I’m now published in a Jungian magazine! I had an essay and a poem selected for the Spring 2012 Depth Insight magazine.

The essay is the analysis of Terrence Malick’s film The Tree of Life–which you might have seen on Sooth and Lies. Our version has pictures.

The poem is Bedtime Prayer–which also was published on Sooth and Lies here.

Download your free PDF of the Depth Insights magazine here. My poem is on page 20, and my essay is on pages 25 and 26.

A nose

Smell rock had been digital for years. Occasionally, a do-it-yourself friendly kid would discover­­—in a basement, or at a garage sale or a thrift store—the technological remnants of a preceding musical era that was in retrospect referred to as “analog smell rock”*[footnote], and begin experimenting with home smell recording as an ironic way to protest the mainstream sound/smell.

The odd independent nu-analog smellsicion played to small groups at deliberately lo-tech, obsessively underground-ambienced clubs. But, by and large, digital smell rock ruled the digital airwaves and silent clubs.

The technological advance that precipitated the adoption of digital smell rock was direct neural implantation. Soon after the invention of direct neural implantation, a single digital jack mounted at the back or side of the head replaced the ubiquitous earbuds of a generation of IPod listeners. The jack pumped audio and video signals directly into vision and speech centers in the brain, and in return delivered equally rich raw data, triggered by the users’ own mental behaviors, back in the opposite direction. Eventually, the system went completely wireless.

At the same time, the aforementioned “silent clubs” began to emerge around the country. These clubs delivered both live and recorded music shows as a digital signal, and smell rock fans listened to the music by way of their direct neural implants. Silent clubs sounded very much like a regular bar without music playing—there were occasional quiet conversations, drink orders, clinking glassware—but new club goers often found the additional strange sounds of the shuffling and breathing unselfconscious majority who had immersed themselves in the music, dancing or moving in sync to a common, silent soundtrack unsettling. But once one paid the cover charge, and tuned into the signal, one slipped easily into the stream of augmented information, as if one had crossed an invisible second set of doors that marked the boundary between the exoteric and esoteric club.

Initially, direct neural implantees controlled the relative volume of the music and the ambient bar noise through thought commands. Over time, controls became more sophisticated and dynamic. Filter packages could block out background noise, selectively mute or highlight individual voices, translate and provide subtitles for most languages, and constantly adjust the relative sound levels of each information source in response to the direction of the implantee’s attention.

Additionally, optional visual effects were often included as either part of the venue’s atmosphere package, or the band’s stage show. For example, a retro club might have a sepia tone filter package, which would cause everyone present to see the world through the shared sepia filter. Or a band might have specific lighting, tone, or other visual effect filters programmed to reinforce the mood and mental states they wished to communicate with their music.

When direct neural implant technology advanced to include other sensory perception, like taste and smell, the fringe musical subgenre of smell rock began to catch on very fast. Live bands and DJs had dedicated, live smellsicions, who used programmed keypads, tablet screens, or internal computers to craft and deliver the digital smell mix that complemented the audio portion of the music.

Digital smell was very different from analog smell. While analog scents arrived and departed in slow swells, digital smells could be turned on and off instantly. They could be layered or sandwiched between other contrasting smells. Their strength could be manipulated in a myriad different ways.

These differences fundamentally altered the sound of smell rock. Smell rock became faster and more visceral. A new subgenre, called “stink rock”, became popular. Some bands were known for live shows that assaulted the senses of the audiences with strong, challenging odors.

In response, retro-influenced nu-analog smell rock surged in popularity among musicians and fans who preferred the sounds and smells of the mellower subgenres, such as in meditation, soundscape, and trance applications.

*Original smell rockers simply called the genre “smell rock”. Not only was “smell rock” sufficiently specific at the time, but the modifier “analog” was a little misleading, considering the fact that the smells were the only part of the music that was analog. Listeners bought or rented the audio portion of the earliest albums in digital format, after all.

Initially, the first smell rock albums included a simple package of essential oils—the only physical element of the otherwise digital medium. Listeners would receive instructions to open individual custom odor tinctures at various points—for example, at the start of each song on an album.

Eventually, a few pioneers designed home smell machines, which would emit little puffs of odorized air, triggered by code embedded in the digital songs.

Until the advent of 100 percent digital smell rock technology, smell rock remained a very fringe musical subgenre.

[back to text]

Oedipus and the Sphinx, by Gustave Moreau

I came upon a man adept at knowing
For he walked the way the wind was blowing
And at his waist, the jug he carried chanted
He said the wind was glad his wish was granted

I don’t believe you
How can you know what’s true?

We walked through fields and saw a harvest growing
We ate the fruit and grew strength to keep going
In spite of how much food I would devour
Walking on took all of my will power

I’m not sure I can
Follow through on my plan

The fiery sun began to blaze upon me
I spied a tree and soon sleep fell upon me
But soon I leaped up and began to dance
Each loop around the tree saw us advance

One-two-three-four-five
One-two-three-four-five-six

And when we finished dancing we stopped talking
And, like two eagles, flew instead of walking
On we flew until we reached an ocean
Where I saw what we had set in motion

. . .
. . . . .
. . .

