As they do, the edges of the net lift up, letting light escape from underneath.
The Rune Master yells and the warriors howl.
Rune Master: Haugen Maunen
Rune Master: Ok Alfadhir heitir
More crows caw.
Drummers, Rune Master, and warriors slip into a hypnotic beat and chant. Dodo watches mesmerized as more light escapes from under the net and begins to spin.
Suddenly, a black crow appears underneath him. It flies towards some of the falling fragments and gobbles them up. Then, it disappears.
A white crow appears on the other side of the falling pieces of mother and child. It gathers fragments in its beak and disappears too.
Dodo doesn’t know what is happening when a white wolf appears underneath him devouring more falling fragments as it runs. It too disappears. The white wolf is followed by a black wolf who appears near the net and the drummers. It runs up the line of falling pieces towards Dodo eating every single fragment except for the piece containing the mother’s head, torso, and the baby.
Now it is just Dodo and this single fragment descending through the void to the beast.
Drummers, warriors, and Rune Master chant, releasing more light that spins faster and faster until the whole thing look like a little galaxy.
The Rune Master and warriors switch their chant to:
Yggr ok Yungir
This seems to accelerate the descent of the final fragment. Dodo can’t breath, nor he can look away as the fragment falls faster and faster until it comes to a stop just above the net. It hoovers here for a moment, then it splits into four parts and falls like water forming a circle above the glowing purple body of the beast beneath. Then, the final four fragments transform into beings–three women and a man–who stand in a sacred circle above the beast.
Dodo doesn’t know if he should to be excited or terrified for the whole thing looks dreadfully like a blood ceremony that he saw in a picture book long ago.
“Oh — this terrible, really terrible,” Dodo moans. “They are going to sacrifice me in a ritual to appease this greedy purple God-Beast. This must be hell!”
The Divine Dodo is moving to Sapience2112 to accommodate future interactive animations. Please visit here to follow: https://www.sapience2112.com
Special Thanks to Heilung for their amazing music: Alfadhrhaiti and to the translators.
Dripper, Greedy, Ravenous, Slippy, Swaying one Hail, Hail, Hail I dedicate to the spear, Gagaga, Gagaga, Gagaga I yell resoundingly Thought, Memory, And he’s called Allfather Mighty Thuler, Wise one, Striver, Wolfspeaker, Welcomed one, Pale one, God of witches, Inciter, Cheiftain, Readhead, Hooded one, Wandwielder, Famous lord, God of the hanged, Nebulizer, Needed one, Yulefather, Evenhigh, Attacking rider, Allfather, Victory tree, Father of victory,One with a missing eye, God with painted shield,Flashing eye, Shieldshaker, Leader of the crowd, One with knowledge, Shaggy-cloack wielder, Guardian of secrecy, Terible one and Stormy one.
Submitted by Fiikus on Thu, 09/03/2017 – 10:04 and Last edited by Fiikus on Sat, 21/10/2017 – 15:40
Recently I began to read child of the jungle — the true story of a girl caught between two worlds. My good friend, I will call him M., who lives in Germany knew I was going through a difficult time after the sudden death of my father. He said the book reminded him of me because he knew my father had been a missionary in the jungles of Brazil, which is where I was born and lived for my first three years. As I began to sink into this story, I definitely see resemblances between my early life and her life as this girl who gets caught between two worlds—though there are stark differences. For one, her father moved his family to a very remote place in West Papua, Indonesia on the island of New Guinea to live among the Fayu tribe who until then were an undiscovered people that were unknown to Westerners. Her account of her father’s first encounter with this isolated tribe and how he came to know he was being called to be with them is an incredible story that I will not recount here. Needless to say, her experiences were much more dramatic than my own, but I recognize the girl caught between worlds, and my friend was right to send me this book.
The part I wish to recount is The First War (Chapter 10, page 65). The Fayu were known to be fierce and warring people consisting of four distinct tribes within the whole of the Fayu people. From time to time, they would fight among themselves as well as band together to keep out others from their territory. It was due to one of the Fayu leaders who was tired of war and sought peace for his people that this remarkable family came to live among the Fayu who are a people most remarkable in their own way for many reasons. On this day, the girl, Sabine, was sitting around a fire with her brother and their childhood Fayu friends eating kwa (breadfruit) when the Fayu men of their village grabbed their bows and arrows and assembled at the beach as canoes landed and unknown warriors stepped out. Sabine said, “No one smiled and none of the customary courtesies were displayed.” Her father went out to greet the newcomers and tried to engage them in conversation with the bit of Fayu he had learned. For hours they talked. Then, the voices grew louder. Sabine recounts “the Fayu were standing and sitting in two groups — the men of our village on one side, the strangers on the other.” Another hour passed, and she recounts the hostility grew and the gravity of the situation thicken as the warriors gripped their bows. Her mother called her and her brother inside. Her father soon followed as the loud talk became aggressive shouting. Her father barred the door. Sabine and her brother watched from the window where now the men were all standing facing each other and screaming. She says, “Suddenly the atmosphere changed again. I felt something I had never felt before. I can best describe it as a dark, heavy and threatening. The sun was still shining brightly, but somehow it seemed darkness had descended.“
This is important. What she witnessed as a girl and so beautifully captures in her story is an incredible power we all hold as human beings. The challenge has always been how to channel and control these tremendous flows of energy when they break over our collective edges of consciousness and social norms long ago established to create peace and sustainability. This is not the same energy of the sun that powers the Earth — though the sun has long stood as a symbol of it through the ages. Rather, it is an energy that powers the human spirit, and we are the channel makers — it is up to us to recognize this energy and direct it as we choose. Her father was trying to help the Fayu warriors direct this rising tide of energy in a less violent way, but the energy was greater than him in that moment. What the warriors did next is utterly fascinating. Sabine describes it this way: “Individual men began stomping their feet. They moved in circular motions and began repeating a single word, ooh-wa, ooh-wa, ooh-wa. This was the war cry. Soon all had joined in the chanting. They faced each other, stomping the ground, arrows notched in their bows. Then they started to run in what seemed to be a pre-determined choreography. First, the two groups would run away from each other until they were about fifty yards apart. Then, they ran at each other, stopping when only a few yards separated them. More stomping would ensure, and the the war dance would be repeated.” This went on for hours! Can you imagine this? The warriors have talked for hours, then shouted for hours more, and now they dance, for hours. Even in this extreme and dangerous state, they are channeling this powerful energy — an energy left unchecked could destroy every man, woman, and child in the village. Sabine recounts how the warriors entered a trance state: their eyes glazed over and movements became stiff and robotic [they have descended into an unconscious state]. She says their voices changed as well with some becoming very deep while others grew shrill, and this continued for hours more. She remembers getting bored and going to read a book when she heard a scream of pain that pierced the chanting… then another and another… the war had begun. Time sped up. She and her brothers were kept away from the windows, and fortunately no stray arrows pierced their hut.
This recounting is amazing and incredibly important to understand for this type of energy does not occur only among primitive tribes in far off places who are considered to be uncivilized. Indeed, I would say they are highly civilized for they have learned how to collectively channel this dangerous energy — this war dance they did evolved over centuries. When the other warriors finally left, no man was left dead. Many had arrow injuries that if left untended could kill them from infection; however, the women and children and village were not destroyed despite the terrible darkness Sabine recounts feeling descended upon them all — like a destructive storm.
We have forgotten this in the West. We have forgotten we can be overcome by terrible forces rising from deep within ourselves. Our ancestors knew this and developed rituals and spiritual practices to help them navigate these forces. Of course there were still wars, and humans have done terrible things to other humans since the beginning of being human. But as human beings, we have obtained the gift of consciousness, which provides us with a powerful tool to navigate these inner storms that can rapidly overflow the collective channels we have constructed in out social systems and erupt in catastrophic and terrible ways. Consciousness gives us an offramp from destructive inner storm that rise from time to time, if we choose to use it. And, these warriors did to the best of their abilities use their consciousness to mitigate a terrible calamity that was brewing.
Mr. Rogers understood this too. Yes, I said Mr. Rogers who gave us decades of gentle and dignified children’s programming. I watched him as a child. And, I loved him until one day I had absorbed too much from my surroundings that told me Mr. Rogers was a show for babies, and he was a simple man, and I should not watch him anymore. This was a sad day, but I sneaked watching him from time to time until my life flowed in different directions.
