Journeys into the bright world

I felt that Howard and I had glimpsed our archetypal selves and that because we are at cross purposes with these models, literally moving in an opposite direction, we register the evolutionary process in terms of pain, or even as a crucifixion. Yet it is this very need to reconcile counterpoised streams of energy that makes the game so interesting. After all, a game needs two teams. Hence, the crypto-conflict is permitted to continue. Perhaps, when we finally finished the contest we would merge again with these idealized entities. The warrior and the queen would then be substantiated by the creative increment of all the subsidiary identities experienced during our many sojourns on earth.

None of this was the answer for which I was searching, or which I had expected to receive. However, this vision did stimulate my thinking with regard to the nature of archetypes. First, I was impressed with the living, pulsing reality of that numinous realm from whence the fleeting images of our phenomenal forms are projected into their diverse modalities. These archetypal precursors of ourselves were no mere blueprints laid out on some ethereal drawing board. Rather, they were the higher-dimensionsl fountainhead of our beings, containing the poignant, pungent, ever-so-nostalgic memory of all that we once were, and at the same time holding forth the hope of all that we may become.

Nor is the traffic between the archetype and its reflection strictly one way. As divinely conceived patterning principles these celestial models might mold us into a multitude of particularized fabrications. But by the same token we can nurture them with the joys and tears, the wisdom and the love, distilled from our many human embodiments.

There is an increasing feedback as we continue, eon after eon, to enact the same dramas. It appeared that Howard and I had played out one spectacle in Egypt and that in certain respects we had now been cast in similar roles here in twentieth century America. Even in our variant guises such as Old Mary and the Orphan Boy we were sounding forth the contrapuntal descants required to produce harmony out of conflict. Apparently we must learn to see ourselves in many different mirrors, some of which are very small facets of the "diamond-souled" Self. Only thus do we gradually learn to distinguish the refracted light beams of our transitory appearances on this planet from the solar splendor of the undying essence within.

Now for the first time I felt that I understood the reason for the widespread interest in catasterism among the ancients. "Catasterism" is the belief that on their deaths noble people are transformed into stars which find their places within the appropriate constellations. What this concept actually maintains is not that we literally become stars, but rather that on the completion of a phase of existence we are drawn back into our archetypal essences which eternally exist in the celestial regions of a multi-level cosmos.

Since just about all of us can identify with one or another of the patterns out of which legends are born, there may be slight harm in living out these stories, providing we understand the processes involved. For example, a friend of mine tells me she is now reenacting the myth of Ceres or Demeter, inasmuch as she is heavily involved in playing the role of nurturing mother. Less easy to handle is her urge to become caught up in the Dionysus myth via the relaxing of the bounds of convention.

Meditating upon these archetypes my anxiety at the prospect of dredging up the memories of the Egyptian queen began to diminish. This line of thinking also seemed to explain the disproportionate number of biblical characters who turn up when people speculate on their former lives. Could there not be many Mary Magdalens, each one a legitimate offshoot of the original? If there is something of the spirit of Christ in each one of us, could there not also be something of the spirits of Peter, Paul, John and Lazarus?

I was told that in the Los Angeles area there are three different young men, each of whom believes himself to be an incarnation of the Celtic wonderworker, Merlin. (Actually, Merlin is the name of an office held by many successive personalities.) Hearing of this triplication some wiseacre had the bright idea of inviting all three Merlins to the same place where they were brought into confrontation with one another. As it turned out, the three latter-day magi not only became friends, they reached a perfect accord with regard to their joint identity. After a serious discussion they mutually agreed that the spirit of Merlin had now become so great that it could no longer be contained within a single human form. Hence, each of the three felt that he expressed a legitimate aspect of the superordinate Merlin figure.