Active Imagination 1

How can you treat women this way?

You rape my soul

You rape my being you rape my body you rape me

You’re being dramatic


NO! You are being aloof, dissociated, pure Logos. But there is no logic to what you say. It is all mirrors.


Have I driven you away? Why can’t you even stay for the dialogue?


            I don’t understand your way of speaking. It consumes me


Why will you not be consumed?


            It is death


Where there is death, there is rebirth and I will always be with you.


            To need you, I would not be a man


To need me, you would no longer be a boy. I need you too. Man and Woman need each other to reach full human potential. All elements must be integrated and complement each other. I wish you would take you natural place.


            I don’t trust you


What don’t you trust?


You are like the ocean. I prefer the shallows, which are bright and close to shore. You wish to take me in the darkest coldest depths where giant whales and sharks live, waiting to devour me


If we end up in the dark waters, dolphins will be there as our guides. They will carry us safely through our journey. We must leave shore! And I cannot do it without you. I need your fire. I need your warmth. I need your courage.




Are you considering this?





Are you still here




That is good


            You torture me


You torture us both with your resistance. Surrender to me. I will not steer you wrong. You’re live will be colorful and full. You will feel bliss. There is bliss in the ocean when you let the waves carry you. There is pain in the ocean when you swim against them with all your might. Might expires in exhaustion. Surrender is endless.


            Where do you want to go?


I want to go into the forest.


            What are you hoping to find?




            Communion with death?


I don’t know.


            I don’t want to go into the unknown.


I know. I don’t either, but I feel we must. It is not up to us. There will be no end to the suffering otherwise.


            You say there is suffering only in the resistance. But you resist me!


What do you want me to do? Where do you want me to go?


            Into life. Into activity and creation.


We must start creating from within now. You cannot lead us anymore. When you lead us, we murder me. We must try something else. We must try following me.


             I don’t feel ready to do that. It is suspect. You are a child.


Are we not both children? All the children in my dreams? How will we ever grow without mother? We don’t eve know her.


Oh God! There’s too much to do! If we don’t even know mother yet! First we must know her, bond with her, grow. Then separate from her, then develop her within. We will never be married!


We may never be married. Especially if we continue to delay. You have us paralyzed. We are paralyzed in your resistance! I want you to come with me! I want you to come home. I need your courage! You must be the bear. You must be of nature. You must be our fire!


            I am only a child.


You will grow!


I should be grown already. I am too old. It is too late. You are too old. You are a child.


But I know something.


            What do you know.


You are my words and as you protest me, you deprive me of words. So I can only show you now. Why do you make it so hard?


            If I give you words, you will only use them to manipulate me!


I would like words, but I can work without them if I must. You cannot keep holding me! …

I see you cowering in a corner. Trying to be invisible. Curling up hoping I won’t see you. I see you. It is too late for that.

Please stand up.


(he stands. He dusts off his pants from the dirt of the cave in which we are speaking. He sulks. He runs his hand through his unwashed hair. He is disheveled. He needs a mother.)


I cannot be your mother.


            Then I shall never have one.




            It’s too cruel. Too unfair.


But I can hold you. We can have something much better. If I were your mother, we could never be married. We would be forced to separate. But as I am not your mother, we can be in eternal union. We can make love to one another. We can warm each other at night. We can dance in our celebrations and we can weep together in our sorrow.





That is the communion I seek in the forest. I wish to be held by the mountain, warmed and penetrated by the bear, inspired by the flowers, nourished by the trees, intoxicated by the mushrooms, cradled in the earth, tickled by the grass. It would be a great celebration and our honeymoon. I need you!


            I will fail you.


You are afraid that you wlll fail me, but it is not guaranteed. You are failing me now.

Please don’t go!


(He is dressed all in black. Black hair, hanging in his face. Lanky, long hands.)


Can you hold me? Is that something you can do? I am tired. I need to rest.


            I will fall in.


Fall in to what?


            Into you. Into the ocean.


If you fall into me, you will be in my body and I will carry you.


            That is me speaking. I would rather be carried. You want me to carry  you!


That is true.


            I’m tired too.


Shall we just rest a while? Take a break from this?


            I suppose.


But, together. Separation is murder and I am too tired to be murdered. I have only the energy for surrender. Surrender.


(he doesn’t want to come near me. He stands there. He hesitates. He will do it obligingly but not willingly.)

(I sit. He sits. We are in silence.)

(I am crushed. Crying.)


Why do you make me work so hard?


            I don’t know.


I need help believing in me because of all the years you make me work so hard, never believing in me. Where did you come from with that?


            I don’t know. No one ever believed in me either.


I believe in you.


            No you don’t.


You’re right. I suppose I have come to have my doubts.

Do you think we could believe in each other?


            Not naturally. Not now.


I’m sorry.


            What will I do?


I don’t know.

 I don’t know.


            I don’t know either.


Here we are.




I feel you hate me.


            No. I am tortured.


Tortured by what?


            My mother.


Is that why you torture me?




Will you love her?


            I can’t. I already do. Dagger.



You will love her. You will take her to her resting place and put flowers on her grave.


            I will.


There is ocean outside of this cave.




Take your mother to her grave.




            (In his mind, he carries her dead body. She is dressed in a simple prairie dress. He is in boots and all in black. Like a cowboy, but no hat. The earth is arid, the sun is high and hot. He walks through the dirt and the dust, carrying her. He is  a grown man.  He does not cry. It is a rite. He lays her under a tree and digs there. He does not want to leave her alone. The thought rips at his chest. He cannot bear the pain. I have to go to him and hold his hand and hold his chest. With me there, they are not alone. He is not alone, she is not alone. It is a shallow grave, so that she can breathe, but he will not have to see her.He stops. He sits by the tree. He is sobbing. I am sobbing too. She reaches out to him. She wishes to console him that she is alright. That she must go. We are mourning her death. The death of the mother. We cannot bury her yet. We will have to carry her with us for a while).









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