Sunday, December 29, 2013
Most people visit dream animals while they sleep; I see mine during the day walking around
Along Great
Bay at Adam’s Point last Friday, the sun was melting new snow off the rocks.
The interesting play of dark and light on this particular stone (pictured
above) attracted my photographic eye. When I looked through the viewfinder to
compose my shot – to my great surprise – I saw not a boulder but an elephant.
I’d always
thought of elephants as magnificent social animals, big and strong, non-violent
and wise. However, my heart went out to this animal because she appeared just
the opposite: sad and all alone, drenched and freezing, covered with snow, melting
away.
Then I went
home and did some research: I found out Jungian analysts like Daryl Sharp place
great importance on elephants:
"On
a dreary afternoon in the fall of 1974 I was walking in the hills of Zurich,
feeling bleak and very sorry for myself, when I spied an object on the path. I
stooped down and picked it up. It was a little black elephant made of ebony. It
was numinous to me, a magical thing. On the spot, I fell in love.
"I took
it to be a case of what Jung calls synchronicity, where an outer event
coincides with what is going on inside. I assumed it had something to do with
my psychology and I spent the next few years exploring what that might be. [i]
Was this the case with me, too? Was my introduction to this
elephant a case of synchronicity, an outer event coinciding with what was going
on inside me?
Chopra says this about that in his “Archetype Series: Who is
Ganesha?
“Ganesha is one of the most distinctive Hindu deities, with his
large elephant head and pot-bellied human body. Known as the Lord of Obstacles,
Ganesha has a dual role of removing obstacles as well as creating obstructions
for those whose hubris and ambition have become destructive.”[ii]
That part rang true to me. While I have worked hard emotionally
and spiritually to remove obstacles from my journey, nevertheless, a set of new
obstacles have recently reared their heads.
Revered for his cleverness and wisdom, according to
Chopra, Ganesha is also known as the patron of letters and learning. I, too, am
a patron of books and learning but, in my case, I know this cuts both ways as I
have the bad habit of carrying it too far, of over-intellectualizing, of favoring
my head over my heart, of thinking I know more than I do. Certainly, reviewing
my history, my elephant self has created at least as many obstacles as it has
removed.
Humbleness, of course, is a virtue for all humans. As Carl
Jung once said, “The idea that man alone
possesses the primacy of reason in antiquated twaddle.”[iii]
Jung favored the indigenous and primitive way of life over
the modern. He praised the African zoological classification scale which put
the elephant is at the top, followed by the lion, then the python or crocodile,
and finally humans and other creatures. While our capacity for reflective consciousness
may be a unique human attribute, it does not necessarily imply superiority.[iv]
Then I found the best explanation yet! This one definitely resonates with me: Is my elephant a rogue premonition of an
increasing madness that is consuming animals and humans alike as capitalism and
climate change drive us past the point of no return?
Indeed, it is already happening.
G.A. Bradshaw has written about escalating elephant
rampages in India. This unsettling trend is continuing unabated as attested to
in several recent articles. [v] Often humans and livestock are killed or
sometimes only massive property damage as in the following example:
An elephant herd from Jharkhand turned violent as the locals
tried to chase them away while they were guarding a female jumbo which had
given birth to a calf in Nilagiri on Sunday.
The herd went berserk raiding nearby villages and damaging 10
houses. They also consumed paddy crops and other food materials that were
stored by villagers in their houses.
