Category Archives: Shadow Work

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HOW DO YOU KNOW YOUR ARCHETYPE?

John B Rowe, PhD

 

            One way to know your archetypes is by paying attention to your bouts of depression or to your moods. Often, some image or some emotional-laden problem is crying out for attention. And as James Hillman (Re-visioning Psychology, 1997) reminds us, the voice of psyche is often first heard in our pathologies, our sufferings.

            Archetypes transcend rational thought. They are more akin to the imagination, which is why archetypes often shine through, not in what we know or think we know or want to know, but in the language of dreams – images. These images are often depicted in extreme forms – psyche’s way of saying, “Hey! Are you paying attention?”

            Not only do archetypes transcend and challenge rational thought – the language of the ego – but they speak to us in the language of opposites. For example, a dream image may present an anima image as insisting on a divorce (eg. A wife tells her husband abruptly that she wants to end the marriage); but the scene takes place with the husband sitting on a couch with his friend at the other end of the couch, providing solace and advice about what to do. The wife tells her husband she has exhausted all means she knows of to imitate the marriage of her parents, which is not anything close to what the husband wants for marriage. And then there’s a discussion between the husband and his friend about not fighting the anima’s demand but seeking a third way through marriage counseling. Opposites abound! You could say, here, that the image of “marriage counseling” is the primary form of unconscious language: presenting opposites, not for the purpose of integration – though that may, indeed, occur – but for the purpose of creativity and transcendence. By holding the tension between a marriage that feels confining versus a marriage that leans toward dissolution and freedom, is a place for the mystery of love. It is not so much a space that requires marriage manuals as much as psychic room for the imagination to consider and work with the opposites.

            A marriage based on ego is typically one based on adaptation, but also one that tends towards disassociation – repressing vital energies of the psyche for the purpose of keeping the peace or maintaining a semblance of love, which is actually closer to accommodation. Real marriage between real souls involves both love and hate, by necessity. We might re-label archetypal hate as momentary or chronic friction, relational spats, or all out warfare. But love and hate are potent forms of psychic energy that require mature adults to exert enormous strength and magical creativity in order to prevent their repression. Loss of the tension of love versus hate, can devolve into passivity, accommodation, and depression and anxiety, not to mention loss of trust that your partner is really there for you as an authentic individual, but only as an extension of themselves or some compromise manifestation of adaptive love. A divorce, then, from the point of view of psyche could represent a psychological split and a failure of imagination – a decision to forever separate love from hate, in favor of the hated marriage and a longed for freedom accomplished through destruction of the marital container.

            Archetypes, then, find their way into consciousness through our pathologies or sufferings, through imagination and non-rational creativity, through honoring and working with the tension of opposites, and through trust in the enormous energy experienced while engaging with archetypes. For example, love grows when hate is honored as a legitimate voice within psyche. And hate diminishes when it doesn’t have to squash itself. The archetype of the Self which represents cosmic, universal love and the unification of all opposites becomes the compass of a marriage, representing the Great Mother, who maintains and regulates the ecological balance of all psychic energies. You see this clearly in the myth of Psyche and Eros where Eros must descend into the Underworld in order to provide wisdom and strength and creativity so that Psyche can overcome her dark ordeals, and so become a suitable equal for Eros and their eventual marriage.

            It takes a very strong Ego to accomplish all of this. Archetypes can destroy a marriage, to stay with this example, if the Ego has not developed adequately. One of the most important functions of individual psychotherapy is to repair developmental wounds that hinder the Ego’s ability to work with archetypes. And one of the most important capacities of the an individual psychotherapist is the capacity to embody the energy of the Wise Sage, the Explorer, and the Wounded Healer in order to provide a loving container where individuals and couples can go deeper into the unconscious in order to bring up from the depths the reality of the Cosmic Self and the archetypal energies that can both deform and transform a human being. This is the work of alchemy, which requires careful tending and an ability to resist simple solutions or quick fixes in service to the individual soul as well as the soul of a marriage.

 

 

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Therapy as Poetry

Poetry can be a form of therapy. But have you ever thought about how psychotherapy itself is a lot like poetry? Yeah, me neither.

