Seriousness: And what happens when you let it go

Firstly, thank you to those of you who have subscribed to Contemplating Consciousness on Substack. I feel encouraged! And especial heart felt thanks to my first paid subscriber – your generosity means so much to me.

For everyone else, there’s no need to do anything just yet. When the time comes, I’ll import my mailing list to Substack and give you instructions as to what to do. This is a learning curve for all of us – I trust that the way will reveal itself!

My journey this last week, has been an interesting and challenging one.

Substack want their writers to do well, so they ask some helpful questions to guide the process of arriving at the first post.

Who are you? What is your story? Why now? They innocently ask.

Let’s personalise those first two – Who am I? What is my story?

Now, I can laugh – I’ve been trying to work out who I am for over 60 years!

When the question first landed, I approached it, as I usually do, with all seriousness – my first, although I think necessary mistake!

Seriousness you see, has a low frequency. It is heavy and well, serious!

It attaches huge importance to the question in hand.

In that moment, it attached huge importance to my being able to articulate who I am in some concise, yet meaningful way, that might make people I’ve never met curious enough to read more.

I was stopped in my tracks.

We’ve been trained in seriousness. Certainly, in the west, it’s part of our cultural conditioning and my upbringing had a particular way to dampen any fun, exuberance, learning through experimentation and making mistakes.

Seriousness is also described as a shadow manifestation in the Gene Keys teachings. From this perspective, it is the shadow of my “Core” or “Vocation”.

Richard Rudd, author of the Gene Keys explains that the shadows in our profiles are drawn to us so we can work with them in our lives.

And they are the things that can trip us up.

Unconsciously entangled in my own Seriousness, Substack’s question, landed in me like a poisoned arrow, aimed straight into my core wound and my sense of what I am here to do.

In my attempt to work with the prompt, many words were typed, deleted, and typed again. I thrashed about, struggling – struggling to produce some definition of this being I call me.

Eventually I asked a friend to comment on a draft that I perceived as too long and very stiff. She graciously came back asking “where has Annie gone?” Thank you, my friend – I needed your help. I had tripped, fallen and was lost in Seriousness and struggle.

And others held space for me to explore what was going on for me. Thank you too

Eventually I could re-frame my process, likening it to a chick pecking away at the inside of an egg as it hatched, under the curious and watchful eye of the parent bird.

Hatching is a necessary and arduous process! It is a serious business!

The struggle and thrashing of the first drafts had resulted in a description of the ridged shell, rather than of the new life emerging from inside.

With a beautiful synchronicity, today’s full moon is also a total lunar eclipse and the centaurs Pholus and Nessus are astrologically prominent.

As the earth’s shadow casts across the moons face, (representing our emotional awareness and what’s deep inside us), its radiance is hidden. And the same is true for us. Our radiance, our gifts and true essence are hidden when we inhabit the shadows.

Happily, according to the Gene Keys, our shadows are also the seeds of our gifts and the gift wanting to emerge from Seriousness is Delight.

So, I’m delighted to explore the stories of Pholus and Nessus and see how they might help us to grow from the soil of our own shadow states.

Some might remember the somewhat florid tales of these two Centaurs from the What is this? and Calm Wisdom and Maturit y contemplations I shared last Summer.

But let’s do some re-writing for this moment.

Pholus was a cave dwelling Centaur of deep integrity, entrusted with the safe keeping of sealed, sacred jar of elixir. It was to remain unopened until the time that it was needed.

Many years passed, then one day, Pholus was surprised by an opportunity to offer hospitality to Hercules.

Being presented with a delicious array of choice meats, Hercules asked for some fine wine to accompany his meal. With nothing suitable to offer, Pholus realised that this was the moment to unseal the sacred elixir, and he presented the jar to Hercules.

As Hercules uncorked the wine, the potent aroma caught the breeze and traveled out into the surrounding hills where the Centaur population lived.

Now, this aroma was so strong that the Centaurs felt compelled to find its source.

With each step, they became more intoxicated and more aroused, so by the time they arrived at the entrance to Pholus’ cave, they were desperate and inflamed, fighting one another and demanding a taste of the tantalising elixir.

In defence of Pholus, and in fear for his life Hercules strode forth, showering the Centaurs with his poisoned arrows, instantly killing many of them. In the face of such a strong attack, the remaining Centaurs came to their senses and withdrew, back to the hills.

Pholus was amazed at the potency of Hercules’ arrows and when the carnage had quelled, he went out and picked up an arrow to examine it. Still shaken from witnessing the death of so many of his kind, Pholus dropped the arrow. It fell onto his foot, pierced his skin and he died instantly.

