villain, sage or caretaker), then we may actually find narratives about someone’s rocky awakening to be not only compelling, but also hopeful.

Because if we expect ourselves or others to be perfect in this spiritual journey, then we might as well give up right now; that is just not realistic. 

But, if we can let humans be humans (including our U.S. President-Elect) with an expectation of accountability and growing wisdom over time, then perhaps our need for archetypes (both heroes and villains) can be left to the likes of those mythical stories and G-rated Disney movies.

A Winter Mindfulness Walk with Hafez

Not long ago we had one of those freakishly warm days in the middle of a New England winter.

Climate change explanations aside, I set out to enjoy the unusual spring-like temperatures with a 4 hour silent mindful walk in the woods.

What makes a walk mindful you might ask?

For me, the difference between a mindful walk versus any other is the conscious decision, followed by the effort, to place my attention on the experiences of my body as opposed to my constantly thinking mind.

It's not because I believe thinking, or my thinking in particular, is bad or wrong.

No, I think the mind can be a creative miracle that allows me to process a sometimes confusing and chaotic world in insightful ways that allows me to participate more fully in my life and community.

Except when it doesn't.

Perhaps you have these stuck-in-the-mud-mind moments too: when you are caught on a hamster wheel of thinking that can prompt a sense of helplessness.

In those moments, if time and temperature permits, my favorite perscription for myself is to head out into the woods (preferably by myself) to recalibrate my mind by directing my attention toward my body.

I purposefully notice the contact of my feet on the earth, the sensation of my body temperature going up and down, the fluctuating intensity of my breathing as my chest rises and falls, and of course all of the gorgeous sensory experiences in the woods that I can take in through my eyes, ears, nose, and fingertips (no taste on this one!).

Then, as if to punctuate the present moment with an exclamation point, I pause every once in a while.

This is a method I picked up while on a Day of Mindfulness Retreat at one of Thich Nhat Hanh's monasteries in New York state.

In those moments, without fanfare or talking, I stop walking and stand tall in stillness while taking in 3 long intentional breaths.  Then, I resume my walk.

From  time to time my mind will drift over to my thoughts, which in this case was an intense worry about a loved one. 

In those moments, I honor those thoughts with a nod of recognition, but then I turn my mind back to my feet on the earth, my lungs breathing the warm air, the sound of the wind moving through the pine trees.

Sometimes this is several times in a minute. Sometimes only once in a half an hour- frequency neither here no there.

I also take photographs.

Contradictions included, this is where the hardcore, mindful purists may need to plug their ears and do the "Na Na Na" thing, because for some, taking photos on a mindful walk is a "No, No" of sorts.

For me though, photographing nature has always been a deep love of mine.

Something about the awe that I encounter when I feel right up close with the earth and all of her majesty.

My photography then becomes a kind of worship of sorts to that which is most holy or Beloved.

14th Century Persian poet Hafez (or Hafiz) often uses the word Beloved for god, and Beloved is the best word I can think of for my description of all of creation which, in my belief, is both in and of god.

So as I now lead you on this pictorial mindfulness walk through the New England woods on an unusually warm day at the start of this new year, I thought (see there is much beauty in thought too!) I'd accompany the photographs with some of the poetry of Hafez taken from Daniel Ladinsky's book "I Heard God Laughing: Renderings of Hafiz."

I find the mystics throughout the ages seem to share a wisdom about the intersection of humanity and the cosmos that I am just beginning to scratch the surface of.

Enjoy.

Manic Screaming

We should make all spiritual talk
Simple today:
God is trying to sell you something,
But you don't want to buy.

That is what your suffering is:
Your fantastic haggling,
Your manic screaming over the price!

My Brilliant Image

One day the sun admitted,

I am just a shadow.
I wish I could show you
The Infinite Incandescence (Tej)

That has cast my brilliant image!

I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,

The Astonishing Light

Of your own Being!

