The Dream:

I was looking at a woman’s photograph of mountain ranges, many with beds of flowers with brilliant color on the ridge-tops. She was able to encourage flowers to bloom by using a rake and scratching the sides of the mountains first.

The Association:

The dreamer associated the dream imagery to Buddhist thought and in particular to the 10th ox-herding picture. From this picture and text, the dreamer recalled that a sage walked into the marketplace with bliss-bestowing hands, while unaware that flowers were blooming on the sides of the road as he passes.

The Interpretation:

The ten ox-herding pictures beautifully illustrate a cycle that is similar to the Jungian process of individuation. The above dream is an important dream for the dreamer.  It could be seen as teleological in nature; a future-oriented final step in the cycle of the individuation process where the dreamer is at one with the Self, or at one with the ox.

by h. koppdelaney

This cycle will repeat itself.  The attainment of bliss and attunement with the Self is reached with great effort, only to have the cycle repeated again and again through the course of the spiritual seeker’s life.

(See the well-done contemporary illustration and text of all ten ox-herding pictures by graphic designer, Hor Tuck Loon,  and the Buddha Dharma Education Association http://www.buddhanet.net/oxherd1.htm).

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

The Rabbit Hole

Recently on an afternoon hike, I passed by the above hollowed out tree, which reminded me immediately of the rabbit hole in Lewis Carroll’s book, Alice in Wonderland. I knew that I must write about the image and story of the rabbit hole from a Jungian psychological perspective. I read the book Alice in Wonderland many years ago, but reacquainted myself with the story through the most recent Walt Disney (2010) remake of the movie. This article will mostly refer to this movie version of Alice’s adventures.

In the story, the heroine Alice has a nightmare about following a white rabbit and then falling down a dark hole. When arriving at the other end of the rabbit hole, she enters a strange and uncanny new world where she sees exotic creatures like the white rabbit, a dodo bird, a smiling cat, a blue caterpillar, and other strange and fascinating creatures. Alice awakes from the nightmare and tells her father about it wondering if she is mad. Her father replies, “All the best people are mad.” So begins the journey of Alice into the great unknown of her unconscious, as symbolized by the fall into the rabbit hole.

The story of Alice in Wonderland is a strikingly familiar tale of the journey into the unconscious with its true perils, pleasant surprises, adventures, animal guides, and ideally, its corresponding increase in consciousness. Similarly, the process of individuation inherent in Jungian psychotherapy has at its core, a goal of maximizing the development of the individual personality (Edinger, 1963) which often will include a correlated increase in consciousness.

At the beginning of the story we find Alice perplexed and unsure if this great adventure is one that is real, or perhaps, she is still dreaming? She questions everything that she sees on the journey. The strange creatures in the story are waiting for “the Alice,” because it has been written that she will be the one to slay the dragon and reclaim the land for the just and good Queen.  They are not too sure if Alice is in fact “the right Alice,” or maybe she is “the wrong Alice?”

Like Alice, some of us are called to take this journey into the unconscious. And also like Alice in the world of Wonderland, danger can also lurk there. But there will also be opportunities for growth and the expansion of consciousness. According to Edinger (1999), Jung was fond of quoting Holderlin who said, “Where danger is, grows also the rescuing power.” Alice is confronted by plenty of danger, but she ultimately finds “the right Alice,” and opportunities for the development of the personality abound.

In the beginning of the story Alice still thinks that it is she (ego) that directs her safe path through life. In the story, she is befriended by a dog, often represented in dreams as instinct. The dog warns her and says, “If you diverge from the path…,” which Alice replies, “I make the path.” At this point in the story, Alice is clearly at a place of naiveté concerning the operations of the unconscious. She speaks as if it is in her best interest if her ego charts the course through life. The dog warns her about this, and seems to encourage her to follow “the path.” In other words, she has a better chance of surviving the perils of Wonderland if she follows the path of her instincts, as represented here by the dog.

In the beginning of the Disney story Alice is prepared to wed a man who she is not in love with. He comes from good “stock,” and therefore Alice has the support of family and friends to wed this man. It is expected from others that Alice will marry this man, and it is implied that she is a fool if she does not. Alice clearly is wrestling with the notion of spending her entire life with a man she does not love. She sees a white rabbit in the periphery of the scene and intuits that she must follow it. Hence, her discovery of the rabbit hole and her fall down to Wonderland.

Alice may not have entered the rabbit hole if it was not for the fall. This is often the case with people who are called to journey into the unconscious. It’s as if there often must be a “fall” of one kind or another as the gateway to the unconscious. It will require courage to follow the unconscious, but this archetypal fall is one that should ideally be embraced after one “dusts oneself off” as a result of the fall.

Another animal who personifies a voice of wisdom in Alice’s story is the blue caterpillar. After a time in Wonderland, Alice is speaking to the caterpillar and he says to her, “you are almost Alice.” Alice appears to have learned some things by now. She now seems to know that her ego does not create the path. She has learned that many of the strange and fascinating animals in the story can be trusted to serve as guides. They may in fact take her to the unexpected.

I was taken by surprise many years ago when I was following a real rabbit. I was following a rabbit while out for a hike in an extremely dense wooded area and I soon lost track of the rabbit. I looked around and around in the thick brush that I thought I saw the rabbit run into. Then, just as I was about to leave, I looked up, and there was the rabbit sitting in the crotch of a tree. When I examined the scene more closely, I realized that the rabbit had made its way up a fallen tree branch that was leaning against the crotch of the tree that held the rabbit. I have not before or since seen a rabbit in a tree. Similar to how Alice is learning to follow her instincts and animal guides, my rabbit in the tree symbolizes and illustrates further how following our inner (or outer) guides can lead to the unexpected.