If you watch the Mr. Rogers documentary you will see in the very beginning he plays a piano while he talks to the camera. He was a magnificent piano player and understood how difficult it was to master this instrument. While he plays, he says growing up is like playing a complex and beautiful song. Some modulations are easy to master and a child needs very little help doing so — others are very difficult and a child does better when he or she has someone who can help them until they master it. How right he was, and this idea formed a foundational piece to the television programming he was going to go on to create — the one I watched as a child!
If you have not seen Fred Rogers testimony to Congress in 1969 when PBS’s budget was on the chopping block with Senator Pastore leading the hearing, then you should watch it. By the time Fred Rogers turn came to testify, Senator Pastore had just told everyone how bored he was from all the written testimonies being read. He was not in favor of funding PBS, and it looked like the tide was going to run the other way for the newly established PBS with funding about to be revoked. This is why Fred starts out the way he does telling Senator Pastore he trusts he will read his 10 minute testimony later, but now he just wants to talk about it. Fred didn’t know what he was going to say in that moment, he had to turn on a dime, but if you watch this, I think you will get goosebumps just like Senator Pastore says he was gets as Fred talks.
At the end, he asks Senator Pastore if he can tell him some of the words to a song he sings in his program about the good feeling of control. He tells the Senator that children need to know it is there. The Senator says yes. Mr. Rogers begins: “What do you do with the mad that you feel.” He stops to tell the Senator the first line came straight from a child for he works with children with puppets and storytelling. Then, he continues, and the part I find most miraculous is this part:
It’s great to be able to stop When you’ve planned a thing that’s wrong, And be able to do something else instead And think this song:
I can stop when I want to Can stop when I wish I can stop, stop, stop any time. And what a good feeling to feel like this And know that the feeling is really mine. Know that there’s something deep inside That helps us become what we can.
He is teaching children how to channel their mad. How to stop and consider their choices. How to know they are in control and how to get in touch with another type of feeling also rising from deep inside that helps us become what we can. Every single human being on the planet has access to this place that is deep inside us and helps us become what we can. Our ancestors and the people we continue to call primitive understand this. Mr. Rogers got labeled a simple man who was not to be taken seriously by adults because he understood this. He understood depths of the human psyche few modern human beings ever come to understand today. This is partly due to the lopsided nature Western culture has adopted (see Is Collective Transformation Possible for more on this idea). Increasingly, the Western way teaches us to discount our inner realities and to pay attention solely to outer adornments that are attained by making money, leaving our inner worlds to run amok from neglect and ignorance (like unschooled, unloved children). There are spiritual practices, religions, and many pockets embedded within Western culture still paying attention to the importance of our inner worlds, but even Mr. Rogers felt the tide turning the other way towards the end of his life. After 9/11, he was asked to make a series of short messages to convey hope and understanding in the wake of this great tragedy — an event that shook people to their core, including Mr. Rogers. He was reluctant to make these promos for he said he felt he could not say much of anything that would make a difference. I suspect he felt something profound had shifted in our collective human consciousness, and despite all the good work he had done for decades, he could not stop it, and it was getting heavier and darker. But, he made them despite his feelings of inadequacy, and we are so lucky he did for we lost Fred Rogers two years later. In this clip below he says: “Look for the helpers…. there are always helpers rushing in to help in the wake of any tragedy.”
And, this takes us back to what Sabine witnessed as a child in the far off jungles of New Guinea living among the Fayu people. What she felt and how she described it as a tangible force that descended among them all with such destructive potential is something we need to understand Now. It is the same force Mr. Rogers was teaching children how to channel and control through his song. It is the same force running amok today, but on a much, much grander scale for we have become so interconnected and interdependent. Men like Sabine’s father, the leader of the Fayu tribe, Mr. Rogers, and my father are the consciousness warriors of our time. They understood what can happen when these forces do run amok. As consciousness warriors, they learned how not to use bows and arrows, but to use their consciousness and the deep spaces inside themselves where empathy, compassion, caring, and love rise eternally. By Western standards, these are weak and mostly useless emotional tools that prove inadequate to survive in the fiercely competitive economic environments we have created. The key words here is we have created, and we can create them differently by imbuing greater understanding of our fullest human capacities that are grounded in human dignity, equality, and love.
I won’t say any more about all this. I am hopelessly inadequate for the task with far fewer accomplishments than so many other great thinkers and doers who have come before me. But, if any of this has moved you as the reader, may I suggest you read the book by Sabine Kuegler: child of the jungle, watch the Mr. Rogers documentary, and read some of Carl Jung’s writings about the collective unconsciousness. Take what serves you modulated within your own vast knowing accumulated through your own experiences and spiritual, religious, and cultural practices. All I know is we need the Consciousness Warriors to rise Now… both men and women… for the war is within… the forces are as old as time… and our greatest tool is our inner light of consciousness and learning how to use it wisely just as Mr. Rogers taught us in this song What do you do with the mad that you feel?
What do you do with the mad that you feel When you feel so mad you could bite? When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong… And nothing you do seems very right?
What do you do? Do you punch a bag? Do you pound some clay or some dough? Do you round up friends for a game of tag? Or see how fast you go?
It’s great to be able to stop When you’ve planned a thing that’s wrong, And be able to do something else instead And think this song:
I can stop when I want to Can stop when I wish I can stop, stop, stop any time. And what a good feeling to feel like this And know that the feeling is really mine. Know that there’s something deep inside That helps us become what we can. For a girl can be someday a lady And a boy can be someday a man.
This post is a reposting from my new blog space, so if you are following Sapience207, please consider following me on this new site called Sapience: New Ancients Rising. This is where I will publish most of my new posts first. Your time and attention is the most precious resource on this planet, and I am deeply grateful for your attention to this post. Some of the post on this site include:
As Dodo falls back towards the beast, he hears birds chirping, water running, and wind blowing through trees—such sweet, nourishing sounds that remind him of Earth—his lost paradise, which makes Dodo sad for he remains stuck in the endless vacuous void—Hell! The bounce DJ and the drummers gave him was not strong enough to help him escape the gravity of the beast. And so, the only thing he can do is spiral down again towards the beast comforted only by his sadness.
Just then, a singular sound pierces the void, rising from the deep—perhaps the beast. It is an ancient, primeval sound, clearly musical in design and meant for song. “Maybe,” Dodo thinks reveling in the rich resonance spiraling up, reverberating, and rippling through the void, “This is a sound meant to banish evil spirits for clearly it is powerful enough to escape the gravity of the beast!”
However, this revelation does little good for Dodo falls ever faster. Yet, at the same time, he sees something emerging from the beast or from underneath it, rising towards him and passing right through the rainbow net as if it were not there. Dodo squints to see it more clearly, and finally sees it is a shell… a beloved conch shell from Earth rising towards him! It is an ancient creature that evolved on Earth and survived countless millennia longer than his own fated species despite being plucked from great depths and eaten by man for centuries. Perhaps recognizing its deep magic, man turned its emptied shell into a trumpet that was blown by heroes, priests, and warriors to proclaim triumph or to instill terror. Ancient Indian Mahābhārata warriors blew conches to announce the beginning of battle during the epic Kurukṣetra War. Conches also proclaimed the dharma far and wide (a belief about the nature of reality as taught by the Buddha), and conches were used to call Tibetan monks and devotees to prayer. Its deep guttural primeval sound is only possible if the blower brings air up from his bowels and blows as hard as he can as if fetching what is inside and blowing it out, and then taking what is outside and bringing it in—a torus to be sure!
Then, a terrifying thought crashes into Dodo’s brain: “This was the last sound a victim of human sacrifice heard before a priest or executioner delivered the death blow!”
Dodo’s heart races, and his thoughts are a jumble as he wonders if the beast is toying with him like a cat plays with a mouse before the kill. He feels a great weight pressing on him—maybe the reverberating sound.
He fixes his eyes on the glistening smooth curving part of the concha shell—the part where the pink and purple disappear into the dark interior and moans: “If only I could disappear into that dark space like the snail.”