What Happens

What happens when your soul
Begins to awaken
Your eyes
And your heart
And the cells of your body
To the great Journey of Love?

First there is wonderful laughter
And probably precious tears

And a hundred sweet promises
And those heroic vows
No one can ever keep.

But still God is delighted and amused
You once tried to be a saint.

What happens when your soul
Begins to awake in this world

To our deep need to love
And serve the Friend?

O the Beloved
Will Send you
Once of His wonderful, wild companions-

Like Hafiz.

Silence

A day of Silence
Can be a pilgrimage in itself.

A day of Silence
Can help you listen
To the Soul play
Its marvelous lute and drum.

Is not most talking
A crazed defense of a crumbling fort?

I thought we came here
To surrender in Silence,

To yield to Light and Happiness,

To Dance within
In celebration of Love's Victory!

Skinning Your Knees on God

Little by little,
You will turn into stars.

Even then, my dear,
You will only be
A crawling infant,
Still skinning your knees on God.

Little by little,
You will turn into
The whole sweet, amorous Universe
In heat
On a wild spring night,

And become so free
In a wonderful, secret
And pure Love
That flows
From a conscious,
One-pointed,
Infinite need for Light.

Even then, my dear,
The Beloved will have fulfilled
Just a fraction,
Just a fraction,
Just a fraction!
Of a promise
He wrote upon your heart.

When your soul begins
To Ever bloom and laugh
And spin in Eternal Ecstasy-

O little by little,
You will turn into God.

Would You Think It Odd?

Would you think it odd if Hafiz said,

'I am in love with every church
And mosque
And temple
And any kind of shrine

Because I know it is there
That people say the different names
Of the One God.'

Would you tell your friends
I was a bit strange if I admitted

I am indeed in love with every mind
And heart and body.

O I am sincerely
Plumb crazy
About your every thought and yearning
And limb

Because, my dear,
I know
That it is through these

That you search for Him.

The Gifts of Darkness

This morning I watched the full moon set in the western horizon.

As a sun-worshiper, I don’t normally do this- share my loyalty and attention with the moon I mean.

But I was inspired by a story told by Episcopal Priest Barbara Brown Taylor in her book Learning to Walk in the Dark in which she and her husband, Ed, intentionally sat outside on their land in rural Georgia to watch the full moon rise just as others might witness a sun rise.

Like Reverand Taylor, I like the idea of challenging myself in what I think I know and believe about the dark.

As a psychotherapist by day, who primarily helps individuals try to embrace and accept the dualistic nature of emotions (e.g. joy & suffering, calm & restless, love & hate), I’ve noticed I am remarkably close-minded to the possibilities of the dark.

This awareness came to a head for me last year on November 8^th, the day I learned Donald Trump was going to be the next president of the United States.

The insight did not come in the election result itself.  No, it came after listening to a meditation teacher say on that very same day in a soft and almost dreamy voice, “what a wonderful day to practice.”

Words to which I promptly (internally) responded with a version of “WTF!”

Since then though, I have been purposefully exploring the potential gifts of darkness and the night- particularly as I reckon with these transitioning political times.

This process has been an enlightening one, to say the least, and it has been followed closely by a quotation by 20^th Century American PoetTheodore Huebner Roethke (1908-1963) 

that serendipitously keeps appearing before me:

“In a dark time, the eye begins to see.”

As a lemonade-out-of-lemons kind of girl and a psychotherapist, I love the possibility of insight and wisdom being drawn from a time of sorrow, and at first read of this quotation, I thought that was all it was about- as if it could only be interpreted one way.

But this morning, as I watched that gorgeous full moon set over the winter New England hills where I live, a whole new meaning of Mr. Roethke’s words occurred to me that has more to do with a reflection on faith, evolution and progress.

Hear me out.

As a mother with 2 children under the age of 8, I watch a lot of Disney, Pixar, you name it, animated movies.

