Insights from Ireland: Getting the Human Thing Down May 24, 2013

A snake/dragon for Maeve

I love the humanness of the dream I’ve been sharing. It’s so “lower chakra” with its symbolism of a possum and its excrement. Why do I love that? Andi sent me this quote in which Catholic priest Richard Rohr explains: “History has revealed too many people who have tried to be spiritual before they have learned how to be human! It is a major problem. Maybe this is why Jesus came to model humanity for us—much more than divinity….Get the ordinary human thing down, and you will have all the spirituality that you can handle.”

Kundalini yoga and Jung say the same thing. The colors of the rainbow represent the entire spectrum of human experience, from the infra-red of instinct and emotion to the ultraviolet of spiritual transcendence. We can devote our lives to spiritual strivings in the heady, upper chakra realms, but if we ignore our earthy roots we’ll still be plagued by issues related to self-esteem, security, physical identity, survival, fear, power, sex, pleasure, anxiety and relationships.

Ideally, the first half of life is for getting the human thing down, but life is rarely ideal. My parents were ill-suited to each other and when I was born my hard-working mother’s emotional health was precarious. Mom had just learned of my father’s infidelity and her mother-in-law blamed her for his moral lapse. Only now do the puzzle pieces, vague hints about family secrets, fall into place.  Deeply sensitive and intuitive from birth, I absorbed the crisis-laden atmosphere into which I was born. I see it now. My mother’s deep pain. The profound anxiety of a little girl who did not receive the nurturing she needed and assumed the fault was hers. The shameful secret I have borne since childhood:

I am unlovable.

Seeing this belief at the root of my personality is the biggest insight of all. So this is why I’ve always been so hard on myself!  Guided by the high-minded spirituality of my family, I responded to my unworthiness with self-consciousness, perfectionism and self-blame. I hid my anxiety beneath a smooth persona of stoic calm and poise. I tried to kill strong emotions. I played dead.  X, the shadow animus in my dream who also has a deep mother wound, wants me to maintain this persona. Acting reasonable, calm and cool can be a survival strategy for an insecure child who fears the emotional abandonment of its mother.

At the start of the conference the strain of playing dead was wearing me down. Dream Mother wanted me to know I’ve grown strong enough to deal with my lower chakra realities. So she let the possum out from her hiding place and she let my dream ego have the temper tantrum I was never secure enough to have as a child: “I’m not cleaning up this shit!” I yelled with no trace of a perfectionist persona in sight.

The alchemical detail of electric blue possum excrement suggests spiritual transformation. Am I getting the human thing down? The dream said I knew cleaning up after the possum was my responsibility and I would deal with it. Dream Mother was right. I’m cooking my inner contents in a sturdy golden vessel of writing and dreamwork. And now I have a new shadow to learn to love.

Hi, Little Possum. Welcome to my conscious world. Your mother may not have been able to carry you, but I can. You won’t need to play dead any more.

About the picture: On Monday’s hike I found a stick that looked half-dragon, half-snake. Meaningful symbols are keys to hidden chambers of the unconscious. Dragon represents difficulties that must be overcome before an important goal can be reached; snake is a symbol of transformation. I brought my stick to Maeve’s Tomb on Tuesday to leave as an offering on her special hazel bush. When Fred found a swatch of red (root chakra and Maeve’s color) cloth, I tied it to the dragon-snake’s back with dental floss. The red scarf tied to the trunk below is Monika’s.

You can find Healing the Sacred Divide at this Amazon site or at Larson Publications, Inc.

Insights from Ireland: Cooking Possum Stew May 21, 2013

After I wrote my associations to the symbols in my Ireland dream, I started on its message. The biggest clues to a dream’s meaning are recent waking life experiences and how you responded to them. I was aware of some issues, thoughts and feelings in the days before the dream, but which were relevant and which were not? In the month since then I’ve pursued several dead ends but feel close to the core now. Here’s how my thinking has evolved.

Act I: It’s obvious that my psyche (mansion) is undergoing some kind of alchemical transformation (golden urn). I get it that my animus envisions a nourishing (dining room) change that would unite the vessel and its contents. But what is the nature of this change? I don’t know.