Believing it only to be an empty shell, Dodo is shocked to see something emerging from the dark slit. At first, he thinks it’s the escargot living inside, but it is so much more! It is a woman with golden, brown, black, and red hair so long it flows like water. She stands upon another shell and is surrounded by celestial beings who are beholding and clothing her as she stands naked in her magnificent glory covered only by her long hair and a concha shell she holds before her.
Dodo wonders if he has died and gone to heaven, reveling in the faint pink light gathering about her feet and blue about her head. The paleness of the light grows stronger with the blue becoming bluer and pink becoming pinker until a magnificent taijitu forms about the goddess and her entourage. Shortly after this, the concha softens and morphs turning from something hard into something soft… perhaps the mollusk, but no… it’s not that at all… it is a fetus rapidly transforming through developmental stages until becoming a beautiful human baby suspended in the woman’s womb.
Together mother, child, and their heavenly attendants shine in a deepening brilliance that almost blinds Dodo. But he can’t tear his eyes away from them for two strands of light are leaving the taijitu—one pink, one blue. They spiral towards him like umbilical cords. Upon reaching him, they connect to his ears allowing him to hear the music that has continued as heralded by the conch. DJ and the drummers are down there somewhere still working for him, eclipsed by the moon of the rising Venus and child. Now, Dodo can just barely make out the edges of the resilience net they made to bounce him, but it is still there shimmering in dynamic colors like the rippling edges of a rainbow sun.
A voice shatters Dodo’s reverie. It is gruff and male and yells: “Harigasti Teiwa!”
Dodo understands this to mean: “Come, guest Tyr!” And, he knows Tyr to be the God of Honor and Law and of War—patron of the Althing—who is the deity of heroic glory from ancient Norse myths.
The drummers bang a steady beat as men yell in indistinguishable shouts, groans, even growls. Then, they begin to repeat in a snarl: “Tawol Athodu Ek Erilaz Owlthuthewaz Niwaremariz Saawilagar Hateka Harja …,” which means: For this invocation I, the Rune Master, servant of Odin, call upon the one of the Sun to aid our army…
A woman screams. She is a priestess. It is a primal scream accompanied by wind, which is followed by men bawling as if in pitched and dreadful battle, but far away. All the while, the drums beat on, punctuated by closer groans and guttural growls of other men.
Then, like ice melting, the chant shifts in tone and timbre, releasing its stored energy, allowing it to flow into a new refrain… a bigger stream that goes:
Fehu Uruz Thurisaz Ansuz Raidho Kenaz
Gebo Wunjo Hagal Naudhiz Isa Jera
Eihwaz Perthro Algiz Sowelu Tiwaz Berkano
Ehwaz Mannaz Laguz Ingwaz Dagaz Othala
This group includes women who elevate the sound terrain creating a much more complex tone and harmony through the co-mingled voices of men and women. Together, they repeat this random cluster of words, but differently each time like a cascading waterfall of tempo, tone, and timbre balanced by the drummers. They sing it low, then high, alternating like waves on a sea. Several times the Rune Master laughs… all while the drummers beat a steady, mesmerizing beat.
Thanks again to DJ, Dodo understands the words to mean:
They are almost meaningless—these words—but it is how they are sung that creates the magic as if pulling these things from the invisible and making them visible through a rolling landscape of voice and sound. In that moment, Dodo understands they are not random words at all but describe the things creating a shared reality. Things made stronger over time through struggle—hail, need, ice, thorn—eased by blessings—wealth, gift, luck, aurochs, harvest, elk, horse, tree, water, Birch tree—made real every day through embodiment as a man (or woman) who is capable of experience and evolving something new—travel, joy, fertility, home—as guided by the divine—torch, sun, divine breath, creator.
Dodo understands these are the things encountered by beings of light powered by spirit journeying through time as measured daily through complex, rich experiences that are meant to behold and to evolve love. Simply by being a man (or a woman) the invisible is made visible—thereby allowing the sublime to slip through into the world in forms of knowledge, understanding, even wisdom. Most ethereal of all, Dodo knows man is a myth maker, a builder of a new world still being born. As a magi, he adds new ingredients to the swirling cauldron of time through the stories and symbols created on his journey. And, this is incredible for these fragile things—story and symbols—are capable of capturing a little bit of the superabundant energy springing forth eternally from the one being who birthed everything, and from whom all beings and things are descended. And, it is these fragile things that are building… no birthing… a new world.
“Oh this,” Dodo thinks, “Must be why we exists… to enrich, exalt, and transcend the darkness from where we were born in order to elevate it back to the divine. Why else are alive?”
But the divine can be divinely evil as well as good, and over time, something terrible was born into the world when one man (or one woman) figured out to how change their luck by diverting the blessings of others onto themselves. It was so easy, this deceit, and soon more men (and more women) began diverting the blessings meant to be distributed among all living beings, not diverted to a few, and then gorging on them. These men (and women) grew intoxicated in their indulgence where they wallowed in the light of their personal glory, never considering how they disrupted or displaced the natural flow of blessings meant for all living beings… most tragically, they forgot they are beings of light here to help birth a new reality. And, this is how the corruption slipped into the world. A most dangerous thing to be sure for man had begun to transcend when the corruption entered, and so his descent sent him crashing through all safety rails meant to protect life, plunging him down to the lowest levels of embodied being where depravity and perversion rule.
“Is this where I am going?” Dodo wonders in horror. “Down into this hole the corruption carved out, creating an endless void inside the sacred belly of the divine one who birthed and loved us all and from where nothing can return to the light?”
The Rune Master screams twice: Wuotani Ruoperath, which Dodo knows to mean Prepare for Battle! Which makes him wonder where the warriors are for everything below remains blocked by Venus and her child.
This is followed by the most beautiful female voice Dodo has ever heard—the priestess. She doesn’t say anything, but simply uses her voice as a force to transmit emotion, feeling, and unformed thought that take the listener through ancient spirals simply by singing Ha Hu Hi He Ho He Hi Ha Hu. She flies high, then dives low, with the drummers following her, lifting her even higher.
Suddenly her voice plunges to dark chthonic depths ruled by underworld witches, night demons, and numinous sirens, Melusinas, lamias, and succubus who infatuate young men and then suck the life out of them. At one point, she laughs like Lilith—Adam’s first wife. Then effortlessly, she swoops back up to the glorious heights of virgin, mother, and healer. She owns this space, this time, soaring like an ancient angel. She is the wings of the drummers and warriors—able to elevate their collective consciousness, so they might escape their fate.
Something draws Dodo’s attention back to the child who has begun to glow. To his amazement, glowing golden-white tendrils emerge from the baby, reaching out in every direction and passing through the womb. When they reach the edges of the pink and blue taijitu, he hears the heartbeat of the child and knows this is the spirit child of the universe; the essence of all life and all embodied possibility. This child is the alpha—the beginning, all things dark, all things feminine—and the omega—the end, the light, all things male… as protected by the holy mother and her divine entourage.
Then, a terrible thing happens—dark, pink cracks split the blue and are quickly followed by angry blue cracks shattering the pink, which Dodo notices is no longer pink. Soon the entire sphere is streaked with hot, angry pink and blue steaks that obscure mother and child. But that’s not all—a horrible black, prickly vine entombs them all.
He knows it will crush and obliterate everything good inside. But just before all is lost, dull blobs of blue, grey, purple, tan, and opaque white appear all over the sphere. Someone or something is repairing it, blotting out the angry pink-blue cracks, but also obscuring the fragile features of the beloved ones inside. Dark lines follow along the blobs reinforcing these repairs, but further obscuring the blessed beings inside. What is left is a less colorful, translucent shell… like a stained-glass window that lets in some of the divine light, but not enough to see or remember what is really on the other side… what is really at stake.
Exhausted, the Rune Master exhales: “Gleiaugiz Eiurzi… Au Is Urki… Uiniz Ik.”
With those words, the sphere shatters. The ancient glass just too fragile, too old, too weak to hold the divinity inside any longer. Dodo watches in horror as the fragments fall back towards the beast. There is no sound. There is only silence in the nothingness of the void.
Thank you to Gilya Toueg Zelinger for helping me see deeper by posting the video below about the Concha in a group we both belong. This made me consider the mysteries of the Concha and to go further than I thought was possible. Had you not posted this video, and I not seen it, Venus and child would not have been born, and the story of the Dodo would not have taken this turn.