Additionally, Alice is now beginning to see that the irrational, the “mad” creatures in Wonderland can actually have much to offer her on her journey of development and greater consciousness.

Lewis Carroll’s Alice is many things, but I was intrigued by how she was described in an essay about Alice by Megan S. Lloyd (2010). Lloyd, a professor of English, called Alice the “unruly Alice.” Lloyd said, “…this Disney heroine Alice is a precursor to the strong Belle and Mulan and counter to the pliable Cinderella and the passive Aurora and Snow White, who require male aid to bring them to life and reality again.”

The “unruly” spirit and character of Alice also reminds me of the story of Libby Riddles, another woman of strong character who was willing to follow her own unique path through life. Libby Riddles was the first female dog-sledder to win the famous dog-sledding race, the Iditarod. Like Alice’s willingness to follow the white rabbit, Riddles made the decision to go out alone into the unknown, which in this case, was into a raging Alaskan wind/snowstorm while competing in the Iditarod. The decision was against collective advice, but it also seems to have ultimately helped her to become the first woman to win this great race across Alaska. Both Alice and Libby Riddles succeeded in part by entering into a great unknown not knowing if they would ever get out again. These acts are the ultimate definition of courage.

Lloyd (2010) reminds us that Alice rejected the stereotypical female traits and roles that can trap some women into taking positions in society that are against their greater Self. Some women seem to be called on the journey into Wonderland, or the unconscious, before marriage and children.  For others, the call comes later in life. It is no small feat for a woman, or man, to part ways with these stereotypical roles and expectations of others and to follow custom-made direction and images from within.

In close to the final scene of the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland, and with the help of her friends, Alice takes up the sword and fights the dragon. Just prior to this final test, however, Alice again meets the blue caterpillar where he is in the process of turning into a cocoon. Alice sees this and says, “You are going to die.” The caterpillar replies, “No I’m going to be transformed.” It is clear that Alice is projecting onto the caterpillar.  When she sees the caterpillar’s change of appearance, she immediately fears her own death. Additionally, we witness the Jungian concept of synchronicity when we view Alice’s interaction with the caterpillar. Her inner psychological process is reflected back to her by this meaningful encounter with the caterpillar at the perfect time. Just around the corner, Alice has her most heroic task yet, and her own chance of transformation. It is not at all surprising, however, that Alice worries that she may die instead. She has a mighty dragon to slay.

To the astonishment, or not, of the others, she defeats the mighty and ferocious dragon and the good queen regains her crown. For Alice, the unexpected has occurred. She has found a source of power that she did not know she possessed and she used this power for the greater good. Order is restored to the land. The good queen rules again. Alice proves to herself and to the other inhabitants of Wonderland, that she is in fact, the right Alice…she became herself.

Next is the really interesting and fitting conclusion to the story. Alice clearly learns from her adventure and ordeals. She knows now that she must leave Wonderland. Alice says, “There are questions I have to answer. Things I have to do.” She has found a new sense of purpose.

Alice decides to return “home.” She climbs out of the rabbit hole and returns to the scene of the altar from the beginning of the story. Her groom is still waiting there. In front of everyone, Alice says quite simply and boldly, “I will not marry you. You are not the right man for me.”

The final scene places Alice on a ship where she has been accepted as an apprentice in a grand business venture, and a blue butterfly lands briefly on her shoulder. She recognizes it as her friend, the transformed blue caterpillar. Alice’s transformation has been validated, it seems.

In this wonderful story and movie, Alice brings home an increase in consciousness. An increased consciousness is one of the significant gifts of her journey through Wonderland and the unconscious. The “unruly Alice” will have a new awareness for her upcoming journey through life. Alice answered the call and followed the white rabbit into the unknown. She will exit Wonderland as a changed woman; a woman who has cast aside societal expectations, not as a rote act of rebelliousness, but because she was called to something greater. She was both called to and embraced a path leading to wholeness and a meaning that cannot be found by simply trying to fit into others’ expectations.

Alice in Wonderland, the movie (2010). Directed by Tim Burton; Screenplay by Linda Woolverton; based on the book by Lewis Carroll; Starring, Mia Wasikowska as Alice, Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter and Anne Hathaway; Released by Walt Disney Pictures.

Edinger, E.F. (1963). Review of C.G. Jung, Mysterium Coniunctionis: An Inquiry into the Separation and Synthesis of Psychic Opposites in Alchemy, volume 14 of The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Trans. R.F.C. Hull. Bollingen Series XX. In (2009) G.R. Elder & D.D. Cordic (Eds.), An American Jungian: In Honor of Edward F. Edinger. Toronto: Inner City Books.

Edinger, E.F. (1999). Individuation: A Myth for Modern Man. In (2009) G.R. Elder & D.D. Cordic (Eds.), An American Jungian: In Honor of Edward F. Edinger. Toronto: Inner City Books.

