The Living Mythos
On the power of symbol and how it's shaping next steps in my creative work
In the weeks since I wrote about the downturn in my creative work here at The Artemisian, I’ve considered what paths I can take to navigate the uncertainty and forge ahead.
You might envision me engaging in a process of practical action, like analyzing what data I have, assessing options, making updates and changes where needed. And this is happening, no doubt about it. But more often than not, I am drawn into the experiences and insights found in my inner world. I begin to pay special attention to my dreams, I notice if sudden fantasy images or synchronicities come to me in moments of wonder or tension, I turn towards beloved archetypal tools and systems to problem solve.
In essence, I am seeking the thread that is beyond the literal and concrete, that which I can follow into the depths.
The original post depicts just that, a tarot reading that featured themes of foundational collapse through the Tower, and what could be rebuilt in its wake. The reading helped me to feel oriented once more. Like a steady hand, it gentled the intensity of emotions I was feeling and wrapped me in a warmth of understanding. The cards reignited curiosity as well. In the IV of Cups and Page of Pentacles, I sensed the hopeful potentials lying just outside of my awareness.
Why is working with image and symbol in these moments so powerful?
“…a knowledge of symbolism is a net, so to speak, in which one can at least catch the unspeakable mystery of an immediate experience of the unconscious.”
— Marie-Louise von Franz,
Alchemy: An Introduction to the Symbolism and the Psychology
In times of tumult, whether overcome with hope and desire or confusion and fear, our typical modes of understanding and perception are disrupted. The sudden limitations of the ego’s scope of awareness becomes painfully clear — we are unable to see beyond the issues or emotions at hand, we are caught in the wonder of a yet unrealized possibility that calls to us. In these moments, life feels cloaked in mystery, an experience that is often deeply uncomfortable.
If we keep trying to move through the conscious perspective of daylight clarity, rational perspectives and straightforward answers, frustration will persist. Instead, it is an opportunity to lean into the mystery. Its presence is an indicator that the unconscious is influencing and moving us from the shadows, that a wealth of insight can be uncovered if we know how to commune with it.
In the quote above, Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz tells us that symbols provide containment when consciousness falters. In these images, we can begin to peel back the layers of the unconscious and its inner workings. The psyche naturally produces these symbols in our dreams and imaginations, but we can also turn towards archetypal, divinatory or creative tools and systems to facilitate the process.
Through this, the unconscious and its mysteries become rites of passage and moments of initiation. The complexity of our personal world is held within the image, allowing us to approach it anew, to view it from new perspectives. As we build our symbolic fluency, the movement and intentionality of the psyche becomes clear. We welcome mystery rather than shy away from it; we learn to see with archetypal eyes.
Uncovering the Book of Life
What I find endlessly fascinating about the process of inner work and mapping the symbols and archetypal expressions from within is the incredible continuity that emerges. If you track your dreams consistently, you notice how themes or changes are present before you were conscious of them. If you read tarot often enough, the same cards repeat, aligning with struggles and opportunities you are facing. If you move from one inner work modality to another, it somehow feels as if the conversation continues, that you’ve just picked up from where you last were.
In the wake of the Tower’s collapse, I sense that I must continue following the thread deeper into the labyrinth. A symbol is needed to capture this moment of mystery, specifically one that is connected to the path of development and expansion offered in the IV of Cups and Page of Pentacles.
This time, I sat in quiet meditation, reflecting on all that has happened. Slowly, my awareness dimmed and I was drawn into an inward space of imaginal richness…
I’m walking a forested path, but everything is dark, so dark I can’t make out any detail of the environment. Step after step, I move forward. Is that a light at the end I see? Is there a door, some gateway? I’m focused on this bit of luminescence when suddenly, I stop walking. I gaze down, drop to my knees, and with a compulsion so strong, I start to dig my hands into the ground beneath me.
The dirt is black, black as night, like the fertile soil I try to maintain in the garden beds of my home. My hands come upon something in the dirt and I pull out a large leather backed tome, a book that weighs heavy, it looks old yet well kept.
In the midst of the active imagination, a thought comes up, “I have recently decided to begin work on a book proposal I have longed to give life to…is that what the symbol represents?”
But the more I hold the book, in the inward imaginal space within, the more I sense into the image, the more it communicates to me.
This is the Book of Life, the Book of My Life. Somehow, it is already written, yet the words are not there for me to plunder greedily. Rather, it feels as if I’ve found a great cosmic artifact, authored by the guiding powers that are me and yet not me.
It brings such comfort. Holding the book, I know unequivocally that the mysterious weaving of life does in fact flow in ways that are meaningful and intentional, even when it doesn’t feel that way. It is a great adventure, a work of art, each word placed onto page for me to discover as it unfolds.
And the author? They are here too; their presence can be felt and sensed when I ease into their world of image, wonder, and archetypal expression. Too often I get pulled into the seemingly rigid boundaries of ordinary existence, my thoughts, the outer world, how I define success, the emotions I am aware of.
That is just one part of the whole. When I feel unmoored, I only need to drop my anchor and descend.
The Book is there…
As I left the exercise behind, a thought moved through me, “I am a living mythos, one that depicts all it means to be engaged in the creative becoming and unbecoming of life.”
In this, I know that I am tasked to step into deeper authorship, not just on the literal level of published works with my name adorning their covers, but in the sense of ground that comes from embodied participation in what it means to be alive.
This participation means that my volition, desires, intuitions, influences, and expressions are integral to the story. They must be honored and given a chance to come to fruition. It also includes that which transcends me, that great body of energy and wonder that surrounds and moves me in ways I cannot comprehend. It’s all part of the narrative, the unique blueprint that at the end of my years will coalesce into a tale that others can read and reflect upon.
The book as symbol is helping me hold the mystery of where life is going, providing me with a sense of faith and trust when it all but left me. On the practical side, I’ve taken hold of the author’s pen — I have begun work on my book (and maybe a deck too?!). I’m building materials for a new inner work program that I hope to offer early next year and I’ve remodeled my personal website!
I’m also keeping an eye out for the images and symbols that continue to meet me during this time of shift and transition. In my next post on this arc of change, I’m going to explore a profound, nightmarish dream that featured a great library, a group of hostile Jungians, and an invitation to explore an inner sanctum used by Jung himself. It was a really interesting dream, with many implications of the current and future landscapes of my work…more to come!
Until next time,
~Alyssa
Inspiring! I love symbolic undercurrents, guiding us, when we remember to listen. Thanks for sharing this.
Interesting synchronicity: I saw the title of the second painting you featured was "Saint Cecilia" and I became curious who she was. I am an Orthodox Christian and I was unfamiliar with her story. I looked her up and it turns out that TODAY (November 22) is her feast day on which the Church commemorates her. Crazy unlikely odds!
I will say a prayer to her on your behalf, that she may intercede for you and grant you divine grace on this journey of yours. Best of luck moving forward with The Artemisian!