‘Viva La Vulva’ directed by Kim Gehrig for Libresse is her — Somesuch
And, deep gratitude to Heilung who is breathing life back into these ancient chants, re-inspiring modern humans to explore the depths and meaning these songs and chants surely embodied for our European ancestors.
I woke up this morning clinging to a fragment of a dream where I was sitting quietly listening to a lesson being given by someone I could not see, but who was saying, “The sea is within…within every human being.” I knew this to mean the Sea of Unconsciousness—the vast, uncharted water churning below the surface of normal consciousness filled with hidden feelings, thoughts, and ideas—things that have been buried or have never risen to the light of consciousness. To most normal men and women who go about their daily lives following expected norms and traditions, if such hidden content suddenly became conscious, it would seem strange, even alien. But, there is so much that lies hidden underneath the thin surface of reality that “normal” human consciousness uses to navigate life. Humanity after all has only been on Earth for but a brief moment of time when compared to Earth’s geologic history or to the cosmological origins of the universe. Compared to these measures, humans are but blips in time. But still, even in this blip of time, humans have come to dominate pretty much all life on our planet, even while grasping only a fragment of the whole of consciousness existing within each of us and all around us—like water.
Recently, it has felt to me as if I am a survivor of some great disaster on this sea, and I am surviving only by clinging to a little bit of wreckage scattered on the surface of this endless Sea of Unconsciousness.
This feeling is due to circumstances beyond my control and is probably the reason for the dream, which I interpret as an ongoing effort to understand and make sense of these extreme circumstances. Something else that resonated recently in my sense-making mission is the Coen Brothers’ movie A Serious Man (2009). Yes, I know I’m late in getting around to watching this movie, but sometimes I think we see things when we are supposed to see them and when we need them. And, so I needed it now, and I really related to poor Larry Gopnick who is the main character and a person who has been living by all the rules and beliefs he was taught to follow until he encounters a string of strange reversals and even spooky circumstances that flip his reality upside down. What befalls Larry is so disconcerting and destabilizing it threatens to undo everything he has ever worked to achieve. In addition, he is poorly equipped to deal with or understand his circumstances. So, he seeks help from the Rabbis at his synagog, but each encounter leaves him more bewildered and baffled than before.
For a good read and analysis on this movie, go to: This Ruthless World; specifically, to the March 23, 2012 post: What Does this Movie Mean? “A Serious Man” (2009). However, I would like to highlight several spectacular observations this blogger makes about this movie. Number one, she says the movie is a commentary on the idea that we are taught to just accept things as they are in life and sail through it without looking for answers; however, this same attitude is what costs Larry his marriage, his family, and his home. She further points out that the viewer might first assume the moral of the story is: “If you don’t tend to that garden, someone else will;” however, the moral really goes much deeper, sinking down into the idea that “the ‘wisdom’ of unthinking, indifferent existence is absolutely wrong and spiritually destructive.” And, this is so important!
Carl Jung believes this is important too, which is probably why I am obsessed with his writings since previously I posted about the Archetype of Meaning and the Archetype of Life. However, Jung says much more about both archetypes, especially in relation to sense-making and meaning, including the following:
“It always seems to us as if meaning—compared with life—were the younger event, because we assume, with some justification, that we assign it of ourselves, and because we believe, equally rightly no doubt, that the great world can get along without being interpreted.
But how do we assign meaning?
From what source, in the last analysis, do we derive meaning?“
This is a fantastic question that is worthy of every human being’s time and attention; however, it can be difficult work, especially when one is forced to do it due to circumstances that decimate one’s prior beliefs and systems of thinking—like Larry. I use the word decimate deliberately for when we are growing up, we are taught certain beliefs and ways of thinking in accordance with our culture and society (or tribe). These things are supposed to help us make sense of the world and give us a vehicle by which to navigate life’s ups and downs. However, systems of thinking and beliefs are much more like diverse and different wild animals that have been tamed by culture and society to help people survive living together over time. Thus, if one’s conscious landscape is decimated due to a great calamity that kills off a large number of the wild animals (i.e., systems of thinking and beliefs), then it becomes necessary to regenerate the land (i.e., conscious ground), and then to find and tame new ways of thinking and beliefs in order to go forward again. Loneliness ensues, especially for a person who has been thrust unexpectedly into this process, because family, friends, and larger community who have not been crushed by the same circumstances often remain quite happy to go on living in the same systems of thinking and beliefs that defined one’s previously shared reality.
Jung answers his own question of where meaning is derived, and thus how it is gained, in the following way:
“The forms we use for assigning meaning are historical categories that reach back into the mists of time—a fact we do not take sufficiently into account. Interpretations make use of certain linguistic matrices that are themselves derived from primordial images.”
Lets stop for one second to consider the word primordial. Jung uses this word a lot as he advances his theories of consciousness and the unconsciousness. However, I suspect it may create some confusion, so here’s a basic definition of primordial:
Existing at or from the beginning of time; primeval —“the primordial oceans”
(especially of a state or quality) basic and fundamental — “the primordial needs of the masses”
Biological: (of a cell, part, or tissue) in the earliest stage of development.are
To Jung, primordial means all of these things in relation to the origins of consciousness. He believes consciousness existed at the beginning of time and that it is a basic and fundamental state that all living beings are immersed. He also believes there are developmental stages of consciousness that can be traced back through time much like a human embryo transitions through key evolutionary stages before becoming a fetus that will become a human being. Thus, primordial images are structures in consciousness stretching back to the beginning of time. They form the blocking blocks of thoughts and our psychic nature. Thus, primordial images are crucial in helping a person make sense of their world and to find meaning and purpose, especially after a great calamity shatters one’s previous beliefs and ways of thinking.
Now, back to Jung who continues saying:
“Interpretations make use of certain linguistic matrices that are themselves derived from primordial images. From whatever side we approach this question, everywhere we find ourselves confronted with the history of language, with images and motifs that lead straight back to the primitive wonder-world.
Take, for instance, the word “idea.” It goes back to the concept of Plato, and the eternal ideas are primordial images [and thus] stored up (in a supracelestial place) as eternal, transcendent forms [Note: thissounds very much like where the ideas for gods and goddess emerged from the Sea of Unconsciousness]. The eye of the seer perceives them as “imagines et lares,” or as images in dreams and revelatory visions [like my dream].
Or let us take the concept of energy, which is an interpretation of physical events. In earlier times it was the secret fire of the alchemists, or phlogiston, or the heat-force inherent in matter, like the “primal warmth” of the Stoics [i.e., a member of the ancient philosophical school of Stoicism and a person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining], or the Heraclitean (ever-living fire), which borders on the primitive notion of an all-pervading vital force, a power of growth and magic healing that is generally called mana.”
I think it is important to take another moment to consider just who the heck Heraclitus was; so, from Wikipedia:
Heraclitus of Ephesus was a pre-SocraticGreek philosopher, and a native of the city of Ephesus, then part of the Persian Empire. He was of distinguished parentage. Little is known about his early life and education, but he regarded himself as self-taught and a pioneer of wisdom. From the lonely life he led, and still more from the apparently riddled and allegedly paradoxical nature of his philosophy and his stress upon the heedless unconsciousness of humankind, he was called “The Obscure” and the “Weeping Philosopher”.
Heraclitus was famous for his insistence on ever-present change as being the fundamental essence of the universe, as stated in the famous saying, “No man ever steps in the same river twice” (see panta rhei below). This is commonly considered to be one of the first digressions into the philosophical concept of becoming, and has been contrasted with Parmenides statement that “what-is is” as one of the first digressions into the philosophical concept of being. As such, Parmenides and Heraclitus are commonly considered to be two of the founders of ontology. Scholars have generally believed that either Parmenides was responding to Heraclitus, or Heraclitus to Parmenides, though opinion on who was responding to whom changed over the course of the 20th century. Heraclitus’ position was complemented by his stark commitment to a unity of opposites in the world, stating that “the path up and down are one and the same“. Through these doctrines Heraclitus characterized all existing entities by pairs of contrary properties, whereby no entity may ever occupy a single state at a single time. This, along with his cryptic utterance that “all entities come to be in accordance with this Logos” (literally, “word”, “reason”, or “account”) has been the subject of numerous interpretations.
