If someone had a dream of the massacre of children; a mother slain by the son’s own hand who then takes his life, what would it mean?

            As the world searches for answers – and perhaps new questions – in the wake of the slaughter in Connecticut, I struggle to imagine what I would do if I were sitting with the author of this dream.

            “But this is no dream,” you cry. “This is a horrible reality.”

            Yes, but as we search for meaning, exploring multiple dimensions of reality, including images from the unconscious mind, may be instructive.

            If the dreamer of such a horrible nightmare came to me, I would begin by listening to the story, in every detail, simply honoring the level of horror.  A Greek tragedy of such epic proportions, Sophocles could never have conceived of it, even in a culture that enslaved and exploited children.

            Is this a possible theme: something is not being honored in the sacred child, in American culture, and in other cultures around the world. To honor the sacred in  a child is not to “spoil” her, but to cherish her. 

Perhaps I should use the pronoun “him”, since the perpetrators of recent massacres have all been young males. This begs the question:

is there a wound in the infantile masculine that runs so deep, and echoes of such rage, it finds expression in these heinous acts?

            And, what do we mean by “the masculine”? Is it about gender, or about the spirit, the animus, the creative drive in all human beings that to flourish, requires the nourishment of the inner life.

            Return to the dreamer. Was he or she “assaulted” as a child?  Are the bullets in the dream symbolic of emotional attacks? Does this express the genesis of the dreamer’s profound self-hatred? If so, where does this hatred of the self come from? A boy who could never “fit in”, in a culture where not fitting in feels like emotional death?

            Does the inner child of the dreamer still suffer from an undernourished soul? If so, how do we bring more of this nourishment into our relationships, our families, our schools, our art, games and communities?

            Can we replace video violence and aggressive games with a new spirit of adventure that truly nourishes the soul? What would look like? It could take many forms, including creative art, rituals, journeys into nature, discovering new or your own neighborhood in the spirit of a life-long odyssey to redeem the Sacred, for our children, and for the child within every adult.

            “Naïve”, you say. “Children growing up in poverty don’t have access to these enrichments.” True. But, the massacres did not take place in the inner city. They took place in the community forums of middle-class America: shopping malls, movie theaters, universities, high schools, elementary schools…

And, I may not be a question of shifting the form, ie, children can still play baseball, climb trees and have imaginal play. It is the motivation, the goal, and the content that needs to change, from a focus on prevailing, conquering, or getting esteem at all costs, to nourishing, honoring, and cherishing the growth of inner creative being.

            Ironically, at least one of the young victims of the Connecticut massacre, the little girl called Emily, was, according to her Dad,  “a wonderful artist; the kindest person I had ever known.” 

            Can we take full advantage of this global grief, to take action that goes to the archetypal roots of this slaughter? Yes, enact strict gun control laws! Yes, please, dear God, improve the mental health system!! And yes, address the other level, of reality, moving with power and conviction, to nourish the sacred child soul in us all.

             As we enter the month of October, it is a marvelous time to reap the bounties of the harvest, in our outer world, and within.  As we head off to the pumpkin patch or the apple-pressing party, we can reflect on the approaching winter as an invitation to hibernate, to reflect, to stoke the fires of our inner being.

            A tool that can ignite this process is one that I call “Imaginal Meditation”. Paying homage to the meditation tradition of Buddhism and the Active Imagination of Carl Jung, it provides an opportunity to shape an image that meets the unique needs of the individual on any given morning,  at any given moment in time.

            How to begin?

            Attend to the breath. Ideally, this would be a private, silent place,  far from the distractions of modern life. Practically, this is not only un- achievable, it is often in the chaotic moments in life that we most need to take a moment to connect with powerful, supportive voices within.  These “voices” come from a cast of archetypal energies that can often be more accessible to us if we imagine them as distinct personalities who can provide us with support, strength, or emotional nourishment, permission to retreat and reflect before making a difficult decision: whatever you need at the time.

            Say you are standing in line at the grocery store, snarled in traffic, waiting to go into a job interview – take a moment. Attend to your breath. Feel your lungs expand. Feel your rib cage relax as the breath moves out.

            Allow a few moments, being aware of your body, breathing in, breathing out..

            Become aware of your inner state: tensions, feelings, questions, hopes, apprehensions, fears, doubts...

            Ask yourself: What do I need in this moment, and who do I need it from?

            Open your imagination. Do you need support and comfort from your inner Wise Mother? Strength to accomplish a difficult task from your inner Body Builder? Inspiration from an inner Mozart? The possibilities are as expansive as your imagination.

            Recently I had to deliver a lecture on IMAGINATION AND THE SOUL. It was a new experience for me, and I was nervous as I could be. A perfect time for me to practice what I was about to preach! I took a moment in my car, the parking lot of the lecture hall, noticed my breath, and pictured a closed door. I asked, “Who do I need to come through that door, to get me through this evening?”

            I continued to monitor my breath. I imagined the door opening. Out came a tall, slender, strong woman, a long bow in her hand, a quiver of arrows on her back, thick dread-locks that snarled like snakes! But she was no Medusa, though I thought I could see a serpent’s tale! She had a face of ultimate serenity, and a warrior’s readiness to deal with whatever came. The reptilian quality seemed to promote the feeling of a steely confidence, a cold-bloodedness, no room for a little furry mammal’s whining and insecurity.

            She “followed” me into the lecture hall, and I felt her energy sinking into my bones, as I prepared to deal with whatever came that night.