Until the other night in a dream, I was telling a group of other psychotherapists that “Therapy is like poetry?” I sounded as if I knew what I was talking about.

But truthfully, before my dream, I had never considered the analogy.

It’s not so unusual for dreams to reveal knowledge that seems like uncommon wisdom — similar to the kind of wisdom found in poetry. Once I had a dream in which I heard the distinct voice of a German woman, with a thick German accent, telling me, “Whatever you do that is not from a place of authenticity, will incur a debt!” She sounded like she meant business, so when I woke up, I wasted no time calling a woman whom I had been dating for a short time to say what I had been afraid to say before my dream: “I’m sorry, but it’s over.” It was the right decision, though awkward and sad.

Dreams and poetry can do this for us, can’t they? Images and metaphors clarify and penetrate us in a way like no other forms of communication. Images speak to us, disturb or enlighten us, and they can transform us. Through images, we are able to imagine what’s going on with our souls and what our souls actually desire — authenticity, for example, as in the dream of the German woman’s warning.

A long time ago, I was in a marriage that would eventually dissolve, and I had a dream in which a man who was suicidal split himself, right in front of me, into multiple clones of himself. If it had been a poem, it would clearly have been a poem of travesty and despair and deep internal conflict. But, at the time, I didn’t interpret the dream, nor did I present it to my therapist. Only two years after my wife left me, did I dare open my dream journal to review what had been going on inside of me prior to my marriage’s demise. When I finally looked into the frightening image, I saw the self in me I had been afraid to face at the time I had the dream. I saw that my sadness, fear, and anger had escaped my conscious awareness because I did not want to see it. I had been holding onto my marriage too tightly, ignoring problems that were festering underneath what seemed like an otherwise very good relationship.

“Therapy is like poetry,” then, in the sense that therapist and client listen to the spoken images and the unspoken ones. Often, for example, it is the image of the “inner child” who has been forgotten and ignored. He or she will show up in symptoms such as burn-out, or irrational anger or overwhelming anxiety because that part of the self has not been given a voice in the cadence of our lives. Just as poetry can stir up emotions and thoughts we didn’t know we had, so does good psychotherapy make space for spontaneous thoughts and emotions that lead to healing and hope. It’s as if we need to speak out loud in order to know ourselves in the presence of someone who cares to hear our deepest inner rhythms.

I recall these lines from Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem “The Man Watching”:

How small that is, with which we wrestle,
what wrestles with us, how immense;
were we to let ourselves, the way things do,
be conquered thus by the great storm,—
we would become far-reaching and nameless.

What we triumph over is the Small,
and the success itself makes us petty.
The Eternal and Unexampled
will not be bent by us.

Think of the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when his opponent’s sinews
in that contest stretch like steel,
he feels them under his fingers
as strings making deep melodies.

Whoever was overcome by this Angel
(who so often declined the fight),
he strides erect and justified
and great out of that hard hand
which, as if sculpting,
nestled around him.
Winning does not tempt him.
His growth is: to be deeply defeated
by ever greater things.

Rilke is referencing the story of Jacob wrestling with the Angel of God in the Old Testament; but even if you aren’t familiar with that story, you can probably feel it’s sense in the “sinews” of your body and soul — especially during those times when an illness or a relationship or a loss has wrestled with you all night, or for weeks, or years. Or you’ve wrestled against something, as in my marriage, that you wouldn’t or couldn’t face — until, if you were to move on with energy and desire and hope, you had to come to terms with your own dark Angels.

So if we listen deeply, as in therapy we try to do, we may hear the sounds, the images, the hidden rhythms of our lives seeking to sing songs of our souls. We may have to let go of something precious — like our egos, or a relationship that’s run it’s course, or a dead-end job — but what we find may be far greater than we could have ever imagined.

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Unwanted Dreams and the Freedom of the Soul

In a recent dream, I was in the act of taking black and white snapshots of my father (long deceased) who was behind bars. He looked forlorn there, standing in a tiny jail cell where apparently he had been sentenced for an unknown crime.