Act II: I understand that my ego wants to maintain a smooth and shiny persona (pinboard). As a “J” personality type, (see this site for an explanation), I like keeping the outer aspects of my life orderly and organized. But what less-obvious parts of my persona (covered pin holes and scraps of paper) still need work? And why doesn’t X want me to expose them? Is he afraid people will see that he’s/I’m not always smart, confident, in control, or right? Could be. New situations like this do bring out this concern. Maybe he’s my overly self-conscious perfectionist who fears I’ll say or do something thoughtless or annoying?

Act III: Another aspect of my animus (my thinker/spiritual striver/writer?) thinks some valuable old (as in inherited or acquired at an early age) qualities should be openly displayed. This could refer to personality traits that have been helpful in my inner and outer work, and also to the fact that I’m comfortable with aging. But what’s this primitive instinct (possum) hidden beneath the externalities that I don’t want in the house of my psyche? Which of my five instincts—nurturance, activity, reflection, sex or creativity—does it represent?

The mention of the dining room suggests the instinct for nurturance. Physical survival has never been an issue, but what is problematic is my emotional need for approval and security and my resistance to admitting to these needs. This is a root chakra issue that would have begun in my infancy.

Someone at the conference noted that possums play dead when they’re frightened; hence, the phrase, “playing possum.” Another said that baby possums cling to the mother’s fur when they ride on her back. These associations felt important then and still do. There’s a frightened young possum in me that didn’t get all the mothering she needed and somehow plays dead as a result. But how does this show up in waking life?

Here’s what was going on with me. We left Orlando on Thursday and arrived at the conference site on Sunday afternoon. The pre-trip packing, airport hassles, flight to Dublin and lack of sleep left me exhausted. Two days of hectic touring in a new city reduced my normally low tolerance for excessive stimulation to zero tolerance for practically everything and everyone! Then we left the Dublin hotel, took a taxi to a meeting point, had a long bus ride to Cromleach Lodge, checked in, unpacked and organized luggage. Then there were 37 new people to meet.

Maybe these things aren’t problematic for some personalities, but for people like me, they’re challenging. Why? Partly because I’m an Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging Type. Partly because I was fully conscious of my feelings and didn’t like them. Stoic as usual, I was doing a pretty good job of containing my emotions (playing dead), (Fred told me later he had no idea how stressed I was), but, perfectionist that I am, I considered them unworthy. Inwardly I was shaming myself and my self-criticism was dragging me down. I couldn’t forgive myself for being human!

Next time, the big “Aha!”

You can find Healing the Sacred Divide at this Amazon site and at Larson Publications, Inc.

Why I Find Easter Difficult to Write About March 29, 2013

Sunrise at the Beach, Easter 2012

Easter is difficult for me to write about. Partly because I can’t think of anything to say I haven’t already said.  I’d love to tell you a story about my favorite Easter as a child, but I don’t have one!  We were Christians but we didn’t celebrate Easter in our house when I was growing up. Except for one year when my uncle dropped by and surprised Jimmy and me with Easter baskets. They probably had chocolate bunnies wrapped in foil, and yellow marshmallow peeps, and jelly beans, and green plastic grass. Until then I had no idea such things existed. Maybe that was my favorite Easter….

I don’t remember Daddy ever being home at Easter, although he must have been there for my tenth birthday in April.  I know he was home for at least part of that month because his mother, Grandma Benedict, had come to stay with us while he was home recuperating from his second heart attack and she made me the first birthday cake I ever had.  I remember that well! It was angel food with strawberries in it. She served it with strawberry ice cream, and everybody sang Happy Birthday to me, and I got to blow out the candles. I had never felt so important in my life.  But since Easter is on a different date every year and not all of them are in April, I can’t be certain Daddy was home for that. If he was, we would have gone to church if he was well enough, and I might even have gotten a new dress. That would probably have been my favorite Easter. But I don’t remember.

I do remember one Easter when our children were around 5 and 3 years old. Mostly I remember because my daughter still tells me it was her favorite Easter. The Easter Bunny must have noticed that we had a new sand box in the backyard because s/he brought the candy and grass in two large plastic toy dump trucks! The children played with them long after the candy was gone.

