He answered that one of the issues of midlife that arises for so many of us is the disturbance that results from not having followed our own internal guidance systems. Some may say, “Well I’ve done all the things I’ve supposed to do and why does it not feel ok inside?” or “I’ve followed the roadmap and it continuously seems to be troubling and difficult and contradictory for me?”

Many of us have been thrown “off-center” by the unquestioning adoption of values of our family, culture or society; we live with a sense of tension, as if everything looks all right but feels all wrong, until something from our psyches, or souls, push up to become some kind of pathology such as depression or anxiety, explained Dr. Hollis. The key to addressing these issues is to pay attention to them, to examine their underlying message, and to reorient ourselves to living values more congruent with who we really are.

Dr. Hollis’ lifework has been based on the teachings of Swiss psychiatrist, Carl Jung. He explained that Jung’s concept of individuation is not so much a question of individualism, but rather a movement towards becoming whole, becoming who we truly are – the embodiment of a unique set of values and priorities, gifts and talents that each person comes into the world with. It is the achievement of this authenticity that is the single greatest gift each of us has to give to our families, society, and the world.

It is true that modern life is full and fast; in all except for the spiritual realm, most of us are living better and longer than our ancestors did before the industrial revolution. Yet, emptiness prevails within persons, and socio-cultural, economic and political divisions are rampant. The role of traditional religion in providing guidance for questions of meaning and purpose of life has been overshadowed by the complexity and extensiveness of the issues we currently struggle with. Religious dogma or cultural paradigms that have traditionally served as containment mechanisms no longer work for many to alleviate their existential anxiety. Therefore, we must look towards depth psychology for guidance, Hollis suggested. This is why Jungian teachings are highly relevant for modern times.

Hollis added, “The human ego, which is who we think we are at any given moment is actually a very fragile wafer on a very large sea; it protects itself by trying to establish security zones and that’s understandable…[but] our contemporary cultural situation is one of great division in the world, and within societies, within religious and ethnic groups and so forth, and that animosity comes primarily out of our fear of the otherness of the other. The paradox is that the greatest gift that relationship can bring is the otherness of the other, and yet it’s that which occasions ambiguity in us. We want the other to think, feel, believe and act as we do. When they don’t, it feels, rather than an invitation to enlargement, it’s an anxiety-provoking situation. So that’s what leads to fundamentalism in religions, that’s what leads to rigidity in our personality structures. The embrace of ambiguity is really what gives us our journey. It’s what opens us to enlargement. We live really qualitative lives based on the magnitude of the questions we live, and easy answers are going to be available only for easy questions. The most important ones are going to have an enormous amount of ambiguity to them.”

Hollis also spoke of the “gift of our lives” but cautioned that the personal journey is fraught with discomfort, and perhaps even danger. He points out that being authentic means we may be called upon to give up our sense of comfort, to “choose or risk growth over security”, and to relinquish the approval of others. We owe it to ourselves to make the most of our lives. “The greatest danger of all is not to have lived it, to be blocked by disabling messages from others, or to have not stepped into that largeness that life asks of us,” Hollis added.

Regarding the issues of life and death, Hollis suggested that the question is really less about death, and more about how we are living and what values we decide to embrace in the face of our mortality. He poignantly stated that “There are many ways of dying, and a careful, timid life is one that will ensure an early death. We can die before our body dies.”

What Matters Most is a deeply-satisfying read, full of thoughtfulness, vision, and wisdom. It does not provide trendy self-help clichés and is not a menu of quick fixes to the troubling problems and conflicts of life. Instead, James Hollis gently suggests that we might consider some questions, be mindful of our histories, accumulated values and priorities so that life might become more interesting, that we might meet our own depths and in this process become more of who we are. Our personal growth and transformations then contribute to the greater health of our culture and our society.