There is so much to contemplate in this tale! What can we take from it?

As way of summary, Melanie Reinhart, who is considered an expert on the mythology and symbology of the Centaurs coined the phrase “the lid comes off”.

When the lid comes off – chaos ensues.

When the lid comes off – there is intoxication and arousal, in-fighting, violence, destruction and poison.

When the lid comes off – our shadow or unconscious impulsive nature is revealed.

As I’m writing this, I know in my belly that it is speaking to the situation we see in the world right now. My mind is grappling to find some expression. My deeper knowing tells me it is a painful and necessary part of the process we are in that is moving Our story along.

Substack’s question – Who are you? Took the lid off me in some way, revealing how rigid and closed I become when I dwell in the frequency of Seriousness.

Perhaps ask yourself

Who am I at my core?

In what ways do I become rigid and closed when I dwell in Seriousness or some other shadow frequency?

How do I relate the Pholus story to the events I see being played out in my life? In the world?

OK, pause, deep breath!

The Nessus story is even more convoluted, so rather than repeat it in full, I’ll refer you back to last summer’s telling in the Calm Wisdom and Maturity contemplation and share a summary here.

Nessus, also a Centaur, (who are renowned for being expressions of our instinctual selves) was involved in the “when the lid came off” part of the Pholus tale. (It seems reasonable that he might have an issue with Hercules, having witnessed the slaughter of so many of his kind under a rain of poisoned arrows. Hold that thought . . .)

Nessus became a ferryman, transporting folk across a treacherous river. One day, Hercules approached, and asked Nessus to carry his wife, Deianeria across the waters. Seeing an opportunity, Nessus tried to rape Hercules’ wife, but noticing what was unfolding from the riverbank, Hercules shot Nessus with one of his poisoned arrows.

With his dying breath, Nessus invited Deianeria to take some of his (now poisoned) blood. He told her it would ensure Hercules remained faithful to her, should he ever be tempted away.

Years later, when Deianeria began to doubt Hercules’ fidelity, she spread the blood onto Hercules’ tunic. No sooner did it touch his skin; the poison started its burning work.

Hercules entered a painful transformative process, through thrashing resistance, to ultimate surrender, until he was met with compassion and taken up into the higher realms.

Melanie Reinhart’s tag line for the Nessus story is “The buck stops here”.

What does that mean?

“Buck”; what a strange word! A male horned animal – that reminds me of the rutting stags that so exasperated me a few weeks ago!

A vaulting horse – hmm, interesting as we’re talking about Centaurs!

And US military slang for the “lowest of a particular rank”[i].

Are we being asked to stop the lowest expression of ourselves – here?

Are we being asked not only to stop it from spilling out, but to allow it to do it’s work in us, eventually to expand and free us?

It seems that Hercules, (representing our heroic ego), eventually had to face his own death. Rather than continue the pattern of violence and revenge, he eventually surrendered to his fate and was lifted to a transcendent state.

Again, relating the story to my experience. As the lid comes off, and my shadow is revealed, I can see the ways and times when the temptation to act from my base instinctual or unconscious places is strong.

These are the times when my ego feels vulnerable, and its fragile sense of self wants to protect itself by repeating and reinforcing the story of its past hurts. And it wants others to join in and reinforce the story too!

Or these are the times when resentments bubble and the idea of revenge appears sweet.

But I know that acting from such lower frequencies is only going to perpetuate the pain.

For several years, I, like so many others have intentionally worked with this idea of “the buck stops here”.

Whilst the language varies across traditions, it’s an ongoing spiritual practice that invites us to take in the bitterness of the world, let it do its work in us, so that, in time we may breathe out love.

Initially, as the bitterness strikes, it feels like a poisoned arrow piercing to the core. And at the surface, it burns.

As I described in Calm Wisdom and Maturity, thrashing about and desperately wanting relief is a natural response to imminent ego dissolution! Until we recognise the process.

This week, my earnest early attempts to answer the question Who am I? ended up more as reinforced descriptions of my egoic armour, than a description of my softer, essential self.

I had to extract myself from the armour. But once I saw Seriousness at work, defensively projecting itself outwards onto the page, I could just observe it, water it with some divine inspiration and let it germinate into the gift of Delight.

I was able to break through the outer shell, let go of how seriously I was taking myself and find a more creative, playful approach. If you’d like, you can see what emerged here.

Which part of my painful story am I reinforcing by retelling it?

How am I using the retelling to validate or prop up my sense of self?

In what ways am I caught up in resentments and revenge, whether emanating from myself or from someone close to me?