Narcissus in the North Carolina Mountains, Spring 2013

The other reason I find it difficult to write about Easter is because not everyone who reads my blog is Christian. Moreover, I don’t want to offend those who are. Because here’s the thing. I’ve been studying Jungian psychology and my inner life for 24 years. During that time, I’ve experienced enormous growth and change. For example, I’ve gone from being terrified to look at my dreams lest they show me something that was wrong with me, or that might scare me, or heaven forbid, that might predict my imminent death, to being so excited every time I remember a dream that I can’t wait to write it down and start working on it!

So here’s my point. As I’ve changed, so have my religious ideas.  Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t lost my faith.  Far from it! I’ve never been so convinced of the reality of the Great Mystery some call God, and I’ve never felt so connected to it. But I’ve discovered that the less afraid I am of the unknown “otherness” in myself, the less afraid I am of the otherness in different people, different cultures, and different religions. Best of all, the more I forgive myself for being flawed and human, the more compassion I feel for myself and others. To me, this is what religion is supposed to be about and what Jesus meant when he said the kingdom of God is within. So I find it hard to take the ideas I was taught about original sin and our need for punishment and redemption literally any more. To me, Easter is a metaphor for two corresponding realities: the miraculous birth/death/rebirth cycles of life that recur in nature every year, and the archetypal reality of our need for psychological birth/death/rebirth from out of our old unconscious and self-centered instinctual natures into new levels of understanding, awareness and compassion.

Well, I guess this wasn’t so difficult after all. If you’d like to read more, check out last year’s post called “Easter to the Soul.”  Wishing you all a happy, hopeful spring filled with greening, budding new life within and without.

You can find my latest book, Healing the Sacred Divide, at this Amazon link or at Larson Publications, Inc.

Falling Through: One Man’s Fear of Feeling February 22, 2013

(Note:  In keeping with my latest theme of the wounded masculine, I’m pleased to share this piece by guest blogger, Rick Belden. Rick is an author and a poet who has struggled to get in touch with his feelings throughout his adult life. As you’ll see in this post, he’s learned how to use his creative imagination to heal the wounds of his childhood. Below,  I’ve included comments that were made to his original post. Please feel free to add your own. Rick and I will gladly respond. Enjoy. Jeanie)

Today’s poem on video, “falling through”, is from my upcoming book Scapegoat’s Cross: Poems about Finding and Reclaiming the Lost Man Within.

The subject of today’s poem is grief, or more to the point, my fear of feeling and expressing my grief. Actually, fear is much too mild a word for what I feel when I get close to my grief, sadness, and pain. A far more accurate word would be terror.

The source of this terror is not a mystery. I clearly remember the words I heard countless times as a child: Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. This was not an idle threat, as I had the great misfortune to discover many times when I was unable to “control myself” in time to avoid the consequences of my own tears. Crying only brought more pain. Tears only meant more tears. Any open expression of grief, sadness, and pain was a potential threat to my very existence, and over time I learned to hold those feelings tight, deep inside myself, to survive.

This conditioning against explicit expressions of grief and sadness didn’t end with home and family. It continued in school, with teachers and coaches, on the playground, and with friends. Like every other boy, I knew that crying was the worst sin I could commit in public. On those few occasions when I was unable to avoid doing it, the shame, the isolation, and the horror I felt were beyond words.

By the time I was into my teens, I pretty much had the crying thing well under control. It just didn’t happen anymore, not around others and not when I was alone either. But I still had one more defining experience ahead of me.

When I was almost 23, I was going through a very long and difficult breakup with my first girlfriend. We’d moved across the country together when I was 19, from New York to Texas, and lived together for several years, but now we were each living in our own places for the first time, and I was finding it very difficult.

One evening she came over to visit, and as we were talking, I began to cry. I’d never cried in front of her before, not even when she’d cheated on me, but this time I simply couldn’t help myself. I missed her, I was struggling with school and finances, and I was just so damn lonely. Her response was immediate: “If you don’t stop crying, I’m leaving.” The last thing I wanted in that moment was to be left all alone, so I buttoned right up. And I stayed buttoned up for years afterward.

