I first ran into Joseph Campbell in a purely accidental manner. I was with a friend who had business with a community house in town. We were on our way to the country and stopped off.

While I waited for her I found myself in a scruffy, comfortable living-room. The walls were lined with books, many and various, the kind of ad hoc selection you come across in community houses. As my eyes scanned the books for a little distraction I happened upon four similar-looking volumes. The title of the series drew me instantly—The Masks of God.

I drew one of the volumes down and wedged myself in an armchair for the next fifteen minutes, transfixed. A thought (one echoed later by Joseph Campbell's advice to everyone to spend a year reading books) came to me very strongly—actually it was a passionate desire—to one day take some time out to devour and assimilate the knowledge and wisdom in The Masks of God.

The thought quietly and invisibly gestated inside me for some years until it was finally realized. Our life-changing events can be relatively unspectacular and it may be very hard to express the impact they make on our individual life. But as the subject of that life one counts off the stages and changes of life by significant events of a transforming nature. One such for me was following the decision to read all of Joseph Campbell's books.

I had become a successful psycho-spiritual psychotherapist. My practice, both individual and group, was burgeoning. In many ways I had reached the limits of my personal ambition. But with the success had come a certain jadedness. What had previously been overwhelmingly exciting and always surprising to me had somehow, somewhere along the line, degenerated into a routine of predictability, of contemplating the problems of human suffering, the details of which no longer seemed as unique and interesting to me as they once had. I had begun to feel that I had seen it all, dealt with it all and begun to identify deep themes of similarity in the human predicament—themes I didn’t understand.

So, reducing my practice drastically, I relocated to a remote rural cottage to engage once again in the practice where it had all begun for me—enquiry into myself. While I set about my task I allowed myself one great extravagance, a once-in-a-lifetime indulgence: I would read the collected works of Joseph Campbell and I would start with The Masks of God.

The scholarly nature of the books stretched my comprehension and conceptual structures, but I revelled in it. A hidden scholar in me began to take notes and think in new ways—something new was awakened inside me.

As the completist in me sought out more books, I came across the smaller, conversational works. The immense insights of books like The Mythic Imageand The Hero with a Thousand Faces became grounded and supremely relevant to my evolving life and my therapy practice. But through books like An Open Life, The Power of Myth and, particularly (for its succinct and sharp insights) This Business of the Gods, I found a doorway into fresh and exciting insights into humanity, the context for life and its evolution.

Really, Joseph Campbell restored my faith in the mind, in writing and in books. He showed me that the written word could refer to more than itself; he revealed to me the transcendence of the literal, the meaning of symbolism and he opened a door through the world of appearances into the Mystery and Eternity itself.

Alongside this, he re-stimulated my interest in psychotherapy and in human beings. I began (beholden to his and others' influences) to formulate a spiritual map of my own which I published (in The Flight of Consciousness, Ashgrove 2002). Joseph Campbell's insights into the human condition constantly informed and deepened my understanding of the individuals who came to me for therapy and counselling.

Joseph Campbell appeared for me and many others I think synchronistically. He bridged the experiences of the early twentieth century with the more complex and sophisticated breakthroughs of the later twentieth-century. Like Jung, Krishnamurti, the Beatles or Wittgenstein, he was the right man at the right time.

It is a while now since I read any of the books or listened to any of the interviews. But it is a testament to the power of Joseph Campbell that I recall his words in situations where guidance and clarity are called for.

His enthusiasm, vitality and energy for myth and all that it signified communicated something timeless and resilient to me. Like a meeting with a genuine spiritual teacher, exposure to his mind, to his life, and to his insights were monumentally influential and life-changing. When Sri Krishna Menon told Joseph Campbell, “the way is to say yes,” it struck a great chord in me. For this I will always be grateful.

BLOG entry #130

This article by Richard Harvey was originally published at http://www.therapyandspirituality.com/articles/  and it is part of an ongoing retrospective series of blogs. ‘What Joseph Campbell Means to Me’ was first published in 2011.

