Writing can be opening the gate latch of our inner being so we can start to understand how our life on an outer and interior level can align. If we are not balanced we become neurotic and destructive. Psycho spiritually speaking, keeping in touch with our soul keeps us in harmony with who we are in our most natural form.
Having a nurturing relationship with oneself is having a life-giving relationship with the world. We can’t operate lovingly on a humanitarian level if we can’t connect lovingly with ourselves.
Writing is either a conscious or unconscious pursuit. Many writers fill their pages and swear black and blue that their narrative means nothing more than what is literally understood. Even though all writers are unconscious of at least some of what they write, the danger lies in being barely conscious of our narratives as a whole. Even those who write for escapism instead of confrontation leave a great deal of wealth buried in their pages for those who can sugar soap the walls.
One way to discover what is burning in the collective is to hook up the similar themes prevailing in writing. These are similar to nocturnal dreams in that they reveal the sacred in us. Similarly, the problems of the collective can be lifted by analysing the dream content of our times.
The collective unconscious runs underneath the personal unconscious like the thick foil base of a tiered cake. Conscious writers ploughing their personal complexes eventually reach the foil base. This is where we realize that many of our inner wars overlap with the struggles belonging to everyone. This analogy can also be compared to the earth’s physical structure. If we deal with the underwater currents to confront our sea monsters we eventually hit a common floor.
Wrestling with our demons under this ground is as hard as hell which explains why Dante described Inferno as being inside the centre of the earth. Processes stirring from the earth’s solid core can drive through volcanic activity that form islands. Symbolically, these islands represent a new consciousness which aim to dilute the collective and propel humanity towards evolution.
Analogously, if we as humans don’t experience great pressure or an extreme disturbance from our depths through the experience of, for example a breakdown or a death of a loved one, it is not possible to experience the type of transformation which is fluid enough to erode the collective. It is only from this deep hole in us – this cold bath of fitful sleep, the breaking up of our childhood roads and cities and this grinding fear of complete loss that consciousness is able to finally gush to the surface.
What point is there of literally reaching out to the stars via a rocket when we don’t even know our own soil? Why worry about living on Mars if we can’t even live receptively on earth? It is easier to pretend to be passionate about what is outside of ourselves because then we don’t have to stand nakedly in front of the mirror.
We can only reach the sacred if we, as Dante, through Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso, explore the meaning of what we’re doing. Writing for escapism is like believing in science without emotion and intuition. Writing consciously can help us take a leap of faith so we can trust in what we don’t yet fully understand. The sacred is largely unknown and more powerful than us. If we allow it to flow through us with hope we take the wick of the candle in the dark and give it light.
Annie Blake (BTeach, GDipEd) is a divergent thinker, a wife and mother of five children. She hopes to one day publish her chapbook ‘Studium Spiritus Sancti’. She is an advocate of autopsychoanalysis and a member of the C G Jung Society of Melbourne, Australia. You can visit her on annieblakethegatherer.blogspot.com.au and https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009445206990.