Yesterday, we began to explore the Jungian symbolism of Almodóvar’s “The Skin I Live In”. Today, we are diving into part of the Heracles myth, the Chariot card of the Tarot, and the Hebrew letter Cheth.

Heracles and the Shirt of Nessus

The Shirt of Nessus

Another idea to consider at this point is the story of the Shirt of Nessus. In Greek mythology, Nessus was a mischievous centaur who attempted to kidnap and rape Heracles’ wife, Deianeira. But Heracles rescued her by shooting Nessus with a poisoned arrow.

Before he dies, Nessus gives Deianeira his blood stained tunic, and tells her that if Heracles wears it that he will be eternally devoted to her. But it is a trick, and when Heracles eventually wears the tunic, the centaur’s blood burns Heracles so badly that his only relief is to throw himself on a funeral pyre.

The parallels to “The Skin I Live In” are obvious. Two rivals—one an obvious Trickster archetype—fight over the love of one woman. Their rivalry results in a character being horribly burned.

Even further, consider this passage from Jung’s “The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious”, where Jung compares Heracles while wearing the Shirt of Nessus to a person trapped by the illusion of the Persona:

“The garment of Deianeira has grown fast to his skin, and a desperate decision like that of Heracles is needed if he is to tear this Nessus shirt from his body and step into the consuming fire of the flame of immortality, in order to transform himself into what he really is. Once could say, with a little exaggeration, that the persona is that which in reality one is not, but which oneself as well as others think one is. In any case the temptation to be what one seems to be is great, because the persona is usually rewarded in cash.”

The lesson for us is clear: if we fool ourselves into thinking some idealized subset of our personality is our true self, we will end up being a prisoner to that illusion. Eventually, we will become so desperate to escape the trap that we have created for ourselves that we will accept any promise of freedom, no matter what terrifying, destructive conditions it may bring.

Trump 7 - The Chariot

The Chariot

Finally, let us go one layer deeper into the symbolism of “The Skin I Live In.” To do this, let me first introduce you to the seventh trump of the Tarot, named “The Chariot”. In the illustration of card that appears above, we see a knight on a chariot. A crab is perched on the knight’s helmet. The knight carries a grail, and his chariot is pulled by four cherubs. On the bottom border are the Hebrew letter Cheth and the astrological symbol for Cancer.

Paul Foster Case, in “The Tarot: A Key to the Wisdom of the Ages” gives a fantastic description of the Chariot card. Here are some of his initial comments.

“The chariot itself is a movable fence, corresponding to the letter Cheth.”

“[Cheth] means a field, and the fence enclosing it. “Fence” suggests enclosure, protection, defense; specific location; an area set apart for cultivation. It also implies shielding, safeguard, refuge, safety. Thus it corresponds to the ideas represented by the words carapace and shell.”

“Cancer, the Crab, a cardinal, watery sign, is attributed to Cheth. Here we see the connection between the letter-name, “fence”, and the crab’s hard carapace.”

The Hebrew letter Cheth evolved from an ancient pictogram for a fence. The chariot is described as a “movable fence”. A fence protects something precious by enclosing it.  We can see how the knight’s armor, the grail, the chariot, the symbol for Cancer, and the Hebrew letter Cheth all point to this central idea.

Parallels in “The Skin I Live In”

Now let us consider some of the ways that “The Skin I Live In” uses the same set of symbols to describe the same essential idea.

First, the opening shots are of a gated Spanish villa in Toledo. Even the name of the villa, El Cigarral, is ripe with meaning. The word, which literally means a garden, has a shared etymology with the English word “cicada” (“cigarra” in Spanish). Indeed, as we look through the gate, we hear the buzzing of the cicadas in the background.

The fence enclosing El Cigarral, from the opening scene

The surface meaning fits the setting—the villa is indeed a garden. But the deeper origins of the word align with the central theme of the film. The garden is encircled with a fence, the cicada has a shell-like exoskeleton, and each of us has a “skin” that serves as the vehicle of our identity.

A second correlation lies in the use of cars. The first obvious example is that Gal is maimed in a burning car. But another more subtle point is that we never see Robert venture beyond the enclosure of his villa without the protection of his car. Seven times we see or hear him arriving or departing in his car. The word “car” has the same etymology as “chariot”, and it serves the same functional role as the Chariot card—a car transports the precious passengers to their destination, protected in a shell.

The Letter Cheth

Third, let’s look deeper into the Hebrew letter Cheth. The letter Cheth represents the “ch” sound at the beginning of the word Chanukah. As I mentioned earlier, it evolved from a pictogram that meant fence—the same pictogram that the English letter “H” evolved from. You can even see the remnant of the two posts and horizontal beam of a fence in both the Hebrew and English letters.

The evolution of the Hebrew "Cheth", and the English "H"

While the symbol refers to a fence, as a word, “cheth” means “beast”. The presence of Zeca as a beast springs immediately to mind.

The root of Cheth is “Chayah”. Unlike English, Hebrew was originally written using just consonants. The vowels were something you added as you read, based on tradition and intuition. By applying different combinations of vowels to these sets of consonants, you can create completely different words.

Depending on the vowels applied, Chayah can mean: to live; to revive, to keep alive, to give (promise) life, (let, suffer to) live, nourish up, preserve (alive), quicken, recover, repair, restore (to life), revive, save (alive, life, lives), to be whole.