Lloyd, M.S. (2010). Unruly Alice: A Feminist View of Some Adventures in Wonderland. In R.B. Davis (Ed.), Alice in Wonderland and Philosophy: Curiouser and Curiouser. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

The old man lived on a wooded point of land on a deep glacial lake. His home, close to the water, yet still partly hidden by pine, oak and ash trees, was modest. It was wood, two stories, with a large picture window overlooking the water. There was a two foot rock wall, which he built with his own hands, in front of the window and between the grass and shrubbery leading to the water’s edge.

We visited the old man when we could. Between our cabin and his home was a heavily wooded parcel of land. When we visited the old man it was almost always by canoe. We sometimes found him out back, behind his home, in a large workshop where his many tools were meticulously placed in their proper place. He had learned the trade of blacksmithing later in life, and he would sometimes fix things for us.

At other times when we visited, we would sit on the rock wall in front of his home, and he would give us some peanuts from his pocket to feed the resident chipmunks. He showed us that if you were very patient, you could get a chipmunk to run straight-up your leg and take a peanut while sitting on your shoulder. There were also many more birds around his home than was typical for even a natural, wooded area. He had many bird feeders that he made and placed in strategic locations which would permit close viewing. We could sit inside of his home and see chickadees, pine siskins, goldfinches and other birds at his feeding stations. The birds would actually enter into the glass jar feeders that were hanging from an angle so that the seeds would not spill out. The small, colorful birds would gather the sunflower seeds from the inside of the hand-made glass jar feeders at distances of only a few feet away from our wondrous eyes. The old man had a relationship with animals that reminds me of the legends of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of the animals. Like Saint Francis, there was an aura of holiness surrounding the man.

Early spring arrival. Green-winged teal.

When I think of the old man now, I recall sitting in his living room in the early spring with my father, in front of a big picture window, watching the ice recede, and the frigid waters reclaiming what they could before the next freezing night. I remember looking out the window and seeing the first ducks of the year, in their brilliant breeding plumage, sitting on the edge of the ice. The old man would point to the birds, telling us when they arrived to the lake this spring, and how this year’s arrival time compared to last year. He would take out his old, weather-worn and leather bound bird books and let us browse the pages. There were many hand-written notes from him in the margins of the books, next to the bird species that he had observed over his lifetime.

The old man fascinated me. I wanted to visit him as often as I could, and couldn’t wait for the next visit. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time, but for me, he symbolized the Wise-old man archetype that psychiatrist Carl Jung discussed. An archetype can be an innate image or potentiality and pattern of behavior. When the right situation presents itself, it can trigger the activation of the archetype and the behavior and affect associated with the archetypal pattern which has been “lying dormant” in the psyche.

According to Jung, the Wise-old man for a male, or Chthonic or Great mother for a female, is an archetype in the personality development inherent in the process of individuation. In addition to the Jungian archetypes of the shadow, anima, and animus, Jung labeled the missing fourth element in the quaternity the Wise Old Man or the Chthonic Mother (Robertson, 1995). The development and integration of archetypes is a life-long process. Mattoon (1981) said, “As each of these archetypal contents is encountered, consciousness is broadened and deepened, and the ego is placed in perspective, taking its rightful place as subordinate to the Self.”

Dr. Jung himself had a wise-old man figure for him whom he named Philemon. Philemon, who had the horns of a bull and kingfisher wings, came to Jung in a dream while he was going through a very significant phase of life. After this dream, Philemon remained as an important inner figure for Jung and for the remainder of his life, Philemon served as an inner guide with superior insight.

In addition to real life relationships where a living older person may become symbolic of the wise-old man for a younger individual, the wise-old man archetype will sometimes present itself in our night-time dreams, as they did for Jung in the above description of Philemon. Other examples could be to dream of Merlin, Einstein, or any other person that holds a similar kind of knowledge to us as individuals and/or who is embodied in our greater culture.

The old man on the point was certainly such a figure for me. He embodied the wise-old man archetype that Jung wrote about. In the language of Jungian psychology, we could say that a positive transference had occurred for me with the old man. Transference is an intense type of projection. When such a psychological dynamic happens, it can bring with it potentialities for psychic transformation, and in particular it can be involved with the emergence of archetypal themes (Edinger, 2002). Relationships are a necessary ingredient for the development of the phenomenon of transference.

Though transference certainly played a large role with my experience and related feelings with the old man, it was more than that. To label such significant encounters and relationships in our lives as “only transference,” minimizes the importance of these relationships. Of course transference is occurring, but more is happening. Our significant archetypal relationships are also composed of a transpersonal element that can help lead to transformation. A spiritual component can be said to be lying dormant, waiting for the right stimuli or significant person/relationship to come along, which helps us then to live our lives more intensely.

The old man on the point also embodied the essence of masculine energy for me. He was a man who had lived an interesting, full life as a small town successful businessman, who in the process had acquired wisdom and a unique, secret knowledge along the way. He appeared to follow the threads that lead him into many diverse, earthy, and grounded ways of living. For instance, he forged metal in his shop and was available to help his neighbors with minor jobs and projects involving metal. He was also a local historian, and as mentioned earlier, he was a naturalist with a specific fondness for birds. The animals around his home even seemed to behave differently.

Ideally, we all need people like my childhood and adolescent neighbor, the old man on the point.  We need them to carry the image. For me, the old man was a wise-old man and a holy man. Whether they are aware of it or not, they help to form us, to activate latent potentialities deep inside of us, waiting for the right relationship and encounter to occur.