Those were the lessons I learned about feeling and expressing grief and sadness. I learned that crying brings pain, punishment, violence, shame, rejection, isolation, and abandonment. I learned that crying only makes things worse. I learned to fear my own grief. I learned that tears can be like death.

Many years of hard personal work have shown me that allowing myself to feel and express my sadness and grief is a healthy and necessary part of being fully human. It is liberating. It’s completely natural. It’s cleansing. It brings peace and perspective. It is a source of great strength, an answer and an antidote to anger, and a door to forgiveness.

I’ve cried, wept, sobbed, moaned, and howled through tears many, many times, and it hasn’t killed me yet. To the contrary, I always feel much better, much freer, and much more present with myself afterward. And yet that deep conditioning I described still holds some sway over me. I’m still afraid to cry.

Sometimes that fear stops me and sometimes it doesn’t. As expressed in today’s poem, the key to accessing my grief and sadness, to moving it up and out, is always right here with me in my body. The challenge is to feel the energy below the surface and let it rise even as I am feeling my fear. Maybe someday my tears can come without having to struggle through all that fear. That is my hope.

For more poetry on video, visit my YouTube channel at http://www.youtube.com/user/rickbeldenpoet.

Rick Belden is the author of Iron Man Family Outing: Poems about Transition into a More Conscious Manhood. His book is widely used in the United States and internationally by therapists, counselors, and men’s groups as an aid in the exploration of masculine psychology and men’s issues, and as a resource for men who grew up in dysfunctional, abusive, or neglectful family systems. His second book, Scapegoat’s Cross: Poems about Finding and Reclaiming the Lost Man Within, is currently awaiting publication. He lives in Austin, Texas.

More information, including excerpts from Rick’s books, is available at his website. His first book, “Iron Man Family Outing,” is available here.

The Poetry on video: “falling through” by Rick Belden, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

(Jeanie again:  You know how I love synchronicities! As I was scheduling this post I received an e-mail with a link to another dialogue about gender.  Do you think someone’s trying to tell us something?  Check it out here: http://beyondawakeningseries.com/blog/terry-patten/farrel2-12b/)

The Light Shadow January 22, 2013

While most of us associate the shadow with undesirable or “bad” qualities we’ve disowned, everyone also has a “light” or “bright” shadow composed of their soul’s true potential. Why would anyone repress their light shadow? Because they learned early in life that the way to stay safe and comfortable at home and in the world was to hide parts of themselves.

Whereas some families encourage interest in creative pursuits like music, drama, drawing or writing, others see them as “putting on airs” or “only for sissies,” or “a waste of time and you’ll never make any money at it!” Many find being smart and aspiring to college admirable. Others might call you a “nerd”, or accuse you of “trying to rise above yourself,” or of thinking “you’re better than everyone else!”

Margaret Paul wrote in an article on Huffington Post, “When I was growing up, my parents made it very clear that feelings were to be avoided. I heard homilies such as “don’t cry over spilled milk,” or “I’ll give you something to cry about.” When I was upset or crying, I was ignored or sent to my room. The only difficult feeling that seemed to be allowed was my mother’s anger — but not mine. The only feeling I was allowed was ‘happy.’ Not only did I learn never to share any feelings other than ‘happy’ with my parents, I also learned to stay in my head and disconnect from my feelings. It was the only sensible way to cope with life in my home.”

As long as we disconnect from our feelings we won’t find our light shadow. To “follow your bliss” you have to feel it! Until you do, you’ll project it onto others, and that can become problematic. For example, if we refuse to acknowledge our feminine sides we might be attracted to others who exhibit feminine qualities, yet at the same time, have a tendency to criticize or persecute them for these same things. Or we might over-idealize someone with a gift or talent we’ve repressed, then reject them when they disappoint us by being as human as everyone else.

Other problems arise when we repress genuine strengths and obsess over unfulfilling substitutes until they turn into their opposite, unhealthy dark shadows. For example, an obsessive need to please others can become intense and rigid perfectionism. Forced piety becomes self-righteousness. Extreme humility can birth a sense of superiority. Overvaluing logic and intelligence can turn us into a thoughtless, painfully serious and dreadfully boring know-it-all. Continually serving others while denying ourselves can create resentment, and so on. There’s little light on an unauthentic path.

