October: Embracing the Shadow

I’ve started this blog about ten different ways, because the month of October and all things scary bring up so many things I want to talk about. But I’m going to start with this image, because it’s my favorite Gorey image.

I love so much about this image, but I especially love that this little kid is just walking right into that dragon’s mouth, and doesn’t really look scared at all. It makes me wonder what scary really is, and why we sometimes try to avoid it, and then at other times overdose on it.

It’s no secret how much I love Jung, and I think Jung is a helpful guide when we start to explore this avoid/binge cycle that we seem to be on with all things scary. I think it’s a lack of integration with our shadow selves.

The Jungian concept of the shadow is that the more undesirable parts of who we are - envy, greed, fear, resentment, etc. - will continue to manifest and rule our interactions unless we can work to integrate these aspects of the self into a fully-realized (and decidedly imperfect) whole.

And our feverish embrace of extreme spookiness in the lead up to Halloween seems to me to be a shadow-type avoidance of death, so that it manifests in the extreme in our one month when it’s “safe” to celebrate and revel in it.

But in many contemplative and religious traditions, death is an omnipresent companion that one is encouraged to think about and interface with in a daily manner.

In Buddhism, the Maranasati Meditation brings mindfulness to how we contemplate death, all the way up to envisioning our corpse decomposing. Whew!

In Christianity vis a vis classical philosophy, the phrase “memento mori” exhorts us to remember that death is ever present, and an afterlife awaits us. And there’s some majorly cool art inspired by it - like this Vanitas Still Life by Cornelius de Heem that I was totally transfixed by on a trip to The Getty back in June.

In the Tantric tradition of yoga, there are a sect of Shiva-worshippers called the Aghori, who live in charnel grounds, and eat from human skulls, partially to acknowledge the primordial state of being that unites us all - it’s a way to cut through the aversion and attachment that we learn as we grow up and become accustomed to our lives as humans.

In the tradition of Judaism, the holiday of Rosh Hashanah that celebrates the new year, also invites a contemplation of death, in the recitation of the poem called the Unetaneh Tokef, which reminds us that our lives might not be as long as we hope.

And research supports contemplating one’s death on a regular basis - those who do tend to make life decisions that feel more affirming - which often veer away from individually-focused temporary happiness, and tend toward community-focused and more permanent choices that focus on relationship and helping others. So don’t just take my word for it - but if I may offer a personal anecdote:

I opened the Galaxy just about a year ago, in the aftermath of losing my Dad to cancer. The trajectory of his illness was incredibly short - in less than a year, he was gone, and just barely got to 70. I don’t think my Dad really believed that he was as sick as he was, and I’m sure he never thought he’d be gone by 70. Being with him through that process was a bit of a wakeup call to me. I’d been dreaming about having a studio space of my own, that I could curate and create for over 15 years. What was I waiting for, really? I didn’t want to be surprised to find my life shorter than I thought, and never have opened the studio I had dreamed of opening.

So I like to joke that I trauma-opened the studio as a part of grieving my Dad, which is true, but what’s also true is that I realized I needed to forge a closer and more integrated relationship with my eventual death. And as spooky and scary as that sounds, it’s brought me a lot of peace, a newfound ability to ask for and receive what I need, and opened up a lot of new avenues and horizons for me.

So when I look at this image of a child walking into the scary mouth of the dragon, I like to imagine what is actually a process of integration. It’s not hard to imagine, because the dragon is both scary and fabulous, with his rainbow teeth and claws. And the entrance to his mouth is a red carpet. Getting cosy with scary things, like death, in a way that invites reality and grounding, rather than overdoing it with repeated viewings of IT might be the way to go.

But just in case you want a little taste of the brilliance that is Tim Curry as Pennywise the Clown, who haunted my dreams for about two years after I watched this as a fifth grader, here ya go. My totally goth daughter Helen, who I don’t think can be scared of anything, thinks this scene is the funniest thing ever.

Because some things are scary - until we step a little closer and contemplate- and we realize they’re not. They’re just a part of the cycles of life and death and life again.

Vita est Morte est Vita,

Anna