            I also realized that my new Amazonian companion emerged to help with a challenge much deeper than lecture night jitters. I have a close family member newly diagnosed with cancer. I need to call on an emotional strength to walk with him through the darkest times, while holding hope and energy for joy,  I am grateful to the image-maker in my mind for awakening this new archetypal dimension when I need Her the most.

            Also, I have learned that when you open your imagination, you never know what form it will take. It can be scary. The imaginal world of our unconscious is far from predictable. If a dark image emerges, it can be like a nightmare that comes in a dream: an invitation to turn and face the fear, to call forth an archetypal warrior to stand down the “monster”, and work through the complexity it presents. Often it is through confronting the darkness in ourselves that we own all the split off, unattractive, weak, flawed parts, and become more whole, more alive, more deeply human.

            I invite you to engage in Imaginal Meditation, as we celebrate the harvest, and look forward to the warm hearth of a creative winter.

                           THE HEALING GRACE OF GRATITUDE

Copyright Nov. 2011 by Elizabeth Clark-Stern

In America, we are preparing for the feast of Thanksgiving, a celebration that carries plenty of shadow from our history of receiving many gifts of the new world from the Native Americans, even as we ultimately conquered, colonized, and displaced them. This reality is so typically brushed aside in the flurry of shopping and meal preparation. And yet, it surfaces, as shadow always does. Satirist Stan Freeberg penned the lyrics, “Take an Indian to lunch, pretend we’re a regular bunch.”

If we can drop the pretense, perhaps we can see the wisdom in inviting our shadow to share our Thanksgiving meal. Even as we order the turkey and boil the cranberries, we can consider a descent into the archetypal roots of gratitude, by definition an inner measurement of light and dark. We are grateful for good fortune, aware that there are others who do not have it. As we shop for our feast, the clerk asks if we want to donate to the local food bank, and we pause, aware of the less fortunate.

To be grateful is to hold consciousness of the opposites: success/ failure; peace/ turmoil; a loving family/loneliness. If we are grateful for love, arguably most of us have known what it is to not have it.

Gratitude is an opportunity to honor wholeness. We are grateful at a moment in time, knowing darkness returns, as the night follows the day. And if we are to the world soul, we can partner our gratitude with a commitment to stay conscious, and to transform our gratitude into action.

What could this look like? Something as simple as giving to the local food bank, inviting a friend to dinner who represents qualities you like to repress in yourself. I had an Aunt was always preaching at me, a sweet but insufferable soul. I wish she were still here, so I could invite her to Thanksgiving, a way of acknowledging the part of myself that can get on her high horse. Sitting down together would be a way of forgiving both of us, and loving each other anyway.

Another way of honoring wholeness could be to spend time in quiet reflection. Being with your inner soul story, opens you to connect to the souls of others. The tending of your own soul, is inseparable from tending the world soul. For many of us, this involves remembering to take the time to touch our own soul-awareness, and touch the world soul. How do we build a practice into our daily lives, that makes time and space, for this to occur?

In his lovely book, A Pebble for Your Pocket, Zen Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh wrote of an ancient Buddhist practice to touch the earth. Imagine it: each morning, before breakfast, coffee, or firing up the computer, simply go outside, rain or shine, and place you hand upon the earth.

The cynic in me rears her head: of what use is this? -- Like the Earth knows you are touching her, thanking Her for sustaining life? What a pointless exercise!

The Wise Old Woman in me will not hear of it.

“Try it,” she tells me, and so I do.

The air is crisp this morning in Seattle, a light wind bringing down big leaf maple leaves the size of dinner plates. Gratitude is ebullient in my heart, for the abundance of color: deep reds, brilliant gold, rusty orange, maroon, and, most splendidly, the soft chartreuse of the ginko leaf. I survey the trees up and down the street, with reverence and wonder. In this frame of mind, I place a hand upon the cold, moist earth. I shift my weight impatiently. The cynic snickers, “Are you waiting for something to happen? Like the Earth is going to say, ‘thanks for noticing me’?”

“Stay awhile, “ whispers the Wise Old Woman. She knows well my habit of leaping from task to task, never quite touching all the bases. I recall the famous quote from Babe Ruth, immortalized on the Good Earth tea bags: “I have only one superstition. I touch all the bases when I hit a home run.”

I take a deeper breath and touch the earth, with both hands, feeling the dark wet grit of the soil, smelling the musty green all around me.

An image opens in my mind: the Earth Herself, home to all seven billion of us, rotating on her axis, even as she makes her journey around the sun.

I breathe deeper still, aware of my gratitude that I exist in this moment, on this celestial sphere. As I stay with this, something unusual happens. The anticipated anxieties of the day float away. What weight do these trivial worries have beside the connection I feel, in this moment, with something both deeply personal, and as large as life itself?

No wonder ancient people made a goddess of the Earth. She is Mother of us all, and gratitude in her presence is about the bounty we ourselves experience. She is not a vain goddess, and does not need us, to know Her value. Our Earth simply is, and following the wise counsel of Thich Nhat Hanh, we touch Her, and take our own moment to just be.

I feel the warm smile of the Wise Old Woman. I am always humbled when I follow her guidance. She confronts the side of me that wants to judge and partition, to walk past my soul, on the pretext that there is something else more important to do.

As James Hillman reminded us, in his call to go to the archetypal source of the repression of the world soul, nothing is more important.

On this Thanksgiving, I invite you to join me in sitting at the table with the totality of light and shadow. Be grateful for the bounty, and honor the reality of want. Make the time to be with your soul, and to nourish the anima mundi, the world soul.

And touch the Earth.

ELIZABETH CLARK-STERN'S BLOG

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