So how do we discover and develop our light shadow? Here are two suggestions.

Make a list of five people you deeply admire, known or unknown, real or fictional. Beside each name note their qualities that you most like. Re-read your list knowing that these qualities are undeveloped aspects of your light shadow which you have projected onto these people. Ask yourself what steps you can take to develop these qualities in yourself, and then…take them.

Examine your dreams for images of people, animals, objects, places or activities your dream ego is deeply drawn to. What is it about them that appeals to you? What associations do you have for them? How do they make you feel? Are they literal things you already enjoy in waking life, or are they symbols for something as yet undeveloped that you want to bring out, for example your creativity, talents, leadership abilities, or capacity for intimate relationships? In either case, they’re aspects of your light shadow, and you’ll do well to give more time and attention to them in your inner and outer life.

My newest book, Healing the Sacred Divide, can be found at this Amazon link or at Larson Publications, Inc.

Three Steps to Discovering Your Shadow January 15, 2013

Everyone has several shadow complexes. Once you’ve accepted this fact, what do you do next?

Step 1: Notice Symptoms: Each shadow is a complex of tangled attitudes, emotions, thoughts and behavioral responses that you habitually have to a certain type of situation. You’ve lived with this uncomfortable inner environment for so long that it feels normal until the storm is upon you. So your first goal is to notice when something has been stirred up such that your mood, energy, body language, emotions or thoughts are no longer within your comfort zone, and then figure out why this happened. Here’s an example of how this process might look when you’re dealing with a shadow of self-criticism.

Your first clue: Body language: You woke up feeling good this morning. You made your coffee, skimmed through your favorite parts of the paper, then started doing the crossword puzzle. After a while you sigh and prop your chin in your hands. You realize your shoulders are sagged over the table, you’ve put your pencil down, and you don’t feel like finishing the crossword puzzle. What’s going on here? You love doing the crossword puzzle.

Your second clue: Uncomfortable feelings: You notice you’re feeling a bit low. In fact, you’re feeling sad, ashamed, and disgusted with yourself. And maybe a bit sorry for yourself. Why?

Your third clue: Negative self-talk: You ask yourself what you were thinking about while you were working on the puzzle: “I’m a terrible friend. I should have called Mary right away when I heard she was ill. I never think to help others. I’m so self-absorbed and selfish. And my work on my latest project is laughable! I was so proud of my idea and thought I was so smart. And now I hate it! Why was I so stupid to think it was good? I’ll never be any good at this kind of work. What’s wrong with me? Am I lazy? Or just stupid?” Where did those thoughts come from?

Step 2: Locate the trigger: You re-trace your steps. Oh, yes. You were reading the advice column and a lady wrote complaining that she was sick and no one from work called to find out what was wrong or offer to help. The columnist wondered if she was making an effort to be friendly at work. That’s when you started feeling guilty. One thought led to another and soon you were beating up on yourself about all sorts of things.

Step 3: Analyze your response: Obviously you’re a very sensitive and well-intentioned person who wants to be kind to people and do good work; but there’s something in you that sabotages your efforts and well-being. That one little comment in the paper led to a spate of self-criticism about your character, work skills, and thinking ability. Do you see how you jumped from reading the advice column to criticizing yourself to feeling sad and dejected? If you go to work that way you’re not going to have the energy or desire to be friendly or do your best.

Habitual self-criticism comes from poor self-esteem. Psychologists generally think this is related to feeling unwanted as a baby and not having our needs adequately met. A shadow part of us is unconsciously convinced there’s something rotten at our core, and the least reminder of our unworthiness can set us off on a bout of self-criticism and self-pity. Sometimes this leads to withdrawal or debilitating depressions that lower our energy and add to our problems. Knowing this is one of our shadow complexes will help us recognize it more quickly the next time it comes around.

What symptoms tell you a shadow has arrived?

My newest book, Healing the Sacred Divide, can be found at this Amazon link or at Larson Publications, Inc.

The Power of Original Choice January 11, 2013

“In the instant when our ego is conscious of our shadow we are lifted by grace from the dark realm of blind reaction into the enlightened realm of original choice.”