One favorite in our household is the 2013 movie: The Croods.

This film tells the tale of how the unforeseen cataclysmic shifts in the earth’s contruct propels one very stuck individual, in this case the caveman father, into a dark night of the soul in which he must confront his own faith, evolution and dare I say progress, as a matter of life and death survival. 

I found this image on a website called PaeloPam.com that captures this theme perfectly:

Watching this movie again (for the 100^th time per my children’s delight!), I began to wonder, might this possibility of faith, evolution and progress be available to us too, when (for some of us) this particular moment in history feels like a nightfall?

I believe it is.

But first, we will be required to look and reflect deeply into the shadows of our humanity; areas of ourselves that we have been unwilling to investigate and repair for centuries.

For some people, this idea can be terrifying. 

Lifting up all those old rugs and opening up all those closet doors that have been pratically cemented shut to start to sort through our, at times, painful and cruel history.

In The Croods, the character of the caveman father (played by the voice of actor Nicolas Cage) has a famous line he keeps repeating until the very end of the film which is “Never Not Be Afraid!” that I think has been the sentiment of  many individuals who cannot imagaine what an inclusive, just, democracy would even look like.

But like the reflective full moon in the night sky, a gift of the darkness may be our own deep, compassionate contemplation of ourselves, our communities and our history that may be a catalyst for the type of generative human growth that has been unprecedanted thus far. 

May it be so.

Kindred Spirits: Barbara Brown Taylor

“From where I stood, I could not see a sign of human occupation. Like a child who has not yet dodged a blow, the river in front of me was innocent of what lay ahead. The water was so clear I could see a lazy carp paddling below me. The only debris was a high-water mark made of small sticks and leaves. There were raccoon tracks in the sand where the rock met the riverbank and white splats on the stone where some big water bird had stopped to fish for a spell…

If I softened my gaze and stopped holding myself apart from all that surrounded me, I became part of something so old and so powerfully alive that I lost track of my self. The river ran through me. Trees breathed for me. My feet grew from rock. The only thing wrong with any of these sentences is that there was for that moment no ‘me’ or ‘my.’ I lost my ‘me’ altogether, which of course was not apparent until I came back to my self, recovering one sense of reality at the price of the other.”

-Barbara Brown Taylor, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith

Reverend Taylor’s description of this divine moment reminded me of a similar moment of my own from 17 years ago.

It was a freezing cold night in the first winter of the new millennium, and I was a 22 year-old about to leave the United States to live in Central Asia in the Peace Corps.

Though I still had no experience of god or spirit at that time (that would come much later), I distinctly remember a moment of awareness just as Reverend Taylor described so eloquently above.

I remember I was standing on my mother’s front porch, and I had just finished shoveling her very long driveway.  But rather than go back into the house to warm up, for no apparent reason, I decided to stand in the night air a little longer.

I remember I was tired and breathing heavy, and I remember the quiet.

In New England, when there is a thick coat of snow on the trees and ground, there can be a kind of silence like no other silence I am aware of.  It has an intensity to it that feels ancient and holy.

I don’t know what led me to enter into the stillness, except to say I felt a very crisp, fine-tuning of my senses in that moment, and a sensation of the moment itself pressing hard against my skin.

The moment did not last long of course—a fraction of time I’m sure—but for just that instant, I had a sense of fluidity in which the edges of my self blurred into a whole I never knew existed.

After the moment passed, I just silently turned and walked back inside because I had no words for what I had just gone through- no framework to help me understand it in any sort of meaningful way.  It simply became one of those experiences that I tucked away inside of me for another time in the future when greater insight might help me clarify the glorious (and at times confusing)  nature of reality.

This possibility for an unfolding at a later time is for me part of the beauty and mystery of reality though;  when the words of a kindred spirit can mine those dormant gems out from the deep caverns of our internal landscape so that we may finally integrate those experiences in an elegant, new way.