The old man on the point died many years ago. I was told that he died peacefully in his sleep after a brief illness. It has been over twenty years since I have seen the old man, but I still think about him. Some of the interests and passions that I have now were formed early in a myriad of ways, but included my interactions with and fantasies about the old man during my early formative years. The wise-old man or Chthonic/Great mother archetype is a potentiality that can serve an important role in our development. Ideally, this potentiality should be honored and integrated over the course of our lives.  It can be a significant piece to our call to wholeness, helping to carry us into our future that is waiting.

Edinger, E. F. (2002). Science of the Soul: A Jungian Perspective. (D. Sharp and J. G. Sparks, Eds.). Toronto: Inner City Books.

Mattoon, M. A. (1981). Jungian Psychology in Perspective. New York: The Free Press, A Division of Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc.

Robertson, R. (1995). Jungian Archetypes: Jung, Gödel, and the History of Archetypes. Maine: Nicolas-Hays.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

Water flows free down the mountain. If you climb the mountain and look toward the valley below, you may see the river flowing down the mountain. Watch it twist and turn while it finds its path among the rocks and trees. The water flows gentle at times, forceful at others. It follows a path toward its destination. The flowing river is like the blood of the earth.

If you look deep inside of yourself, you can find your own life-force like the water. This life-force is like the river flowing free down the mountain. Look to your dreams from the night. Your dreams can point you in the direction of your life’s course. Follow this path. Like the river’s path down the mountain to the valley below, your dreams can point you toward your destiny. Your dreams are like the blood of your soul.

Water flows free down the mountain.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

Mystery Duck

There are many ways to solve the pressing problems that occur in everyday life. I received this photograph with the title “Mystery Duck” from a good friend. His brother, a waterfowl photographer, had taken the photograph. They wanted my opinion concerning the identification of the duck in the center of the photo, the “mystery duck.” My opinion would be the “tie-breaker,” so to speak.

This photograph and identification problem, helped to illicit questions in my mind about problem-solving in general. First of all, the obvious solution to a problem is often not the correct one. Let’s look at this photograph. To someone not very familiar with bird or duck identification, a quick assumption might be that the mystery duck is the opposite-sex version of the second duck, a female Ruddy duck, which is the duck in the lower right corner of the photograph. But upon more careful observation while looking at the details in the markings of both ducks, we know that this is not the case.

Second, a solution to the identification of the mystery duck makes it clear how even the obvious can require a detailed examination. Let me explain. Between the three of us (my friend who sent the photo, his brother who took the photo, and myself) we have logged thousands of hours over the course of our lives observing birds, specifically waterfowl. Yet, the identification of this particular duck was nonetheless quite challenging.

This brings me to the idea of “circumambulation.” Briefly, circumambulation means looking at or moving around something, often a sacred object, from many different angles. Or put another way, circling a problem, or an image, from different ways. By circling a problem you filter it, you distill it, you get to the essence of the problem. Carl Jung introduced this notion into his psychology. From a Jungian point of view and specific to this blog post, circumambulation refers to the idea of approaching a problem from many different angles.

A straight line is the shortest distance between two points. But in psychotherapy, it is not typically the best way to deal with life problems. Treating the problem of depression in the process of Jungian psychotherapy would be an example of this. Certainly in psychotherapy, we want to minimize suffering, but doing so by the “straight line method” usually does not work. We need to examine the depression from many different angles. The psychotherapist and client can look at it together, and circle it, filter it, and distill it, getting to the essence of the depression, the problem.

In the case of the mystery duck, I am bridging this idea of circumambulation into helping me solve an everyday life problem. The deep process of individuation inherent in Jungian psychotherapy can be an emotional and felt experience helping to facilitate significant changes and growth for the individual. But the methods and “nuts and bolts” also inherent in Jungian psychology can also help us to work with and “solve” everyday life problems. This fact sometimes gets lost in the writings and focus of Jungian psychology and the Jungian worldview. Jungian psychology can indeed, also be quite practical.

The depth focus of psychotherapy inherent in Jungian therapy is implied and essential for helping clients learn about their own central images and “circumambulating” the Self. This work can have a profound impact on the individual in helping him or her in learning to trust and follow his or her greater Self.

But in addition, the work inherent in Jungian psychotherapy can assist an individual in learning about other ways to solve everyday life problems. I sometimes hear from clients in psychotherapy that they are surprised and delighted to learn about other, sometimes non-rational and intuitive ways to solve their life problems.

Jung once said that some of the bigger life problems are never really solved, but are instead out-grown. This is just one example of an approach to problem-solving that can be examined more deeply in the process of Jungian psychotherapy.

Let’s get back to the “mystery duck.” This photographic image and waterfowl identification “assignment” from my friends, made me aware again about how important it is to examine a problem from many different angles; to “circumambulate” it. It also reminded me of the “practical Jung” and the tools inherent in Jungian psychology to assist us with everyday life. For more on this idea, see the excellent book by psychiatrist and analyst Harry Wilmer (1987), Practical Jung: Nuts and Bolts of Jungian Psychotherapy.

