The ocean is an image of the unconscious with currents which may either be lethal or regenerative. Water is a symbol of life; a place of birth, transformation and rebirth. It represents an ambivalent situation of uncertainty, doubt and indecision; a simultaneous image of life and death. In an attempt to clean up the mess, BP has put in a “containment procedure”, as if shadow material can be contained, and the projection of our cultural greed and indifference can be stopped by an enforced procedure. Company officials have stated their sorrow and regret, promising to repair the destruction. Yet it has become clear that this process is much larger than us, and cannot be fixed by our rational procedures and regulatory systems. This time, we can’t start a war with the so-called enemy, rebuild the damaged site, and cast blame on the “other”. We now must sit with this stain, which for years will serve as a reminder of our collective desire for personal gain at the expense of earth’s resources.

We are in an extraordinary time of the evolution of consciousness, being taken into the underworld through a painful process of destruction and transformation. The bleeding of the gulf feels like a collective death and transfiguration, a cleansing of toxic emotional dynamics and false belief systems. The sea is a feminine container of receptivity, where the ego surrenders control to become fluid. The currents can be regenerative, through an alchemical process of solutio, releasing that which no longer serves the greater good.

On a national level, we have witnessed a necessary shift into consciousness. It has come with a high price, through the breakdown of the financial system, economic depression, healthcare crisis, failure of the education system and dissolution of all institutions. Our attachment to comfort, security, contentment, kept in place by a narcissistic omnipotence of presence as a world power, is being stripped away. In our dismemberment, we are face to face with a fear of failure, and a dread of annihilation.

On a personal level, we have been guided, and forced into addressing our core wounds. Through symptoms and crises, we are being asked to acknowledge our darkness, accept our humanity, integrate our shadows, and move into a more authentic life purpose. Embodiment of our soul’s path, resonating with a natural balance of life, and holding the polarity of opposites within our psyche; this is the collective transformation, lingering at the end of the stained, oil infested waters. No longer can we project our disowned aspects on to the other, for we have become the enemy.

We may not have solutions to the numerous global (and personal) challenges faced before us. But psyche has a tendency for wholeness, and the seed of healing is within each disease. Perhaps the time has come to find beauty amidst our own ugliness, and unite in our collective ability for chaos and destruction.

I have experienced a lifetime of inner duality, a split between my own mind and body; an ego-centric attitude towards life, mediated by a self in need of creative expression, a thinking function dominating an embodied sensibility. The loneliness, gut wrenching need for intimate connection, yet a fear of closeness and being truly seen. All there, in a play of hide and seek without a serious awareness of the game. All there, to keep me in a constant state of disconnect and isolation.

I have endured. I have conformed. I have rebelled. I have lost some, and won others. I have suffered, no more or less than another, yet I’ve always gone back for more. I have been driven and stagnant, courageous and fearful, honest and inauthentic, the good girl next door and the heartless bitch. I have loved and hated, manipulated and been used, enraged and compassionate. I have been inspiring and destructive. I have been broken, and put together a thousand times, to where the cracks have formed a beautiful mosaic.

I’ve been present to Hera, the goddess of loyalty, commitment and monogamy, as well as Aphrodite, the untamed, free-spirited, sensual image of passionate love. Of course there’s also been Kali, the ferocious dark mother, destroyer of false consciousness, swinging her ax through the firmly held pillars of illusion in my life.

I’ve often wondered how all this came about. I’ve meticulously reviewed the details of my life, back to childhood, each time being taken to a new direction. The pandora’s box is not just one, but many that have been opened. An image of an antique dresser comes forward, where the drawers have all been opened, the contents poured in the center of the room, bearing the secrets endured for too long. The room is messy, and I can’t stand messiness. I can’t see the floor, for it is buried underneath all the shit. I try to clean up, organize, control. Yet with each fruitless attempt, I become more aware of the need to let go, to sit amongst the crap, let everyone see the mess.

I sit in this clutter, and chaos, and I am alone. In my aloneness, I begin to touch the forbidden articles, tucked away and now suddenly made available. I feel the softness of the material, smell the familiar scent of old memories, see the embarrassing stains of tears and bloodshed, and suddenly realize the pain is not all mine. I have suffered, yet have caused enormous pain. I have bled, but perhaps not nearly as much as the bleeding hearts I’ve contributed to. I have created, and destroyed.

