Marion Woodman

A Process of Psychological Transformation

The Pregnant Virgin

Laura Mei

In ancient Greece, the word for soul was 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘦, often imaged as a butterfly. The emergence of the butterfly from the chrysalis was analogous to the birth of the soul from matter, a birth commonly identified with release, hence a symbol of immortality. It is the twilight zone between past and future that is the precarious world of transformation within the chrysalis. Part of us is looking back, yearning for the magic we have lost; part is glad to say good-bye to our chaotic past; part looks ahead with whatever courage we can muster; part is excited by the changing potential; part sits stone-still not daring to look either way. Individuals who consciously accept the chrysalis, whether in analysis or life's experience, have accepted a life/death paradox, a paradox which returns in a different form at each new spiral of growth. If we accept this paradox, we are not torn to pieces by what seems to be intolerable contradiction. Birth is the death of the life we have known; death is the birth of the life we have yet to live. We need to hold the tensions and allow our circuit to give way to a larger circumference.

Why are we so afraid of change? Why, when we are so desperate for change, do we become even more desperate when transformation begins? Why do we lose our childhood faith in growing? Why do we cling to old attachments instead of submitting ourselves to new possibilities — to the undiscovered worlds in our own bodies, minds and souls? We plant our fat amaryllis bulb. We water it, give it sunlight, watch the first green shoot and the rapidly growing stock, and then marvel at the great bell flowers tolling their hallelujahs to the snow outside. Why should we have more faith in an amaryllis bulb than in ourselves? It is because we have lost touch with in ourselves? Insecurity lies at the heart of the fear of change. Many people are being dragged toward wholeness in their daily lives but because they do not understand initiation rites, they cannot make sense of what is happening to them. They are being presented with the possibility of rebirth into a different life. Through failures, symptoms, inferiority feelings and overwhelming problems, they are being prodded to renounce life attachments that have become redundant. The possibility of rebirth constellates with the breakdown of what has gone before. But because they do not understand, people cling to the familiar, refuse to make the necessary sacrifices, resist their own growth. Unable to give up their habitual lives, they are unable to receive new life.

As long as we are in this world, the psyche is enacted through the medium of the body. William Blake described the body as "that portion of Soul discerned by the five senses." The body mirrors the soul and has a wisdom of its own. However slowly and circuitously that wisdom manifests, once it is experienced it is a foundation, a basis of knowing that gives confidence and total support to the ego. Body work must be approached with the same respect and attention that one gives to dreams. To reach its wisdom requires absolute concentration; dropping the mind into the body, breathing into whatever is ready to be released, and allowing the process of expression. After body work, the dreams bring to consciousness the complexes that have been threatened or released.

We are not gods; we are not machines that can be driven by logic or power. We do have hearts, and our hearts are in our bodies, and our bodies are related to our instincts. So long as we allow our heads to be cut off from our bodies, we are colluding with the madness of our age in attempting to cure physical ills without making the necessary psychic corrections. We may temporarily succeed, but the body will have its way. It will not lie. It has received the pain that the mind cannot endure. Eventually it will reject the shallow veneer that blocks the possibility of honest response — the kind that would take in, go through the slow, circuitous route of the gut and heart, and come back with a real reaction. In genuine conversation, intercourse takes place. Soul is shared with soul. Each has enough Presence to allow the other in without distortion or projection. Each gives energy to the other. The body individuates along with the psyche and its messages are as important as the dreams.

Relationships, as I understand it, has to do with the exquisitely tuned harmonics between two people who are attempting to become conscious of their personal psychology. The mystery of each individual is holy, and the mystery which brings each into relationship with the other is tenuous, invisible and sacred. In such a relationship, both partners are attempting to become more conscious of their complexes and their masculine and feminine sides, both are willing to reflect on their interaction, and both have the courage to honour the uniqueness of what they share. Neither is attempting to possess the other, neither wishes to be possessed. The relationship itself is unburdened by the pressure of inchoate needs and expectations. The partners do not demand a "whole" relationship, nor do they seek to be made whole by it; rather they value the relationship as a container in which is reflected the wholeness they seek in themselves. Each is free to be authentic. Living in the 𝘯𝘰𝘸, unfettered by collective ideas of how either should act or be, they have no way of knowing how such a relationship will develop.

Projections carry very real energy; they either sustain or undermine. If someone hits us with a poisoned projection, we feel it whether we recognize it or not; if we are struck with a loving projection, energy is released; if we are struck with a power projection, our energy is smothered. As we become more conscious we are increasingly aware of what we have projected onto others, both the good and the bad in ourselves. Unconsciously we have asked them to take responsibility for what we have failed to recognize in ourselves — or what of ourselves we have failed to realize. Projections are charged with archetypal energy until they have been assimilated by the conscious ego. Our inherent natures and the individual circumstances of our childhood put us in touch with particular archetypal patterns; these are the tapestries within which our lives are woven. How we relate to them is our choice. We can succumb to a pattern and blindly live it out, in other words, never question who we are; we can identify with a pattern that is foreign to our nature, effectively burying ourselves alive; we can resent our apparent destiny, thus evoking a negative response from the unconscious (chronic conflict, accidents, illness); or we can acknowledge our personal parameters and celebrate the mystery of who we are. The last involves a redefinition of "suffering," thinking of it not so much as pain to be avoided at all costs, but as the natural travail to any growth process.

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