What is "MIND?"  Each of us has a mind. What is it?

Definitions include the following: a person's attention, a memory, the intellect, awareness of thoughts, emotions, sensations, memories; but also fantasies, dreams, and creations. In other words, our mind is a storehouse but also a function of our being that solves problems and projects a future, a glimpse not only of who we have been but also of who we yet may be.

But we have lost our mind. Why do I say that? Because we are at odds with ourselves. We are not of the mind to consider that future in which a healthy society finds meaning  creating. This is what it means to EXIST, not just to live. Many creatures "live," but as far as we know, they do not experience the meaning of human existence in its fulness of human CONSCIOUSNESS.

When we are conscious we dwell within the far reaches of human potential; but when we lose our mind, we experience unconsciousness. To be unconscious is to dwell within the stupor of depression, anxiety, anger, aggression, envy. We might say then that the aim of human existence is consciousness. Looking at this from the perspective of human evolution, the time-line in which consciousness arose would include these developments:

• 4.5 billion years ago, planet earth evolved as part of our present solar system.
• 6 million years ago "Life" appeared on planet earth.
• 5 million years ago, approximately, creatures that walked on 2 legs with crude tools appeared.
• 200,000-300,000 years ago, our more recent ancestors evolved, making possible a function of what we would come to call "mind."
• 70,000 to 100,000 years ago, what we might describe as the first modern human beings made their way out of Africa and began to spread on planet earth. Life evolved with the development of the human brain, making possible the evolution of mindfulness. Over time, our ancestors came to exist in search of meaning, and consciousness emerged as we might describe it today.

Of course, this "time-line" is quite simple when compared to the more detailed descriptions of humanity's emergence. My intention, however, is to describe most simply the backdrop to our present-day crisis: the loss of our mind. In other words, I want to make it clear that I am not talking about our present political craziness, of which there is plenty in our 24/7 parade of political stupidity.

But I am not talking about our present insanity and its mindlessness. I am concerned that we as a society seem not to be conscious. We have lost our mind. Consciousness is the TRUTH of our existence. To hold a truth is the most blessed of human experiences because truth separates the REAL from the UNREAL. How incredibly wonderful this is, to realize TRUTH exists, that it has its home within consciousness, and is guarded and enjoyed by our mind. 

Now, however, we are in danger because we lost our mind. Consciousness has dimmed, and truth is mistaken for lies, misinformation, irrationality, all of which fuel the obsession of power that is available for the highest bidder. The intoxicating allure of power threatens our personal lives when our society has lost its mind. 

Where will we find our lost mind? In MEMORY. Memory is a bridge over forever, and memory is the great Mother. She has given birth to our greatest triumphs as well as our most tragic defeats. She has inspired humanity's greatest artistic achievements and informed the warriors who fought our world wars; she has witnessed our footprints on the moon, and mourned the burial of our dead in the catastrophes of our epidemics.

Within memory's legacy, we may find our lost mind, as we recall George Santayana's warning:  "A country without a memory is a country of madmen." 

In the front of our house is a rose garden. Well—not really a garden, and to be honest, only a few roses. But, still, I call it a rose garden because the roses command one's attention in the thriving bed of ivy that has all kinds of little critters while it also determinedly climbs the pine and hackberry trees which would be smothered did we not give the ivy a haircut from time to time. 

But back to the roses. They adorn the ivy bed with an air of royalty, a majesty of sorts that reminds me of something from long ago, maybe even timeless. Did you now that the rose is 35 million years old, has some 150 species, and probably began cultivation in China 5,000 years ago? Also, talking about longevity, the oldest living rose dates its birthday 1,000 years ago and claims permanent residence adorning the wall of the Cathedral of Hildesheim in Germany.

In fact, roses pop up everywhere—not only in gardens but in the bouquets we give our sweethearts, altars of churches, ornaments that may be hung in places we revere, in panels and mandalas, and the stained glass windows of our homes, shops, and places of worship. It is no wonder then that the great twentieth century poet, T.S.Eliot, featured the rose to accentuate his invitation to enter Burnt Norton, a manor in Gloucestershire that for Eliot evoked the experience of timelessness:

            Footfalls echoing the memory
            Down the passage we did not take
            Towards the door we never opened
            Into the rose-garden. My words echo
            Thus in your mind.
                                       But to what purpose
            Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
            I do not know.

And all is stillness. Or so it seems to me as I follow Eliot's lead into the sphere of timelessness that you and I might understand as the "center" of our psyches, the soul itself. This is what I understand the "center" means. It is, of course, an archetypal experience. By this I am referring to an understanding of the psyche as Carl Jung described it decades ago.

Present-day psychologists approach this idea as the well-regulated capacity of our body and mind when we have experienced some disturbance or trauma. First we feel "scattered" in our body and mind. We may call it bewildered; or we may even say the situation is "crazy," "insane." We may be lost in our thinking, taken over by our emotions. All these experiences are not necessarily bad. In the good times, we may get lost in the fun and excitement, as young children show us so well.

My granddaughter taught me how she learned to center when she was four-years old and was taught to sing what she called her "centering song." It goes like this:

            Find your center,
            Find your center,
            Before you enter,
            Find your center.