The above is from my last post about the shadow. Around 22 years ago I read a quote about original choice that instantly switched on some long-unused lights. I think Emerson wrote it. It was something like, “Nothing is so rare as an original choice.” I was just emerging from a lengthy dark night experience and knew that if I’d read it a decade earlier I would have blown right past it, uncomprehending.

Until I saw those words I hadn’t known how blinded I’d been by collective thinking. I’d been so busy being a good girl and pleasing all the important people and looking up to famous authorities and being so proud of myself for doing everything right that it simply hadn’t occurred to me that following outer examples while repressing inner realities is not the way to become who you are meant to be. This is what it means to be unconscious.

It seems so obvious now, but it wasn’t until mid-life. And it took a whopper of an inner crisis for me to get it. Luckily, I refrained from doing anything foolish during that time. I was very good at being a stoic little soldier, so I just tolerated the pain. Doing so was another message I had unconsciously absorbed. So much so that around the age of 12 when the dentist said I needed several fillings, I refused Novocain. I still remember the odd way he looked at me after drilling a particularly bad tooth. I had no idea what it meant, but now I think this kind man was feeling a mixture of compassion and pity. He must have wondered why in the world a little girl like me would make such a choice. I had no idea. Such is the power of cultural conditioning.

Wait! I made that decision by myself! Wasn’t that an original choice? Not really. I was proud of myself for choosing to be so brave, but unconsciously I was just following an example. No-excuses, non-complaining, unemotional stoicism was my mother’s drug of choice. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to me. In my mind I had to be like her. It made me feel safe. Special. Worthy. Such is the power of cultural conditioning.
A truly original choice would have been to listen to my feelings and say, “Hell yes, I’ll take Novocain! And anything else you’ve got! I’m tired of pretending! Conforming! Not feeling! Proving something! To whom? For what?” But I didn’t know I had that option. Most children don’t. We teach our kids good manners and appropriate social behavior, but how many of us teach them to trust their inner promptings, especially those that make us acutely uncomfortable? For most children, it’s far easier to conform than risk parental disapproval of their deepest, truest selves.

How do we make an original choice? First, by learning to listen to the murmurings of the pure and loving soul we were born with; a soul whose purpose in life is to bless the world with its unique gifts simply by loving what it loves. Second, when the time is right and we’re strong enough to accept the rejection that some will gleefully heap upon us, by singing our own song. Making our own contribution to the healing of the world is the greatest power and purest joy we will ever know.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” – Henry David Thoreau

Such is the power of cultural conditioning.  When’s the last time you made an original choice?

My newest book, Healing the Sacred Divide, can be found at this Amazon link or at Larson Publications, Inc.

The Shadow King and Queen in Relationships November 27, 2012

If we haven’t developed the self-confidence, personal authority and sense of moral responsibility of the Sovereign it’s because we’re still unconsciously stuck in one-sidedness of some kind.  This not only impacts our leadership abilities but also contributes to problems with our partners and peers. Here’s an example of a couple that embodies negative extremes in their relationship.

Tina is stuck in the mind-set of an obsessive King.  Her husband Jay is stuck in his undeveloped Queen.  Tina and her sisters had a very authoritarian father and a timid, submissive mother. Consciously, the girls sided with their mother and rebelled against their father, but unconsciously, they grudgingly admired him for the power and respect he had in the community and felt sorry for their mother who seemed weak in comparison.

Too long under her father’s thumb, Tina overcompensates by being overly dominant in her own home, while Jay, who disliked his authoritarian step-father and identified with his gentle and sacrificial mother, is overly passive and accommodating.  If one of their children has a problem, they go to Jay because they know he will sympathize, whereas experience has taught them that Tina will be insensitive and quick to criticize.

Tina is so convinced of the rightness of her opinions and so defensive when Jay challenges her that he doesn’t speak up when he feels she’s being overbearing.  Instead, he goes to the children when she’s not around and offers them treats and sympathy.  Tina knows this and gets furious at his betrayal of her. Jay gets angry at her stubborn self-righteousness, but he hates conflict so he stuffs his feelings inside until they erupt in occasional uncontrollable outbursts.