Dr. Hollis will be in town on October 16^th and 17^th to promote this book at events sponsored by the C.G. Society of Vancouver. For information about the Hollis lecture and workshop, please email pohsuanz@gmail.com or visit the C.G. Jung Society of Vancouver page on Facebook.com

Free from the bondage of work and frenzied commitments, I had all the time in the world to waste during those three weeks; yet, they were the most creative three weeks I’ve had since I last went away a year ago. My writing flowed with an ease and a sensuality that was previously unavailable. I felt calm, open, joyful, and hopeful.

There is something about having time without the usual assault of musts and shoulds hovering around in my mind. The time is not spent idly but rather creatively and deeply in sync with the soul.

IN 1952, a German philospher named Josef Pieper wrote a book called “Leisure: the Basis of Culture.” In it, he defined leisure as “freedom and detachment of the human spirit which enables a man to contemplate and be at peace in those worlds of ideals from which he draws strength and nourishes his soul.”

Contemplation and peace – two conditions which seem to be missing in the life that most of us live most of the time. The frenzied pace of  life in modern cities precludes the existence of these conditions and activities. I was at the movie theatre last week and had to sit through about twenty minutes of commercials and trailers before the featured movie began – twenty minutes of high-speed advertisements for things that I don’t need, can do without, and cannot afford. Most cause damage to the earth in their production, consumption, and eventual disposal. It was an assault of my senses, my spirit, my soul. Twenty minutes of spinning bright lights and flashing images, pounding noise, psychologically disturbing messages. An eternity. I remembered why the last time I went to the movies I swore that it would be the last. Guess I forgot, but it’s getting very close…

Back to leisure and creativity.  The taking of time away from the rush and endless consumption, amusements, shallow preoccupations, and other false gods of modern life leads to creativity. Without the distractions of these wastelands we can nurture the silence and the stillness from which creative energy rises.

But there is no silence in modern life; there is much noise, and we have to run away from it, escape into nature to find silence and stillness. And even then, some are compelled to bring their noise with them – have  you ever encountered, while camping, the family that pulls in to the adjacent campsite with a Winabago the size of Montana complete with TV-antenna and teenagers that have to listen to heavy metal rock out in the wilderness?

Our environment, if we live in urbanized areas, is mostly un-natural (sky-high towers of steel, glass, concrete & buildings that are toxic), and we often have to fight to preserve wildlife, trees, parks or any other remaining natural  areas.

Nature herself has become commercialized – you pay to go into recreation areas, after you buy expensive camping, hiking, or other recreational equipment. We act as if Nature is an entity separate from us, a Mother we run to when we’ve run ourselves ragged from living our hurried lives. But even this Mother has her limits; she too needs nurturing and protection in order to continue.

Alan Watts once wrote: “You didn’t come into this world. You came out of it, like a wave from the ocean. You are not a stranger here.”

Watts knew better, and so did many others like Josef Pieper, Carl Jung, Wendell Berry and Henry David Thoreau. They understood the place that humans have in being a part of Nature, and not apart from Nature. It is within Nature and in consideration of her that we can become connected to our deepest selves, activate our highest creative potentials, and ensure the continuity of life on this planet.

When we run out to experience nature, we are seeking temenos, sacred space that protects us against the wounding that is a result of frenzied and inauthentic lives. But if we accept that we are part of Nature, we then can act as if we care that everything that we have, use, discover, uncover, harvest, produce and discard has effects on the whole system; we act with reverence for all of Life, which is what Nature in fact is.

We can be mindful that the temenos which we seek is within us, around us, above and below us. Sacred space is our breath, the air, sky, mountains, oceans, land, the whole planet, and all creatures (including us) live in it.

Can humans learn to create in sacred space in ways that revere, enhance, and protect it? Can we build structures that reflect beauty, spirit, serenity, the soul of the life on this planet? Can we modify our lifestyles so that we reduce the environmental impacts that are causing irreversible damage to our planet?