She learned to sing her centering song at the little "Schoolhouse" of a playgroup she shared with a cute, rambunctious, energetic, curious, and eager-to-learn group of children whose parents wanted their kids to be exposed to learning and growing in a place, time, and guidance of teachers who valued the wholistic experience of enabling children to discover their best selves. These teachers understood the psychology of pre-school children, their limits and potential mentally, socially, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. What the teachers taught the children was indeed self-regulation, and they called it centering. The kids would spend time inside painting, drawing, building, reading or being read-to, talking about things that excited or troubled them, what they dreamed last night, what they enjoyed eating and drinking, and what they looked forward to doing when their moms or dads picked them up.

Then they would have play-time outside before coming back inside. But, and this was important our granddaughter emphasized, before they would enter the "classroom," they stood silently in a circle, placed their hands on their tummies, and sang, "Before you enter, find your center." "What do you like about that?," I asked her. "It works," she said.

It works. The granddaughter did not know or even think to know how this "works." She did know, though, that it is possible to go from high level of excitement to a level of calm. Where is this? It's in your "center."

As I said earlier, of course this is an archetypal experience, the consciousness of which is hard-won over centuries of barbarism, cruelty, war, catastrophe, disease, accidents, and death. Carl Jung would describe this archetypal experience as an outcome when we become conscious of what he called "the tension of the opposites."

How do we modulate this "tension of the opposites?" How indeed. We know that it's realization is a process of ebb and flow. The process depends upon families who provide  safety, where young minds are educated with truth and not ideology or self-serving misinformation. This conscious process for centering by "holding the tensions of the opposites" arises not only out of caring families but also societies of democratic freedom in which respect for each individual makes possible a better life for everyone.

This process does indeed ebb and flow. When we consider the delusional uncenteredness of our present time, we may feel discouraged that the beauty and power of our democracy is ebbing. But we can be assured we will find our center again. After all, the rose has been at this for 35 million years, reminding us of what can be if we tend the garden. 

     "Only the dead have seen the end of war." —Plato
     (Quoted in Santayana and the farewell address of General Douglas MacArthur.)

Whether or not Plato actually said those words, they describe a truth woven into humanity's history as far back as our ancient historians reached. Why is this true, that human fascination with and participation in war remains constant in our endeavors? We fight over disputed territories, resources, and persons. We employ our best minds to develop more devastating tools for war; we fashion our statecraft toward the end of preparing armies to fight immediately if our country is threatened in any way.

And why should we not? How otherwise might we counter the threats and actions of tyrants and dictators who pose like the playground bully strutting with words and actions, innuendo and manipulation, gossip and cunning? 

Because it is the case that bullies exist. Apparently, some individuals bully others to demonstrate superiority, perhaps because of a deeply felt inadequacy. Others bully simply for the thrill of domination. And there are individuals who bully in order to acquire something they want but do not possess for whatever reason. And still others dominate because of a mental/neurological maladjustment. And let us not forget that some people possess characterological disorders; they feel driven out of a toxic narcissism and absence of a moral center. In other words, they do not care if they hurt, shame, deprive, or even destroy other persons—and animals.

Yes, such people do exist. And we fear that our children may encounter them on the playgrounds, in the classrooms, on the street, in places of worship, in the offices of government and authority, in military commands of foreign countries who do not operate within the norms of humanitarian values. As we shall see, these norms of humanitarian values arise from human character molded by "duty," "honor," and "country." 

The words—DUTY, HONOR, COUNTRY—reverberate within the halls of our military academy, West Point. In fact they are the academy's motto. A graduate of West Point himself, Douglas MacArthur went on to become a fiver-star General of the Army, a Field Marshall in the Philippine army, Supreme Commander of allied forces in the WWII Pacific campaign, and leader of the United Nations Command in the Korean War until he was relieved of duties by President Truman.

Returning to the US after years of service in the Pacific, having presided over countless battles and world-changing events, MacArthur settled into a quiet retirement in Manhattan, out of the public eye. However, in the last year of his retirement, returning to West Point that had done so much to shape his character, he addressed the cadet corps for a  final time. In his moving remarks, he stressed the motto of the school, the motto  which had become his credo.

     "Duty," "honor," "country"—those three hallowed words reverently dictate 
     what you want to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your
     rallying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain 
     faith when there seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when 
     hope becomes forlorn." ...........................................................
     They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave
     enough to face yourself when you are afraid.

These are the words, the qualities, the constructs of character that the framers of our Constitution projected into our nation's democracy when they penned the Second Amendment:
     
     A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State,
     the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Does the reference to "arms" pertain only to the standing militia? Or are they the "arms" of citizens in general? These questions fuel the present furor in our halls of government and the social media regarding gun ownership.

William Berger, a retired Supreme Court Justice, as well as a hunter and gun owner, in  a PBS Newshour broadcast, 12/16/1991, said he found no support in the Second Amendment for individuals having a right to own and bear arms. In 2008, Justices Scalia and Stevens clashed over the issue of gun ownership. Justice Scalia supported private ownership of guns, whereas Justice Stevens argued that gun ownership was supported only in the service of a "well regulated militia." 

This lingering debate over the intention of our Second Amendment intensifies within the political division in our country today. One source that supports individual gun ownership is the article by Ronald Reagan in a 1975 issue of Guns and Ammo magazine which affirmed the right of the individual to own and bear arms. Then, in the 1990's, and in later legislation, Reagan supported the Brady Bill and the Assault Weapons Ban, both of which reflect a more measured Reagan. Nonetheless, within the ideology of gun-rights advocates today,  Reagan remains a hero in their cause.