After another group of 12 elephants joined the herd, the number
of Jharkhand elephants in Kuldiha reserve forest here has reached 97. So far,
the elephants have damaged 56 houses in six villages.[vi]
Indian officials openly admit to the cause,
"yet another case of elephants being forced to venture into human
habitation because their natural habitat is being eroded," as well as a
constant threat of violence by guns, poison, electrocution, and other lethal
methods of control… According the India's Elephant Task Force, the problem is
systemic and solutions require …"new institutions and mechanisms" if
the elephant is to be saved.[vii]
G.A. Bradshaw then asks a
provocative question: is this “a case of elephant breakdown, elephant
madness—or our own madness
reflecting back?” As he notes: while the definition of madness remains
a matter of debate, “most agree that madness reflects the soul in pain.” And in
all of psychology, Carl Jung lays bare the most moving account of such angst in
the pages of his Red Book:
"
The work is gripping. It is impossible to remain detached from Jung's
psycho-spiritual maelstrom. As we follow elegant prose along the edge of reason
and irrationality, the dark, timeless abyss of the unconscious in Jung's
journey swallows us. Primordial images simultaneously assault the senses. At
times, the tissue-thin veil between reader and writer, past and present, real
and surreal, completely vanishes. In the chapter entitled Descent into Hell in the Future, we
fear for our own soul as Jung becomes a terrifying prophet from the world
within: You all
have a share in the murder...[viii]
“But I
ask you, when do men fall on their brothers with mighyt weapons and bloody
acts? They do such if they do not know that their brother is themselves. They
themselves are sacrificers, but they mutually do the service of sacrifice. They
must all sacrifice each other, since the time has not yet come when man puts
the bloody knife into himself in order to sacrifice the one he kills in his
brother. But whom do people kill? They kill the noble, the brave, the heroes.”[ix]
“They kill elephants.”[x]
Or we kill elephants by benign neglect, letting them fade away into
extinction from habitat destruction and human greed. And that is what I’m seeing through my camera
viewfinder: No longer the wise social Buddha, the apex of Jung’s zoological
scale but a shrunken being, sad and all alone, covered with snow, melting away.
I guess
the ultimate question becomes: who is mad? Is it the elephant, Carl
Jung, human greed, capitalistic ideology or just me for mistaking a snow-covered
boulder on Great Bay for a pachyderm?
Or is it all of us.
xxx
[i]
http://www.psychceu.com/Jung/III.Unplugged.html
[ii]
http://www.chopra.com/articles/2010/03/20/archetype-series-who-is-ganesha/
[iii] C. G. Jung on Nature,
Technology & Modern Life edited by Meredith Sabini p. 12
[iv] ibid. page 12
[vi] http://www.newindianexpress.com/states/odisha/Jharkhand-elephant-herd-on-a-rampage/2013/11/19/article1899140.ece
Friday, December 27, 2013
How I Go to the Woods
Fallen oak in estuary of the Merrimack: 12/5/13 CC Jean Stimmell |
"Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.
I don't really want to be witnessed talking to catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible..." *
*the above poem an excerpt from Mary Oliver's How I Go to the Woods
Disappearing in the estuary of the Merrimack: 12/5/13 CC Jean Stimmell |
Monday, December 23, 2013
Winter Solstice: Reflecting on childhood reverie & sense of place
This essay was resurrected from an old blog entry and published
yesterday, 12/22/13, in the Concord Monitor.
“We are standing before a great lake…and suddenly
we are returning to a distant past. We dream while remembering. We remember
while dreaming… The little becomes big. The world of childhood reverie is as big,
bigger than the world offered to today’s reverie… And that is why childhood is
the origin of the greatest landscapes. Our childhood solitudes have given us
the primitive immensities.” –
Gaston Bachelard [i]
Thirty years ago, I took this photograph of my son gazing
out on Jenness Pond in front of my parent’s house, the house I grew up
in. I remember it was a brutal, bone-chilling day in early
December. We had come down to see if the lake was totally frozen over and
to pull the boat up on the bank to safety before it was entombed by the
thickening ice.
The shore we
pulled the boat up on has special meaning to me; it had also been my resting
place. More than 50 years ago, during my young teenage years, I spent a
lot of time on this spot, lost in reverie. Yankees of my generation
weren’t encouraged to just sit and think but it was okay if a person did
something real like hunt–and that was my sport and also a way to put a little
food on the table. By the age of ten I was hunting on my own and that
autumn and subsequent ones, I sat here at dusk, camouflaged by the low-hanging
pine boughs, hoping to hear quacks and the swish of beating wings, signaling
the arrival of a flock of migrating ducks.
Much of the
time it was stone quiet as I sat in solitude looking over at Catamount Mountain
on the far side of the lake. Occasionally I would hear the hum of a vehicle and
watch its lights as it skirted the shore and then snaked up the hill before
disappearing over the top.
