"Pope: 'Guardian Angel' didn't stop him from breaking wrist". The story caught my eye mainly as an opportunity for the Pope to address transpersonal (i.e. beyond Ego yet mingling with it) elements in his own universe. The manner in which someone refers to the doings of his higher principle can say a lot about his relationship with the unconscious Self.
In the story two quotes are (we assume) taken directly from the Pope regarding an incident in which he broke his wrist. The first is most telling: "Unfortunately my own Guradian Angel did not prevent my injury, certainly following superior orders," he said.
When something "bad" happens to us, we often first view it as "misfortune" - forces conspiring against the self (Ego). With the passing of time many come to see the same circumstances as acceptable or even favorable, causing a complete reevaluation of the intent of said forces. There's a wonderful zen parable which illustrates the all-too-common trap of placing lables of "good" or "bad" luck on circumstances, one constantly leading to the other and then back again until it becomes plain that the only sensible position of the Ego to the tides of fortune is as a still witness.
Here the Pope, who must be all too aware of the power of his every uttered word, potentially betrays himself to be at odds with his greater Self (God). The begged question: how can his circumstances be "unfortunate" if they have come from something superior to even his Guardian Angel?
His next sentence takes a positve view of his circumstance, but seems trite and maybe even resigned: "Perhaps the Lord wanted to teach me more patience and humility..." One wants to view this as making lemonade out of lemons, but in the wake of his statement about his failed Guradian Angel it sounds more like a punitive measure. The idea of "superior orders" leading to a shameful stepping aside of one's very own trusted Guardian Angel flies in the face of harmonious conjunction and indeed sounds more like a military hierarchy.
Despite possible appearances this not a diatribe against the Pope, about whom I know little and hold no grudge. It is an opportunity to explore through him the mentality of the modern religious masses, who see the nature of the universe through him as he speaks to them. To so many he is as a representative of the highest spiritual position a mortal man can take and it is therefore reasonable to expect the most of his references to the forces which shape the lives of humans.
The Pope's reactions to his accident seems to betray an apprehension to these forces, if tempered by casual aplomb. A reflection of the 1st World mindset today, perhaps?
At the very least he missed an opportunity to ruminate positively on the web of circumstance weaving in and out of all goings-on in God's great domain. Or something like that.
This story can be found here:
http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=D99O4M380&show_article=1
And here:
http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2009-07-29-pope-angel_N.htm
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Dowels in whirlpool
Tonight's meditation elicits the following image: A perfectly round pool approximately the size of a 12" vinyl record, swirling in mid air (but neither convex or concave). On either side squared rods protrude and it's immediately noticeable that despite the similarity of the two ends it is not one rod pushing through the center of the pool and out the other side, but rather two going in at slightly different spots near the center, as if to mysteriously disappear.
My conscious self takes immediate notice of this image, and so begins the interplay. In a state Jung termed Active Imagination I attempt to experience and savor the image while maintaining enough consciousness to remember and not get "lost in the flow" (again, Jung). I also grapple with the natural desire to think intellectually about the experience, which threatens to remove oneself from the direct experience. Still there's enough creative interaction in the moment to cause some metamorphosis: the dowels turn into swords being pushed by two human figures into the otherworldy pool.*
The image, or perhaps more directly the inexpressable thing that image points to, continues to live in the psyche after it's experienced by the conscious self. In Hillman's estimation, to coldy attempt to descipher it after the fact is to safely put distance between oneself (small "s") and the very thing your unconscious mind is trying to thrust at you. But this is of course the natural inclination. I prefer to try to live with the image, make my head a comfortable nest for it to incubate in, allowing it spill out in some other form when the synchronistic moment is due. This is challenging mostly because we feel so much more comfortable when something is "nailed down", or summed up. What if the next form the image takes is threatening? I prefer not to treat my greater unconscious expanse as something to fear, or even an inconvenience for that matter. Though I fear what might happen if I do...
* As is so often the case, the feel of imagery directly from the unconscious (the original image) has a more genuine feel than the development which transpired via the conscious interaction, despite the naturalness of it. I lose myself in thoughts of the process, where I perhaps tried too hard to make the image something it didn't want to be ("spoiled" it) and conversely where I let it germinate healthily with my self. At this point we are riding along Thomas Moore's Ego/Self Axis.
My conscious self takes immediate notice of this image, and so begins the interplay. In a state Jung termed Active Imagination I attempt to experience and savor the image while maintaining enough consciousness to remember and not get "lost in the flow" (again, Jung). I also grapple with the natural desire to think intellectually about the experience, which threatens to remove oneself from the direct experience. Still there's enough creative interaction in the moment to cause some metamorphosis: the dowels turn into swords being pushed by two human figures into the otherworldy pool.*
The image, or perhaps more directly the inexpressable thing that image points to, continues to live in the psyche after it's experienced by the conscious self. In Hillman's estimation, to coldy attempt to descipher it after the fact is to safely put distance between oneself (small "s") and the very thing your unconscious mind is trying to thrust at you. But this is of course the natural inclination. I prefer to try to live with the image, make my head a comfortable nest for it to incubate in, allowing it spill out in some other form when the synchronistic moment is due. This is challenging mostly because we feel so much more comfortable when something is "nailed down", or summed up. What if the next form the image takes is threatening? I prefer not to treat my greater unconscious expanse as something to fear, or even an inconvenience for that matter. Though I fear what might happen if I do...
* As is so often the case, the feel of imagery directly from the unconscious (the original image) has a more genuine feel than the development which transpired via the conscious interaction, despite the naturalness of it. I lose myself in thoughts of the process, where I perhaps tried too hard to make the image something it didn't want to be ("spoiled" it) and conversely where I let it germinate healthily with my self. At this point we are riding along Thomas Moore's Ego/Self Axis.
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