The relation to the film is clear. Robert saves Gal from the burning car, and keeps her alive. He finds his daughter, Norma, in the garden after she is raped, and revives her. Twice, when Vera attempts suicide, Robert saves her life, and repairs her.

The car accident that maimed Gal

The Deeper Meaning of the Chariot

Finally, let’s look at the spiritual meaning of the tarot card. Returning to Paul Foster Case’s description of the Chariot, we read:

“The more perfectly we understand that the office of human personality is to serve as a vehicle for cosmic forces, the more freely does the Primal Will behind all manifestation find expression through us. […] We ourselves will learn from practice that the strength of our volition is measured by the degree of our willingness to let life find unobstructed manifestation through us.”

While we have been discussing the symbolism of the tarot card, the underlying meaning is the essential point. The Chariot represents the human personality “as a vehicle”. Our more superficial ideas of identity are just a container to house the life that flows through everything. Robert doesn’t understand this. He has mistaken the shell for the reality. Vicente, transformed into Vera, is forced to confront these issues of true identity.

Returning one last time to Paul Foster Case, we read the technique for letting go of the superficial forms, to connect with something deeper:

“Relaxation of body, passivity of mind, one-pointed attention to the real presence in our personal field of the limitless powers of the whole universe, with progressive freedom in the expression of those powers as our dominant purpose—this is the infallible practical formula for triumph in the mind and elsewhere.”

This sounds very reminiscent of the words of the yoga instructor that Vera listens to on her television:

“There’s a place where you can take refuge, a place inside you, a place to which no one else has access, a place that no one can destroy. To access that place there is yoga, an ancient technique. It’s a place where you’ll find peace, where you’ll find tranquility, freedom. But you must practice it continuously, intensely, and then you’ll achieve it. Be careful, however, not to confuse health and form, with deep truth.”

Conclusion

The many parallels between Almodóvar’s “The Skin I Live In”, Jung’s concepts of the Persona, and the meaning and symbolism of the Chariot card of the Tarot are undeniable. But however we approach the film, we arrive at the same destination. Even without understanding Jung or the Tarot, when we watch as Vera escapes and returns to the dress shop where she used to work; when we see her tearfully deliver the last lines of the film, “I am Vicente”; we come away with the same appreciation of the idea that underneath everything, there is a spark of self that burns faithfully—no matter how much our outsides have changed.

To sum up the lesson underlying “The Skin I Live In”, Jung’s discussion of the Persona, and the Chariot card: our bodies, our gender, our social image, and even our personality are not our true selves. They are just a vehicle for a more universal life force. Once we accept this premise, we can begin to connect to the deeper part of our selves. Two obvious examples of methods for nurturing this connection are yoga, and the mystical practices taught by people like Paul Foster Case. There are many other methods that will work for different people. They often include techniques like relaxation, stilling the thought-process, or practicing sustained attention on a single idea. Once you find your method, practice it with passion and perseverance.

L’Chaim!

Vera, practicing yoga

Elena Anaya as Vera in "The Skin I Live In"

As an Almodóvar fan, I am well aware of the fact that his films often plumb the depths of human psychology. So I was not surprised when I settled down to watch “The Skin I Live In” and found that Almodóvar had once again explored the world of the archetypes.

After the first viewing, I was tempted to analyze the film as an exploration of the Jungian archetype of the Persona. The Persona, in Jungian terms, is the collection of masks that we wear in all of our different social situations. The presence of this archetype is indeed strong in the story. But the film goes deeper than this. Over the next few days, it slowly dawned on me that the film’s symbolism is neatly aligned to the symbolism of the seventh trump of the Tarot deck, The Chariot. The correspondence is unmistakable. I will describe some correlations later in this essay. There is also a parallel to one episode in the Greek myth of Heracles that deserves exploration.

One note before you read further: Almodóvar weaves his story through the heavy use of flashbacks and twists, as he does in many other films. These serve an important role in the unfolding of this tale, so please do not spoil the story for yourself by reading ahead until you’ve seen the film.

Chronological Backstory

Twelve years before the opening scene, Robert Ledgard’s wife, Gal, ran away with Robert’s half-brother, Zeca. Their car crashed and caught fire, leaving Gal horribly burned. Robert, a doctor, saved her life, and she eventually healed. To prevent Gal from seeing herself, the family kept the house mirror-free and shrouded in darkness. But when she finally saw her maimed face for the first time, she was so upset that she jumped from her bedroom window. Her young daughter Norma witnessed the suicide and was left psychologically scarred.

Six years later, Robert’s daughter Norma was released from psychiatric care to attend a wedding with her father. That night, Vicente, a young man who worked in a dress shop, crashed the party. Vicente was high on pills and looking for love, so when he met Norma he did not notice that she was psychologically unstable. They went for a walk in the garden, and when she naively removed her constrictive clothing, he took it as an invitation for sex. She resisted, and Vicente raped her and left her unconscious. Norma, further traumatized, was returned to psychiatric care, where she eventually committed suicide like her mother.