In case you are wondering about the true identity of the “mystery duck,” we agreed that it is likely a female Lesser Scaup. If any birder reading this begs to differ, we would appreciate any feedback that we can get about this fun, everyday life problem. For the reader with an interest in bringing Jungian psychology into his or her everyday life, consider the idea of circumambulating your life problems, and to being open to Jung’s notion of out-growing the bigger problems in your life instead of aggressively trying to “solve” them. Sometimes in our lives the problem is in fact the solution.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

I wrote a blog post in February, 2012, titled, An Ethical Viewpoint, Collective Guilt and an Unpublished Letter from Viktor Frankl. This post focused on an unpublished letter that I had in my possession from Viktor Frankl. Frankl’s letter to my friend and classmate, ended with a comment that I felt I needed to re-examine in more detail, in a separate post. Dr. Frankl ended his letter by saying, “As you see, sometimes psychotherapeutic interventions are senseless and not effective as long as an ethical viewpoint is not introduced, to begin with.” An ethical viewpoint is indeed a viewpoint that is absolutely essential for the psychotherapeutic process to have any hope of succeeding. This idea coupled with the philosophical and psychological notion that we each have a moral center, to begin with, inspired me to write a separate article about Frankl’s comment in his letter to my friend.

Upon reflection of Frankl’s idea of an ethical viewpoint, my thoughts on this topic circled around the larger psychological idea of the components of the psyche itself, and my belief in the psyche’s moral center. Before going any further, I feel a need to qualify this idea of a moral center. Countless others throughout history have written and expanded upon morality and the interplay between good and evil. When writing or speaking about the idea of a moral center, one cannot but touch upon the concepts of good and evil. This article will attempt to outline my own thinking of our moral center, without being, 1) a treatise on the philosophy, theology and etiology of good and evil, or 2) a final summary of the intricate interplay of good and evil as they relate to the Jungian archetype of the Self. Furthermore, when I write of a moral center, I am not writing about the personality and characterological traits inherent in the extreme sociopathic or anti-social personality.

I am deriving my idea of a moral center starting with a passage from the late John A. Sanford, Episcopal priest and Jungian analyst. Sanford (1981) discussed his idea of a God-given center of the psyche in his book Evil, the Shadow Side of Reality. He said:

On the psychological level, this destructive power drive can be seen as an archetypal quality of the human ego that wants to set itself up in the place of the Self. It is the dark tendency built into our ego structure that tries to establish the ego’s domination over the whole psyche, rather than allowing the God-given Center of the psyche to rule. (p. 115)

As a psychologist, one of the hats that I have worn in my career thus far is in the role of writing forensic psychological evaluations for inmates serving life prison sentences for first and second degree murder. Included in these evaluations is a section called “Assessment of Dangerousness.” In addition, I have also provided psychotherapeutic treatment for these men. Evaluating and treating these men has provided me a glimpse into the psyche of men who have committed acts of extreme violence.  The reason that I am bringing this up now is because I think that the work with these men may help to illustrate the idea of how the psyche does indeed have a moral center that it operates from.

It is common for these “Lifer” inmates to seek to change their behavior in an effort to get a favorable review from the prison board and hopefully, parole from prison. Many of them do in fact make positive behavioral changes. Many do not. There is also a third group of men. These individuals make “simulated” outer behavioral changes, but there is a lack of corresponding inner changes in attitude. I have seen night-time dreams from this third group of individuals that clearly point at wanting them to deeply examine their crimes and make whatever amends their dreams, seemingly originating from a moral center, deem necessary. I am using this example from incarcerated men found guilty of murder because it demonstrates how serious the psyche can be about individuals living from a moral center. The psyche, in cases such as this, does not seem to care so much about simulated outer behavioral changes that may have been made. It does care that an individual examines the crime deeply, and if he is lucky enough, he learns to bear the weight of his actions, and becomes a more caring and productive member of society whether released from prison or not.

I received a comment on my blog post about Viktor Frankl’s letter from Jungian analyst, Brian Collinson. His comment noted that he was also drawn to Frankl’s final thoughts in his letter about psychotherapeutic interventions being senseless unless coming from an ethical viewpoint. Collinson said, “This would seem to me to be very much in harmony with Jung’s emphasis on taking one’s own individuality and unique experience with absolute seriousness, and so really living in the uniqueness of one’s own life and story, as opposed to some more general story about human existence.”

Similar to Frankl’s idea about psychotherapeutic interventions being senseless if not starting from an ethical viewpoint, Collinson makes the point about taking one’s individuality and unique experience with absolute seriousness. In reference to the incarcerated men I have worked with and discussed above, some of who are attempting to make amends for their crimes, it is even more essential to begin work with them from Frankl’s notion of an ethical viewpoint and from Collinson’s idea of taking one’s uniqueness with absolute seriousness.  Rather than siding with the egos of some of the men as they make certain simulated behavioral changes in efforts to demonstrate change, it is necessary to begin with their own life story, which will in these cases, often include acts of extreme violence. In such cases, one must examine the psyche’s perspective on the crimes in relation to those efforts made at true rehabilitation. This perspective can present itself in an inmate’s night-time dreams and comes from the moral center, separate from the ego, which often has an agenda of its own.

For most of us, there is a moral center that can be an anchor and guide in helping us with both important decisions and with achieving our psyche’s goals for us. We almost always know the ethical and moral decisions to make on our life path. These decisions are often not easy ones, and they may carry with them a kind of suffering that is agreeable to the soul. Similarly, Wright (1994) quotes Martin Luther who said that chronic moral torment is a sign of God’s grace. I believe that Martin Luther is suggesting with this idea that we do have a deep moral core, because at times, we do suffer the burden of moral torment, and this type of suffering is not necessarily something to avoid at all costs. This type of suffering can also be an indication of one leading an examined life.