In my
reverie, I imagined that at the top of the mountain, each car was escaping the
drab unreality of my world to join the “real world” of substance and
excitement.
David Foster
Wallace once said, “There’s this
existential loneliness in the real world. I don’t know what you’re thinking or
what it’s like inside you, and you don’t know what it is like inside me.” [ii]
From my
present vantage point in life at age sixty-eight, I think Wallace makes a
profound statement about our individualistic society, perhaps all human
societies, and, at least, the 1950s culture I grew up in. Looking back on it, I
can see why my world did not seem real, over and above the fact that I was shy
and rurally isolated. It was more than that. And it was more than growing
up in a reserved, middle class, New England family lacking plain talk or honest
emotion. It was more than that. Looking back it seems everyone was
playing a role without knowing why, looking over their shoulders, afraid of
mushroom clouds, commies under the bed, and, most of all, not being just like
everyone else.
But I didn’t
know all that then.
All I knew was
that I felt trapped like the boat in the photograph engulfed in thickening ice.
My escape was to go to the lake and sit nestled under the protective canopy of
pines, luxuriating in reverie, imagining all the revelations that awaited me on
the other side of Catamount Mountain.
It was a rude
awakening a few years later when I finally managed to scale that mountain and
find out what was on the other side: Rather than discovering the nirvana I had
imagined, I found that the “real world” was itself the culprit, the true source
of the existential loneliness I was trying to escape.
It took many
years for this lesson to sink in, to admit that poets and philosophers like
Gaston Bachelard were right: childhood reverie “is the origin of the greatest landscapes,” bigger and more
nourishing than the world.
XXX
Sunday, December 22, 2013
The Guardian Spirit of Pawtuckaway
She-Who-Watches is
an ancient Native American pictograph-petroglyph, revered throughout the Pacific
Northwest. For her people she was the resident guardian of the Columbia River
basin. One can’t be detached or coolly cognitive in her Presence: Her eyes not
only follow you everywhere, they pierce your soul.
I had a similar experience yesterday cross-country skiing
with Russet and Coco in Pawtuckaway State Park.
Climbing up an incline between North Mountain and Middle Mountain, I
began to have the uneasy feeling I was being watched. I looked around but no
one was visible except us.
Just then, the sun briefly pierced the leaden sky illuminating
a massive, stony presence: He wasn’t fearsome or sinister but achingly sad and
mournful, his shoulders bent as if bearing the weight of the world.
I thought I knew who he was: The guardian spirit of the
Penacook Confederacy, a peaceful, indigenous people who once made this land
their home, until broken and emasculated by the White Man.
Then he beseeched me: “I pray that you come with peace and
wonder in your heart to commune in my sacred realm – and not to stab me again
in my already wounded heart.”
In that moment, it struck me like ice falling from an overhanging hemlock tree that he was more than the guardian spirit of Pawtuckaway, he was an
emissary of Gaia, our living, breathing Earth.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
The Pontiff, pulling no punches, joins the Occupy Movement
December 2011: 'Occupy group' takes 'golden calf' to Congress |
Two years ago, Occupy Wall Street (OWS) rose up in
solidarity against the flagrant economic inequality in this country: 99% of us being
squeezed out by the 1% of corporate plunderers and greedy super
rich.
Now Pope Francis has stepped up to join the
fray, constructively breaking all the rules of popery. Not only has he faulted
the Catholic church for its negative
obsession with gays and birth control, but now he has expanded his
mandate to economics with a groundbreaking screed denouncing "the new
idolatry of money".
"The worship of the ancient golden calf has returned
in a new and ruthless guise in the idolatry of money and the dictatorship of an
impersonal economy lacking a truly human purpose. The worldwide crisis
affecting finance and the economy lays bare their imbalances and, above all,
their lack of real concern for human beings."
His thoughts on income inequality are searing:
"How can it be that it is not a news item when an
elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market
loses two points? This is a case of exclusion. Can we continue to stand by when
food is thrown away while people are starving? This is a case of inequality."
Isn’t it time we join with the pope, adding our voices to his, demanding
that we rise up against the idolatry of money and an
impersonal, corporate economy devoid of compassion and human purpose.
Isn’t time we rise up together
and slay the golden calf?
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