Psychotherapy and counseling depend largely on the quality of the relationship between the therapist and the client. The key quality is authenticity. The client should experience the therapist as genuine -- both in wisdom and caring. The authenticity of the meeting in therapy sessions is pivotal in bringing about a successful healing result.

The therapeutic encounter requires several other elements. First, mutual respect. Both client and therapist are engaged in a highly complex and sensitive endeavor, which may only be achieved through self regard, mutual consideration and respect towards each other. No matter what arises in therapy this should be the underlying basis of the relationship.

Second, openness. The ability to be open and to share supports and enables the client's inner exploration and need for release and freedom from repressed and/or painful memories, grief, shame and guilt. In a society where experiencing and expressing core emotions may still be considered reprehensible, the ability to give and receive emotional expression openly and non-judgmentally -- by the client and the therapist respectively --are precious and important elements of the healing process.

Third, empathy. A good therapist feels with his client. Rather than remove or distance himself, the therapist involves himself in the client's experience and meets the client's deeply held need to be received.

The next and crucially necessary technique of therapy and counseling is the practice of awareness. Since the client may communicate on so many different levels simultaneously and intensively, the therapist must remain open and receptive. Allowing the client to lead, practicing non-interruption and simply listening are associated key elements to awareness practice in the therapeutic process.

The therapist should be prepared to be alive and responsive, and most of all present, undistracted and able to engage fully with the client's experience. Intuition is a valuable tool for the therapist. As well as practicing being non-critical and accepting of the client and not interpreting.

The therapeutic relationship is a deep alliance. The key element here is trust. The client must sense the therapist's integrity, belief in him and concern and ability to bring him through his travail to where he wants or needs to go, or be.

Finally, shared intention. It is crucial that in the first meeting or thereabouts the therapist clarifies the intention of the client clearly and fully. Bearing in mind that this intention is almost certain to change, it should be monitored and spoken about, intuited, modified and made a keen object of awareness by both client and therapist.

BLOG entry #129

This article by Richard Harvey was originally published at http://www.therapyandspirituality.com/articles/  and it is part of an ongoing retrospective series of blogs. ‘Counseling and Psychotherapy: Qualities of the Therapy Relationship’ was first published in 2011.

When we speak of truth or experience; it physically, emotionally or energetically the soul in the body is being released from the rigid confines of early human conditioning. We feel the chronic patterns of in-turned energy, the emotional-physical power we have turned against ourselves in the form of suppression and self-imposed inhibition as exhaustion.

Recently in group workshops I have noticed that the incidence of tiredness and exhaustion in my students has increased and intensified. Leaving aside my nervousness that I may have been boring my audience to sleep, I set about trying to account for this phenomenon. This is the subject of this short article.

Some group participants’ observations:

I have noted a "different" sensation after attending your weekend courses. It is a sensation I have not experienced before. I have felt physically ill, slightly upset in my tummy, very tired to the point of exhaustion, but simultaneously calm, focused and content. This sensation is different to physical or mental tiredness. In seminar breaks I have experienced intense drowsiness, resembling the condition just prior to sleep, and in the lunch breaks I have dropped easily into a deep sleep (as have the other participants), and awoken refreshed.

My recent experience of tiredness and exhaustion was during a group weekend. I usually find that I am very closely and attentively engaged in the group work, following teacher and group members alike and only fade at the very end of a weekend of work. However, on the last weekend I was surprised to become exhausted and fade on a Saturday for no unusually (sic) accountable reason. I recovered for the Sunday session.

The tiredness started creeping in slowly, slithering gently, especially after a session. Then the slithering became a flood. It was overwhelming. It was impossible to keep awake. For months (seriously months!) all I could do was sleep. I had no energy and my need for sleep was enormous. It was like having come back from a war in which you have to be constantly alert, in which your eyes are never allowed to close, your consciousness is constantly on call, your body always tight, ready to run to skip the bullet. I guess that what happens inside is a bit like being on a battle-field. That is the feeling. The inside is wrecked. You’re hit by an invisible tidal wave that leaves no physical evidence, it’s all inside. There is a big fight going on inside, between your will to change, your conscious desire to change, and all the other voices inside that don’t know how to and don’t want to and which constantly bring up thoughts of doubt, sabotage, murder, darkness and heaviness. It’s a constant, constant, constant struggle. With time, and inner work, it gets better. 