So I sit with this knowledge: that I AM the container of opposites. That all I have judged and feared in another is within me. All that I have loved and valued in another is within me. I am the beloved and the evil one.

So I let go. I let it all go. The stories, the pain, the rationale, the excuses used to keep me asleep. I awaken to nothingness and embrace the void, what Quantum Physics calls the “zero point field“. The gap, the place of utter emptiness and fullness, where psyche and matter both touch and don’t touch. I attune to my body as the vessel of enantiodromia, what Carl Jung refers to as a tension of opposites within the psyche, holding both conflict and resolution.

The descent into the chaos in my life, what I’ve experienced as the black hole, began the integration of my fragmented self. The drop into the void is where I found true access to the inner way, the healing of my trauma, and began my own transformation. The descent into the symptoms, the suffering, the darkness, the alchemical cleansing contained in the vessel of my physical, emotional and subtle body, brought forth a coniunctio, a third thing: the birth of my dissertation.

I started this blog over a year ago with the intention of bringing awareness to depth psychology, and making it more accessible for those unfamiliar with the field. In all the articles, I’ve attempted to bring a deeper understanding to current trends, psychological symptoms, and human suffering. Over the past 6 months, I haven’t been as diligent in my posts. Each time I’ve sat down at the computer with the intent to write, I’ve been blocked.

I’ve experienced this resistance in all of my writing assignments. My doctoral papers have gone incomplete, the dissertation research, at a halt. This resistance, the unwillingness inside of me is calling for recognition. The symptom is asking for a re-direction, a re-evaluation of my path.

So I began to listen…to hear the words I’ve refused to acknowledge. To allow the answers to penetrate me in the most intimate way. What is the “block” telling me? And whose words are being spoken? What am I afraid of?

The answers have not come forward yet. But it does not matter, for clarity often comes in just asking the questions. The willingness to be with having no answers is where healing occurs. The capacity to surrender to “what is” often leads to transformation.

So going forward I will write what is present, real, and felt in my heart. Coming to the culmination of my PhD program, I am letting go of the need for quotes and references to the “experts” in the field. I am stepping into who “I” am, showing up with my heart, mind, body and soul. This blog will be a revelation of my personal transformation. The vessel for my alchemy. My Red Book.

I hope that the writings, reflecting the journey of a wounded healer, touch those places in your heart that need healing. I hope that through my suffering you will find meaning in your own.

As I sit at my desk, looking out the window on this foggy Sunday morning in my home, I realize the sense of disconnect from all that surrounds me. I no longer feel that I belong in this space. That which I have struggled to hold on to feels insignificant. I’ve let go of so much over the last few years, and the process of cleansing continues.

I look around my empty house, facing the knowledge that I am no longer who I thought to be. The rooms feel cold and big, they have lost the warmth of love once present. The back yard, situated overlooking the creek and greenbelt, no longer serves as my sanctuary. My dogs, the companions of our family’s journey, look at me with longing, for they now represent burden, responsibility, that which I no longer desire to represent my self-worth.

The laughter has been replaced by silence. It is all silent……..

I realize I am standing in the emptiness of the space between. My old life, most of which I have let go of, and the one not yet created. I am alone. Completely, utterly alone, without an anchor, unable to reach the ground, caught in a state of suspension. The old way of being calls to me, for it is comfortable and familiar. Yet every cell in my body screams NO. I know that it’s no longer an option to be that which I am not. But the question begs, ‘who am I really?’. I have no labels to hold on to, for they seem stifling to my soul. But the void of ‘nothingness’ burns, so deeply that I can feel the fire within the vessels that carry the blood of my life.

An inner voice tells me ‘it is almost over’. This voice has become louder over the years, from a faint whisper to a strong presence. It can no longer be ignored. All that I have loved and believed in is gone. My faith…shattered, my truth… questioned. But I know that through this darkness, I will find my true Self. My inner essence, the connection to which is all I need to live. The trust in my own potential, my own greatness and power, is all I need to be. I must fall into the void, the descent into the fires of hell and purgatory, so that all which is NOT ME can burn away, and who I AM can rise from the ashes.

Alchemy, the process of transforming metal into gold, refers to this stage as calcinatio, the burning away of all that is foreign leaving only the purest of substance, the white ash. Psychologically, it is the intense ‘firing’ up of emotions, often caused by anger, so that the false self can dissolve, and what remains is the truth of one’s psyche, released from all its distorted beliefs and complexes. Calcinatio is the purging of the nigredo, the blackness, that sense of absolute despair which is a prerequisite to personal transformation.

