Journeys of a Pregnant Virgin

Six weeks have passed, and tomorrow morning at this time I will be on my way to the airport, heading home to Vancouver. I've had an interesting week of classes, culminating yesterday with an all day seminar on Individuation, a topic that Jungians can't seem to say enough about. In various classes I have heard many attempts to describe and define the process. For those interested, here are some ideas from yesterday's discussion.

Individuation is a lifelong process of becoming conscious of who we are. It is the psychic impulse toward growth and full realization that mirrors the body's naturally unfolding process of maturation. Individuation is psychic movement and sometimes involves entering into an irrational process where the ego must relinguish control. As this process continues throughout our lifetime we becomes better able to sort out where we are in relation to the larger collective and to realize our own separateness and uniqueness, and to contain the neverending play of opposites within our psyche. You might say that what the ego does with life becomes our individuation process.

And, speaking of individuation, here is a lovely passage I read last night as I enjoyed my glass of wine and the quiet of having the whole house to myself. It comes from an article by Jungian analyst, Robin Van Loben Sels, in the special issue of Spring Journal titled,"Body & Soul: Honoring Marion Woodman."

"Whole-hearted acceptance of body's concrete existence is essential, of our essence. We cannot individuate without it. When bodies are unloved, whether by ourselves or others, hatred flows in, or intense neglect ensues. More than symbol, more even than the bread and wine of the Last Supper, each body is a knowing connection, a telling thing, a medium of experience, of expression and being. The body navigates us to where it wants us to go from an inner map not available to consciousness. Developing a sense of body awareness requires that we become aware of what the body wants, and how the body feels emotionally, and that we integrate all of this with personal consciousness."

She also quotes the Native American writer, Linda Hogan, who writes, "The body, made of earth's mud and breathed into, is the temple, and we need to learn to worship it as such, to move slowly within it, respecting it, loving it, treating ourselves and all our loved ones with tenderness ... love for the body and for the earth are the same love."

This is such a profound and strangely familiar truth to me that it's almost shocking to experience its importance over and over again on my journey. More often when we speak of loving our body it has to do with coming to accept its deviations from the cultural norms of beauty that haunt us in youth (which really means loving the image of our body, loving our body as object), but becoming aware of how the body feels emotionally and taking that as seriously as the mind's experience is a whole other story.

And with those reflections, typed in rhythm to a beautiful Charpentier cantata, I will close for now. I will most likely not go to Einsiedeln for the Salve Regina service this afternoon as I had planned, but have a slow day of cleaning and packing, and a long pre-flight walk, and finish with a lovely holiday gathering of BodySoul Rhythms women in Maya's home tonight, with mulled wine and candlelight. It seems like a perfect last day in Zurich before heading home for my four week midterm break.

Until January, then, I wish all who visit these lines peaceful hearts and souls over the next weeks and "Guten Rutsch" into the New Year! I'll be back in 2006.

It is Sunday morning and I feel as if I have finally caught my breath after a relentless (and self-chosen, I might add) schedule of lectures and seminars. It's my first weekend "off" since I arrived on the 1st of November. Wednesday was my first breather, with not one but two very enjoyable coffee visits at Spruengli in the course of the day and more walking in the icy autumn air than I've done in quite a while. Marathon Thursday with its twelve lecture hours proved both exhausting and exhilarating. For the most part it was all interesting and some of it quite inspiring as well. But so much to take in and absorb. My brain hurt!

I'd debated about attending a four hour lecture yesterday as well but when my tired body finally woke up at 9:25 am, quite unheard of for this early riser, I took it as my cue that a quiet day at home was in order. So I did some reading for next Saturday's Individuation seminar, and then walked into town, only to remember that Christmas shopping is in full swing and the crowds were thick on Bahnhofstrasse. I'm not sure what the two beautiful camels were doing on the sidewalk, but there was a happy throng gathered around them and they didn't seem to mind the attention, likely accustomed to the odd behaviour of human animals. They certainly had an expression of amusement on their faces. I kept on walking and picked up a few groceries and a few additions to my impressive stash of Christmas chocolate (my whole family being chocoholic, there is never too much of a good thing when it comes to chocolate). Then I returned to my cozy room, carried on with my reading and sipped coffee and nibbled away. I even cooked a simple supper between several lengthy long-distance telephone visits. Yesterday came closest to the leisurely feeling of my previous semester here and I enjoyed the reprieve.

Today is another day off and I shall finally take the tram to Forch to visit my friends whom I have not seen since my return. I'm looking forward to another rich and provocative visit and have picked up some Spruengli treats to fuel the discussion. As I reflect on my last semester, those visits were certainly among my most stimulating times, both in and out of seminars, and I realized last week that I have missed them. At a certain point on the trip out, the tram emerges from a dark tunnel into a wide open landscape of green rolling hills as far as the eye can see, and I have a visceral sense of having left the peopled space of Zurich and entered another time and space, less "civilized" and perhaps more unpredictable.

I received word from the Admission Committee midweek that I have been accepted as a Training Candidate which means I can begin thinking ahead, both in practical matters and as far as possible essay and thesis topics are concerned. In one way this is a curious and unexpected way to be spending a considerable chunk of my fifties (can this really be my sixth decade of life?) and yet it seems to be what my soul desires and requires. Still, I will continue to take it one step at a time and know that I can continue through the entire process, or leave at any time, if my sense of inner vocation changes. In either case I will never regret the Zurich experience with all its rich nuances and opportunities.

As I write these "Letters Home and abroad" I am always aware of the fine line between reporting outer events without sharing their meaning to me, and opening up what should be held quietly in my soul to simmer and brew for the time being. This is the closest thing to public writing that I have done in a few years and it certainly feels different than my private journal writing or even my proprioceptive writing, shared with a few. More so than with my books, there is something quite personal? intimate? (I can't find quite the right word) about posting these lines with no idea of who might read them and even decide to respond. I've received a couple of unexpected emails that reminded me I really don't know who might be reading this! Not an unpleasant surprise, I hasten to add, but a surprise all the same.

Enough for now. A week from tomorrow I will soar back to the arms of my beloved and my beloved Vancouver. I'm hoping to write one more entry before I leave and will be on the lookout for a good quote with which to end my 2005 "Letters from Zurich". Meanwhile, Happy first Advent Sunday and peace and fulfilment to all in this overbusy month of December.