Which brings me back to General Douglas MacArthur, the veteran of world wars on a massive and international scale. I will let him have the last words. In his words of farewell to Congress in April 1951, he spoke of the legacy of war. However egocentric he may or may not have been, his words ring true.

     If we will not devise some greater and more equitable system, Armageddon
     will be at our door. The problem basically is theological and involves a
     spiritual recrudescence and improvement of human character that will
     synchronize with our almost matchless advance in science, art, literature,
     and all material and cultural development of the past 2000 years. It must
     be of the spirit if we are to save the flesh.


A Personal Retrospective:
In my senior year of high school I wrote a term paper on MacArthur. While my family would in no way have been considered generally interested in the military, nonetheless my uncle was a prisoner of war in Germany, and my father served under MacArthur's command in the Pacific. I became interested in West Point for college while in high school and asked my advisor about applying to West Point only to be told that my family would need political connections for such an appointment, which they did not have. Turning aside the possibility  that I might ever attend West Point, I committed myself to the ROTC program at Clemson University from which I was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, eventually serving as an artillery officer in Korea before returning home and requesting a transfer to the Chaplain's Corps, in which I completed my military duty. 

Along the way, I gave thought to MacArthur from time to time. And although he had returned home to the US as a military hero, hailed by Congress and others world-wide to be one of the great strategists in military history, at the hands of a growing number of individuals who studied the man and his record of military service, MacArthur came to be considered by some as a narcissist. Strange, I thought, that he should be so diagnosed from afar after his death. In any case, from my small corner of the world and my relatively minuscule experience, I continue to respect the man and his faithful following of a credo that would serve us all today: Duty, Honor, Country.

When Franklin Roosevelt took the oath of office to become President of the United States in 1933, a year of domestic upheaval, he faced a world of problems. Think about it:

• 1933 was probably the worst year in the Great Depression;
• One in four Americans was unemployed;
• The dust bowl threatened the country with strong winds skimming the top soil of the Great Plains, extending into neighboring states, and impacting the economy of the entire US;
• Adolph Hitler opened the first concentration camp at Dachau, as he assumed the role of Chancellor of Germany;
• The Japanese invented the machine gun, capable of firing 1,000 rounds per minute;
• There was a civil war in Cuba;
• The banking system of the US threatened collapse as people rushed to withdraw whatever savings they may have deposited;
• The German nation had never recovered from their defeat of WWI and the aftermath of economic isolation by the western powers;
• And many countries in the world experienced unemployment.

At that frightening moment world-wide, Roosevelt stood to take his oath of office and placed his right hand on a leather-bound Dutch language Bible made in 1686, opened to 
I Corinthians 13.

You may recognize that chapter in the New Testament as containing these lines attributed to St. Paul:

     When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child;
     but when I became a man, I put away childish things. (verse 11)
     For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but
     then I shall know just as I also am known.  (verse 12)
     And now abide faith, hope, and love, these three, but the greatest of these is
     love.  (verse 13)  (New King James Version)

This scripture wove its way into our public life for many occasions. I referenced its place in Roosevelt's ceremonial inauguration. And, of course, it most often appears in weddings, anniversaries, funerals occasionally, and other events where the attention is focused on love.

But love does not stand alone in this passage of scripture. "Love" has been woven into the triadic formula, accompanied and preceded by faith and hope. Granted, St. Paul leaves no room for debate as to the supremacy of love, but it follows faith and hope.

Is this simply a prosaic formula intended for oratorical impact in which "love" gains prominence, elevated to gain our attention?  Or, might it be that "love" follows "faith" and "hope," both of which prepare us to understand "love" more deeply?  Reasoning with his keen rabbinical, philosophical mind, St. Paul may have understood that love attains its "greatness" because it stands on the foundation of trust and confidence. 

"Trust" and "confidence" are words—ideas, emotions, cognition—that interpret "faith" and "hope." So important is the word "trust" that it bridges the language of religion, politics, economics, politics, and psychology. In The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, you will find seven categories of meanings for "trust" with various sub-entries for each specific definition. 

For example, definitions describe trust as the loyalty, strength, veracity, etc., of a person or thing. Then, the long list of additional definitions concludes with "a body of trustees, an organization or company managed by trustees."  "Faith" as "trust" impacts our lives so profoundly that it makes possible not only healthy persons but also a healthy society. It is no wonder that Erik Erikson, the prominent teacher of psychoanalysis and human development, considered trust to be the first and foremost stage of a child's life.

No wonder, then, that Franklin Roosevelt began his first stage of restoring confidence in the government of the US by opening his Bible to chapter 13 in I Corinthians where St. Paul invokes the power and promise of faith, hope, and love. It was a foundation for Roosevelt's words of assurance, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself."

These words rang through the radios of a frightened nation and opened the minds of its people to trust, even though the terrorism of foreign dictators and domestic opposition threatened the very foundation of our democracy.