This is the beginning of individuation, calling me to descend into the great unknown, to bear witness to the vastness of my inner void, my desperation and alchemical nigredo, so that I can find my way home.

Transitions can be difficult, especially when we are being asked to release “that” which no longer serves our highest good. Whether it be a job, a relationship, unworn and outdated clothes in the closet, or old expectations of a planned life , the extra baggage we often carry around, gets heavier with time. Every so often, an opportunity arises for a deep cleansing, of the dusty corners of our homes, and the dark crevices of our psyches. Through challenges that are presented, either in forms of people or circumstances, we are given a flashlight, to illuminate the shadows, look beyond the fear and repulsion, and learn to accept and eventually love the most abhorrent parts of ourselves.

Letting go can be liberating. Often the more difficult and uphill one’s path may be, the richer the experience and results. Yet those moments that require a firm belief in one’s truth, authenticity and call for action, can also be extremely vulnerable and lonely. Just like an infant who learns separation and existence outside of the mother-baby bond, we must also find solace in our wholeness, while detaching from “that” which no longer serves our developmental needs. Winnicott introduced the term ‘transitional object’ in reference to something external that replaced the mother-child bond for the infant, such as a security blanket, teddy bear or a doll.  In a later stage of development, that object is no longer necessary, for the child has internalized its function, and can self-soothe during times of distress.

During times of transitions, from one path to another, we may need our version of a transitional object to soothe anxiety and distress. Perhaps we find solace in a friend, a partner, or a counselor. A symbol, an image, or a favorite quote can also serve as a reminder of our wholeness. What we at times may call a band-aid, crutch, or a temporary fix, could very well represent “that” which needs to be released, integrated or even loved within ourselves.

To me, it always seems like there are times when we want change, and times when we don’t, and yet often those two timeframescoincide more than we think. As a child I used to get terribly frustrated with the local news anchors who would complain to the weatherman, “Larry, when is it going to warm up for spring?” And it seemed like not two weeks later those same anchors would say, “Larry, it’s too hot! When is it going to cool down?” The weather is just one thing that isn’t predictable, and I suppose that is where sayings arise such as, “The only sure things in life are death and taxes.” But, there must be more than death and taxes, mustn’t there? As humans, we are fascinated with the loss and gain of things. All the way back to Greece there were plays and now we have movies of course, mostly concerned with the loss and gain of love, fortune, life, health, soul- you name it, you can find an audience who is interested in knowing whether it is lost or gained. And, the reason we are so curious is because the struggle is something we all face, and so the watching of the saga unfold time and time again somehow doesn’t get old.

For myself, I notice my interest in these patterns, of loss and gain, gets most acute around the changing of the seasons. In the spring there is something universal about the start of something new, and hence we are often encouraged (particularly by retail stores who would like to provide the replacements) to be “out with the old and in with the new.” Strangely, I would much rather do a “Fall Cleaning” than one in the spring, but actually more often than not most years I prefer not to give away or change anything. Bottom line, I don’t like to lose things. Yet, to gain things, one must lose, don’t you think? I heard an idea attributed to Jungian psychologist Robert Johnson the other day about sacrifice. His idea is that sacrifice is not simply the giving up of things, but the giving up of small things in order to attain the larger things. Of course, this does not mean material things only, and I am not suggesting the giving up of a raft for a yacht, although that may happen. In a Jungian sense this is more likely the giving up of ego desires for soul desires. For me, the idea was important because lately I have noticed that one result of this down economy is that it has caused an awareness of the fact that resources are finite. We live in a world where things have limits it seems, and this may be a fact we forgot in the last decade or so.

Time, effort, money all these things have limits. Limits bring the necessity of choice, since we can’t do or have it all, we must choose what we really, truly desire. I know many people, myself included, who are considering major life transitions at this time. In light of this idea about sacrifice, I think of it as giving up some things in order to do or have the thing that is truly desired. For me, it may mean deciding to rent my home, so that I can apply those expenses to my stronger desire of my degree pursuit. If you can’t do it all, which things will you do? For me, the choice to stop attempting to do and have it all came with a blow because it felt like a failure of sorts. However, with Robert Johnson’s idea of sacrifice, I now see it light of the fact that I have chosen to sacrifice one thing in pursuit of something I want even more. It is like taking a trip, sometimes not everything we want to bring will fit in the suitcase, and we have to choose which things to bring, the ones that are the most useful, versatile, and able to travel with us to all the places we want to visit are usually the ones that end up in the bag, and if we’re really experienced, we know to leave enough room for souvenirs!

