“Love alone is not enough. Without imagination, love stales into sentiment, duty, boredom. Relationships fail not because we have stopped loving but because we first stopped imagining.”
—James Hillman, The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life, 2012
“Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can, No need for greed or hunger, a brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world … You …
You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.”—John Lennon, “Imagine,” 1971
At Prairiewoods’ Spirituality in the 21st Century event last weekend, mythologist Sharon Blackie spoke eloquently of eminent archetypal psychologist James Hillman’s understanding of imagination as a soul-making instrument. The mythic imagination, Sharon suggests, offers a pathway to spiritual awareness. It is an instrument for going deeper. Archetypes like the deep forest, the wild sea, the wise crone, the wicked stepmother or the innocent ingenue all play a role in the stories we keep and tend in our own human drama. The story of “The Handless Maiden” features the heroine’s (and hero’s) journey toward healing and wholeness, and fuller, deeper, more authentic identity through the experience of separation, loss and trauma. Imagination itself tethers us to the creative processes necessary for profound insight and healing. It reminds me of the legendary court magician Merlin who used to turn the lad Arthur (later King Arthur of the Round Table) into various animals to teach him what he could not learn as a human being. The lessons Arthur learned from being a hawk or a fish, for example, awakened in him a desire to call forth the qualities of broader vision, might used only FOR right, and justice for all.
What might we learn from exercising our imagination?
This is a game I used to play as a child:
(Squatting low, hands on ground between my feet and knees, eyes bulging as prominently as possible, fingers and toes splayed as widely as they would spread …)
Blub, blub, gurgle, blurch
Blub, blub, gurgle, blurch
Sproing! Sproing! R’deep. R’deep.
Mmmm, swooping wingy, splurrrch, smip, grdunk, grdunk
In my imagination, “I” was a luminescent, happy, fromping frog, hopping about the lily pads in the dark, swirling pond, croaking for my mates, my “army” as I learned they were called by us human-kin (so obsessed with the battle paradigm, are we). And once “Froggy-I” spotted an iridescent dragonfly hovering about my pad, I slung out my titillated tongue and slurp, dinner time! It was delightful being a lounging, glistening frog, cool and refreshing, joyful and pretty intense, because once I slung out my tongue to capture the creature of light, “Dragonfly-I” I became. Another wild adventure, another incredibly magical journey into light and joy!
Then it was the maple tree, the peony blossom, the buzzing yellow jacket, the chirping chipmunk, the magnificent cardinal, the ant on the clover leaf, then the leaf itself. I became the wind, the earthworm, the morning star, the cherry tomato, the shimmering moon. And they were all somehow me. They and I together were the Big “WE.” I learned so much. They were my best teachers … until formal education intervened. Then they taught me to be “logical,” as Roger Hodgson sang:
“When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical
And all the birds in the trees, well they’d be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh responsible, practical
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynicalThere are times when all the world’s asleep
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man
Won’t you please, please tell me what we’ve learned
I know it sounds absurd
Please tell me who I am.”—Supertramp, “The Logical Song,” 1979
Now that this time of “PanDeepening” is upon us, imagination is more crucial to our global family than ever. What if we awoke the imaginal cells of our human consciousness? What if, like the caterpillar seemingly dormant in the enveloping cocoon, we are really doing the most important work of transformation by cultivating our imaginal cells? In exercising our communal imagination, might we recover our sense of the big “WE,” the one in which we humans are not in a starring role at the center of the drama? What if we’re not in charge, not in control? We don’t get top billing on the marquee. What if we may be up for the most amazing supporting role of our global drama? If we can relearn the art of play, of listening to the Mother tongue that creation sings each day, the language of love, maybe we will live into the sweetness and the thrall of our primary calling. What if imagination propels us out of isolation and despair, and into the heart of authentic belonging? It might represent our next evolutionary leap, where we recognize at last: We are NOT #1. We ARE one.
AAAWWWHOOO
AAAWWWHOOO
Who cooks for you??
Still
Still
Blink
Swoooooop
Clutch, hold, hold, hold
Swivel to peer, search, scan
AAAWWWHOOO
AAAWWWHOOO
Who cooks for you??
Still
Still
Ruffle
Gaze
Swivel
Who am I? Can you guess? Imagine! (Responses are welcome in the comments on Facebook! The creature-kin will be revealed in next week’s blog!)
—Laura Weber, Prairiewoods associate-director and retreats coordinator