The ethical and moral decision is the decision that coupled with courage, helps us to closely examine the psychological and moral consequences of our crimes.  I am writing now of both literal crimes committed, such as with the inmates in this article, and crimes against the Self. Crimes against the Self, such as when a gifted and talented artist chooses law school at the expense of their art, because being a lawyer “runs in the family,” can have inner psychological consequences similar to those of a true crime against the State and others. When we begin at the moral center, we have a much better chance of making the deep and necessary changes for the good of the greater Self, not the ego.

Wright (1994) discussed “the moral animal” in his book about evolutionary psychology when he said, “We do have a foundation of decency to build upon…Indeed, if you ponder the utter ruthlessness of evolutionary logic long enough, you may start to find our morality, such as it is, nearly miraculous.” Like Sanford’s God-given center of the psyche, Wright also seems to posit that there is a moral center to build upon. For the incarcerated men that I have discussed in this post, as well as for the rest of us, it is vital to not allow the ego’s domination over the whole psyche, but rather to allow the moral center, the God-given center of the psyche to rule.

Sanford, J. A. (1981). Evil: The Shadow Side of Reality. New York: Crossroad.

Wright, R. (1994). The Moral Animal, Why We Are the Way We Are: The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology. New York: Pantheon Books.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth, I believe. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon it. He ought to imagine that he touches it with his hands at every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon it. He ought to imagine the creatures there and all the faintest motions of the wind. He ought to recollect the glare of noon and all the colors of the dawn and dusk. (N. Scott Momaday, The Way to Rainy Mountain, p. 83)

I have thought often about these words from N. Scott Momaday since I read his moving book, The Way to Rainy Mountain, which retells Kiowa myths from his childhood and people. I read this book many years ago, and for me, that which has stuck with me all of these years since is this opening line of the above passage: “Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth…”

It is interesting how we may ever so slightly change an author’s words over time to fit into what we need. For me, as I imagined this book passage, I always took it that Momaday was writing about not imagining a piece of earth or landscape, but actually immersing oneself in the landscape, body and soul, at some point in his or her life. I imagined this more like when he wrote about riding a red horse in New Mexico in another passage in The Way to Rainy Mountain. He said:

I came to know that country, not in the way a traveler knows the landmarks he sees in the distance, but more intimately, in every season, from a thousand points of view. I know the living motion of a horse and the sound of hooves. I know what it is, on a hot day in August or September, to ride into a bank of cold, fresh rain. (p. 67)

The important thing that I took from Momaday in his writing is the importance of really knowing the land. This has been immensely important to me over the years and brings me some of my greatest joy. It has helped me to intimately connect with both the land and people in some of the places that I have lived throughout my lifetime.

Knowing the land and its inhabitants can lead one deeper into knowing the Self. When we know a piece of land intimately, we begin to learn about the flora and fauna in the landscape that draws our attention and how these plants and animals may be connected to our current life process. Paying attention to a certain animal, for instance, on the land for a young man, will often be different than that which an older man attends to.  A young man may focus on seeing the bull elk, because his psyche is emphasizing masculinity for him at this point in his life.  An older man may focus upon coming across the bed of a deer.  The deer’s bed and its warmth, is symbolic of his feminine side, the Jungian anima, that he needs to nurture at this time in his life. Knowing these details about the land and its creatures can help us to understand our own psychology and our current phase of life. We need to know these things about our landscape and it helps us to feel a closer kinship with all of life.

Knowing the land, helps us to know the Self. When we are deeply connected to a piece of land and know it as intimately as we know the people that we love, we can feel the aliveness of the earth.  We have a greater sense of Self and purpose and we sense our interconnectedness with the land that we live upon.

Immersing oneself in nature and your local piece of land is vitally important at some point in your life. Thoreau discovered this and wrote about his experiences in Walden. What is important is not necessarily moving into the woods at Walden pond for two years as Thoreau did, but that you have regular connection to your landscape. The vital idea is to have a deep connection with the land at least at some point in your life that allows for daily or regular interaction with the land. The kind of interaction that enables you to know at what time of the year the tides are the lowest for your morning walk, or when the maple trees should be at their peak of brilliant colors, or when the snow geese will be migrating through. And just as important are the more subtle mysteries and displays of nature that only the most observant and patient are gifted to witness.

As you explore and learn about your piece of land, your earth, you can’t help but get closer to your deeper Self. Your meditative and reflective approach to your outings on this piece of land draws you both outward to the land, and inward, to the landscape of your inner nature and soul. You see, touch, smell and feel the land as your senses take it all in. You are grateful for this time. The land that you get to know so well during this phase of your life, and its essence, will remain etched into your soul for your remaining years. At some point in your life, you will find a way to deeply know the land that you live upon and as Momaday stated, you will strive to know the land, “…more intimately, in every season, from a thousand points of view.”