Robert Ledgard responded to this tragedy by abducting Vicente and performing sex reassignment surgery on him. Over the next six years, Robert molded Vicente into a physical recreation of Robert’s dead wife, Gal. There is one key difference, however: he has genetically engineered Vicente’s skin to be burn proof.

When the transformation is complete, Robert tells Vicente that from now on, she will be called Vera. Vera is Spanish for “true”, and this ironic name is a symbol for the deception at the heart of the movie: that Vera is a woman, and that one’s “shell” is one’s true self.

Non-Linear Storytelling

The audience is completely unaware of this backstory during the opening scenes of the film. Instead, we begin by being introduced to a mysterious woman who is some kind of prisoner and patient at a Spanish villa in Toledo. We see her practicing yoga, reading books, and working on sculptures—always dressed in a flesh-colored skin suit. We learn that her captor is a well-dressed professional named Robert, who spends his time giving lectures on reconstructive cosmetic surgery for burn victims; experimenting with genetically engineered, burn-resistant skin; and treating Vera like some strange hybrid of prisoner, patient, and work-of-art.

Robert, with a Titian nude in the background

Robert, viewing his patient as a 2-dimensional work of art

It is only in the second half, as the film adopts the point-of-view view of Vicente that we begin to be able to fit the pieces together. Gradually, we learn that Vera is, in fact, Vicente.

In addition to the fact that it is simply good, dramatic storytelling, the non-linear structure allows us to fall prey to the deception that Robert has created by changing Vicente into Vera, a lie that even he begins to believe himself. As I will explain further, Robert’s lie is a symbol of the lie that many of us tell ourselves about our own identity and the people we love. When we finally learn the truth, it is as shocking as when we have an illusion about our identity rudely shattered.

Robert and the Persona

Robert is a superficial man. He has succumbed to the illusion that appearances are all that matter. There are countless examples of this throughout the film. His first words in the film are, “our faces identify us”. His appearance is always impeccable. His house is decorated with several nude paintings, each a tribute to the female form. Even in times of crisis he reverts to a shallow outlook. For example, at one point in the film he goes to visit his daughter at the psychiatric facility. He demands of the doctor “can’t you put her in a dress? In that gown she looks worse than she is.”

In short, he is an appropriate personification of Jung’s concept of the Persona. As I mentioned earlier, the Persona, in Jungian terms, is the surface identity that we create and display in our various social situations.

Robert’s role as the Persona is further emphasized by the way the camera repeatedly shows him switching from one coat to another as he dons the roles of lecturer, scientist, and doctor in turn—essentially, he is choosing a different mask for each new situation.

Robert, changing into a lab coat

Robert, getting his overcoat

The Persona is a two-edged sword. It is necessary for helping our interactions with others stay smooth and simple. For example, a doctor’s professional demeanor and white coat tell us that we can relax and trust her expertise, instead of forcing us to tediously go through her entire work history before we get a simple checkup.

But the danger of the Persona is in the temptation to mistake it for the whole truth about us. It is not our identity; it leaves out many socially unacceptable truths about us. These rejected bits form the Shadow—the unacknowledged, dark side that each of us possesses.

Robert, being fixated on his own Persona, has forgotten the Shadow, and therefore has a stunted understanding of his own identity and motivations. For example, he believes that he is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Ledgard. But Robert’s servant, Marilia, reveals to us that Mrs. Ledgard was infertile, and that Marilia is his real mother.

Additionally, as Robert undertakes the project of transforming Vicente into Vera, he seems to not understand his own motivations at all. When Marilia observes, “she reminds me of someone”, meaning that Vera resembles Gal, Robert denies it. “All the women I’ve operated on end up reminding you of someone.” When Marilia confronts him again, and questions his motivations, he asks, “How are you so sure of what I feel if even I don’t know?”

While the transformation of Vicente into Vera is complete, Robert still maintains that he hasn’t thought about what he will do next. Vera asks if they can try to live together as a couple. He cannot admit his desire and accept her advances.

His servant Marilia says that if he doesn’t kill Vera, that she will kill herself. “History repeats itself,” she says. This sets Robert off. Vera is a “survivor” and her skin is designed so that it cannot be burned. She will not end up like his wife Gal.

Since Robert is disconnected from his true self, he cannot do anything but mindlessly react to the past, and endlessly repeat the tragic patterns until an outside force can break through.

Zeca, disguised as a tiger

Zeca and the Shadow

Sure enough, history does repeat itself. Marilia’s violent son, Zeca, arrives at the villa, El Cigarral, dressed up in a tiger costume. He is taking advantage of Carnaval to mask his identity after committing a robbery, and needs a place to stay. His arrival spells trouble.

When Zeca sees Vera on a video monitor, he mistakes her for Gal, and is consumed with lust. He ties his mother up, breaks into Vera’s room, and rapes her. Vera is at first terrified, but then she realizes that Zeca might be the means of her escape from captivity. But before Zeca finishes, Robert returns to the house and kills him.

At this point, let’s pause to consider a few brief statements by Jung about the Trickster archetype.

“In picaresque tales, in carnivals and revels […] this phantom of the trickster haunts the mythology of all ages, sometimes in strangely modulated guise.”

“His fondness for sly jokes and malicious pranks, his powers as a shape-shifter, his dual nature, half animal, half divine, his exposure to all kinds of tortures.”