After every session I get hit by the urge to lie down and sleep. It is as if my soul needs to go out, needs to go. Or it can be also that the unconscious has to speak, has to express, in its home. And the body lets go, surrenders… slowly. 

The sleep is extraordinary; it’s deep, it’s cavernous, it’s transporting, it’s most pleasant, with a primal quality. I truly feel it dragging something of me into another dimension and if I let it happen, if I can lie down and sleep and don’t have to do anything, and give it that half hour, one hour or more, then it is incredibly restoring, clarifying, and healing. 

With time and more inner work, the "sleep effect" wanes slowly away and is replaced by renewed energy and clarity. I think this is because some parts of you, some bits and pieces inside, give in and relax.

Inner work is first and foremost the search for truth. When we speak of truth or experience it physically, emotionally or energetically the soul in the body is being released from the rigid confines of early human conditioning. The mind, which has been caught in its usual activities of worrying, planning and imagining, is arrested by a greater concern. This concern - the truth itself - is irresistible to our attention. The truth invites us to liberation and the shedding of pettiness and all that is irrelevant to the present moment.

In the present moment, life is - this is the center of being-ness and existence, where all is vivid, real and free, radiating and communicating brightness and vibrancy. In reaction, the mind recoils, almost immediately, into the darkness of suppression - like when you emerge too quickly from a darkened room into a bright light. Doubt, cynicism and belittling arise in thought, dismissive arrogance and complacency, borne on the fulfillment of hope. Fear masked as knowledge, superiority or unworthiness become the posture that seeks to destroy the truth as it presents itself to us in transparent strength and vulnerability.

When what we are seeking most is present, the organism experiences it as a great shock. First, we feel the chronic patterns of in-turned energy, the emotional-physical power we have turned against ourselves in the form of suppression and self-imposed inhibition as exhaustion, at first dully and later overwhelmingly strongly. This may be sudden or gradual depending on the makeup of a person’s body, mind, or psyche. The faculty or mixture of faculties - physical, emotional, mental or energetic - that we have most employed to command or train ourselves to be subordinate to fear and intimidation is the one we feel first: if physical, we become physically exhausted; if emotional, we become emotionally exhausted and so on.

Second, when we experience the truth, the soul and the spirit awaken in a new way, a deep way. As the inner core of a human being stirs, the outer layer struggles to maintain "the world as it is". Consciously, or usually unconsciously, the person resists the awakening of soul and spirit because of its unfamiliarity, which is experienced initially as radically threatening. Dark qualities in the individual, like resentment, frustration, anxiety, vengeance and stress produce disorientation, confusion and conflict.

Sitting and breathing through these disturbances, we can overcome the preliminary shock and assimilate the unfamiliar, direct apprehension of truth in all of its invigorating, refreshing aspects and effects.

For some of us the revival of soul and spirit is timely and not wholly unexpected. When we have prepared ourselves through thorough, persistent applied work in the inner realms. We may have passed through the stages of awareness, opening and lessening (I have detailed this process in Part 2 of my book, The Flight of Consciousness), which lead to an inner emptiness and receptiveness. We have reached a state of deep preparation in which the meeting with the unknown produces less of a shock to the psycho-physical organism. Receptive and open to truth and its effects, we may meet it with spontaneity and surrender, yielding and natural in the new relationship.

But often the truth of living consciousness has to reel us in to our true heart. And the awakening and reviving in full energy and vibrancy of the soul and the spirit is exhausting and tiring. In reality we are holding on, clinging to denial, to resistance, to expressions of our self-contraction in habit, assumptions and in order to combat fear (or excitement depending on how you look at it), we adhere to all that we know. The known world becomes our sanctuary, as well as our self-imposed prison.