Momaday, N.S. (1969). The Way to Rainy Mountain. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

I was out for an early morning walk just the other day with my camera in hand.  I paused for awhile to observe this Great Egret at dawn.  If you have ever watched an egret, or similar heron, you may notice their patience.  While fishing, they stand silently, effortlessly, poised on long graceful legs. They wait patiently for the fish to be within range.  Watching the egret fish by the water’s edge, reminded me of how in life we must also sometimes wait patiently for our next “fish.”  Symbolically, fish, or Ichthys the Greek word for fish, are potent with meaning.  The first letters of the Greek phrase Iesous Christos Theou Huios Soter (Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior) comes close to the spelling of Ichthys.  Early Christians were awed by the magic of this acronym, and among other reasons, they adopted the fish as one of their most important symbols (Caspari, 2003). Additionally, fish live in the sea, that great symbol of the unconscious. When dreaming of fish, we sometimes are dreaming of the deeper Self. A passage about how remembering our night-time dreams can be similar to fishing comes to mind as I write this post. John Sanford (1978), Episcopal priest and Jungian analyst said about dreams and fishing:

Remembering dreams can be likened to fishing. The fisherman stands by the side of the water with the faith that there are fish out there even though he can’t see them.  By patience, diligence, sensitivity, and intuition he may catch a fish and bring it up from the depths of the water.  Dreams, like fish, may be caught by us and lifted up from the depths of the unconscious into the light of awareness.  The difference is that  the fish of the unconscious, those living contents that emerge in our dreams, often act as though they want to be caught.  They attach themselves to our line, so to speak, and seek the light of day. However, we must take the trouble to put the line out and bait it with our expectancy. (p. 13)

Learning to be open to receiving our dreams, the “fish” of the unconscious, we can learn from the Great Egret.  And as Sanford said, patience, diligence, sensitivity, and intuition can serve us well in our nightly forays into the world of the spirit. If you are patient enough to wait for your dreams to reveal their messages to you for your life’s journey, perhaps, like this egret, your patience will be rewarded and you will hear the fish speak.

Caspari, E. C. (2003). Animal Life in Nature, Myth and Dreams.Wilmette, Illinois: Chiron Publication.

Sanford, J. A.  (1978).  Dreams and Healing: A Succinct and Lively Interpretation of Dreams. New Jersey: Paulist Press.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

He had made that last stride, he had stepped over the edge, while I had been permitted to draw back my hesitating foot. And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold of the invisible. (Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness)

The “threshold of the invisible,” as Conrad put it, is the gate to your razor’s edge. Both excitement and fear often accompany people at this threshold at the “razor’s edge.” Jungian psychology and the path of individuation can lead people to this edge where the linked, yet opposing feelings of excitement and fear lay waiting as harbingers to a more meaningful and exciting life.

I recently read in a local newspaper about an inspiring 17 year old, named Tess Dunn. She is an up and coming Santa Cruz singer/songwriter named one of the top 11 Bay Area artists of 2011. She was also born with cystic fibrosis and her management of this illness plays a large role in her daily life. Despite these challenges, however, she appears to be living at her “razor’s edge.” She said, “I read that if you’re not scared of your dreams, they’re not big enough. You can either live on your knees or die on your feet. You have to take a risk at some point.” Living at her edge appears to help Ms. Dunn live both a meaningful and rewarding life in spite of the significant health challenges that often lead others into despair.

The psyche will guide you to your edge. The psyche seems to be interested in helping each individual become all that they are capable of becoming. Or put another way, just like nature’s blueprint helps the acorn become the oak tree, your soul’s blueprint has a similar goal in mind. A path through life close to your edge and one in which you often take the opportunities presented to you from within, will require much risk.  The choice to approach and step over the “threshold of the invisible” is ultimately up to you, and like Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith” philosophy, your step over your edge will require you to take the leap.

Below is an example of an “edge” dream from a client from some years ago. This dream from this young man further illustrates how the psyche can point someone in the direction of an edge and brought the idea of living life close to the “razor’s edge” to his awareness:

I saw an attractive female, dressed seductively. She came toward me with her boyfriend, sister and child. She told me that she occasionally swallowed razor blades because it was the only thing that made her feel.

If taken literally, the above dream imagery seems destructive. If taken symbolically, which is the more common way of working with dreams in Jungian psychotherapy, the dream illustrates the importance for this man of ingesting symbolic “razor blades” to feel more. He quickly made the connection from this dream that the razor blades were related to living his life “on the edge.”  In the psychotherapy, the young man worked with this idea of his “edge” and as he took steps in this direction, he found his life more interesting and meaningful, and his anxiety that he had been experiencing dissipated.

It is also fairly common for dreams to use the actual image of an edge or a cliff when guiding people to their edge. The psyche seems to want us to be there at certain points in our life. At times, that edge is an inner one. An inner edge may mean dealing with a particularly difficult loss for you, laden with sadness and tears, that you have been putting off.  By dealing with this sadness, you may enter into a place of feeling that helps bring you into the next phase of your life. On an outer level, your edge may mean beginning those guitar lessons that you have been thinking about for some time now but for one reason or another you have resisted.  For some people, a dream about being on a cliff’s edge could be taken in another direction and best be actualized by actually going rock climbing. Moving toward your edge often brings a life of both more meaning and feeling.

Being at the “razor’s edge” of your life can be a scary place at times. Make no doubt about this. Many people prefer a path of safety and comfort. Sometimes, the path of perceived safety, routine and comfort is the right path, at least for a time, similar to how the river’s course continues running in a straight line for a time anticipating the next bend or fork.

Like the above dream of the young man, sometimes individuals with psychological symptoms like anxiety, when looked at deeper, can point toward an edge waiting to be discovered. Oftentimes, however, people don’t view their anxiety in such a way. They prefer to make it go away quickly, and not look into what its deeper purpose may be. If you are experiencing highly anxious states, it is worthwhile to look at this more closely by exploring dreams and fantasies to look for an indication of an edge.