Instead of just finding a sacred space in nature, or making a sacred corner in our house, can we regard our planet Earth as sacred and as our own house to live in, care for, and protect?

Professionally and personally, I’ve heard these declarations from my clients and friends too many times – “I don’t know why I do what I do…my choices seem not my own”, “I am a product of my history, I cannot change what I am”, “I just can’t stop being so reactive/impulsive”, or “I feel like a ship without a rudder…I don’t know who I am or where I want to go”.

The key to understanding these seemingly unconscious, automatic, reactive, rigid or confused states of mind lie within the ideas proposed by Carl Jung. His work was concerned with understanding the human psyche, and finding ways to help it achieve a state of harmony and balance.

Jung believed that a psychologically healthy person is one who has individuated, that is, one who has become whole through integrating all the aspects of his or her psyche – sense of identity, various personality traits & values, and unconscious impulses. When we achieve greater self-awareness, we are able to perceive ourselves – both our outer and our inner lives – and through doing so integrate these realms. We can then better understand who we are, what governs our choices and behaviors, what we guard ourselves against and why we do it.

We are then able to live more authentically, choosing and charting the course of our own lives instead of relying on external authorities to tell us what to do. The life we create on the outside will then feel congruent with the life that exists within. In a true sense, we can “live with” ourselves, achieving a balance between changing or strengthening some aspects of ourselves and understanding, integrating and managing other less preferred ones. In other words, we can make mistakes, learn, grow and change.

To quote the words of Jungian analyst and author Edward Edinger (Science of the Soul: A Jungian Perspective) “…hopefully, one has circumnavigated the whole of one’s own being and knows who one is: one’s strengths, one’s weaknesses and one’s blind spots.”

Many contemporary people are rather put of by the term “the unconscious” and certainly mainstream psychological thinking and training has for the last fifty or so years marginalized the work of Jung and Freud, claiming that they were too narrow in scope, of little value, or outright nonsense. But for thousands of years humanity has acknowledged the presence of the psyche, or soul, which is the sense of something that persists, that lives beneath the surface like the vastness below the tip of an iceberg. This dimension of human experience has been compared to divinity, and exists whether or not we dare to acknowledge it. In fact, the existence of those “blind spots” is unquestioned – it’s just that everyone else can see them except us!

Jungian thought informs us of the known, lesser know, and unknown aspects of our psyches, giving us a language and structure to comprehend and navigate these depths. In these times, life is more complex and the problems humanity faces (on individual and collective levels) are considerably greater and harder to solve. We are closer to annihilation on individual (increasing emotional and mental disorders, alienation, isolation, despair and hopelessness) and collective levels (greed, violence, environmental degradation, poverty, widespread disease, political unrest, war).

Industrialization and capitalism have been fueled by science and technology, creating unprecedented damage to the environment and to humanity’s collective psyche. The latter has led to an erosion of spiritual values and a decline in spiritual experience. There is also a disconnect between what we are doing and the reasons why we do it; when that happens, we lean away from taking responsibility for our actions and instead embrace the fallacy that “something out there” (technology, God, another New Age paradigm?) will solve the problems for us. The religious dogmas or cultural paradigms that have traditionally served as containment mechanisms no longer work for many to alleviate their guilt, frustration or anger. Spiritual crises trouble both the young and the old.

Jungian psychology helps us to deepen our experience as human beings, expanding our consciousness on personal and collective levels. Its teachings help confront these crises of spirit and provide ways to transcend them. You don’t even have to be a believer to benefit from Jung’s wisdom. For instance, J.E., an engineer from Texas has this to say:

“I’d had this awareness for a long time that the life I was living wasn’t an authentic one. Everything looked alright, on the surface – I had a lot of education, a great career track, a beautiful family, made a lot of money – but it didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt mostly wrong. All my life I had been doing what others – parents, religion, society – told me to do. There was a great disturbance in my heart, my soul, but what to do with it? I had no clue where to start, how to dig my way out of this abyss. I had no guidance, no way to manage this soul crisis, and I felt utterly alone. I had the sense that something was horribly wrong but no clue how to make it right or even talk about it. Jungian concepts like “individuation”, the process of becoming an individual, the idea that there was a “real me” hidden somewhere beneath the outer persona (the constructed me) intrigued me. To become an individual at the ripe age of forty can be challenging – Jung’s thoughts about how my early experiences within the family, culture and society that I grew up in shaped and directed the course of my life were invaluable in guiding me towards greater personal consciousness and freedom. The thing about Jungian psychology is that it is both a psychology and a philosophy for living. You don’t have to have a deep background in psychology to experience it’s resonance and from that it’s value towards enhancing your life, helping you make some sense of things that have previously made none. You gain some tools with which to take greater personal responsibility for your choices and actions. You become less reactive in the way you face life’s challenges and demands; you develop greater tolerance for your own as well as others’ flaws, and you can understand better your own and others’ persistently self-defeating choices and behaviors. And with understanding and awareness comes the ability to grow and change.”

After chowing down the most delicious delicacies at the London Chinatown restaurant, we embarked upon an afternoon of touristing, breezing through the Trocadero Shopping Center, picking up small goodies at Japan Center, and then strolling down Piccadilly Street where we stopped in to a couple of chocolate shops and then Fortnum and Mason, the grand food and wine experts shop where you can get anything from specialty preserves to exotic cured African meats (er, some of which may be endangered species?). The store was impressive, with chandeliers, statues at the end of banisters, and gorgeous displays of teas and candies in exquisite glass cases. The scorpion in a vodka stick was tempting, though at £8 a pop, I decided I could pass. We made a couple of small purchases of teas, took some more photos and then left.  We eventually stopped at a Cafe Nero for an afternoon beverage break and rest before we heading towards Buckingham Palace.

Unfortunately, Lizzie couldn’t see us, so we had to be content with sitting around the fountain and taking pictures in an assortment of poses and combination of people that made our sons embarrassed. Whispers of “Oh, geez..” and “Let’s get away from this…” were overheard from certain male corners…

Dinner was a sumptuous spread of yummy Malaysian dishes at C&R restaurant in Chinatown – prawn noodle soup, Singapore laksa, char kuey teow, nasi lemak, dried squid with water spinach.  And a iced kachang dessert to share!

Second dessert later at home was durian purchased earlier in Chinatown. For those who are uninitiated, durian is a thorny-husked fruit widely revered in South East Asia as “the king of fruits” and popular with anyone who has the genetic predisposition to like pungently aromatic, sickly sweet, almond-flavored, creamy-pupled fruit. You can practically smell it a mile away. I love it!  And anyone else who tolerates, likes, or loves this most unusual-looking and intense-tasting fruit must surely have some Asian blood or gene in them.

It’s never easy to end a journey, even if you are looking forward to the return home. If you’ve been one place  for some time and made it home for the most part, it has left its mark in your soul. And perhaps, you have also left your mark on it.  There is a mutual exchange between you and the places you’ve been to, the people you’ve encountered.  So at the end, when you leave you are a transformed person, something new has sprung up in you. You may have been refreshed, renewed, rejuvenated, revived, healed. And the place and its people have also changed because of you.

There are places you know you will return to, even if in spirit over and over again in the years to come. That is because they have filled you to the brim, mind, heart and soul. A place takes root in you, and perhaps you in them. You are a better person for having been there. As my trip comes to an end, I know that it has been just what the soul-doctor would’ve ordered, had there been one with whom I consulted. I can’t imagine ever being uncertain about whether I should have come!

My soul palate has been well satisfied on this short trip, though I am left with a longing for more sights, sounds, sensations, tastes and smells, and I am far from satiated. Still, with maybe three thousand or so images to process, I will be resavoring many of my experiences and encounters for months to come – the enchantment of Cambridge in its many forms and aspects, the vivacity of London in its multi-cultural offerings, the generosity, warmth and sweetness of old and new friends…I find myself feeling at home in all each of these places and deep kindship with these people.