In the restless battle between the two parts of yourself - the one that seeks liberation and the one that is determined to maintain the status quo - we exhaust, tire, wound and disappoint ourselves. We may not go beyond the bounds of character and conditioning which may prove to be beyond our self-capacity or present destiny. Yet even to return from such a magnificent and glorious struggle we may inspire others with our true experiences and the wonders of our self-discovery in the inner realms.

However, when we are truly present, stabilized in our center, committed to our intention with the four strands of physical, mental, emotional and energetic qualities woven together into a plait of extraordinary resilience and strength - as a symbol of our resolve - we are pulled or reeled in by the divine, through the movement of grace to the transcendent field of the heart from which there can be no going back. Now there is no retreat or surrender to the limitations of self-contraction ever again.

In the old Christian terminology we are "saved" and finally risen above the fear of possession, illusion and death. At last firmly rooted in our true heart where soul and spirit interpenetrate, we see beyond a shadow of a doubt the bright certainty that heaven is on earth.

No longer is exhaustion or tiredness an issue or a problem since we are, rather than a spirit in a body, now identified with consciousness itself.

Let’s end with the lovely, encouraging and enlightening observation of a dedicated student of inner work:

I am working on myself and life and I have to say the process is exhausting at times. It's as if my body gets the full impact of a revelation and collapses until it has processed it... then the energy returns afresh and wonderful!

(Thanks to Sophie Paulding, Michael Booth, George Worrell, Angela Dorazio and Dittany Dylan)

BLOG entry #128

This article by Richard Harvey was originally published at http://www.therapyandspirituality.com/articles/  and it is part of an ongoing retrospective series of blogs. ‘Psycho-Spiritual Psychotherapy: The Role of Tiredness and Exhaustion’ was first published in 2011.

In psycho-spiritual psychotherapy guided imagery is a powerful tool for transforming the inner world. Through suggestions, images, sometimes sketching narratives, the therapist guides and facilitates the client or the group through a journey, a process of inner discovery that is unique and magical. A guided imagery is always a close intimate personal experience that gives you a new experience of yourself and reveals unrealized potential.

Here is how you do it.

In some ways it is easier in a group. If there are two of you, one can read the guided imagery to the other slowly and evenly, gently and compassionately with frequent pauses. Then you can reverse roles and do it the other way round. Alternatively one of you can read the guided imagery on to a recording device and play it back. This is the best way if you are doing it alone. Whether you are preparing to do a guided imagery on your own, in a group or with one other person make the conditions conducive to a meditation space. Disconnect telephones and other noisy devices that may disturb you. Close doors and tell any other people in the space that you are not to be interrupted. The room you are doing the guided imagery in should be clean and tidy, devoid of clutter, plain and preferably spacious, with peaceful images and ornamentation. The temperature should be comfortable for you to sit or lie down relaxed and unhindered for a medium to long period of time. Breathing consciously through the body, from your feet up to the top of your head can help you attain a more profound feeling of relaxation. When all this is done, take a little time to breathe consciously before you begin.

Close your eyes and relax.

Here is a basic guided imagery for you to experience.

Take yourself back to childhood. Follow your memories to early innocence and naivety, to a complex world with people, animals, colors, trust, weather, mystery, wind and nature. Recall your earliest experiences when all this and more begins to arise in your conscious awareness, when you start to be open and receive stimuli from the outside world. For a while it is not separate from you because you are a part of it all. But I would like you now to bring yourself to the point where there is you and all this 'other', the world as it impinges upon your senses. You see it, touch, feel, smell and taste it and it is surrounding you, coming to you through your senses. You are involved somehow and there comes a point where you need to make sense of it. This is what we call the "organization of experience", because human beings have a compulsion to organize and if you think about it it's true. Simply being here now you can see what you have done to organize yourself, your sitting or lying arrangement, with your equipment around you. All of this you have learned.

Spend a little time now remembering how you organized your early life experiences...

Now consider how all this learned organization and behavior influences you today. In some cases it may limit you; in other cases it may add to you life and benefit you. Try not to be judgmental either way.

Take a deep breath, roll over on your left side and, bringing your knees up to your chest, relax for at least ten minutes to finish.