“He possesses no values, moral or social, is at the mercy of his passions and appetites.”

“He does the most atrocious things from sheer unconsciousness and unrelatedness.”

Elsewhere, Jung described the Trickster archetype as a manifestation of the Shadow. In an individual’s personality, Shadow and Persona serve as a pair of equal and opposing forces; the metaphorical angel and devil perched on each shoulder of so many conflicted cartoon characters. As Robert’s unacknowledged half-brother, Zeca is clearly a stand-in for the Shadow. And with his wild animal nature, his penchant for grotesque disguises, and his willingness to do anything to satisfy his appetites, he is a clear example of the Trickster archetype.

True, Zeca is violent, destructive, and dangerous. But his ability to do harm only exists in direct relation to Robert’s rigid attachment to appearances. For example, shortly before Zeca’s arrival, Vera was throwing herself at Robert, hoping to give herself to him in exchange for more freedom. But Robert couldn’t acknowledge that he desired Vera. Zeca, however, lustily embodies those rejected desires.

Furthermore, twelve years ago, when Zeca first showed up in Robert’s life, Marilia says she “hid him in an outhouse. But Gal found him. She took a fancy to him, and they ended up running away together.” The story does not explain Gal’s motivations any deeper than this, but why would she run away if she were happy with Robert? And why would she run away with someone so clearly dangerous, unless she were either desperate to escape from a trapped situation, or so dissatisfied with Robert’s extreme one-sided nature that Zeca’s opposite qualities became appealing to her?

Indeed, it’s the same dynamic all over again. Robert traps a woman, and his Shadow opposite must restore balance and free her. But the two brothers are so diametrically opposed, that every confrontation ends in horrible violence.

Part 2 explores the film’s relation to an episode from the myth of Heracles, and the esoteric meaning of the Chariot card of the Tarot.

Venus of Dolni Vestonice. Photo by Petr Novák, Wikipedia

Friday, June 29

In between spurts of violent typing, Leroy Zooloft’s fingers hovered well above the laptop keyboard, waiting for his next thought. His typing sounded like distant volleys of gunfire, minus the yelling and screaming. Leroy had learned to type on a mechanical typewriter, where a little verve was a useful trait.

His phone rang. He only answered because the caller ID said “Alex”.

“What are you doing?” Alex sounded oddly chipper.

“I’m writing an essay about the Chauvet Cave paintings.”

“That’s not the Native American rock art up by Santa Barbara, is it?”

“No, you’re thinking of the Chumash Painted Cave. The Chauvet Cave is in France.”

“Oh, right. This is the cave in the Werner Herzog documentary?”

“That’s the one.”

“So, are you writing an analysis of the film?”

“No. As I said, I’m writing an essay about the cave, not Werner Herzog.”

“But you saw the film, right?”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked the cave.”

“So, is the cave a symbol of the subconscious?”

“The unconscious.” Leroy corrected. “But you didn’t call to talk about cave art, did you?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s up?”

“I want to go to the funeral.”

“Absolutely not. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really have to ask? Imagine Larissa’s family at the funeral. Are they going to be happy to see their daughter’s one-night-stand from her last night on earth?”

“I wasn’t planning on introducing myself. Besides, it wasn’t necessarily going to be a one-night stand.”

“Oh really?”

“Well, who can say? But I do feel that we had a bit of a connection. Obviously it was too early to know for sure, but I feel like I was robbed of the chance to get to know her better. I think I should pay my respects, and hear what her friends and family have to say about what she meant to them.”

“I think I see what’s going on here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leroy sighed. “I’ll just say one thing, and then we’ll drop it. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think that maybe sometimes you try to force an emotional connection with someone only when the situation is impossible, because it’s safer to deal with than a real, workable connection?”

“Can you make that less abstract?”

“You’re only interested in going to the funeral because there’s no possible way anything can come of it.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here at all.”

“Ok.” Leroy decided not to press it.

“So are you coming with me?”

“To the funeral? Colleen is probably going to be there. I have no intention of surprising her by showing up to her friend’s funeral unannounced.”

“So call her.”

“And say what? ‘Hey, this is that guy that you went out with the other day. Sorry your friend died, why don’t we make a second date out of her funeral?’”

“No, say that you’re calling because you heard the news, express your sympathies, and say that you were hoping to go to the funeral, but wanted to check with her first, just in case you going would make her uncomfortable.”

“And what if she says that she would rather I didn’t show up?”

“She won’t. But if she does, you can just explain that you’re only there because I asked you to go with me. And I’m not asking her permission.”

“That’s pretty good.”

“Of course it is.”

–

Colleen only answered the phone because she didn’t have her glasses on, and couldn’t read the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Colleen? This is Leroy.”

“Oh. Hi, Leroy.” She didn’t sound excited.

“Listen, I heard about Larissa, and I wanted to express my deepest sympathies.”

“Well, thank you.”

“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.” Did he detect a note of finality in the way she said “thanks”?

“And I mean it. I know it’s one of those things that people often say, without really meaning it. And I also don’t mean it in a creepy romantic way. I’m definitely not trying to use this situation to get a second date.” Oh god, what was he saying?