I don’t like these kind of dreams. They’re disturbing and depressing. Though my father and I were never close, I still would never want him to be jailed. But I also know that in my dream my father’s image is actually a stand-in for a part of me. So what’s up with that? What part of me is feeling sentenced?

I have a new appreciation of late for people who suffer with chronic pain. When my orthopedist, who has already replaced my right hip with an artificial joint, looked with me at an X-ray of my arthritic left hip, it made perfect sense why I had been having lots of pain and lots of difficulty walking. Bone on bone! A cortisone shot would help to tide me over for a few months, but a second hip operation is definitely in my future.

Pain does things to the mind. It makes me feel old at 65. Even though I work out, try to eat right, stay active, work five days a week, and basically have a very positive outlook on life, I have been feeling much more “mortal” recently. I’m quite unhappy about what I refer to as “design flaws” in the human anatomy — those much too human vulnerabilities that seem to rear their heads more and more among almost every friend I know.

When friends and colleagues are stricken by illness, I automatically assume that I am immune from such things because I take such good care of myself. Wrong though this thinking is, I hold onto it like a cherished possession, creating a neat image of immortality and invulnerability….And, apparently, setting myself up for this other dream-image of being sentenced behind bars.

But as I worked with this dream and after sharing it with my therapist, I realized that actually I am not sentenced. I have choices: a great surgeon whom I trust, a wonderful job that I find fulfilling and doesn’t require a lot of physical strength, and retirement savings that I can use to get me through a time of rehabilitation after surgery. I am blessed with caring friends, a loving and supportive relationship, and a wonderful family. So with a new hip, if all goes as well as the first hip replacement, I should be pain free again. But obviously, I am entering a phase in my life when I will need to alter my delusional expectations of invincibility as I make some adjustments to my level of activity.

Growing old gracefully is not necessarily for the weak of heart. But it seems now to be a better challenge than kicking and screaming against reality. I won’t, obviously, live forever; but neither am I sentenced to the jail of my own making.

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Spirituality of the Shadow

Shadow    I had no idea when I was a child that the monster or boogey-man chasing me in my dreams was really just me. I had not come across the ideas of Carl Jung on “the shadow” at that point in my life. So it would never have occurred to me that the scary person I was running from was myself.

I can’t clearly remember the dreams now – I’m 65 years old for Pete’s sake. But, based on what I do remember, at that time in my life, I can make a few guesses as to what was going on. There was a part of me that was, frankly, full of rage — raw, barely contained, unadulterated rage.

Every family has certain rules of behavior. Sometimes, they are clearly spelled out, but often family rules are unspoken. Just based on my perception of things as a child, the rules about rage in my family were these: Dad and my older brother could express rage, but no one else was allowed. Dad’s rage was like a volcanic eruption — never physically violent, but very loud and the cause for me running and hiding for cover. My older brother’s rage was expressed whenever he was on the losing end of a neighborhood football or baseball game. He would stomp, yell and then pout and walk off the field in a huff.

But me — not so much. Oh, I would cry sometimes when I was angry, or I would withdraw, or on the other side of my rage, I would make nice as I tried to get on the good side of whoever had offended me. But never, never, never was I to raise my voice. On one occasion, when I fairly calmly told my mother I was angry with her, she went screaming down the hall, stating that I was driving her crazy!

So, I learned my lessons well. Don’t be angry, or if you are, keep it to yourself.

The Shadow feeds on such stuff, growing larger and larger each time we stuff into some invisible place within us the things we either can’t or won’t acknowledge. Like most things that are left in the basement of the psyche, such stuff tends to mold and fester, eventually taking on a life of its own. Anger repressed usually turns into depression or acting out — and I’ve had my share of both, thank you.

Becoming healthy and whole is certainly a lifelong challenge, and when we do our shadow-work, we move the ball of our spiritual growth a little further down the field, so to speak. When the Apostle Paul said for us to “Be angry, but do not sin,” I think what he was getting at is the idea of bringing up from the basement part of our soul the stuff that needs the healing light of day. What we can’t see or feel or touch usually controls us. What we can acknowledge and express in a conscious, caring way becomes a resource for our health and growth.