BLOG entry #127

This article by Richard Harvey was originally published at http://www.therapyandspirituality.com/articles/  and it is part of an ongoing retrospective series of blogs. ‘A Guided Imagery: The Organization of Experience’ was first published in 2011.

Since I was young I have been able to look at ordinary objects like curtains, crumpled clothes or the shadow on a water jug on a table and I have seen the most extraordinary things. Perhaps you have had the same experience. Another example is driving, particularly at night, when I am tired. I have seen exotic animals, suspicious strangers and curious scenarios in hedgerows, under trees and beside motorways, which on closer inspection turn out to be nothing but the play of light and shadows.

The play of sunlight on water never seems to have the same effect on me, because it doesn't create solid images where none really exist. It is more reminiscent of the spiritual in the world, because it has an ephemeral enchanting quality. This numinous quality is appropriate to the sense in which the divine shoots through the relative world, which is time and space bound. In Hindu philosophy the three human states of waking, dreaming and sleeping -- which comprise a human life -- are transcended and made spiritual in the fourth state, which is called turiya. To sublimate matters even further the fifth state of turyatita is the indivisible transcendence of unchanging pure consciousness.

The Hindu explanation presents us with a quandary. Wise and accessible as it is, it may nonetheless leave us asking the question: How do we speak of the unspeakable? How do we use words to describe what is beyond words? The answer is through metaphor, mythology and its use of symbols. Much like words (and words too are symbolic of course) symbols make reference to something greater than themselves.

Now sometimes it is pleasurable to play with words for their own sake. When we do, even words which may sound profound have no real sense of a deeper meaning, of something beyond them. They are meant literally and understood to be shallow, superficial and devoid of deeper meaning. In contrast words used with precision and accuracy part the veils of confusion and guide us to understanding.

But when are terms or narratives symbolic and when are they literal? Because it is crucial that we know the difference.

Fantastic and extravagant happenings are commonly attributed to spiritual and religious adepts. Some of these accounts make incredible reading, ranging from the curious to the glorious. There is the unbelievable story of Tikku-Baba, a fakir who had advanced powers and performed many miracles. Late one night, a young fakir who used to run errands for Tikku-Baba returned to the great fakir's house to find Tikku-Baba's body dismembered and his limbs stacked in a neat pile. Fearing a grisly murder had taken place the young fakir fled. But filled with curiosity he returned in the morning. To his astonishment he found Tikku-Baba in full health, beaming and carrying on as usual.

This obviously impossible set of events is made all the more difficult to evaluate when told by Nisargadatta Maharaj, an enlightened master who was very quick to scold aspiring adepts for their lack of logical thought.

In another fantastic story, this time from the Sufi tradition, compassion is obscured by atrocity. An entire family was the disciples of a Sufi master. One of the sons had a naturally smiling face. One day the master asked the boy, "Why are you smiling?" The boy kept smiling. In front of the whole family, the Master beat the boy with his stick until it was broken. The boy kept the smile on his face. The master took a heavier piece of wood and continued to beat him until his head entered his shoulders and his shoulders entered his body. When the boy was a mass of broken bones, flesh and blood the Master went inside and chewed betel nut. When he came out, he pointed to the bloody pile and said, "Who is lying there?" Then, in a voice of authority, he exclaimed, "Get up!" and the boy arose without scars or any sign of harm, entirely whole. The master announced that the boy was now a Wali (Saint) and he remained one for the rest of his life. This was the family's dearest wish and the Master had accomplished in less than an hour what would have been expected to take many years or lifetimes.

Again the normally sensible minds of Sufi leaders like Irina Tweedie or Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee (who published this story) seem to consider this a literal story, since it was apparently witnessed and recounted by their predecessor, the Sufi master Bhai Sahib.

Metaphor, symbol, myth are the visible and verbal communications of choice for spiritual truths, which may not be truly expressed any other way. Why not? Because spiritual truths are not the same as literal truths. Spirituality pertains to the life of the spirit, to transcendence and liberation and ultimately to the Divine or God, Brahman, the Absolute. We have so many names for numinosity precisely because it is so hard to describe and when we get into a bi-partisan holy war about it, it is usually because we have become attached to the symbols and forsaken what they stand for.