I like this guy! Now, back to Jung again:
“I will not go on needlessly giving examples. It is sufficient to know that there is not a single important idea of view that does not possess historical antecedents. Ultimately, they are all founded on primordial archetypal forms whose concreteness dates from a time when consciousness did not think, but only perceived. “Thoughts” were objects of inner perception, not thought at all, but sensed as external phenomena—seen or heard, so to speak. Thought was essentially revelation, not invented but forced upon us or bringing conviction through its immediacy and actuality. Thinking of this kind precede the primitive ego-consciousness, and the latter is more its object than its subject. But we ourselves have not yet climbed the last peak of consciousness, so we also have a pre-existent thinking, of which we are not aware so long as we are supported by traditional symbols—or, to put it in the language of dreams, so long as the father or the king is not dead.”
I want to draw your attention to Jung’s idea that primitive humans experienced thought very differently than modern humans experience it. He says thought for primitive humans came as visions, disembodied voices, dreams, and probably even disembodied ghosts and phantoms—stuff from our own consciousness, but humans had not yet developed the powers to perceive and grasp that these things were coming from within. This must have been a time in human development when the world was spectacularly magical as well as unimaginably terrifying for demons are just as likely to pop out from the unconscious as well as fairies or benevolent helpers. No wonder our ancestors developed elaborate myths, rituals, and traditions designed to tame such occurrences and give them cohesion, structure, and function so they could understand and maybe control them, and perhaps, most importantly, so certain psychic states do not inadvertently tear to shreds the fragile shared reality that was being created by early human tribes—and thus the vital role of medicine man, medicine woman, shaman emerged—people who could travel into these obscure and shady realms of consciousness and return with wisdom.
Art by Bébé
Jung goes on to give a lively account of how unconscious thought can pave the way for conscious solutions by recounting a dream a young theological student had and his analysis of the dream (pages 33 to 37). I will not go into this dream, only noting it involves the dreamer, a handsome old man dressed entirely in black known who is known as the black magician, a magician dressed entirely in white (you guessed it… the white magician), and an extraordinary event that occurs in a country ruled by an old king who is near his death. In Jung’s analysis, it is important to know the two magicians are two aspects of the Wise Old Man who is the superior master and teacher that is known as the Archetype of the Spirit symbolizing the pre-existent meaning hidden in the chaos of life. He tells us that theologian’s dream reveals the old men are trying to show the dreamer how good and evil function together, and presumably to help answer an unresolved moral conflict within the Christian psyche (p.36). Jung writes:
“Modern man, in experiencing this archetype, comes to know that the most ancient form of thinking is an autonomous activity whose object he is. Hermes Trismegistus or the Thoth of Hermetic literature, Orpheus, the Poimandres (shepherd of men) and his near relation the Poison of Hermes, are formulations of the sam experience. (p.37)” (Note: Hermes Trismegistus was credited with tens of thousands of highly esteemed writings, which were reputed to be of immense antiquity. Plato‘s Timaeus and Critias state that in the temple of Neith at Sais there were secret halls containing historical records which had been kept for 9,000 years. — Wikipedia)
If the name ‘Lucifer’ were not prejudicial, it would be a very suitable one for this archetype. But, I have been content to call it the Archetype of the Wise Old Man or Meaning. Like all archetypes it has a positive and a negative aspect, though I don’t want to enter into this here. The reader will find a detailed exposition of the two-facedness of the wise old man in The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairytales.
The three archetypes so far discussed—the shadow, the anima, and the wise old man—are of a kind that can be directly experienced in personified form [that is we very easily project them onto other human beings or animals or things in nature]. In the foregoing I tried to indicate the general psychological conditions in which such an experience arises. But what I conveyed were only abstract generalizations. One could, or rather should, really give a description of the process the archetypes appear as active personalities in dreams and fantasies. But the process itself involved another class of archetypes that one could call the Archetypes of Transformation.”
Just like the post from This Ruthless World, Jung is advising us to pay attention to the stuff in the shadow and to sink into the place where wisdom whispers for to not do so is at one’s own conscious-spiritual peril. Thus, I think I’ve come full circle from where I started with my dream that said “the sea is within”—the sea I am floating on now as I try to find new conscious structures that might instill new meaning and purpose to what was shattered. But, will it be enough to survive what’s coming next? Just like poor Larry Gopnick in A Serious Man, which begins with him teaching his physics students about Schrodinger’s cat; it ends with this same puzzle—does Larry and his son live or die after the tornado? We don’t know, and we won’t know until we look inside the box. Or perhaps more appropriately, until the box is rebuilt through the process of sense-making and meaning so the journey can continue—thus the process is ever unfolding, so probably it is never done, which is another theme in the movie: bad things happen…that is life!
Another sleepless night drives me back to Jung’s The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Not remembering I read the shadow and anima the night before, I read them again until I got to this passage, and then I woke right up:
“Life is crazy and meaningful at once. And when we do not laugh over the one aspect and speculate about the other, life is exceedingly drab, and everything is reduce to the littlest scale. There is then little sense and little nonsense either. When you come to think about it, nothing has any meaning, for when there was nobody to think, there was nobody to interpret what happened. Interpretations are only for those who don’t understand; it is only the things we don’t understand that have any meaning. Man woke up in a world he did not understand, and that is why he tries to interpret it.”
Having recently been cast back into the Sea of Chaos due to difficult and tragic events, making sense of the senseless is about the only thing left to do since I’ve become unmoored from what I previously thought brought meaning, purpose, and security to my life. And, so this passage really resonates. Jung goes on to say:
“Thus the anima and life itself are meaningless in so far as they offer no interpretation. Yet they have a nature that can be interpreted, for in all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order, in all caprice and fixed law, for everything that works is grounded on its opposite. It takes man’s discriminating understanding, which breaks everything down, into antinomian judgements, to recognize this.
(Note: Jung classifies the anima as the feminine part of a man’s personality; it is the part of the psyche that is directed inward and is in touch with the subconscious; it is also an archetype, as described more below)
Then, on the radio, there was a program remembering survivors of the Holocaust and one of the speakers said (I cannot remember exactly what she said, but I remember it like this):
“In reading the dairies of teenagers living through the Holocaust, but also dairies of teenagers trying to survive the siege of Sarajevo, Syria, and other tragic times, there is an underlying effort to understand what is happening to them and this is something that collapses space and time. And, it is something that is common to all people whether their beliefs sit on the left or on the right. We all seek to make sense and make meaning of the world and our lives and to have a sense that our lives matter and we will be remembered when we die.”
Jung says archetypes exist independent of human lives, and we are immersed in them like fish swimming through water. When one touches us, it can have a numinous effect with strange and unexplainable things occurring. For ancient humans, ritual and rites were thought to help direct and control these strange numinous forces that seemed to have such profound effects on men and women. Jung explained man’s search for meaning (ancient and modern) in the following way:
“We are caught and entangled in aimless experience, and the judging intellect with its categories proves itself powerless. Human interpretation fails, for a turbulent life-situation has arisen that refuses to fit any of the traditional meanings assigned to it. It is a moment of collapse. We sink into a final depth—Apuleius calls it ‘a kind of voluntary death.’ It is a surrender of our own powers, not artificially willed but forced upon us by nature; not a voluntary submission and humiliation decked in moral garb but an utter and unmistakable defeat crowned with the panic fear of demoralization. Only when all props and crutches are broken, and no cover from the rear offer even the slightest hope of security, does it become possible for us to experience an archetype that up till then had lain hidden behind the meaningful nonsense played out by the anima. This is the archetype of meaning, just as the anima is the archetype of life itself.“
So, falling into a black hole like the Dodo does in The Divine Dodo story is perhaps a universal human experience that may actually be a forerunner for something new that is emerging within the self after an encounter with the Archetype of Meaning. Encounters with this archetype do not leave a person unchanged for each individual touched by this archetype is driven to consolidate what is truly important and has meaning in their life, and then to gather all the divergent elements of consciousness in themself and give them structure and form—meaning. However, getting to this point can be a difficult, terrifying, and even dangerous journey—at least for the psyche of the person who embarks ill prepared or lacks adequate guidance and support.
