I had felt compressed for days, like I was collapsing in on myself. Something churned in the background, just beyond reach. Like I was fighting something, but what?

There was a visceral even, physical response to this pressure.

My muscles became sore, and my neck seemed to crystalize. What was this?

It felt connected to understanding why I don’t write, make art, or craft as much as I want to. But how? What was I missing?

I remember I had been here before, blowing cigar smoke up into the summer air. I had the thought then: “I’m just blowing my energy out in smoke.”

Now it was winter and cold air drafted through the windows. Yet the same tired question arose: “Why is it that I don’t do the things I want to do, and do the things I don’t want to?”

I decided to lay down for a bit.

As I lay there, afternoon sun peering from behind the blinds, I thought: why don’t I ask myself what was holding me back…

An old man suddenly appeared. He was hiding behind a corner in a dimly lit, foggy alleyway, wearing a distinct black docker cap, black trench coat, and white beard.

It was only a momentary flash, and I began to speak to him…

Active Imagination

I will come back to the Old Man soon, but for clarity, I wish to establish some common ground.

Active Imagination, introduced by Carl Jung, has become something of a buzzword.

The concept is simple: enter your imagination to meet inner psychological aspects of yourself. Then have an inner dialogue of words or images with that aspect.

When I was first introduced to the idea, I read books, blog posts, and watched YouTube videos. All purporting to have the ‘best’ method for active imagination.

I found it overwhelming and, unfortunately, it muddied the water.

What I eventually discovered: Active imagination worked when I stopped forcing it and started trusting my process.Making myself comfortable, setting gentle intentions, and giving whatever arose time to reveal its meaning.

Truly, that is it. I had to learn to write down whatever came to mind, even if it felt ‘made up.’

[Link to Active Imagination – Lessons Learned]

The Old Man

… and I let my imagination take over…

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The Old Man: It is I.

Me: Who is I?

The Old Man: The part of you that is comfortable, set in old ways. I’m the old man you glimpsed peeking around the corner.

Me: Why do you hide behind the corner?

The Old Man: I see you coming for me. And I know what you’ll do, you’ll kill me.

Me: I don’t want to kill you.

The Old Man: No? Then why, in your dreams, do you kill so many others?

Me: I don’t want to kill anyone in me. I want to find a way to live in harmony.

The Old Man: “Harmony.” What exactly is that supposed to mean? You want to live in harmony. Sounds nice on the surface, doesn’t it? I’m comfortable in my ways. I enjoy smoking. I enjoy thinking, I enjoy contemplating. You want to replace all that, destroy all that, so you can go make things. Have I not served you well? I see how you look at me.

Me: How do you think I look at you? I cherish you. You have served me well over the years. I only hope that you continue to do so. I have no desire to kill you or remove you. I just want to know, how can this new baby grow and flourish with you still here? Almost like a grandfather. So much experience. So much wisdom. You brought so much. I have no desire to kill you.

The Old Man: I see your thoughts. Every time you sit down to smoke, listen to some music, contemplate, you think: “I should be making something. I should be writing. I should be researching. I should be creating. Why am I doing this?”

Me: You’re absolutely correct. I do think that. I guess that’s what I want to figure out. Can both coexist? I look at my days and they feel so full, but is that really true? We spend so much time doing your things. Is there no time for something else?

The Old Man: We get one or two hours most afternoons. What am I to do? Give it all away? The weekends are for rest, for contemplating the week past. What are we to do?

Me: You are old and wise. I know we can come to a conclusion. How do we create? How do we manifest?

The Old Man: I do manifest. I do create. Each and every day. Through my work. Through my relationships. Through my thoughts. Through my journals. Through music. I’ve given way. How much more do you want?

Me: This is all incredibly true. Can we not make room for crafting? A new life will never happen if we don’t start now, today, in this moment.

The Old Man: Perhaps the solution is right in front of our face. Think of the piano. You play little by little each day, and each day you get better and better. Perhaps that’s all it takes, twenty or thirty minutes a day. We can go from there. We don’t have to give up our smoking, our contemplating, our thinking, our music. They’re relaxing.

Me: It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? If that’s the case, why do we war about it? Why do you fear that I’ll kill you? Why do I sometimes look upon your activities with disdain? What else is hiding under the surface? Who else might be hiding? Who is I?

session continues…

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What it all meant to me?

The session continued for some time and I was visited by one calling itself ‘Ego.’

It all seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? It always seems to be that way. I look back over what I write and it always sounds strange at first. Easy to dismiss.

Time and again, though, when I look back at these sessions after some time has passed, I’m amazed by how accurate they were in what was ‘said.’ How it seems to be what was needed at the time, even if it didn’t feel like it then.

So I let this latest experience linger in the back of my mind. Ever so gently checking in on it.

The truth of the words felt more and more true, and a new image was coming into focus.

Here I had been trying to strip away smoking entirely. Strip away my contemplation time, my time to just sit and listen to music or a book.

I had looked at this time as the ‘enemy.’

I was telling myself I should be more productive, not just sitting here smoking.

I was blinded by the perceived war I was fighting with myself.

What I really needed was to accept that the Old Man is part of me. I should not war with that part of myself.

The answer had been there all along. I didn’t have to replace all my time with creative, hands-on outlets.

There could be time for both the Old Man and time for crafting.

It is such a simple way to bring peace, yet the answer eluded me for so long.

When I reflected on the comment about piano practice, I realized there was no need to replace the Old Man. I didn’t have to be fully productive every day from wake to sleep. I didn’t even have to spend more than an hour each day on creative work.

I started to see a pattern: so many times in the past, I’d tried to remove the Old Man by focusing on a project to the exclusion of everything else. Every time, it ended in disaster, burnout, and failure.

A different image started to form. An image of a quieter, gentler approach. One that worked with the Old Man, not against him. One that led to slow, consistent, sustained movement instead of burnout.

I had felt compressed and unable to move in the world I was living in. 

Then a smal conversation with ‘myself’ started to open a door. It gave me a glimpse of a different way. A way of creating a new world to live in with new opportunities.