What about you? How do you experience the cycles of loss and gain, and what do you see happening with them in light of the current economic situation? And in another way we lose…I would like to acknowledge the amount of loss in the very tragic way of death -lately experienced by many of my friends and loved ones. Sometimes this topic is almost too painful for words, but if you would like to share your thoughts, I’d love to hear them.

The sun never says to the earth, “You owe me.”

Look what happens with a Love like that!

—It lights the whole Sky. (Hafez)

In the Persian culture, everything is encompassed by love, or eshgh, deriving from the Arabic ishq. Icons such as Rumi and Hafez represent the ever-present passion in the history and language of the culture.  Yet there is no simple three word phrase that can be spoken like “I love you”. Man aashegh-e toh hastam is almost there, meaning I am in love with you, yet it borrows from Arabic, is too formal and rarely used.  Dooset-Daram is more often spoken, communicating a liking of anything from cake to your lover.

I have to state the disclaimer that I’ve grown up in the US and spent all of my adult life speaking and thinking in English. So perhaps I’m missing something. But in the chance that I’m right, I have to wonder why one of the richest, most complicated languages does not have a simple expression of love?

I was born in Iran and moved to the states at the age of 11, so I consider myself bi-cultural. I’ve never felt quite comfortable in either culture, for I am a melting pot of different ideas and virtues. Yet in a recent evaluation of my “love language”, I began to wonder how much my desire, ability and need for love have been impacted by the culture in which I was born into?  Is it so far fetched of an idea to think that my ethnic background and native language could have a profound impact on my style of communicating love to another?

Growing up with a language that does not verbalize love, I learned to show affection through “doing”; for women, acts of service and kindness were extremely important in expressing love. The men, however, didn’t do or say much, but were present. They showed up, regardless of circumstance, day after day, and communicated love through their presence and ability to provide for their families. Perhaps it was backward, chauvinistic, or unbalanced. But it was the milieu within which I learned my love language.

Today, I am conscious enough to know that words are important and symbolic of a deeper meaning. I can say I love you, and enjoy having it said to me. Yet I can’t deny the significance of the action that follows the verbal expression of love. These three simple words in the English language carry a weight, for they indicate something profound, an intimate connection on a soul level, needed to simply live.

James Hillman talks of love as “blinding the usual outlook”, for it is only when one is seen through that he is truly valued. Love blinds in order so I can see beyond appearances, through the literal, into the symbol of what you mean in my life. Since real love is about risking myself to meet you, it allows me to become transparent through self-acceptance; I am who I am, with all of my virtues and shadows, all the ugliness and beauty, all the uncomfortable emotions and wonderful sensations. I am whole in my foolishness, shame and humility, visibly naked and blind to the obvious.

To love another, is to walk through the fire, step out of the comfort zone of my safe life, and to expand my capacity to be with it all. How can three simple words ever communicate the impact of true love on my soul?

Perhaps at times we take for granted that love heals and forgives everything, and use the phrase as a band-aid for the pain and suffering our choices and actions cause another. What if the phrase “I love you” did not exist in the English language? How would you treat others differently? What would you do or say to communicate your love?

Lately it seems that most of my conversations involve the idea of change, as if we are all transitioning into the next phase of our lives. I often feel like Hermes the Greek messenger god and guide for lost souls, traveling between two worlds, holding the tension of opposites. I have found myself stuck on this present bridge that connects the past to the future, often times sensing a state of paralysis, unable to run back to what is familiar, and too afraid to move forward into the unknown. My ego, desperately clutching to a sense of control, is too afraid of stillness. For with it come hope and the possibility of loss. I have watched myself spin into frenzy, caught in a repetitive pattern of physical exhaustion and mental duress, an old familiar cognitive loop of negative future fantasizing. I do this consciously, knowing the result is inner chaos, like an addict tweaking for another hit, just to avoid being in the gap of uncertainty.