Jung recounts a dream of a theologian about such a descent saying that the descent into the depths always seems to precede the ascent. Recounting the theologian’s dream, Jung writes:
“…he saw a mountain a kind of Castle of the Grail. He went along a road that seemed to lead straight to the foot of the mountain and up it. But as he drew nearer he discovered to his great disappointment that a chasm separated him from the mountain, a deep, darksome gorge with underworldly water rushing along the bottom. A steep path led downwards and toilsomely climbed up again on the other side. But the prospect looked uninviting, and the dreamer awoke.”
As more conscious ground is gained and consolidated through the process of sense-making, both individually and collectively, the need to create meaning in the world does not lessen, but rather increases and becomes even more important. Jung further writes:
“Whether primitive or not, mankind always stands on the brink of actions it performs itself but does not control. The whole world wants peace and the whole world prepares for war, to take but one example. Mankind is powerless against mankind, and the gods, as ever, show it the ways of fate. (…) In the realm of consciousness we are our own masters; we seem to be the factors themselves. But if we step through the door of the shadow we discover with terror that we are the objects of unseen factors. To know this is decidedly unpleasant, for nothing is more disillusioning than the discovery of our own inadequacy.” (p.23)
Coming face to face with one’s inadequacy is a humbling experience because it means coming face to face with one’s own short comings—short comings that are often are attributed to others. This is how the split begins…inside oneself…it begins with the parts we don’t accept in ourselves and project onto “others” like the mad liberal mob or invading horde of migrants, and there are plenty of projections to go around on which ever side of the divide one ends up. But, recognizing this inner divide is a crucial process of growth that Jung called the Individuation Process.
The purpose of this individuation process is to increase the individual’s consciousness.
With greater consciousness, individuals can heal the splits in their mind between what’s conscious and unconscious, bringing them to wholeness in their psyche.
In the first half of life, we make our way through the world, doing our best to develop healthy egos.
The first portion of life is mainly external as we seek to meet our basic needs.
From Jung’s outlook, the second part of life can represent a turning inward toward a deeper part of ourselves.
Later in the day, I encountered a young buck standing nervously under a brilliant yellow-orange tree. He had a huge rack of antlers on his head and looked so out of place standing on a narrow band of green. In front of him stood me and a major interstate highway—certainly not a good way to go. On each side of him and behind him were houses, yards, cars, and roads. His eyes darted nervously, searching for a way to go, but there was no clear path to safety. So, he lifted his head high and smelled the air; his huge brown nose moving rapidly as if he could smell in the air which way was safe to go. I immediately felt a deep connection with him…this beautiful animal who was so out of place in this strange, urban world. I felt that I was just as out of place and trapped as he in systems that do not honor my innate nature and dignity, but rather create cubbyholes and prescribed rules that must be conformed to or else.
So what is a person to do when they realize they’ve broken out of the socially accepted systems that no longer provide meaning, purpose, or security—like the beautiful deer in the middle of the city? No wonder our ancestors put on antlers like this young buck—perhaps like antenna to help them tap into ancient knowledge that could help them navigate the turbulent waters during a close encounter with the Archetype of Meaning — an encounter that is destine to change those who meet it forever, and an encounter that is needed now more than ever before.
In simply trying to understand what is happening to me now… I keep going back to Jung, specially to his book Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious, but also his book Dreams. Yesterday, a very old Facebook post popped into my notifications. It went back to early May before all the trauma occurred, and I had been more optimistic that all things eventually work themselves out to the best possible end result…now I am not so sure this is true at all.
In responding hopefully to this old thread, I said: “…I ran across this note I made some time back: ‘As we bump into each other, we effect and precipitate change in each other’s psychic fields of energy (or this could also be interpreted as consciousness).’ And, even though change in the masses may ultimately need to start as a change in each individual, by being together and communicating with each other, we are transforming ourselves and this can transform the collective…so, nothing is black and white…and what we are doing here and elsewhere is essential to bring about sustainable change in ourselves and others!”
What has transpired since I posted this comment is vivid proof that this sort of bumping into each other can indeed precipitate change, but the changes do not always end up being the type that elevates self and others. Such precipitation can also devastate and demonize self and other, casting the person so far into the bowels of the dreaded black pit (i.e., the unconscious)—the place where all that is unacceptable to modern, civilized man is cast—that those who have been banished there may never return… at least not whole.
Unable to sleep through most nights now, I have taken to rereading from the beginning Jung’s The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. I supposed this will be my third time reading it, and still I find I did not see or understand so many things from the first or second time I read it, and I forget so much! Thus, this is simply a note on what seemed particularly important to me…more so now than ever before. I supposed this has to do with the time that has passed since I last read this passage (my previous notes go back to the 90s), the trauma since endured, and the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that now prevails in my soul. Jung is talking about the collective unconsciousness (of course); something Ralph Waldo Emersonalso spoke and wrote about but calling it the Oversoul. In the overview, Jung sets up the framework for what will come in the rest of the book. The part that jumped out to me last night begins on page 21 where he writes:
“The necessary and needful reaction from the collective unconscious expresses itself in archetypally formed ideas. The meeting with oneself is, at first, the meeting with one’s shadow. The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. But one must learn to know oneself in order to know who one is. For what comes after the door is, surprisingly enough, a boundless expanse full of unprecedented uncertainty, with apparently no inside and no outside, no above and no below, no here and no there, no mine and no thine, no good and no bad. It is the world of water, where all life floats in suspension; where the realm of the sympathetic system, the soul of everything living, begins; where I am indivisibly this and that; where I experience the other in myself and the other-than-myself experiences me.
No, the collective unconscious is anything but an incapsulated personal system; it is sheer objectivity, as wide as the world and open to all the world. There I am the object of every subject, in complete reversal of my ordinary consciousness, where I am always the subject that has an object. There I am utterly one with the world, so much a part of it that I forget all too easily who I really am. ‘Lost in oneself’ is a good way of describing this state. But this self is the world, if only a consciousness could see it. That is why we must know who we are.
The unconscious no sooner touches us than we are it–we become unconscious of ourselves. That is the age-old danger, instinctively known and feared by primitive man, who himself stands so very close to this pleroma. His consciousness is still uncertain, wobbling on its feet. It is still childish, having just emerged from the primal waters. A wave of the unconscious may easily roll over it, and then he forgets who he was and does thing that are strange to him. Hence primitives are afraid of uncontrolled emotions, because consciousness breaks down under them and gives way to possession. All man’s strivings have therefore been directed towards the consolidation of consciousness. This was the purpose of rite and dogma; they were dams and walls to keep back the dangers of the unconscious, the ‘perils of the soul.’ Primitive rites consist accordingly in the exorcizing of spirits, the lifting of spells, the averting of the evil omen, propitiation, purification, and the production by sympathetic magic of helpful occurrences.” — C.G. Jung
It is these barriers, erected in primitive times, that later became the foundations of the Church. It is also these barriers that collapse when the old symbols become too weak with age. When this happens, the waters of the collective unconsciousness begin to rise and boundless catastrophes begin to break out rushing over all mankind. The religious leader of the Taos pueblo, known as the Loco Tenente Gobrnador, once said to me: “The Americans should stop meddling with our religion, for when it dies and we can no longer help the sun our Father to cross the sky, the Americans and the whole world will learn something in ten years’ time, for then the sun won’t rise anymore.” In other words, night will fall, the light of consciousness is extinguished, and the dark sea of the unconscious breaks in.”
Jung says more, but I will stop paraphrasing his thinking at this point for this is where my own journey seems to be ending up at the unconscious sea that is breaking in. In my story about The Divine Dodo, I attempt to capture through this simple, childish tale, the dangers of this journey that I am attempting. I have begun to realize (thanks to the random post that came back out of nowhere and another sleepless night) that this little bird, the Dodo, believes himself capable of maintaining his individual consciousness inside the depths of the darkest parts of the unconscious—quite impertinent for a little bird, and perhaps that’s is why he went extinctic in our modern real world. The last post of the Dodo’s journey seems to capture what Jung describes (perhaps this was in my subconscious when I wrote it, but I certainly did not consciously remember it when I wrote the last part of the journey of the Dodo): “For what comes after the door is, surprisingly enough, a boundless expanse full of unprecedented uncertainty, with apparently no inside and no outside, no above and no below, no here and no there, no mine and no thine, no good and no bad.”