“That’s good to know…”

“That came out wrong. Listen, I had another reason for calling, and it’s a little awkward.”

“Uh huh…” She sounded unsurprised.

“My friend Alex really wants to go to the funeral, and asked if I would go with him for emotional support. He’s obviously a little shaken up by the whole situation, and thinks that going to the funeral might give him some kind of closure. But I wanted to call you first, to make sure that me being there wouldn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Silence.

“I’m guessing by your silence that you feel a little uncomfortable.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I do. It’s a little weird to imagine you two at the funeral.”

“I understand. I didn’t really think it was appropriate for us to go, either. I tried to talk Alex out of going, but he has his heart set on it. I’ll be glad to stay away myself though.”

“No, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m just trying to get my head around it.”

“I kind of put you on the spot. It wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. Can we just pretend I didn’t call? Or that I called to offer sympathy, and then just gracefully ended the call?”

“Leroy, I really should get going.”

“Of course, I’ll let you go. But I really do mean the offer to help out. Grocery shopping, an errand, anything that you need, or you think that Larissa’s family needs right now, please let me know.”

“That’s too much, and not at all necessary. Listen, if you still want to go to the funeral to provide emotional support for your friend, that’s fine. But you should know that trying to decide whether I’m interested in seeing more of you is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“I understand. I really have no intention of pursuing that right now. Thanks for being big about the funeral awkwardness.”

Leroy hung up the phone. That went horribly. Really, it couldn’t have been much worse. She essentially told him that she wasn’t interested in him, and that seeing him would be weird. But now he would have to go to the funeral, just to show her that he really was only going to support his friend.

He looked at the essay on his computer screen, and at the cursor blinking uneasily at the end of his first few paragraphs.

“During the Upper Paleolithic era, when glaciers covered Europe, and where the artists responsible for the paintings at Chauvet cave lived, hunted, and dreamed, man lived much closer to his Unconscious. Indeed, humanity stood at the mouth of the yawning cave of emotion, inspiration, and spirituality, barely able to distinguish their own individual thoughts from those of the rest of the tribe. This world of possibility must have seemed so intimidating and immense to their nascent intellect.

“One interesting point is that the subjects of the paintings in Chauvet are, like most cave paintings of the time, exclusively the animals they observed. What few figures that archeologists have found from this era that depict human forms are figures of archetypal femininity—totems to fertility with exaggerated breasts, hips, and sex organs. Even more so than today, Paleolithic man idealized woman and associated her with the Unconscious.

“The concept of the feminine as an ineffable, limitless vessel of life and desire had much in common with the caves wherein Paleolithic man painted. The dark recesses of the caves carried the same unknowable profundity, the gaping mouth of the cave a doorway to the fecundity of Mother Earth. The place that accepted the bodies of the dead and the place where men experience the “little death” were no doubt linked in their minds. They adored both, and feared both. How could they ever know what mysteries she held? How could anyone but the most reverential artist and visionary be worthy to adorn her walls with the product of his creative impulse?”

It really couldn’t have gone much worse, could it? Leroy thought.

To be continued…

These snapshots are just from a simple digital camera, but the scenery is so rich that I think it overcomes the medium. Still, it does tempt me to really try to do it justice with some quality film, or a series of watercolor paintings.

Tillandsia circinalis

Friday, June 29

Detective Robin Leigh stepped across the threshold of Gerald Fitzgerald’s condo, the oh-so-quiet squish of the rubber soles of her leather lace up boots brought to audible levels by the hardwood floors and general lack of upholstered surfaces.

Ikea bookshelves; several Alex Grey prints mounted in simple black picture frames; a drafting table covered with sheets of manuscript illumination, obviously practice pieces; an LCD television; a mail-rental DVD sleeve labeled: “Babylon 5: Season 5, Disc 1”; a dusty glass bowl containing pebbles and the desiccated corpse of an epiphytic bromeliad; a framed photograph of a man and what were clearly his daughters, the smiles marred by the obvious visual imbalance of the composition; a freezer containing six bags of frozen broccoli and a large package of frozen hamburger patties; groceries spaced on refrigerator shelves as roomily as clothing at a very expensive boutique clothing store; a toilet lid down; a hall closet with a single, uncategorized pile of dirty clothes; an undecorated bedroom.

Detective Leigh knew a great deal about Gerald Fitzgerald.

The condo manager fluttered noiselessly in her white summer dress, her body a tense mix of restraint and curiosity.  She maintained a one-room cushion, but peered into the next room, eyes latched to the detective’s head, following her gaze from one item to the net in a vain attempt to decrypt the meaning of each object concurrently with the detective.

The detective’s eyes finally settled on a phone charging station near the front door. A short stack of business cards bore Gerald Fitzgerald’s name, title, and place of employment—the Naval Submarine Warfare Center at Port Hueneme.

–

The Navy Program manager recognized Detective Leigh’s voice.

“Do you have news about Ron?” he asked.

“No news about Ron, unfortunately. As I told you yesterday, without the LoJack working there’s not much for us to go on. We have to passively wait, hoping that he—or his car—will show up, undamaged. But were you going to call us about the other one? Losing two employees in one week is a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

“The other one? Oh, do you mean Gerald? Well, he’s not missing is he?”