Decades later in 1981, Ronald Reagan would anchor his approach to foreign policy by returning to trust. But in this instance, Reagan added a twist to implementing trust in the personal and governmental dealing with President Mikhail Gorbachev and the Soviet Union. Paradoxically, Reagan borrowed from a rhyming Russian proverb to describe his policy of nuclear disarmament between the US and the Soviet Union. Simply put, Reagan's policy was this: "Trust but verify." According to records of the Reagan presidency, Suzanne Massie introduced Reagan to the Russian proverb. Massie, an American academic, considered by some as "the woman who ended the cold war," met several times with President Reagan and coached him regarding Russia, its people, and culture. (See Massie's Trust But Verify: Reagan, Russia, and Me.)

"Trust but verify" served admirably as the premise for a foreign policy that ended the cold war. And now we come once more to another war, this time within our country. Now we face the breakdown of trust within the citadel of democracy, a breakdown between political, civic, and religious groups, even between family members. So rancorous has this divide become that we fear for our lives and the lives of our small children attending school. Now we fear the violence of domestic terrorism and the impasse of politicians posing in the marketplace of social media as fighters—a frequently used word by would-be political leaders to bolster their image by proclaiming they will "fight" for us. What a strange figure of speech to describe the working of a democratic government that came into being for the express purpose of a social contract "by the people and for the people," committed to a way of life free from tyranny, violence, and the bullying tactics of a pseudo-masculinity. 

This is a way of life made possible by a bond of trust or, as St. Paul may have described it, the way of faith, hope, and love. Granted, for the apostle, this bond of trust is anchored within a spiritual reality in the heart of all people, whether they are conscious of it or not. 

Roosevelt and Reagan believed it to be so. And so might we. 

You might think the title is a little strange and wonder how it came to be. The thought of the title rose unexpectedly and surprisingly while I walked through our backyard of azaleas, daffodils, and roses—along with the incessant scramble of squirrels, rabbits, a family or two of cardinals, an occasional fox, possums, curious crows, and our observant but very cautious tuxedo cat, "Skeeter." Skeeter is a rescue who suffers from PTSD and slowly is learning to trust us and our backyard zoo.

Well, she is learning not only to trust but also how we give signals that some situations may not be safe and trustworthy. We do occasionally have copperhead snakes, an invasion of yellow jackets who love to burrow in our black soil, hawks flying overhead assessing Skeeter's size and whether or not they might be able to scoop her up and ferry her to their nest in the woods adjoining our house.

So, yes, I could say that the backyard is a wonderful world. But there is the other reality of danger, cruelty, ugliness, and possible death. A lot of work and time made possible the azaleas, roses, daffodils, and a playground for all the little critters that call our home their home. This is the story of creation, I believe, not just of our yard but perhaps of this planet earth we call home. 

In short, the aim of this writing is to reflect on the importance of this transformation when the terror and ugliness of life become a wonderful world that enables human existence to continue. An example is the movie "Good Morning: Vietnam."  This stirring drama featuring Robin Williams and released in 1987, draws upon the real-life story of Adrian Cronauer who hosted a radio show, "Dawn Buster," in Saigon 1965, as the Vietnam War escalated. The movie minimizes the most awful battle scenes that flooded our television in the 60's, but we do see the ugly political chicanery of a propaganda that made even more hideous the fear, heartache, and despair of a people and the destruction of their culture and institutions. Then, poignantly and powerfully over the images of death, insanity, and despair, we hear Satchmo Armstrong's recording "It's a Wonderful World."

The effect is surreal. What can possibly be wonderful about this world of hellish apocalypticism? What did the director, Barry Levinson, intend by inserting Satchmo's hit of 1967 into a political, violent nightmare? Did he want to emphasize the insanity of this political absurdity posing as a war to protect democracy? I don't think so. 

I cannot know what Levinson intended by inserting "It's a Wonderful World" in the soundtrack of a movie about the most divisive war in American history. However, whatever Levinson's intention may have been, I experienced the song as a message for the troops fighting the war, and for all of us observing the horror show, as a benediction for the terror and grotesqueness of the cruelest of wars. Soldiers going toward their death heard the blessings of peace filling the airways of that disturbed country turned into a war zone. 

Whatever one's religious background, in the face of death the benediction of Satchmo's song may have brought the comfort of knowing that war does not have the last word. For some soldiers this song of hope and beauty accompanied the words of their chaplains going into battle with a centuries-old farewell: 

       May the Lord bless you and comfort you;
       the Lord make his face to shine upon you
       and be gracious unto you; 
       the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

I include this benediction from the Prayer Book not as a religious token but as a way to say there is an archetypal reality in which death is transcended by the very power of Being. And this goes back centuries in which the world's major religions have affirmed our wonderful world in the face of human betrayal and yearning for power. 

Consider for example the stories of creation in the first two chapters of Genesis. Most serious students of this centuries-old text tell us there are two vantage points in which to observe creation. The first vantage point, Genesis 1:1-2:4, tells the story of creation in terms of the "days" when the "world" came into being. The first day, light appeared. In the following "days," there appeared the water and firmament (2nd day), the dry land and negation (3rd day), luminaries (4th day), fish and birds (5th day), and land animals as well as people and the vegetation for food (6th day). Then, on the 7th day, the Creator rested, surveyed the works of creation, and said, "It was very good." 

However, Genesis also describes another point of view, a story about the creation that presents a drama not so pretty as described above. In this second account of creation (Genesis 2:4-3:24), there appears in the text the old familiar story in which the serpent made a mess of everything, set up the rebellious foolishness of the first woman (Eve) and the first man (Adam), the antagonism of their Creator, and their expulsion from the garden where they had a pretty good thing going.

