What I was doing was not, strictly speaking, very 'shamanic' at all. Traditional shamanism is concerned primarily with healing, both physical and psychological. The shaman would undertake a journey to the lower or upper world in order to divine the cause of disease, either by direct perception or through the aid and guidance of a helpful spirit. The shaman might suck out or otherwise banish a disease from the ailing person, or go on a journey to bring back a soul or soul-part that had gone missing from a person. I was no healer in this sense - at least as far as I knew - but lined up proudly in the tradition of psychonaut, explorer of world and consciousness. This was not a career path I had consciously chosen; some things just seem thrust upon us.
One morning a large brown envelope thumped onto the floor beneath the letterbox. Large brown envelopes normally bring unwanted news from the tax people. In this case, however, the contents were welcome. The package came from my friend and fellow shamanic voyager, and contained a pile of photocopies (still de rigueur in 1999), from a book called 'Man and his Symbols'. This is a tome comprising a compilation of essays on aspects of Carl Jung's psychology written in easier-to-read-than-normal language. The book is kind-of by Jung himself: of the five sections, one was written directly by him; the others are transcribed from his words by several of his followers.
As with the night-sea journey, Jung once again came up trumps for me. He became a unique clarifier of some of the strange things which took place on our journeying. This time round, it was the female figure or figures that my friend and I invariably encountered at a particular juncture of the voyage. Having descended into the lowerworld, we would often meet a female of some description or another. She would seem to be a catalyst for the trip to come: following the encounter, we would typically drop into a cavern or down an enormous precipice, or maybe fly across vast thick jungle or through an infinite night sky. On my journeys the lady occasionally appeared in the guise of a warrior, or as a huntress dressed in animal skins. Most frequently she manifested more like a medieval princess or other member of royalty, exuding a distinguished serious air, decked out in full-length flowing robes with equally long and flowing hair to match. 'In the middle of the piazza was sitting a woman who clearly was the queen. She was mature, probably late thirties, with quite a long face and a rather long nose. She was clothed in a long green dress, elegant and made of silky material.' (extract from my shamanic journeying diary). Sometimes she would accompany us on our journeys, sometimes not. And in one sequence of lowerworld visits she turned up again and again as the same being, black hair and cape, and I took her as a teacher.
What all this was about I had no idea. What was I supposed to do with these women in the lowerworld? I wondered whether I was supposed to have sex with them, although that normally seemed inappropriate. Then the photocopies arrived, and I could hardly believe what I was reading. Jung's notion of 'anima' described precisely what - or who - I had been meeting on my journeys.
While some of what 'Man and his Symbols' has to say about anima raised question marks in my mind - largely as a result of cultural and social changes since it was written - the focal revelation left me thunderstruck. Anima, said Jung, mediates between Ego and the Collective Unconscious, or between Ego and the Self, as he calls it. She stands at the gateway between our everyday mode of existence and the deeper layers, everpresent yet normally unconscious. She is mediatrix of the unknown. This is precisely the function she was undertaking during our shamanic voyaging. And as such, she may turn out to be a constant companion of the dedicated explorer of mind.To unpack more completely anima, nothing beats the not-so-easy-to- read yet nevertheless considerable genius 'Anima' by James Hillman. In this book, our archetypal psychologist casts a sharp, critical eye over many of Jung's assertions and assumptions about anima. He points up how some of Jung's attributes of anima are not intrinsic to the archetype itself, but instead culturally-dependent accretions. In particular, as gender roles have changed, and as how we typically view gender has changed, so have the precise characteristics we attribute to anima changed. Yet her function as mediatrix remains the same.
Significantly, Hillman also unhinges anima from some of the couplings and qualities often taken by Jung and his followers as inherent to her. Eros is one; when I wondered whether I should try and have sex with the figures from the shamanic journeys, I was falling prey to this lack of distinction between anima and eros. Not all sexual attraction towards women is anima-inspired, argues Hillman: this is laying far too much on every passing urge and fancy a typically horny male may have. And there are plenty of archetype-type female figures who are not anima. A quick, semi-spontaneous multicultural trawl throws up Hera, Hecate, Mothers Earths and Earth Mothers, Gaia, crones, Diana and other huntresses, Xena and other warrior queens, Virgin Mary and Magdalene the prostitute, not to mention bunches of frenzied maenads. Mistake one of those for anima and you'll soon find yourself in trouble.
Conversely, not every anima sighting provokes erotic feelings. Hillman also does a great job of taking to pieces Jung's simple oppositional notion that the unconscious is mediated by anima in males, and by animus in females. Not necessarily so, claims Hillman. Archetypes are universal, transcending natural gender, and the functions of animus and anima are distinct and different. Anima is unique in her role as mediatrix, and female humans need to explore the unconscious, 'make soul' in Hillmanesque jargon, in the same way as do males.
That's about it on anima for now, I think. Happy imaginings.
Images: Ninfa Marina by Bernardo Buontalenti
Temperance: Dark Fairytale Tarot