“His family seems to think he is. When did he last show up for work?”

“Wednesday. But I didn’t report him missing because he was scheduled to go on vacation starting Thursday. I can send you the vacation request form that we approved last month, if you like.”

“No, that’s quite alright.” His answer was too forthcoming and quick, and her instinct told her not to press.

This didn’t make sense. Gerald’s adult daughters called this morning because their father hadn’t shown up for “movie night” last night, and hadn’t answered his phone at all. Why on earth would he have planned a vacation for at least a month, without telling his daughters?

Plus she had seen no evidence of travel plans in his condo.

It made much more sense to assume that the Program Manager was lying. If so, his practiced explanation and potentially forged paperwork made the situation very serious. The thought made her normally firm stomach flutter a bit.

–

Detective Leigh walked into the Whistling Thistle Bar & Grill at 1:30pm. A patron sat alone at the end of the bar. The bartender looked up and froze in recognition.

“Blaine Bish.” She had a way of stretching the syllables out that seemed at once friendly and chiding.

“Are you following me, detective?” Blaine attempted a smirk, and instantly regretted it.

“Should I be?” Blaine still couldn’t tell if she were asking him seriously or jokingly. This must be a police technique. He should treat it like a joke, obviously. But he had paused too long for a laugh to sound appropriate at this point. Maybe if he tried to reply with a humorous comeback, it would seem like the pause was just him thinking up something witty.

“Only if you have a license… to be bored.” He said. Terrible.

Detective Leigh made a face like she were about to sneeze. “I’m actually here on what I hope is a different matter. Were you working here Wednesday night?”

“I was.”

“Did a Detective Doubt come in, that you know of?”

“There was a detective here on Wednesday night. Older, grey moustache, a little… paunchy.”

“That’s him.”

“He ordered a hefeweizen.”

“Did he say or do anything unusual?”

“Well, what’s unusual for a detective? He talked about how missing person investigations go. He had just the one beer, and then left.”

“Did he leave his beer unattended at any point?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Anyone unusual at the bar that night?”

“No, just the usual suspects—regular patrons, I mean. This bar doesn’t tend to get very crowded often. Is the detective alright?”

“No, he’s not. He’s dead actually.” She watched Blaine’s reaction.

“Jesus.” The blood drained from his face. “What happened?”

“I won’t know for sure until I get the toxicology report from the lab.” She lied. No one was testing Doubt for drugs. The coroner had declared Doubt’s death the result of an arterial embolism brought about by hypertension and stress.

“When did he die?”

“Very early on Thursday morning.”

“Jesus.” He said again. “He was sitting right here two nights ago.” Blaine very much wished that Detective Doubt hadn’t been sitting right there two nights ago.

“Hopefully, it’s natural causes. But I’m just doing my due diligence. And you don’t know of any connection between Detective Doubt and Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“My parents’ neighbor? No.”

“Other than you, of course.”

Blaine’s scrotum puckered again. He shook his head.

Part 10  /  About this series

A melody of twisting laughter;
Reeds and strings in winding harmonies;
A flow of words, delicate and artful;
Organic splashes lapping at the edge of space.

Coalescing in the darkness
A dim awareness grows; I see
The beauty of my thoughts at play,
Heedless of the small observer.

Then, like a lepidopterist I leap
From the shadows; I dash
With mad fury at each fluttering form,
The crude stitches of my muslin net
Straining in the air with each arc of my arm,
Words and sounds disappearing with
Little, vaporous poofs,
Or slipping away through inky eddies
To calmer waters.

And, now, my energy spent,
No trophy in my hand,
My head settles back into the pillow,
And I let go again.

For over a month, I have commemorated each sunrise and sunset, noon, and midnight. The effect has been interesting. Rather than describe a vague sense of shortening days, I could tell you how every day sunrise and sunset inched toward each other, a minute at a time. I could also tell you about how, days dwindling down in our progress to the solstice, I felt my artistic inspiration wane like a flickering candle. But the candle didn’t go out, and today I feel the sunlight begin to change course.

Sower with Setting Sun, by Van Gogh

The fact that an educated adult would feel the need to write about something as simple as observing sunrise and sunset is rather disturbing, when you stop and think about it. Modern humans have been around for 50,000 years, and only in the last century could you easily find humans so entirely disconnected from the world they live in that they might not know when the sun sets, or when the solstice occurred, without being told about it by their computers.

It’s no coincidence. Our progress as a species has gone hand-in-hand with our ability to subdue nature—or at least ignore her when it was not convenient.

Progress vs Nature

For example, consider Standard Time…

Time zones were invented in 1847, and slowly adopted over the next 50 years. Before 1847, each town kept time based on direct observation of the sun. Travel between towns was so slow it didn’t really matter if the clocks at the city 50 miles to your west ran about 4 minutes behind yours.

Then the trains came, and you can imagine the logistical nightmare of trying to accommodate the local time of every city along the line in your train schedule. So we switched to time zones, and it’s much simpler to communicated and coordinate commerce and travel between distant cities.