This account of creation (Genesis 2:4-3:24) does not describe the wonderful world we read earlier in Genesis 1:1-2:4. In other words, and this is important, the treacherous acts of betrayal and disobedience present another view of creation, its shadow side in which humanity's acquired power threatens to destroy the world. The Garden of Eden may become only a combat zone where as Matthew Arnold said, "Armies clash by night and the center will not hold." 

In other words, this wonderful world is indeed good but not completely. We continue to hope. I believe in spite of our suffering, even in the midst of war and destruction, the universe continues to unfold in a purposive way that enables human existence to fulfill  its potential. In a tenement flat in Brooklyn, a little four-year-old claims one corner of his mom and dad's one-room bleak home. In that corner, he hides a rock he found on the playground. With that rock, his imagination soars within a fantasy of a world coming into being. It is a wonderful world. 

​Most days I come to my work with an eager expectation of joy. How could I not, I ask myself. To engage with interesting people and their dreams is a privilege. That is the upside, but of course I know too well the downside that is the deep suffering life brings to all of us. 

The suffering comes with many faces in relationships, work, politics, family dynamics, and our fascination with sports and teams. But a deeper level of suffering dwells within each of us. As the Buddha acknowledged, to be human is to face the inevitable pain of aging, disease, and death. In his long quest to discover a way to escape the cycle of suffering, he believed we must face three marks of existence:

1. Impermanence. Nothing lasts forever; everything that exists will cease to exist. This is anicca, the Pali word for impermanence.
2. Dread, Unsatisfactoriness.  The state of mind in which a person cannot find a deep and lasting sense of well-being erodes the fulfillment of being alive. This is dukkha.
3. Not-self. This is anatto and has been interpreted in varied ways by scholars of Buddhism. The terms "non-self" and "no-self" are sometimes used. However, a basic  intent of this word, and the Buddha's teaching, rests in the fundamental importance of not clinging to the ego's creation of who one is. Thich Nhat Hahn understood anatto as nirvana, the "extinction of clinging." 

With these "marks of existence" in his mind, the Buddha dreamed as a Bodhisatta (one who desires to follow the path toward becoming a Buddha). It is important to consider that this  is Gautama Siddartha, the prince who abandoned his royal life in the region of what is now known as Nepal, located in the foothills of the Himalayas, and had lived as an ascetic for six years in search of an escape from the suffering of human existence.

My excerpts of Bhikkhu Nanamoli's account of the dreams are as follows:  

• "... the great earth was his couch: Himalaya, king of mountains, was his pillow; his left hand lay in the Eastern Ocean, his right hand lay in the Western Ocean, his feet lay in the Southern Ocean."
• "... a creeper grew up out of his navel and stood touching the clouds."
• "... white grubs with black heads crawled from his feet to his knees and covered them."
• "... four birds of different colors came from the four quarters, and, as they alighted at his feet, they all became white."
• "... he walked upon a huge mountain of dirt without being fouled by the dirt."

This concludes the remarkable series of the Buddha's five dreams. The tradition that comes to us includes not only the dreams but their interpretations. They serve a hagiographical purpose within the tradition of Buddhism. And here I move to reflect briefly on the nature of dreams and dreaming.

My ongoing work with persons focuses on the alleviation of suffering and depends greatly on considering their dreams. Most often it is the case that a dream comes in the service of making conscious some aspect of the dreamer's life through which the unconscious is made known and a revised attitude of the dreamer becomes conscious, thereby bringing a new attitude, a "higher" consciousness. This usually happens as the dream compensates the dreamer's previous state of mind. 

Now I come back to the Buddha's dreams. It is not my place to offer an interpretation of these dreams, nor would I attempt such a pretentious offering. Are they real? Did the Buddha actually dream these five dreams on the evening before his enlightenment? What did Buddha think of the dreams, their striking images? We can never know the answer to these questions, but we can hold in awareness some of the unique features of these five dreams.

First, they float on the simplest of imagery. There are no grandiose features, no kings and queens, no powerful animals, no great commanders of armies or heroic battles, no angels, no gods and goddesses, no miraculous events. There are no suggestions of supernatural beings or events; there are no calls to the ascetic life. The dreams reside primarily within the natural symbolism of Buddha's immediate world: mountains, oceans, creepers, the navel, grubs, birds, dirt. There are no Brahmins or wondering holy men, no castes, no distinction of people as to social status, gender, religion, or politics. The dreams draw upon nature for their simplicity.

The second feature of the dreams that strike me is in the form of a question. How do they throw any light on the question that drove Siddartha on his quest, "What is the way out of the cycle of suffering?" How might they have influenced his "awakening" by which he entered history as the compassionate Buddha with 506 million followers, 6.6% of the world's population today?

Once again, we can never know how the dreams shaped Buddha's mind, but I offer this brief reflection. A "creeper" is a plant that grows around another plant, sometimes up a wall, extending itself up toward the sky. A "grub" undergoes a metamorphosis, a transformation from larva into an adult. Birds molt, a process in which each year they rid themselves of old or damaged feathers. The dead feathers are replaced by a new plumage. In all of these images of natural processes, transformation occurs. This is a purposive and meaningful transformation that suggests the psychological maturation possible in the growth of human personality when there is no impediment. This makes all the more interesting Buddha's last dream. He walks on the surface of dirt without getting "bogged down" in the 10,000 distractions that cloud our minds.