In the process of Jungian psychotherapy, your “edge” can be explored thoroughly in the container of the therapeutic relationship. This container is the perfect place to probe the mysteries of your “razor’s edge,” and to discover its deeper meaning. You may find that stepping over your edge and into the “threshold of the invisible” can actually be one of the first steps into the beginning of your life.

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.

I came to receive a copy of this unpublished letter from Viktor Frankl (see below) while doing a psychology internship through a VA system outpatient clinic. At that time I worked primarily with Vietnam veterans suffering from PTSD. A university classmate of mine, who was a Vietnam veteran himself, also worked at the clinic with me. We were both at a point in our graduate studies in which we were learning about and struggling with the different schools of psychotherapy, and attempting to decide which worked best both for our personality type and in our psychotherapeutic work with our clients. In other words, through our university classes, we were tasked with embracing a school or type of psychotherapy to defend in our work with our clientele.

While an intern at the Vet Center, I was being drawn more toward the psychology of Carl Jung. I was fascinated by the dreams and nightmares of the combat veteran clientele at the clinic and with unconscious dynamics in general. My classmate was very much drawn to logotherapy, the existential philosophy and psychotherapy developed by Viktor Frankl. We shared this in common since although I was becoming more” Jungian” in my work with clientele, logotherapy and its inherent “will to meaning” very much resonated with me as well. Actually, logotherapy has much in common with the Jungian school of thought and its inherent focus on meaning. To this day, one of my favorite philosophical books is Frankl’s, Man’s Search for Meaning.

My classmate had one particularly difficult case concerning a Vietnam veteran whom he was working with and who was troubled by frequent nightmares, among other things. My friend wrote a letter to Viktor Frankl for his advice with this case. To both of our surprise, Viktor Frankl wrote back!  I was asked by my friend if I would like a copy of the letter, and I gratefully accepted. I had forgotten about this letter until recently when I discovered it after looking through some old files. I thought I would share it here since perhaps others may be interested. The letter is dated June, 22, 1994, which would be about three years before Viktor Frankl died September 2, 1997, at the age of 92.

This is in part what Viktor Frankl wrote in the letter:

…what I would recommend in cases like that which you have in mind, is to purge the respective individual’s concept of collective guilt as it underlies the suffering, in other words, to helping the respective patient to get rid of generalizing one’s personal experiences by speaking of “the” Germans, or Americans, and attributing to them the co-responsibility for what one or the other German, or American, might have done to oneself, or one’s comrades.

Of course most who are familiar with Viktor Frankl know that he persevered and survived at Auschwitz, a WWII concentration camp during the terror of the Nazis. There are two ideas that I will comment on from Frankl’s letter. First, he not only survived what was perhaps one of humanities most horrific periods of evil, but he learned to not cast blame on the collective. I believe this is the essence of what he was portraying in his letter to my classmate. He appeared to learn from his experiences that blaming groups of “others” does not heal. Furthermore, blaming would not have helped him to survive when the lack of attention to even the smallest details, including having the proper mental attitude to the specific situation, could have easily meant death. Similarly, in the psychotherapist’s office, we sometimes see clients who again and again blame others for their own suffering or symptomology. When this occurs, the suffering and symptoms usually have a much harder time dissipating. Of course there are times when specific individuals deserve blame for their actions upon others, but I believe that Viktor Frankl was not writing about these obvious instances.

In Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl writes further about the concept of “collective guilt.” He said, “I personally think that it is totally unjustified to hold one person responsible for the behavior of another person or a collective of persons.” As a Jewish inmate in a concentration camp, it must have been extremely difficult for him to not become brimming with anger and blame for “the collective enemy.”  Though completely justified in this case, such an intense anger can eat away at the soul, and interfere with vital survival instincts. Instead of sinking into extreme anger and despair, Frankl and a few others survived in part, he said, because of their focus on finding meaning in even the worst of situations. He quotes Nietzsche when he said, “He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How.” Put another way Frankl added, “The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives ample opportunity-even under the most difficult circumstances-to add a deeper meaning to his life.” He felt this approach to meaning-making and surviving extremely difficult situations was greatly preferred compared to an opposite focus and attitude such as when he said, “…in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.”

The second idea from Frankl’s letter that I would like to comment on is in the closing sentence when he says, “As you see, sometimes psychotherapeutic interventions are senseless and not effective as long as an ethical viewpoint is not introduced, to begin with.” For those of us who are psychotherapists, this statement is essential to remember. Our therapeutic work with our clients really is senseless, as Frankl suggests here, if we do not begin with the client from a moral and ethical place. Starting from a moral and ethical center is vitally important, and I plan to write more about this notion of a moral center in more detail in a separate post later.

The ideas presented and discussed in this blog post from Viktor Frankl’s unpublished letter and from fitting parts of his book Man’s Search for Meaning, in my opinion, illustrate ideas from one of the great master psychotherapists of our time. Frankl refined his philosophy and practice of logotherapy from the confines of deep within a Nazi concentration camp where he had to endure suffering unlike most of us can even imagine. Those few individuals, like Dr. Frankl, who come out on the other side of such experiences sometimes bring with them the hard earned wisdom of their experience. In Frankl’s case, he was confronted by evil, learned to survive in its midst, and continued to embrace a philosophy that also saw hope for and profound good in the human race. He said at the conclusion of Part II in Man’s Search for Meaning, “After all, man is that being who invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord’s Prayer or the Shema Yisrael on his lips.”

© 2012, Dr. Jeff Howlin. All rights reserved.