The Dodo entering through the door of the soul leading to the deep well (left) & The Dodo lost in the boundless expanse (above) — Original artwork by Bébé
The Dodo has gone through the door into the unconscious realm where everything is immensely queer and alien to him. He has no idea what is up or down or even right in front of him. In the last post, he survives three trials when in the end he encounters primitives, thanks to DJ, who begin to conduct an ancient rite. This is where I leave the reader suspended on the Dodo’s fate, which I guess is my own. I’m not sure what will happen to him… I thought the story was going one way, but now I find myself utterly suspended and lost even more than when I started the adventures of the Dodo. Also, today is election day in the U.S., which could possibly be a referendum on the past two years where it seems indeed that the walls holding back the waters of the unconsciousness have eroded and burst, washing over the entire country and leaving it in an extreme state of distress. Perhaps the cry to build a wall is not so much a cry to build a real physical wall on the real physical border, but an inner wall inside of us again. One that can hold back and channel the inner demons churning in the dark water of the unconsciousness—waters that exists in every man, woman, and child; waters that are fully capable of taking possession of a human being and making them capable of doing anything.
This is something we have forgotten as modern human beings, but not the ancients or those still connected to this forgotten, but very real part of every human being. Now it seems we draw ever closer to the time the religious leader of the Taos pueblo (Loco Tenente Gobrnador) warned Jung almost 100 years ago: “The Americans should stop meddling with our religion, for when it dies and we can no longer help the sun our Father to cross the sky, the Americans and the whole world will learn something in ten years’ time, for then the sun won’t rise anymore.” And, if this does come to past, can we survive? Is anyone even listening…and does it matter?
In my humble opinion, Loco Tenente Gobrnador is talking about consciousness—the inner light inside every human being created by the fusion of psyche and spirit that generates a soul. When this inner sun sets, as is normal for everything experiences cycles of death and renewal, but when it sets but does not rise again because we have forgotten how to see it, then I wager it will take far less than 10 years time for humanity to become hopelessly lost in the dark depths of the soul. As a species on this planet, we have been mostly blessed so far, but there have been times of great brutality in our collective history at the hands of man—perhaps these were times when waves of unconscious swept human beings off the conscious ground they had gain. Now, it seems we stand collectively at a time when such a wave feels imminent again, but one that is much bigger and more volatile than ever before. A wave that could put out this inner sun so that it never rises again. Now is a time to honor the wisdom keepers who still know how to see this inner sun and guide us to higher, safer ground, so that we may to continue to grow as conscious sentient beings.
One final thought on Jung and the collective unconscious is something I did not even know about him and his theory until this moment. This is from Wikipedia:
In later years Jung revised and broadened the concept of archetypes even further, conceiving of them as psycho-physical patterns existing in the universe, given specific expression by human consciousness and culture. Jung proposed that the archetype had a dual nature: it exists both in the psyche and in the world at large. He called this non-psychic aspect of the archetype the “psychoid” archetype.
Jung drew an analogy between the psyche and light on the electromagnetic spectrum. The center of the visible light spectrum (i.e., yellow) corresponds to consciousness, which grades into unconsciousnessness at the red and blue ends. Red corresponds to basic unconscious urges, and the invisible infra-red end of the spectrum corresponds to the influence of biological instinct, which merges with its chemical and physical conditions. The blue end of the spectrum represents spiritual ideas; and the archetypes, exerting their influence from beyond the visible, correspond to the invisible realm of ultra-violet. Jung suggested that not only do the archetypal structures govern the behavior of all living organisms, but that they were contiguous with structures controlling the behavior of inorganic matter as well.
Buffeted by unseen forces, Dodo tries desperately to fly away from the center of the vortex, but it’s useless. His wings are too small, and he is too weak. Aggravating the whole situtation are huge vacuousness ordnances exploding all around him. Dodo feels as if they are pushing him towards the center of the vortex, which is definitely not where he wants to go. Adding to his terror now that he knows he is not going to be pulled into a million pieces is:How is he going to navigate this vortex?He wishes he could hear DJ’s guiding voice, but he is gone; so too are the watery voices from hisForsaken Playlist… evaporated into nothing leaving Dodo without sound or images to navigate by.
Just then, a huge redblob explodes inches in front of him, making him veer violently to the right. Dodo employs as much wing strength as he can, which isn’t much but enough to avoid the blob and obliteration. Dodo’s heart races, and so do his thoughts, which go something like this:
“How can I… a sorry misshaped bird with useless wings… navigate this stormy vortex…”
A strange thought interrupts his victim thinking that simply states: “I’ve been here before… I don’t need to go here again.” So, with a slight turn of his wings, he banks to the left. As he does, the negative voice in his head fades, going something like this:
“I might as well die… nobodyknow…”
Just like that, the victim voice is gone!
“This must be progress,”Dodo thinks joyfully! However, now he’s heading back into the thick orange fog left behind by the red blob’s explosion. He can’t see anything for the fog is getting thicker, making it hard for Dodo to breath. Soon, Dodo is completely disorientated with no idea which way is right or left—even up or down. He wishes for a sound or speck of light to guide him.
“Heck,” he thinks, “I would love to slam into something hard just so I could follow it to someplace solid.”
His thoughts are abruptly brought to a standstill by a booming voice echoing from the vacuousness fog that says:
“We do not approve of your mission Dodo. It has no meaning to the system. Rejoin the systemor be terminated.”
Dodo is shocked by the power of the voice and how it seems to be a strange amalgamation of many voices of different ages, genders, races, and dialects blended into one singular thunderous sound. So many questions tumble through his mind such as…
Is this the voice of God?
Where is it coming from?
Who else is out here in the void with me?
Why can’t I see them?
How do I rejoin the system?
Equally puzzling to Dodo is why the voice sounds so cruel. Obviously, it has no idea what he’s just been through for if it had, it surely would offer kindness and compassion, not threaten his life!
Stammering Dodo asks meekly, “Who are you?“
“We are reality Dodo! You must face reality! Your mission is dirt… it has no bearing on reality. We are everything. We have always been and always will be all of reality. You can only submit to us…bird…submit and obey!”
Dodo doesn’t even have a second to respond to the demand because coming at him sounding like 1,000 screeching cats are reality barbs. These are weapons meant to injury, maim, or kill the beings they are flung at. Usually, they are invisible, but Dodo sees them coming because of the thick orange fog.
Ducking, he barely misses being hit by the first barb, which whizzes over his head ruffling his feathers. All he can do is tuck his tiny wings tight against his body and let himself drop. He plummets further and faster than he ever thought possible. As he falls, he considers: “Just how big is this vortex? Does it not have a beginning, middle, and end as all things in reality must have or does it go on forever? Perhaps this place is not real…“
The further Dodo falls, the darker it becomes and the colder Dodo grows. Soon, he can no longer feel his wings or feet; he doesn’t even feel like he’s falling anymore. After a long time, he realizes he is moving… just so slowly and in such large circles it doesn’t seem like he’s moving. Finally, far in the distance, he sees a purple-blue glow and knows this must be what he’s moving towards… or rather being pulled towards like waste flushed down a toilet.
He tries to fly, but there is nothing for his wings to push against because there is no air… there is only silence… until there is not! What he hears is a sound so strange, so alien he wonders if it is real. The sound is a low trembling vibration that starts high and descends into a deep, guttural groan, which repeats over and over so it is one continuous tone. In his bones, he knows it is the endless cry of an uncountable number of sentient beings about to be erased from the White Board of consciousness, but why? He remembers the sad stories DJ told him of sentients who had become victims of unspeakable and treacherous fates through the forsaken songs, but this cry is even more awful than those sad stories and songs—something much more dreadful is going on. Dodo flaps his wings and struggles, but it is useless!
“Anyhow, what’s the point?” Dodo thinks, “I’ve been flung here into this place of nothingness…perhaps it is a holding tank before oblivion where my existence has no meaning.Could this really be where all sentient beings end up?”