Tina’s need for control combined with Jay’s subtle resentment and undermining of her has caused the children to side with him and rebel against her.  Although Tina and Jay have switched gender roles from those of their parents, they haven’t changed the dynamics they observed in their parental models.  One parent is an overly authoritarian Shadow King, the other, an overly sacrificial and submissive Shadow Queen.  Unless Tina and Jay recognize and heal their shadows, their children will inherit them.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

This scenario is extremely common because the one-sided paradigm of the dominant King still has a strong hold on our psyches even as we envision reciprocal partnerships between our masculine and feminine sides. Both intuition and experience tell us that this new paradigm will birth creative solutions in everyone’s best interest. Yet with comparatively few models of healthy Kings and Queens to emulate, we’re struggling mightily to subdue him and understand and respect her.

It won’t be easy for Tina and Jay to change habitual patterns of behavior. They may never even try. Both secretly yearn for more self-respect and better relationships with each other and their children, but so far they’ve resisted stirring up this hornet’s nest. Changing Woman and her companions, Conflict and Chaos, guard the threshold to our noble inheritance and inspire fear and apathy in every traveler. Yet they alone hold the keys to our noble birthright.

This is as true for society as it is for individuals.  Our world family is suffering through painful change.  The one-sided Kings of many countries are learning difficult lessons about softening their rigid positions and listening, compromising, and relating.  Repressed Queens everywhere are trying to find their voices and defend their truths without creating undue conflict or causing others pain. But one thing we can be assured of:  with every step we take toward healing our own Kings and Queens, we will empower the Sovereign that’s struggling to be born in us, our relationships, and the next generation.

My new book, Healing the Sacred Divide, can be found at this Amazon link or www.Larsonpublications.com.

Partnership Between the King and Queen: The Sovereign November 16, 2012

The King and Queen archetypes are the primary authorities of our psyches and societies. We know of their existence because projections of them have ruled civilizations throughout human history.  If they were not part of our psychological makeup, we would not need to create them in the world. These archetypes cause people everywhere to choose and obey moral authorities who (we hope) will protect us, govern us, nurture our development, and enable us and our progeny to thrive.

Our need to create order and virtue in our social groups is a reflection of our need to develop these qualities in ourselves.  Indeed, civilization is a mirror that continuously shows us images of the myriad archetypal energies and potentials within us.  What we see in the mirror depends on the status of our inner worlds.  How we feel about the people and events we attract, and to which we are attracted, depends on how we feel about ourselves.

Occasionally, an unusually courageous and virtuous individual attracts our admiration: someone who represents the good, who stands up for what s/he believes, who speaks out against social injustice, who leads and inspires others to nurture the weak and right the wrongs;  someone like Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, Eleanor Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, Martin Luther King, or Mother Teresa.  We know these people are not perfect.  Being mere mortals, they can’t be. Yet their lives take on mythic proportions because they embody living manifestations of archetypal energies lying latent in us.

People like this personify the Sovereign archetype which matures in one who is learning to blend and balance the energies of the mature King and Queen. The Sovereign, a symbol of their partnership, is an autonomous, powerful, and independent leader and ruler who understands and accepts his or her authority and moral responsibility and, through example, inspires others to do the same.

The moral authority of the Sovereign is based on a personal commitment to the King’s goal of universal justice and the Queen’s, of universal love. From the font of their combined energies flows right action that is not rigid and unyielding, but fluid, like a river of fresh water that weaves through our daily routines. Here we work to effect universal justice, there we defend our rights and the rights of those around us.  Here we respectfully follow rules and traditions that create and maintain order, there we challenge those which disregard conscience and caring.

Examples of people with mature Sovereigns are the self-reflective mothers and fathers who nurture virtue and character in their progeny. They are the teachers, principals, community protectors and benefactors, CEO’s, attorneys, judges, county and state officials and representatives, prime ministers, presidents and ambassadors who preserve and transmit traditions of truth, justice and mercy to ensure the generativity, productivity, comfort, safety, and survival of the next generation.