The town had quieted down significantly from its daytime persona -there were probably thousands of people crowding the town center, with weekend summer visitors and graudating students and their families hushed around college entrances and grounds as well as on the streets.  So when we entered quietly the gate at Trinity, the sky was darkening, and only the sound of an occasional night walker or two was heard from far off in the distance. My two companions were engaged in lively conversation and left me to my photographic pursuits, stopping from time to time to check in on me. Not exactly the contemplative photography I dreamed of doing (which would involve me going off somewhere on my own, taking all the time in the world not worrying about keeping anyone waiting, etc.), but then again this wasn’t my turf and I didn’t know the ways around the colleges. I was grateful to be accompanied and hosted on this occasion!

All went well, except for one rather awkward encounter with a stern-looking man who came up to us at Trinity College and asked if we knew that tripod use was strictly forbidden, unless we had registered with the Porter at the lodge and signed some sort of release. We pleaded ignorance and went merrily along our way. After that, we decided to be more discreet as we entered the gate of the next college, one with camera whistling nonchalantly, the other with the tripod clasped close to breast like a baby, and the third engaging the second one in college chatter.

As twilight descended into darkness, I felt that it had been a successful expedition and headed toward home, leaving my son to walk his friend back to her college. Walking back to where we were staying, I encountered the Cambridge night, a thinly veiled darkness that yielded to my presence. I crossed the Trinity bridge for the last time, with not another soul for company except maybe some resident ghosts who were kind enough not to play trickster on me. I bid a fond farewell to Trinity Lane, my favourite little street that I’ve walked upon many times in the past 3 weeks. I said my adieus to the River Cam, the majestic colleges and 37 marvellous bridges, which had all by this time become enbraced by Lady Night.

I took in a few deep breaths of the fragrant night air, and basked in the sweet honeysuckle, lavender, rosemary-scented night. A sweet goodnight to all, ghosts, ghouls, and sleeping babes.

I’ve become quite a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages on this trip! I was waiting for my son and his friend, Marcella, at the Arts Picture House on Tuesday afternoon and had arrived on the premises somewhat dehydrated after several hours of walking. Fully intending to go for a large, thirst-quenching lemonade, I spied a big sign advertising their daily special, which was Stella Artois, for  three pounds twenty for a pint. Normally not a beer drinker, nor any drinker at all really, I just had to say to myself, “Don’t mind if I do!”, and ordered myself one. It probably made Harry Potter (the movie) more enjoyable than it might have been.

Anyway, back to the play we watched last night – it was superb, of course, to hold wine in hand, be in the middle of such splendor (I had noticed as we walked to our venue that alongside the main cathedral at St. John’s there was an enchanting strip of garden planted with colorful annuals, perennials, and a variety of herbs – upright, bold fragrant bushes of rosemary, sprawling sage, mint, basil, and other things I had no time to stop and stare at), and everyone was in a marvellous mood as we awaited the actors to arrive. The stage, of course, was the front of the garden, underneath a large willow.  There were a few understated props; mostly the ambience provided by the setting was enough. Quite medieval, and romantic.

Much Ado About Nothing is a Shakespearian romantic comedy set in Messina, Sicily. The story concerns a pair of lovers, their imminent wedding, and a cast of others who participate in conspiracies and sabotage. Deception seemed to be around every corner, some of which were for good reasons and others not.  It had been a while since I had read this particular story so I couldn’t remember the plot as they began, and made a mental note to check Wikepedia later on in the night.