Deeply troubled, a new understanding begins to well up inside of him… he senses that not all sentient beings end up here at all, and an image jumps into his mind of hunters aiming their guns at a small pack of elephants. They shoot, making one of the young elephants run away from her mother. But, she doesn’t get far before she falls hard on one knee. The hunters show no mercy and shoot at her until she is dead. Dodo knows these men are hunting for pleasure. They will not eat her meat—oh, they may take a tusk or toothas a keepsake of their bravery and prowess as hunters. But they do not recognize her pain and suffering, nor will they ever honor her sacrifice in protecting her mother and baby sister by drawing their fire.
Dodo feels a deep despair at the futility of life, and it’s not just his own life. He senses how all sentient beings are slowly crawling out of the Sea of Unconsciousness but they have been pitted against despicable forces…evil spirits…fragments that have broken off from the divine and now torment and interfere with the progress of sentient beings. These sinister elements have slipped into creation through the backdoor, as it were, bringing with them disease, accidents, and death.
A kaleidoscope of horrifying images flash through Dodo’s mind—children dying in theirmothers’ arms succumbing to starvation and preventable diseases wrought by rich men who are bombing everything around them, making all the food disappear. Dodo knows these men have been devoured by their unconsciousness, making them capable of the most despicable acts… acts that shattered, scattered, and maligned life. It is the same unconsciousness at work in people who hear the cries of these children…the cries of all suffering beings, but do nothing to help. By taking no action in the face of evil, life is further denigrated and derailed, and the hope it may someday achieve something delicate and exquisite…something ethereal and divine…becomes more lost and less likely.
Dodo knows he is caught in a death spiral created by these powerful heinous forces and their earthly vassals—the unconscious ones who have descended into this fiendish realm in spirit before their earthly death. First, victims of the powerful weapon the evil ones forged long ago—the Blade of Unconsciousness—now they are minions wearing many masks in life—deception, denial, apathy, fear-mongering. No matter their disguise, the results are the same: Chaos that assaults and rocks the cradle of life—a matrix created of peace, balance, and harmony meant to help sentient beings make the difficult journey to consciousness. And, this vortex is a concentration of all this evil spreading through the world like hungry worms.
As the purple-blue light looms larger, Dodo sees there is something moving inside of it. His skin begins to crawl, and then every fiber in his body screams: “Fly Dodo, Fly!”
But he can’t fly! He can only swirl along with all the other beautiful sentient beings trapped in this vortex of evil. And now far more terrifying to Dodo is the knowledge that consciousness does not end at the moment of death because it is energy, and energy is never destroyed. He realizes the consciousness of the beings swirling with him have been hunted… much like the hunters who shot the elephant. These evil spirits haunt and stalk living beings at the time of their death when they may be afflicted by terror or cling to their earthly body, causing them to become even more disorientated. Caught in tremendous turbulence and shrouded by fear and confusion as they shift between energy states, the sentients become easy targets for the evil hunters who lure them to places like this with promises of deliverance or a brand-new life. The endless sound permeating this place is their final plea for salvation, a cry for mercy, but there is none, and so it simply becomes a lullaby of obliteration.
Now all Dodo can do is swirl with these dying golden remnants of consciousness. Resigned to his fate, he swirls faster and faster towards the thing at the center. As he does, the last strands of hope slip from his hold. But, just as the final thread is falling from his grasp,DJ reappears! Dodo’s heart leaps for joy, but also seizes up with fear for DJ is too close to the beast, and he knows even an apparition can be pulled into this monstrous force… and if DJ goes, there’s no salvation for him because DJ is his only hope!
Dodo holds his breath waiting for DJ to make a move… and move he does!
DJ begins to dance, and as he dances, magnificent colors radiate from him making sounds like nothing Dodo has ever heard! It is an ancient chant sung by 100 men who understand how dangerous the world has become since evil entered it. They know how evil manifests through wild beasts and unpredictable natural events. They also know the most dangerous form it takes and that is inside other human beings…for these are people who have become bent by thegravity of unconsciousness. This is how the blade works, it bends a human back to the unconsciousness from where they emerged, causing them to abandon their ascent to consciousness. And, if this human lacks resilience…like the water that sprung from Dodo through his tears and then spread through him holding him together as he began to break apart…then these humans snap, becoming severed from their soul. Such a human is capable of killing men, women, and children simply for power, control, a queer idea, or entertainment. It is a sickness that runs deep through the marrow of life. And the diabolical consequences of these human beings have been recounted again and again by story tellers such as Shakespeare in King Richard III—a most despicable tale about a man plagued by his own physical deformity who then becomes devoured by a more decrepit spiritual deformity that leads him to destroy and kill almost every kin and friend he has, except his mother. She alone seems to survive his cruelty and curses him during their final encounter just before he rides to his doom. But, even death does not scrub this plague from the living left behind for it is an affliction of the soul—thus, it is eternal and will always be reborn.
The men DJ calls forth know how this story goes. They know where and how the evil flows. They know it exists in all beings, thus they repeat their chant—Hammer Hippyer—to gather their collective wisdom and strength needed to vanquish it!
Their voices are raw, but they are beautiful, unified, and hypnotic. The drummers beats begin to weave a web across the void using the rainbow light. Drum beats mix with human voices, and Dodo begins to think they sound like birds and bugs and frogs. Soon Dodo is completely mesmerized and feels transported to a warm, green, wonderful place where he is safe.
Abruptly, the men change the chant and the drum beats grow harder and sound more menacing as the men begin to chant:hanga dýra mingja. As they chant this new refrain, they also groan and cry out in sounds of agony or shouts of anger. The mood goes from croaking crickets and frogs to fighting wolves and raging beasts, which frightens Dodo.
Dodo wishes he understood the words they are chanting for if he understood, he might not be afraid. As if DJ hears his wish, the words are translated directly into Dodo’s head. The men are chanting:hang the animals.
Dodo’s heart almost stops as he imagines himself nailed to the net of light being woven by the drummers and chanters for he’s an animal, is he not!
Terrible thoughts consume him:
Are they going to hang me to this net?
Has DJ forsaken me?
What terrible trick is this?
Dodo is convinced DJ is nothing but a terrible trickster. How could he be anything but a cheat, fraud, and villain in this realm of evil and obliteration. It is all simply a game to DJ, a cruel form of entertainment for the beast as it eats…like a pinch of salt adding flavor to the feast.
DJ is not his savior! DJ is a demon! DJ is the executioner his doom!
Since publishing this episode of the Divine Dodo’s journey, I came upon this image two days later in C.G. Jung’s book Dreams. [i.e., page 151, Figure 28. Capture of the Leviathan with the sevenfold tackle of the line of David with the crucifix as bait—Herrad of Landsberg’s Hortus deliciarum (12th Century)]. The parallels to Dodo’s journey are interesting for the images I have been creating for The Divine Dodo story occur spontaneously (often as a quick vision or flash of imagination) and the story is rising in a similar manner. This part of the journey was written and drawn before I came upon this image. Jung is using it to interpret a dream of a patient he was working with at the time. Part of Jung’s life work is the idea that we all rest upon a great sea of the collective unconscious that is contained in each human being and within this sea are eternal archetypes. Just as the physical body has a heart, lungs, spleen… our minds have psychic organs (e.g., the king, the queen, the trickster), and these are the archetypes; they have formed the bedrock of myths and legends for millennia. The stories of gods and goddesses and their dramas have informed and defined human civilizations, but recently many humans have lost this vision or ability to see into the unconscious. Archetypes are infinitely diverse. No one civilization or culture or time has any more claim to them than any other. It is simply part of what it means to be human—a multidimensional being that is equipped with body, mind, and spirit. However, some civilizations, cultures, and times have understood this better than others and have learned to navigate this realm that exists in everyone better. Coming back to this picture and the Dodo’s journey, it is significant because of how this part of the Dodo’s tale ends… perhaps Dodo is about to encounter the Leviathan! This was certainly not in the realm of my awareness when I wrote or drew it. And, seven is a significant number to Dodo in upcoming parts of his tale. I shared this in humble humility as an observer of my own life and nothing more. It seemed important to share a little bit of how this story is being written and drawn and created, and then the small synchronistic discoveries I have made in conjunction with this fictional journey, especially how they may relate to myth and the collective unconscious.