The Sovereign likewise promotes the healthy empowerment of our souls and spirits so that we may be free to express our individual genius. Like an officer of the law, it works to create order and virtue in us. Like a judge, it weighs evidence and corrects unhealthy imbalances.  Like a loving parent, it accepts us as we are while encouraging us to develop our potential, knowing that our masculine and feminine sides, conscious and unconscious selves, and egos and shadows are all parts of the whole, free, healthy and unique individuals we are meant to become.

How well-developed is your Sovereign?  Who carries your image of the Sovereign in the outer world? How can you become more like him or her?

You can purchase Healing the Sacred Divide at this Amazon link or www.Larsonpublications.com.

Relaxing at the Beach on Labor Day Weekend September 4, 2012

Last evening I sat out on the deck and took this picture of the fading light behind the mountain. Although the first day of Autumn is still three weeks away, we’re already seeing signs of it here. The cherry tree silhouetted against the pink sky has lost most of its leaves and the buckeyes are turning yellow and brown. Most of our shrubs have completed their show, but the blooms on the lacecap hydrangea in the foreground will last a while longer.

I’m writing this on the Sunday eve of Labor Day. Tomorrow I’ll be returning to Florida where it’s flat, hot, and muggy.  Another ending, another beginning. I’ll miss this beauty and the restorative immersion in Nature, but Florida has beauties of its own. The best part is living close to my children and grandchildren. I’ll spend the rest of today cleaning up and packing, and when I feel stressed about all the labor involved, I’ll step outside and breathe.  I won’t have time to write a new post by Tuesday, so here’s one I wrote about another Labor Day two years ago. 

I’m on a lounge chair watching rain clouds obliterate the usually relentless Florida sun. Today the clouds may win. They gather together, hanging over the horizon like a dark army on the eastern front waiting for the signal to press the pale afternoon light into the ocean. Princess palm fronds jitter in the mounting breeze. Above, a row of gulls races west. Are there six? No, seven. Do they think they’ll escape the coming storm? Not my problem. Just breathe.

Across the pool my twin grandsons excitedly toss ice cubes into the water. Fifty one. Fifty two. Fifty three. Fifty four! Skipping to their father at the umbrella-covered table they chorus, “What’s the next mission?” I smile at the innocence of their pleasure. A scruffy-looking man in a baggy bathing suit and flip flops glances through the protective fence as he walks past. Images of predators stir my imagination. I mentally chase them away. Just breathe.

Mellow music slows my thoughts; a stem of crisp Pinot Grigio waits at my right hand. A bird with a raspy cry flaps past. I’m surprised to see it’s a mourning dove. This is not the plaintive call I associate with these gentle creatures. The music stops. A shift in key and rhythm. The new song is even mellower than the last. My son and I have the same taste in music. Reflective. Melancholy with a hint of blues. Music Noir. Music with room for thinking. Music to go deep by. My daughter-in-law loves this one too. She tells me the name of the artist, a woman from Australia, I think? I want this CD. Will I remember her name? Missy something. It’s okay. Just breathe.

The breeze picks up. A giant orange, green and blue plastic shark chases an aqua float across the pool and corners it at the far end, pointed nose and sharp white teeth pressed against a raised headrest. The bully and the victim; always with us. Never mind. Just breathe.

I smell grilled steak. And maybe onions? Subtle sensations from my mid-section trip tiny triggers in my brain. Is that hunger? I should start dinner soon. I head inside for snacks. Returning across the moisture-mottled deck with bowls of chips and salsa. I wonder if it will storm or if this is a passing sprinkle. Should I bring the cushions in? They’re covered in Sunbrella but nothing lasts forever. Wait and see. Just breathe.

A distant rumble of thunder. A rising wind. A heavy drop splatters on my arch and rolls down my ankle. Suddenly we’re up and scrambling. Everything not waterproof goes inside. Just breathe.

I’m writing this at the table when my son comes in and announces that the baby — actually almost three now, but the youngest of our brood — just went poo poo in the potty for the second day in a row! The baby looks around expectantly. We all cheer and congratulate him. He shifts his weight, looks down and grins. He has reservations. He’s not quite sure yet about this potty thing. But he’s enjoying the attention. Maybe it’s okay… He’s looking forward to walking to the Surf Shop with Daddy to find a special toy to celebrate the occasion.

A flash of warmth radiates through my chest. How good it is just to breathe.