All’s well that ends well, or so said Mr. S? The evening was proceeding quite merrily along until after the intermission when the skies decided to open up. It began with a light drizzle, which then increased in intensity and became a downpour within twenty minutes. Needless to say, the sturdy Brits braved it out, opening their brollies one by one until the crowd became a field of  colorful umbrellas of all sizes. By this time our picnic blanket had been folded into half, over our laps to keep us warm, and we all three tried to keep somewhat dry with only one umbrella and a Canucks cap.

It was an experience to remember, for sure – sitting on a wet blanket, huddled together under one sorry-looking umbrella underneath wailing night skies. As much as I had been enjoying the play thus far, I did find myself wishing that the actors would speak faster and hurry on to the end so that we could all get home! Let Hero and Claudio be reunited, and Beatrice and Benedick overcome their obstinacy and get on with it, please!

Afterwards, we all ran for shelter. Happily, we had to pass through the darkened and rain-soaked college courtyards and arched hallways on the way out. As we crossed the Bridge of Sighs and looked onto the pitch-blackness of the River Cam, we wondered if the shape that was moving along in the distance and slowly heading towards us was a ghostly punter enjoying a quiet cruise without the disturbances from day-time human river travellers. My spine registered a slight shiver as we heard but could not see the shape move underneath us.

The night did end well as we sang and practically skipped home in the rain.

On the other hand, being able to spend time with my son in an environment that makes him happy and stimulates him is such a gift to me. We’ve been able to strike a nice balance between spending quality time together and apart. We spend hours hanging out – eating dinner, walking, talking, socializing with friends – and we also spend time apart when he is at work, or out with his friends. I’ve achieved my goal of coming here to visit with him, and not to get in his way. I am mindful of making sure not to demand, guilt, or otherwise make it unpleasant for him to spend time around me. I am inspired by the path he has chosen, and the risks he is brave enough to take. I am hopeful for myself – for the risks that I still need to take for this next half of my life.

I’ve discovered, finally, how to get free and reliable internet access here in this medieval town – the canteen in the Isaac Newton Institute of Mathematical Sciences, where my son works out of. So it is here, that I’ve been able to write these last two times without sitting on the floor of Dan’s room, bending over in yoga pose trying to type.

I’ve been walking all over town. Yesterday, I visited the Cambridge Botanical Garden which is a short distance from the center of the town. It is a beautiful landscaped park with rock gardens, bogs, glasshouses full of exotic plants, and gargantuan trees that stand out like giants. Of course, every little garden I’ve spotted or visited in these parts has been incredibly charming, and compares well with this grand one.

I believe I average about 8 hours of walking a day here. It’s a full time job doing nothing particular! I’ve become familiar with the town, with its streets and stores, vendors and street performers. Yesterday, I watched a young American juggler as he performed for an audience of mostly tourists. He had the projected vigour and enthusiasm of his trade; yet, behind the persona, I sensed a weariness, a longing for something softer, easier, maybe a longing for home. I wondered if I was projecting, but decided that it wasn’t the case.  It may be what he has chosen, this life of his, but it can’t be completely easy all of the time, living this way, without certainty, without commitment to anything or anyone… I wonder if his is a mindful, restful existence, or is he wracked with worry about the next meal, the next place to lay his head, the next train or plane he has to catch?

Coincidentally, I am going to be treated to a Shakespeare play tonight – Much Ado About Nothing – that will be performed in the courtyard of St. John’s College, one of the most spectacular colleges here.  How apropos!

But I’m reminding myself of the Buddhist teaching of impermance – nothing is permanent, and so we must not be attached to anything. This all will end, this idyllic time, this loveliness and seamlessness of days will come to an end as I return to my ‘”regular” life, in which I have to think about course curriculums, teaching schedules, making ends meet, and so on.

Yet, I dare say that some things endure, persist, and those we can hold on to – those moments, those awesome, rapturous moments full of promise, hope, possibility. Those continue to feed us long after the journey has ended. It has been so with many journeys I’ve taken, and it will be so for this one. Of this I am certain, this much I know.

