Creativity and Spirituality: the Enduring Path

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." ~ Carl Jung

Everyone has a shadow, much of which was created in childhood when our need for love and protection caused us to reject parts of us deemed shameful, unworthy or dangerous by family, teachers, religious leaders, friends and even our enemies. These disowned parts of us were exiled to the darkest depth of our unconscious, hidden from the world and often from ourselves.

This is a huge problem, for the shadow is a powerful part of us. We cannot will it away or think that it remains subdued just because we have forgotten its existence.

True Self is your center, your stillness and the knower of mystery and wisdom.
True Self loves your humanity and the immensity of who you are — an immensity beyond the mind's reckoning. True Self waits for you, always. Through her, you find your passion, your purpose and your freedom.

Creativity is the Spiritual Warrior's torch-giving light.

This is an invocation for a teleWorkshop on the Crone that I recently gave. Crone is an archetype as well as active energy within our bodies and our psyches. When I asked her to speak, this is what she said:

I come to teach about death and life, about letting go and moving on. 
I come to teach patience and the knowing that letting go and moving on happen on their own time table.
I come to awaken the energy of Crone within you.
I come to give you yourself in me.

I am a place of deep mystery, fertile beyond imaginings. I am proactive by nature and not without judgment. My judgment is righteous and built on experience, faith and compassion.

I am a fierce fighter for life, beauty and love. 
I create sickness, fear, rage and insanity. I destroy that which no longer serves swiftly and fearlessly. Although this may frighten you, know that my will is driven by compassion.

by Patresa Rollinger
She called. And like a child runs to its mother, I came. “I have to go down to the lake.” I blurted as I pushed away from the dinner table. The urgency in my voice told my husband more than he wanted to know: that he would be packing alone for our impending move until I got back.

I grabbed my coat and hat as I ran out the door, across the deck, down the stairs and onto the trail that led downhill, between Manzanita bushes and newly budding oak trees, to the lake that bordered our property.

She was so pretty, so young.
I envied her wake-up skin and uncombed hair that only made her more lovely.

I went to pay."Your name is Emily," she said. "Mine is, too. When you opened your wallet to pay, I saw your name."

We laughed. "Such a popular name now," I said. "When I was a kid, I was always the only Emily."

"I know." She smiled. How could she know?  She was so beautiful and young with her wake-up skin and morning uncombed hair. I missed my beautiful young self. Every morning I stare at my wrinkles and graying hairs that I can no longer count.

We chatted about being Emily. "The most popular girl's name for the last seventeen years," she said. Seventeen. She hardly looked more than seventeen. I paid for my coffee and left.

The yearning for youth and its beauty flowered like a dying rose.
And I said, "What have I forgotten?" To my amazement, the answer flowered like a lotus.

You are Emily.
She is you.
All is one.
You are she.
You are you.
You are old.
You are young.
You are dying.
You are born.

The flower grew beyond my being, embracing me. And yet, my mind still yearned.
 

From the August Retreat: Women, Creativity and the Journey of the Soul: Embracing the Gift of the Shadow.

She touched me in silence in the early morning dew.
She touched me at midnight in the moonlight glow.
She reached down to my core and found what was needed to make me whole once more.
She took me down the labyrinth path and made me whole once more.
                                           Irene Kessler

I tried to be, the dutiful daughter...
Last Thursday, my mother was taken to the hospital. She is 89. They thought she had pneumonia, but she was dehydrated. I had not seen her since July. Until then I had been, or tried to be, the dutiful daughter, caring, yearning to make her life better –– I think in the desperate hope that she would turn finally into the soft, loving, accepting mother who filled my fantasies. But last July, the tensions between us had become so stressful that my health was being affected and I decided I had to make a long overdue separation. It was difficult. I wasn’t sure I could resolve my issues with her before she died. I did not know if I would ever see her again.

When she was taken to the hospital, I didn't want to see her.
At first, when I heard she was in the hospital, I felt little, if any emotion. Both my sister and brother, who are very supportive of this separation, assured me I didn’t have to go see her. They would take care of her. But the following afternoon, I found myself driving to the hospital. I was not a decision I consciously made. My car, it seemed, was driving me there.

Okay-so I am entering the 21st century with this!

(Thanks for reading....Jean)