Change is not easy, but it sure appears to be inevitable. Experience has taught me that it’s about the only thing that is certain in life. I have always been the person that’s embraced it, constantly craving a transformation of some sort, at times superficial and others a more profound experience. Yet as I’m caught in what appears to be another storm, I’m grasping the deeper meaning this pattern has served in my life, and seeking tranquil waters.

How many of us busy ourselves with constant motion just so we do not feel the emptiness? How we fill every minute of each day as an attempt to satisfy that inner void, the black hole that threatens engulfment of our existence.  We seek temporary solace from suffering in so many ways, often times engaging in obsessive thoughts and compulsive behavior, just to hold on to prevent reaching bottom. For me, it’s like running on quicksand, too afraid to stop yet unable to keep up with the shifting under my feet.

Today, I am aware the more I resist, panic and move frantically, the faster the sand shifts and the more instability I feel. I am learning to surrender, release old patterns and stories that no longer serve the truth of who I am, and allow my cheek to touch the sand. This has been a long road, and the journey ahead is far from over. Yet the truth remains, that only when I can permit my ego to rest and my mind to be still, will my heart find the courage to lead the way. Only then will I live the life of my dreams.

Reason and logic have become the gods of modernity. Scientific rationality, quantifiable measurement, means to explain, predict and control; have all moved the field of psychology towards a monotheistic view of humanity. Instead of a metaphoric sensibility, the human sciences use the literalism of subject-object split as an abstraction to control those experiences that are mythical, qualitative and immeasurable. In contrast to contemporary psychology, depth psychology stands in ambiguity and holds a polytheistic view. Meanings are multiple, situational and relative to both the personal and collective.

In Re-visioning Psychology, James Hillman, the founder of archetypal psychology, suggests reconsidering psychology as a poetic sensibility with emphasis on fantasy and imagination. It thus becomes a psychology rooted in aesthetics and imagination and a way to read soul via images and metaphors, instead of a rational, scientific approach of treating symptoms. He talks of the psychologist as an “imaginative agent”, evoking fantasy and creating psyche; one who can look beyond depression for despair, feel through aggression and find human rage, and contain anxiety attacks to release fear. This mythical sensibility allows space for that which is common to humanity: fear, passion, pain and confusion, to come forth and be mirrored in imagination, instead of pathologized and treated with medication.

As opposed to problem solving, reality testing, developing and controlling, psychology can use more adequate metaphors, such as fantasy, image, reflection, holding and mirroring. Consciousness would now mean an awareness of fantasies, and recognition of them everywhere. In this case, fantasy would not be considered in the literal sense as reality, rather a perspective into events, moving an image into a metaphoric realm when seen through its depths. Therapy requires an eye for ugliness, and an ability to sit with things in the form that they appear. Depth psychology attempts to reverse the pathologizing eye of current psychology into a wonder of all that is seen in the psyche.

How does one define “soul”? Depth psychology makes the study of “soul” an important element of distinction from traditional orientations. James Hillman refers to soul as “the imaginative possibility in our natures, the experiencing through reflective speculation, dream, image, and fantasy”. For me, this evokes the idea that soul is a way of being, an imaginal perspective that makes space for all that there is, without interpretation or judgment; a pure state of oneness with that which surrounds me. “Soul” is a way of experiencing, a deep emotionality that moves one from an event into the bigger picture.

“Soul” has to do with how things matter, enhancing life with value and significance. For Hillman, “soul refers to the deepening of events into experiences”, a deepening that brings metaphorical and literal meaning. “Soul” allows for a deeper connection to a numinous reality, bringing forth a sense of purpose and possibility. “Soul” is both literal and metaphorical, does not deny one or another but makes space for both.

“Soul” is often communicated in love or by means of religion. It is through love that we can ultimately see “soul”: in the eyes of a lover, a smile of a child, tears of a friend, and the raw and messy details of suffering. “Soul” is the reflection in the mirror, the words of a love song on the radio, the last dying breath of a great grandmother surrounded by her loved ones, the loneliness of an elderly in a distant nursing home, a soldier’s painful memory of death in the name of patriotism. “Soul” can be felt in the hesitant touch of a man who both desires and fears love, and heard in the faint voice of a woman whose life has been a series of overwhelming events. “Soul” is the miracle of birth and the grief of death.

It is only when I allow myself to be deeply touched by another, my heart opens and I am filled with a sense of complete aliveness. It is then that I see “soul” everywhere.