On a more material level, I must remember to go pay a visit to Garreth, the street vendor who sells Cambridge souvenirs and T-shirts. He promised to print some more T-shirts for us using the “bicycle” image we like. Cambridge is synonymous with bicycling. At 8 pounds each, they are a much better deal than what you get in the shops!

between two darknesses,

Positive momentum,

Secrets of a soul

revealed.

Awake

between two sleeps.

Apprenticeship,

in consciousness

ignites.

A song

between two silences.

Can you hear the longing?

A poet’s lament

echoes.

A breath

between two holdings.

No need to reason,

no questions asked, just

revel.

A moment

between two beyonds.

Can you hear the call?

Eternal Mother’s voice

haunts.

This life,

this wondrous, luminous flash.

A sojourn

till we return to the Source

Divine.

With those words, Hollis was describing his response to art, concurring with another Jungian writer, James Hillman that when we experience art in these ways “there is no end to depth, and all things become soulful.”

These characterizations of art – stirringly soulful, deeply moving, inspiringly visionary, creative and imaginative – all well describe the experience of good art, but they are also true for mindful travel. There are those who rush through places, packing in as much as they can, collecting souvenirs and postcard pictures of themselves (which isn’t in itself a crime) and looking at everything they can look at but not really seeing anything. They consume but do not taste or savor. They listen but can only hear the sound of their own voices complaining or commenting. They don’t stay long enough to return to a place several times under different light and weather conditions. They chow down and imbibe quantitiesof inebriants, but they do not savor the wine nor are they intoxicated by thoughts about how it is made. These are vacationers, not travellers.

Travellers are those who make the journeys and pause long enough to savor the new sights, sounds, smells. They use these new experiences to refresh their own inner landscapes, evoke new insights and passions, confront fear and anxiety, and redirect their lives. Sometimes, they just need to pause to clarify their own whys and wherefores, and thusly render authentic their lives. Intentions are examined, and committments are renewed, renegotiated or discharged.

There are opportunities for transformation in spiritual journeys, experiences that push us through and past the portals between fear or anxiety and freedom or peace.  Away from our usual and familiar environments,we are able to reinvent ourselves in almost any manner we dare to. How can we respond in new ways to problems, conflicts, or difficulties? Where do we find in ourselves the courage to risk growth, change, newness? What little transformations or insights can we bring back to our lives to refresh them? What new imaginings, soul movements, or deep realizations can we infuse into our mundane lives, usng them to fight those gremlins that live under our beds?

When I stop to take a  picture of the sun rising above Paris rooftops at 6 a.m.  just as the city begins to stir I desire to capture a moment that resonates with my soul. The principle of resonance speaks to something that we already know to be true, and we can only know something to be true when we have experienced it, when it is somewhere within us. I am touched by the purity of the moment, leaning closer to wholeness and awed by feelings of hope, purpose and connection in my life. I glimpse possibilities that elude my cluttered and anxious mind when I am in my normal surroundings. I wonder how I can bring this rapture back with me when I return, how I can keep the process of transformation going long after I have stepped back onto home turf.

In these wonderings and savorings, I am already changed and healed. Conscious, mindful, reverent travel affords us glimpses of the sacred. It is a recovery of depth, an encounter with the numinous, that is our purpose for being here.

I have not been fazed by not having easy internet access – I spent the morning in the village looking for wifi but it just wasn’t going to work out that way. I paid my five pounds at the Cornwall Pasty Company for a steak and ale pasty and a mocha at eleven o’clock, hoping to do some interneting, but I couldn’t get connected, even though they claimed that they provided free wifi. Oh well, there were other things to do, like roam around the streets, popping into the boutiques and stores. Worse things could happen than not getting an internet connection. After all, I know where I am, and the last time I checked no one was dying to get a hold of me. And as for the blog, I was quite sure no one was reading it anyway. It’s something I do purely for myself.

