In fact, his style is fairly impenetrable most of the time, but there's one central idea of his that nails it for me, namely his idea of 'regression in the service of transcendence'.
AKA, you can't truly go 'up' if you won't go back.
Which reminds me of a piece of scripture I keep coming across which nags at me. In Romans 8 there's a wonderful list of what cannot come between us and the love of our amazing God. We read
"Not death, life, heavenly messengers, dark spirits..."
The writer goes on
"[not] the present, the future, spiritual powers...".
No mention of the past.
A poetic omission? Or something more pointed?
Is part of the message here that, whilst the present and the future are no bar to the love of God, the past very much can be? (I wrote more about this idea of 'hidden meanings' in the post "Secret Messages...".)
In the last little while, I've been feeling pretty confused about how to 'see' God, and 'who' to talk to. And when I was contemplating the Romans 8 verses it suddenly became clear to me how the past was affecting my relationship with Him, and that I probably need to 'go back'.
When I was baptized last year, and up until about two months ago, Jesus felt beautifully clear and present for me. He was my best friend, my brother, and my King; and, notwithstanding the excitement I felt at the idea I came across that he was not facially beautiful (based on Isaiah 53's description of the man of sorrows), I felt I knew 'who' I was leaning on and loving so passionately, and who was accepting and loving me over and over again despite my many and various daily failings.
But a couple of months ago I arrived for a recovery meeting early and popped into the Catholic church nearby to pray. In amongst the postcards of their stained glass was a little pamphlet called "The Secret of Mary" by St. Louis de Montfort, which I felt really drawn to read. This event 'collided' with a whole constellation of others:
- a friend gifting me a beautiful wood carving of the Virgin Mary,
- the start of a nagging, somewhat feminist, concern about the absence of a prominent mother-figure in Scripture and non-Catholic meetings and disciplines,
- college discussions about Jung's Anima and Animus archetypes, the re-realisation that my own feminine side has been under-developed / distorted, and a college recommendation of a book about Mary Magdalene by the Episcopal priest Cynthia Bourgeault,
- a dream in which my pastor's wife was acknowledging me as a strong, independent woman, and subsequently watching a new film about a young woman in the 1800s being encouraged and empowered by her substitute mother.
All of these events happened within the space of a week or so, and for a few days I wondered whether I might commit myself entirely, or at least for a full year, to a practice of connecting exclusively with Marian Divinity.
But before I could talk to my beloved discipler about any of this, two more things happened to rock my little boat and pull my sails around...
Firstly, I started reading Bourgeault's book about "the other Mary", and secondly, a friend and colleague loaned me his copy of The Impersonal Life by Joseph Brenner.
And now I was really in trouble!
Because I discovered I did not want to hear about the possibility of there being a special relationship between Christ and Mary Magdalene. I. DID. NOT.
Nor did I want to go back to suspecting that there are 'bits of the Bible missing' (the so-called gnostic gospels of Mary M and Thomas) and that my understanding of Jesus' teaching was being determined to some extent by politics and bigotry.
Nor did I want to wade into these metaphysically churning and difficult waters of the unitive ground, or subtle imaginal realms.
And I most adamantly did not want to shift towards a sense of Him being none other than my own "I Am".
No no no no no.
Oh what a turmoil I was in.
And then, in marched eight Romans.
I have an image of shaking a small drawstring bag upside down and seeing lots of pieces of a game falling out.
The King who loves me no matter what, with unfailing strength and love became the daddy I used to have before he changed, and the daddy who I never stopped hoping would be his old self again one day so I could be protected.
The brother-confidante Lord became my older brother who I was suddenly separated from and who I searched for in almost every stupid affair I had or wanted to have.
The feminist demand of "Where is the mother-figure?" became the truly terrified infant cry of "Where is MY mother who seems so unable to hold me?"
The much-feared and apparently much-favoured Mary Magdalene who felt horribly in the way between me and the Jesus I thought I was precious to became the little sister who stole away my daddy's affections because according to him she was 'more genuine than me'.
The panic at complicated and "grown up" metaphysics became my ancient anguish at having to grow up so quickly, instead of staying in the innocent simplicity of 'spiritual milk'.
And similarly and finally, the encouragement to shift, from leaning on my powerful and loving King, to the simple contemplation of God being none other than my own "I Am", became the necessity of growing up very very suddenly one night in order to be the responsible one who had to protect my Mummy and save my Daddy's life.
Wowzer.
During college lectures on Jungian archetypes, the repeated mantra was that, until the psychodynamic ground is somewhat cleared of the debris of early years, our access to truly 'archetypal energies' will be blocked by pollution from past experiences. Romans 8. The past can block us from seeing God clearly for who S/He/ is (I am). And so, Washburn. In order to truly 'transcend' and be in clearer relationship with my unfathomable God, I need to thank Her for my therapist, and ask Him (whoever I Am) to go back with me and do some more healing.
With a slightly fuzzy-headed Amen...
No comments:
Post a Comment