There may be a different way to employ words if we experience their meaning in a different way. Defending the actor Steven Seagal, who destroyed his Hollywood career by making a film about planetary pollution which pre-empted Al Gores's An Inconvenient Truth by more than a decade, the psychologist Robert Trager explained, "A part of Steven lived in Japan so long that he is Japanese, and in Japan the literal truth is not as important as the emotional truth. In Japan there is another level of reality, one where the literal facts don't matter as much as the social and the emotional facts."

Emotions predominate over scientific fact in the writing of Laurens van der Post: "Time became reluctant, for it is not only a movement in and through space but also a movement in feeling, and when feeling is fixed in one unforgettable moment, time only half exists."

So, are words literal, symbolic, emotional, factual, fantastical, figurative, literal, representational, abstract or metaphorical? The answer is of course that they can be any, either, most, some or all of these. But our subject here is the use of symbol and metaphor to convey spiritual facts, or truths. Sometimes words are used to simply lie.

Extraordinary phenomena are, of course, not always as extraordinary as they seem. The Indian rope trick has been discredited: Sai Baba may not have materialized holy vibuthi or jewelry out of thin air and not all crop circles turn out to be the work of alien life forms.

Turning now to the crazy wisdom school of spiritual instruction, what does it mean when the fifteenth century, "enlightened madman" Drukpa Kunley is said to have instructed a female disciple in meditation, inseminated her and sent her off to a cave to meditate. Apparently a year later he returned to find that there had been an avalanche and that the cave entrance had been closed off for some months. However when he found her she was alive and well in spite of having taken only three days of rations with her into the cave the year before. After a short period of instruction she is said to have attained Buddhahood.

When the contemporary spiritual teacher Adi Da Samraj died, two expectations: first, that he would rise from the dead; and, second, that his body would show no sign of decay, indicating that he was a great yogi, were both disproved. Did this discredit Adi Da or simply show that his followers were literalizing symbols?

Spiritual metaphors are symbols over reality (i.e. reality of the relative world). When the symbolic and the literal become confused they disappoint and dishearten. The child-philosopher, less than the spiritual disciple, is gullible and ultimately materialistic. In his heart doing and having take precedence over being and being is close to presence and human presence is close to the divine. We meet the divine through our identification with it, through exhibiting those supernatural powers, and magical means developed through our spiritual discipline, sometimes known as siddhis.

Siddhis are those perfections or accomplishments mentioned in the Mahabharata. Clairvoyance, levitation, bilocation and materializing objects are some examples. However looking further into the manifestation of siddhis leads us into more mundane realms: knowing the past, present and future, tolerating heat and cold, knowing others' minds, not allowing oneself to be dominated by another. Some are merely elementary meditation experiences, like experiencing your body as tiny or infinitely large, heavy or weightless.

Occasionally mystification is caused by mistranslation, as in the mystification surrounding the virgin birth. Virgin simply means "maiden". In the original Latin the word refers to sexual inexperience or "uninitiated". So the virgin birth simply means "born of a maiden". Similar havoc is wrought in the misconception of the word apocalypse. Rather than the end of the world, it actually means "lifting of the veil" or "revelation". In the kaliyuga, deception, illusion and falsehood must be transcended and truth embraced and accepted.

I have seen truth in a grain of sand, god in an in-breath, eternity in the ocean and endless mystery in the wind. None of these incline me towards becoming a worshiper of nature, anthropomorphizing natural phenomena or starting a religious cult. Metaphor and symbol are the ways in which those of us who are moved to convey timeless truths and deathless wisdom endeavor to help others towards understanding.

BLOG entry #126

This article by Richard Harvey was originally published at http://www.therapyandspirituality.com/articles/  and it is part of an ongoing retrospective series of blogs. ‘The Use of Metaphor, Symbol and Myth in Spiritual Literature’ was first published in 2011.