But, guess what? Because of time zones, “12:00pm” on your clock and “solar noon” are not the same. Solar noon—the sun’s high point for the day—is often more than an hour away from what the clock calls noon. Same goes for solar midnight, 12 hours later. We’ve moved away from something that really exists in the natural world, and have replaced it with an arbitrary number.

Add artificial lighting to the mix. We’re no longer confined to daylight hours for productive work; nor are we limited by our ration of flickering candles. We have bright lights and computer screens available to us 24/7. I’m not going to outline the proven health effects of artificial light, but I’ll share one small example of the effect it has had on our circadian rhythms:

Without electric lighting, most people find that they revert to a biphasic sleep pattern. That is, they have two periods of sleep each day. In Medieval England, they called these two periods “first sleep” and “second sleep”. The time between was often spent making love, thinking about dreams, praying, or meditating. Many a poet used this quiet time to write. How many of us even remember our dreams, let alone spend quiet moments to reflect on their import? Mornings when I roll out of bed and go straight to my computer, I forget almost all of my dreams in the space of 30 seconds.

There’s no doubt that humans have made huge amounts of progress. Often that has required that we temporarily suspend some of our basic traditions. For the sake of progress, the inner world of magic had to be suppressed. We’ve been rewarded for it. Nutrition and life expectancy increased. Leisure time became available to a greater number of the population. And suddenly with health, education, and leisure we can turn inward once again.

Photo ©Alan Friedman avertedimagination.com

Spirituality vs Science

In our progress and prosperity we often abandon outmoded ways of thinking. Scientific progress has dispelled a host of superstitions, and provided more concrete answers about many of the mysteries of the universe.

It’s easy to include all myth and tradition wholesale, when so much of religion has been superstition masquerading as truth, and when so often religion was used as a tool to control people.

Still, on some level, much of the misunderstanding between science and spirituality is a matter of semantics. Think about an ancient sun-worshiper, reciting poetry to a sun god. Our initial reaction might be to chuckle at their naiveté.

But, think of what the sun means to you. There’s the obvious fact that, apart from faint starlight, every ray of light reflected off every surface of every object you have ever observed came from the sun. Also, there’s the small fact that sunlight powers our every action. Our individual, human movements are all powered by plant and/or animal-processed sunlight. Our machines are all powered by the sun—even the ones running on petroleum, because fossil fuels are byproducts of solar energy accumulated in the bodies of ancient plants and animals. All life on earth owes its existence to the sun.

How is that not a description of a powerful God? Sure, it’s not some anthropomorphic spirit living in the sky, but did every ancient sun-worshipper think of the sun as “God” in that facile sense? Even if most did, it’s simply a reflection of the limitation of the mind.

If, after all, God is a product of the mind, then as human minds evolve, wouldn’t one expect “God” to evolve too? Do myth, ritual, and awe have to be entirely abandoned? Or can the objects of our worship not be supplanted by ideas that reflect the evolved state of our human minds?

Why Ritual?

Beyond recognizing the power of natural forces, why would an atheist engage in ritual? The simple answer is that we’re humans, not machines. Machines operate under sets of delineated, rational rules; we do not. As much as we might like to pretend that our conscious mind decides our every action it’s simply not true.

In scientific speak: we have an autonomic nervous system. This system regulates things like digestion, sexual arousal, heart rate, adrenaline levels, and blood chemistry. Do you think those have any effect on your life or decisions? Of course they do! If these processes get thrown out of balance we experience anxiety disorders, depression, mood swings.

Does it seem like a coincidence that, in the more technologically developed parts of the world, where we are so out of touch with nature and our own subconscious selves, we experience vastly increased levels of depression and anxiety?

Pharaoh Akhenaten worshiping the sun

How does ritual fit into the equation? Patterns, symbols, song, and play—essential components of rituals—work to align our conscious and subconscious halves. A clear example of the effectiveness of ritual on the subconscious is children. Children—who generally have not yet learned to suppress the subconscious as well as adults—thrive when their lives are filled with playful routines. Tradition is a vital part of their lives. If you don’t believe me, ask any five-year-old what should happen at bedtime, and you know they’ll answer “a story”.

As an adult, ritual is designed to fulfill the same role, on a deeper level. Ritual is quality time spent with our own subconscious. Rituals are designed to rehabilitate the often ignored and pathological subconscious, and help foster communication between our two halves.

How to do a Ritual

Complete rituals are ones that incorporate all parts of our psyche. At a minimum, this means our conscious and unconscious halves. In practical terms, this could mean including both logical, verbal elements and non-verbal symbolism, such as music or incense. A ritual designed to do every day is very useful for rehabilitating the subconscious.

For example, given our topic, daily acknowledgement of the sun can be very powerful. The ritual I’ve used is from Liber Resh, but you could very easily design your own. The key points are:

• It is done four times a day, if possible; at sunrise, solar noon, sunset, and solar midnight.
• Each time, face a different cardinal direction; east for sunrise, south for noon, west for sunset, and north for midnight
• Each time, say a different greeting, and use a different gesture to symbolize the occasion. If you don’t know what to say, just stop and think about what sunrise, noon, sunset, and midnight mean to you.
• Finally, choose a poem, or a passage that is meaningful to you, and recite it each time after the greeting and gesture.
• Last, and most important, take notes of your experience.

Life is for experimenting, good luck!