The slow life is a good life. I feel no stress. No need to think of doing anything I don’t want to do, and don’t we all dream that we can do this? I tell myself that I’ve earned this trip (perhaps not literally, not yet, as I will be paying off my credit card bills when they come in, and no I haven’t earned that money yet and won’t until my teaching contract begins again in September). But metaphorically, I have. The arc of my life had brought me to a point wherein I felt emboldened enought to take the risk of leaving home, stepping out my door, leaving my familiar and comfortable abode – to travel far away, to see what life I have yet to live, to see what else I could become. I had been feeling stagnated before I left, like life was slowing to what would be an eventual halt. And I did not want that!

This is after all what I did as a fresh and eager twenty-year old who came to North America with only a small suitcase and a (don’t ask me why) boom box. I think one to hold the physical comforts – proper clothing, footwear, other personal items, and so on), while the other was to stimulate, or soothe the mind, with music presumably. The biggest thing I carried along with me was my attitude. I felt that Icould get me anywhere, propel me to do anything I wanted. It was this boldness that I felt I had lost in the past decade or so, this drive, this passion, this surge of boldness, and I needed another voyage of transformation, of clarification and definition, a refocusing of priorities based on drives I thought I had lost, and a validation that I was indeed following my intuition and gut instincts well.

So, the slowless of life at Cambridge is a welcomed one as it brings you to the very portal that you need to enter in order to get to a new place with yourself. There are many gorgoeus medieval colleges with grand courtyards, Gothic catherdals, bridges, gardens, and so on that are not open to the public. You have to have a student’s ID in order to pass through. Or, you can be bold enough borrow someone’s ID to get you through all the porters who are the gate monitors. So there are archways, hallways, and portals you pass through when you walk around these colleges. Many photo ops, but also a metaphorical passing through the different aspects of your interior life.

What is outside reflects what is inside. We choose environments, partners, work, experiences that we are ready for or, in some cases that we need. If you find yourself in a chaotic environment, there is something chaotic in you. If you seek out a calm environment, there is some calm in you that wants to emerge. The trick is to find out whether the life in that chosen environment feels open and expansive, or closed and contracted.

I found that even though the life I was living was not fast or furious – in fact, I had opened up enough life, or so I thought, that there was room for anything to happen, or so I thought. Nothing happened. There was time, and I waited, but nothing emerged. Heinrich Zimmerman once wrote that you have to go far away to a distant land to hear a stranger tell you things that you already knew in your heart, that you already had back at your hearth.

London and Paris were spiritually uplifting! They were saavy, sophisticated, electric, eccentric, worldy. And even though these cities are very old and established (as evidenced by the architecture of the buildings) they are nevertheless very big cities where life is fast-paced and the pulse of the city is decipherally robust. I felt the way I did when I came to London for the first time some thirty plus years ago – energized, wildly excited about life, strong, invincible.  Paris and London bedazzle, bewitch, hypnotize, intoxicate,and seduce.

But Cambridge is much less subtle. In Cambridge, you are charmed, entranced, mesmerized, enchanted, and spellbound by the green lushness (though I imagine the fall and winter have their own lushness), the pointed arches, towers, and spires of the medieval Gothic buildings, the many ghosts who must surely roam the streets and haunt the college halls and dormitories. During the week, folks ride their bicycles or walk to work or classes. With all undergraduates  gone for the summer, the campus is home to graduate students, faculty and other staff personnel. So it’s relatively quiet, and mornings are best for a slow stroll down to the market for fresh fruit or veggies. All the colleges have beautiful courtyards surrounded by well-kept gardens of luxurious perennials happily mixed with colorful annuals, with small and large trees and bushes to fill in the spaces.

When you stroll through an enchanted garden, you are compelled to take your time to drink in all the sumptious beauty. It’s definitely not a rushed life. Slow suits the mood. I hear it’s even more so in the fall and winter, when everyone settles in to college life and studies. Though with the undergraduates gone, the summer mood and tempo is just right for me.