This seems to have become the Buddha's message. We need not get "bogged down" in the ever-changing flux of life that leads to our states of dissatisfaction and anxiety. With the clearing of our minds we may experience the abiding calm and the distant tones from the stellar sound waves of eternity.

Reference:  
Bhikkhu Nanamoli (Trans.). The Life of the Buddha According to the Pali Canon. 
   Onalaska, WA: BPS Pariyatti Editions, 2001.

How shall we hold this moment of war and terror in Ukraine? We deeply agonize with the Ukrainians. Also, we know the slightest mishap of this aggressive war against Ukraine can spread through the many geographical and political corridors of power until it spreads to each of us in an unimaginable horror of world war.

Here is a warning dream that describes what I mean. It was dreamed by Dr. Harry Wilmer, a Jungian psychiatrist well-known for his group psychotherapy with returning Viet Nam vets:

                "I am trying to warn people that another war is coming and people are
            laughing at me. I am in Dallas and we are going in a chopper to secure
            a position. I am trying to warn people: 'Hey! There's a war fixing to happen!
            You better take cover and get off the street!' But they were laughing and 
            scoffing and they wouldn't listen to me. I was trying to reason with the 
            people when the helicopters flew off and left me there. I woke up angry
            because I couldn't get the people to understand what was really happening."
            (See Anthony Stevens, The Roots of War, p. 195)

Wilmer had this dream before his death in 2005, so we might think, "Well, that has nothing to do with us today," but that is just the point. The dream is archetypal in nature. It defies time and belongs to the ages because war itself is timeless, shaping the contours of civilization through the centuries and painfully extending to this present moment when you and I witness in our living rooms, thousands of miles away, the atrocities of brutal aggression under the command of Russian militarists, as if playing infantile war games under the hand of a dictator who appears to be acting out a fantasy of revenge kindled by old grievances that festered a complex of inferiority.

We may look away in bewilderment as if this is not real, and at any moment there will be a humorous pause for a commercial break. But it is real. The civilians of Ukraine are themselves taking up arms to defend their homeland. They scatter to the streets as homes are being destroyed. The sick, the elderly, the children, the household pets—all are caught in a shocking trauma of bombs, rockets, airplanes, tanks, and squadrons of fully equipped troops trained to fight, search, and destroy for a cause that serves no rational purpose except to further the creeping tide of authoritarianism.

So why do I write this blog? We see the war as it unfolds, and like you in all likelihood, I am deeply distressed. But I cannot take up arms and go fight. I can make donations. But, in addition, I can reflect with you on the meaning of war, and this war in particular. After all, this is the purpose of my monthly blogs: to reflect upon current events through the perspective and lens of depth psychology, mythology, symbols, and theology. 

And so we may ask, what is this propensity we have for war? Why does war fascinate us? Why do we shape our culture to play war games? Why is it that in recent years politicians have begun to pitch their campaigns by saying they will fight for us? Everybody is "fighting" for us or against us as the political dynamics ebb and flow. The politicians do not say, "I will work for you. I will support you." No, they  will proclaim in their most solemn voice, "I will fight for you."  Why do fighting and war fascinate us so? 

Consider how social groups evolve. There is the "in group" and the "out group." There is the dominant group or person and the submissive person or group. There is the champion and the defeated, the winner and the loser, the conqueror and the fallen. Consider the biology of these dynamics. In sex play, it is S&M, or sadism and masochism, which suggests that fascination lies in the deepest erotic encounter of dominance and submission, where we see the titillation of war-like encounters between lovers. These binary arrangements set up our culture's obsession with the many games we enjoy.

I refer to these examples simply to describe the presence in social groupings where the hint of war exists. In my counseling and consultations with individuals, couples, and groups, I am often confronted with the challenge of sorting out the unconscious dynamics which lead to conflicts. The question I ask myself is whether or not there is a moral center. Without that moral center, the conflicts or "war games" escalate out of control.

And this question of a moral center, or its absence, is what appears to disturb people around the globe who witness the aggressive attacks by Russia on an undeserving country. Although attempts have been made to portray Ukraine and its government as evil, no shred of truth has been presented to substantiate that claim. In other words, the invasion itself is without a moral center, and there appears to be no rational source to which Ukraine and the world may appeal to stop the war.

And while we may speculate about the motives of the Russian invasion, we also bring to consciousness the deepest of other dynamics that fuel the motives for war. This is the archetype. Carl Jung identifies archetypes as the psycho-neurological functions in the brain, of evolutionary origins, manifesting in human beings as universal patterns of perception, cognition, and behavior. The archetypes give shape to mating, parenting, family units and tribes, the creative expressions of civilizations, skills for coping with environmental challenges, and the propensity to go to war. 

As General George S. Patton said, "Compared to war, all other forms of human endeavor shrink to insignificance. And God help me, I do love it so."  Gen. Patton speak as a person  possessed by an archetype.

