dancing in the shadow of the shadow

the range of what we think and do
is limited by what we fail to notice.
and because we fail to notice
that we fail to notice
there is little we can do
to change
until we notice
how failing to notice
shapes our thoughts and deeds.

r.d. laing

the burdens we carry . . . so much weightiness! each little parcel of expectation carefully wrapped and then added to the bulging sack of our shadow. the shadow that for whatever reason(s) we choose to ignore, simply adding to its mass and overlooking its effect on our thoughts and deeds.

the shadow - some points of reference from carl jung:

unfortunately there can be no doubt that man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. if an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. but if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected.
"psychology and religion" (1938). In cw 11: psychology and religion: west and east. p.131

there is a deep gulf between what a man is and what he represents, between what he is as an individual and what he is as a collective being. his function is developed at the expense of the individuality. should he excel, he is merely identical with his collective function; but should he not, then, though he may be highly esteemed as a function in society, his individuality is wholly on the level of his inferior, undeveloped functions, and he is simply a barbarian, while in the former case he has happily deceived himself as to his actual barbarism.
psychological types (1921). cw 6: p.III

when we must deal with problems, we instinctively resist trying the way that leads through obscurity and darkness. we wish to hear only of unequivocal results, and completely forget that these results can only be brought about when we have ventured into and emerged again from the darkness. but to penetrate the darkness we must summon all the powers of enlightenment that consciousness can offer.
"the stages of life" (1930). in cw 8: the structure and dynamics of the psyche. p.752

to confront a person with his shadow is to show him his own light. once one has experienced a few times what it is like to stand judgingly between the opposites, one begins to understand what is meant by the self. anyone who perceives his shadow and his light simultaneously sees himself from two sides and thus gets in the middle.
"good and evil in analytical psychology" (1959). In cw 10. civilization in transition. p.872

a man who is unconscious of himself acts in a blind, instinctive way and is in addition fooled by all the illusions that arise when he sees everything that he is not conscious of in himself coming to meet him from outside as projections upon his neighbour.
"the philosophical tree" (1945). In cw 13: alchemical studies. p.335

projections change the world into the replica of one's own unknown face.
aion (1955). cw 14: p.17

the "other" may be just as one-sided in one way as the ego is in another. And yet the conflict between them may give rise to truth and meaning-but only if the ego is willing to grant the other its rightful personality.
"concerning rebirth" (1940) In cw 9, part I: the archetypes of the collective unconscious. p.237

sanctum

"the drawing-room, to which we had now withdrawn for the rest of the evening, was on the ground-floor, and was of the same shape and size as the breakfast-room. large glass doors at the lower end opened on to a terrace, beautifully ornamented along its whole length with a profusion of flowers. the soft, hazy twilight was just shading leaf and blossom alike into harmony with its own sober hues as we entered the room, and the sweet evening scent of the flowers met us with its fragrant welcome through the open glass doors.

("my sanctum" carrick siddell)

how vividly that peaceful home-picture of the drawing-room comes back to me while i write! outside, on the terrace, the clustering flowers and long grasses and creepers waved so gently in the light evening air, that the sound of their rustling never reached us. the sky was without a cloud, and the dawning mystery of moonlight began to tremble already in the region of the eastern heaven. the sense of peace and seclusion soothed all thought and feeling into a rapt, unearthly repose; and the balmy quiet, that deepened ever with the deepening light, seemed to hover over us with a gentler influence still, when there stole upon it from the piano the heavenly tenderness of the music of mozart. it was an evening of sights and sounds never to forget."

excerpted from "the woman in white" wilkie collins

three strange angels

at all times through my life after i realized i was aware of something other, i've lifted my nose and turned my sails in the direction of the fine fine wind that courses throughout this world. a sweet fine wind that carries the soul on its journey far far beyond land and sea!

each moment, an opportunity to remember the human condition presents itself. with attention to the significance and value of those moments comes the opportunity to address your place inside them. to see the mechanistic, the impulsive, the reactive, to locate their necessity, to assess their merit or to acknowledge the damage they are doing. my experience is that with consistent practice of this awareness comes the opportunity to move from awareness to sorrow, and from sorrow to wonder.



not i, not i, but the wind that blows through me!
a fine wind is blowing the new direction of time.
If only i let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!
if only i am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!
if only, most lovely of all, i yield myself and am borrowed
by the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the
world
like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
if only i am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
driven by invisible blows,
the rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the
hesperides.

oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
i would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.

what is the knocking?
what is the knocking at the door in the night?
it is somebody wants to do us harm.

no, no, it is the three strange angels.
admit them, admit them.

david herbert lawrence

all artwork courtesy of daniel paulo