Jung refers to archetypal possession in his remarkable essay "Wotan," written in 1936, when he tried to understand what had possessed the German nation leading it headstrong into war. Regarding the power of an archetype, he says this:

            An archetype is like an old water course along which the water of life
            has flowed for centuries digging a deep channel for itself. The longer
            it has flowed  in this channel the more likely it will return to its old bed.
            The life of the individual as a member of society and particularly as part
            of the State may be regulated like a canal, but the life of nations is a 
            great rushing river which is utterly beyond human control. ... Thus 
            the life of nations rolls on unchecked, without guidance, unconscious
            of where it is going, like a rock crashing down the side of a hill, until
            it is stopped by an obstacle stronger than itself. Political events move 
            from one impasse to the next like a torrent caught in gullies, creeks,
            and marshes.  (CW Vol. I, para. 395)

In what way, then, are we witnessing today yet another instance when the war in Ukraine may be understood as the archetypal possession of an aggressor nation, Russia, or at least its leadership? And, if so, what might we expect for an outcome that promises hope for the future of humankind?  

In his two magnificent novels of WW II, The Winds of War and War and Remembrance, Herman Wouk concluded his epic story with a hopeful note. He said this: 

            ... that war is an old habit of thought, an old political technique,
            that must now pass as human sacrifice, and human slavery have passed.
            I have faith that the human spirit will prove equal to the long heavy task
            of ending war.

Perhaps. But not yet, as Russian's uncalled-for invasion of Ukraine demonstrates. We say "perhaps," but the heavy task of ending war to which Wouk refers must now go deep into the human tendency to be possessed by the archetype of war itself.

"So much to worry about, and so little time," said my friend who shares an office next to mine. "Such as," I said half-heartedly to her intended half-serious remark, as she fumbled with her keys to open her office door. Smiling, but with a negative shake of her head, she goes inside saying, "destruction, destruction, destruction"!

I know that she knows that I know as we both shake our heads at the unbelievable madness of our time. And you know what we are thinking about:

    — the climate crisis nearing the point of no return,
    — the continuing poisoning of our environment,
    — the threat of a large-scale continental, if not world-wide, war,
    — the fact that 811 million people in the world go hungry, impacting 9.9% of our global 
        population,
    — US COVID deaths total 900,000 people, while the number has reached 391 million
        worldwide,
    — our population remains awash in the unbelievable distortion of facts regarding 
        healthcare and general political zaniness that endangers our physical, emotional,
        mental, and spiritual well-being,
    — the failure of mainline religious institutions to tell the truth regarding the toxic 
        pursuit of money, power, and celebrityhood, in which anyone can become a
        sensational personality for 15 seconds in the passing parade of TV superstars,
    — the threat of collapse of our democratic institutions to be replaced by authoritarian
        rulers and a gaggle of impotent followers.

Alas!

I could go on but there is no need. Let me move on to offer some understanding and hope for the mess we have brewed in our cauldron of imbecility. I want to talk about an archetype of order. "Archetype" is a word that has slipped into our usage to describe what we mean psychologically when we refer to the neurological structure within our brain that gives shape to our behavior, thoughts, feelings, and sensations of our body. When these patterns are recognized by our minds, we call them archetypal images. They are universal and have evolved over the centuries of our time on this earth.

Carl Jung considered the archetypal structures within the brain to be central to human perception, judgement, and action. He went on in his works to name at least twelve archetypal images embedded within the unconscious: sage, jester, hero, outlaw, ruler, lover, law giver, etc.  In all societies and cultures, these archetypal patterns appear in one form or another. They form the matrix of our shared humanity that makes communication possible across differences in languages, customs, and religions.

And for the purpose of considering the role of the archetype of order, it is important we consider a major function of the archetype that is often overlooked. This is the function of restoring psychic balance when a person drifts to one extreme or another. In other words, just as we think of our physical body occupying the norms of well-being in terms of body temperature, weight, sleep, and rest/work, so also do we need to maintain a balance in our psychological/spiritual life.

Therefore, when the madness of destruction dominates our lives personally, societally, or culturally, then a response arises from the unconscious in the service of restoring balance. We do not necessarily "see" this; however, there will appear moods, fantasies, thoughts, feelings, and sensations in the body that grab our attention. We might call this the emergence of the archetype of order.

Such an archetype, for example, is what has come to be called The Golden Rule. As it has drifted into our memory, the most-often quoted scripture comes from the Gospel of
Luke 6:31, and says, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." However, even though I am quoting from the Christian gospel, The Golden Rule is not the sole property of Christianity. In fact, it belongs to the world, passed on from ancient times in all the world's major religions. Around the world (Egypt, India, China, Greece, Persia, Rome, and others), The Golden Rule shared a prominent place in these peoples' ethical practices. In Confucianism, Taoism, Zoroastrianism, Wicca, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Christianity, and others, The Golden Rule occupies a vantage point as to how the peoples of the world may respond to each other.

For example, in ancient Zoroastrianism, The Golden Rule proclaims: "Do not do to others what is injurious to yourself." (Shayast-na-Shayast 13:29)   In Confucianism, Analects XV.24, we read "never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself."  In Islam, the texts say, "As you would have people do to you, do to them; and what you dislike to be done to you, don't do to them." (Katib al-Kafi, vol.2, p.146)  And within the Babylonian Talmud of Judaism, Hillel the Elder draws from the Old Testament's Leviticus 19:16, to center his teaching concerning The Golden Rule: "What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: this is the whole Torah; the rest is explanation; go and learn." Many more references throughout time, society, and religion may be found online.

               Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

How ennobling stands this centerpiece of ethical practice in our human evolution. It serves as an evocative archetype of order in the midst of our present-day madness of destruction. It gives us hope that order may prevail and preside over the future when we send this most important message to distant stars.

Our neighborhood sparkles with the lights of this holiday season. Windows, doors, shrubs, trees, and roofs! They are all dressed up in preparation for the festive mood that most often lifts our spirits this time of year. But his would-be holiday season is different.

This year the gaity, excitement, and good-will still may be felt, but stronger are the fear and anger that circulate through our neighborhoods, penetrating each level of our society. How then am I to speak of light except in Pollyanna fashion, bolstering a pseudo-optimism, determined to see good in everything? However, this could not be further in my  mind of  what I hope to say about a light in this time of darkness. 

But, first, I want to make clear what I mean by the phrase "a time of darkness." This time in which we are living is marked for the centuries that follow as a time of fear ruled by the tiniest of organisms, the COVID-19 virus. Smaller even than the bacteria in our bodies, they also have a claim to longevity, having occupied space on planet earth for millions of years. Nor do I need to tell you of their power to disrupt life for individuals and societies as they wield the specter of death for 1,000 people each day just within the United States. For this reason alone, I place the COVID-19 coronavirus at the front of the parade of fears at this time.

Along with fear, our time is also marked as a time of pervasive anger. On the one hand, given the fear and sadness of the pandemic that has killed 5 million people around the world, we might expect a bond among all of us to deal with such an unspeakable tragedy. But this is not the case. Even before the pandemic, in a poll conducted by NPR-1BM Watson Health, 84% of the people surveyed said Americans are angrier today than a generation ago. I refer to this poll to note that it is not just the ravages of our pandemic that prompt such anger that we see today. In a poll conducted by cnn.com on September 10, 2021, the headline says it all: "We're all just so damn angry." The hallowed halls of our nation's Capitol are stormed by mobs of angry and violent mobs, pushed on by political leaders who flaunt the highest disrespect not only for the legislators who had gathered to conduct business, but also for the chambers of the House of Representatives and the Senate. The traumatic rage assaulted not only some of the police officers attempting to perform their protective duty; many of us who witnessed on TV the unbelievable event carry the searing memory of what harm hysterical anger can do.

More than we are likely to acknowledge, the fear and anger I have briefly described cannot be erased from our minds. The scenes remain on our video tape but also in the deep chambers of our psyche as people continue to die and political chicanery fans the flames of anti-democratic sensationalism. This is what I have been describing as the gathering darkness.

What then, given such an overbearing weight of darkness, what is left to say about the light? It is this: The darkness itself gives birth to the light. Without the darkness we wouldn't have light. In the shadows of our life we find the nuances of character and learn to touch the moral center of our existence as that which truly makes life worth living.

Consider for example a poem by Derek Mahon, "Everything is Going to be All Right." Written in 1995, and published in his book, Selected Poems by Penguin, this poem by Mahon has probably been the most quoted of any other poems during the pandemic. Listen and you will see why.

       How should I not be glad to contemplate
       the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
       and the high tide reflected on the ceiling?
       There will be dying, there will be dying,
       but there is no need to go into that.
       The lines flow from the hand unbidden
       and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
       The sun rises in spite of everything
       and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
       I lie here in a riot of sunlight
       watching the day break and the clouds flying.
       Everything is going to be all right.

This is not Pollyanna gibberish. Mahon acknowledges there will be dying, there will be dying, and the beautiful and bright cities are far away. But the sun will rise, and "everything will be all right." 

How does Mahon know this? "The lines flow from the heart unbidden and the hidden source is the watchful heart." Here, in the middle of his remarkable poem, Mahon reveals the secret that makes profound any poem, any work of literature, or for that matter any humane endeavor. I describe this as a secret although it is not. We all know that the most  worthwhile experience we have had, or ever will have, originates in the heart.

But, on the other hand, perhaps it is a "secret" the way "lines flow from the heart unbidden." The heart, or the soul, knows deep things of which the mind is unaware. This is what Carl Jung means when he refers to the "mythopoeic imagination." That word, "mythopoeic," first jumped out at me when I read Memories, Dreams, Reflections (p. 188) the second time. What a strange word, I thought; what could it possibly mean? This is the way New Oxford American Dictionary defines "mythopoeic": the making of a myth or myths.

Remember that "myth" as used here means a special kind of story that accounts for events and beings endowed with significance for understanding human existence. In other words, we human beings seek to connect in meaningful stories all that we experience.

Within the scope of our mythopoeic imagination, these stories or myths float through centuries of time and space. Along the way, just as our clothes pick up lint, so do our myths pick up characters, events, and other stories, as they change, evolve, disappear, and perhaps reappear as archetypes are wont to do.

In this symbiotic dance of darkness and light, we find meaning for our being. C.S. Lewis said it this way:

       If the whole universe has no meaning we should never have found out
       that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and
       therefore no creature with eyes, we should never know it was dark.
       Dark would be without meaning. (Mere Christianity)

Now is the season when we become aware once more of how special the light is. Millions of people around the globe follow their experiences of light, urged on by a refusal that the darkness should define our existence, emboldened by a centuries-old faith that "the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it."