Glimpses of a Journey to Self

Day 2 - Einsiedeln - July 7, 2024

As we walked into the cathedral at the Benedictine Monastery in Einsiedeln, I felt the normal feeling I felt in most churches - mostly disconnected. I thought, “These images don’t belong to me.”

I was not raised Catholic, or in any organized religion, but I do recognize the numinous when I feel it. Most images in churches are there to evoke a visceral resonance with that which is bigger than ourselves. Some call that god, others might label it the mystery, the transcendent or, as we depth psychologists do, the Self. The label is truly beside the point as it is a distraction from the visceral resonance. For some folks nature, or a rock concert, or psychedelics or sex might evoke this sense of deep connection, meaning and a non-ego state.

I glimpsed at the Black Madonna that this cathedral is famous for and was hoping for some kind of instant revelation or zing of energy or welling up of emotion. She is held as a symbol of the sacred/divine feminine for so many. Having studied the healing power of that archetype in my studies, I was hoping she’d greet me with more power. Instead I was just fascinated by the fact that she was here, dressed in velvet and gold. It made me think of when my mom visited the Vatican and concluded that, “God does not live here,” when she saw the ridiculous wealth on display. But I also appreciate that there are no words for that which is an exaltation, and maybe sometimes material wealth in the form of precious metal is all we have to festoon an object to try and convey what a treasure it truly is. I decided to leave the Black Madonna behind for now to see what else in this cathedral may awaken my heart.

As I wandered throughout the cathedral, I stopped and used the only good use for AI I have found, the Google Translate app, to translate the little descriptions of the items that were in fancy gilded boxes behind barriers. When I saw that they were relics of saints and even prominent people from the village’s history, I thought, “Ah, ancestors!” What potency do I relate to the ancestors? What do they carry for me? Certainly, my ancestors carry my DNA, but when I think of them more globally, I know that they also carry all of the trials, joys and vicissitudes of the life they lived and survived so that I, you and we could be here. That is what is in all of our bones and flesh and the life force that energizes our consciousness. Maybe these relics are a way we remember the miracle that any of us are here and alive.

Before coming on this trip, I re-read The Lament of the Dead: Psychology after Jung’s Red Book which taken from conversations between James Hillman and Sonu Shamdasini about the release of Carl Jung’s Red Book. Sonu says in their first conversation together:

The work is Jung’s “Book of the Dead.” His descent into the underworld, in which there’s an attempt to find the way of relating to the dead. He comes to the realization that unless we come to terms with the dead we simply cannot live, and that our life is dependent on finding answers to their unanswered questions.

Coming to grips with the dead, the ghosts of our past, the parts of us that ramble around in our psyches as aspects of self, dream images, our survival patterns, all of these things I know are the material that I have come to Switzerland to engage with and encounter.

Once I had taken in all that I felt the cathedral had to offer me, I decided to venture outside to the parts of the monastery where the day-to-day life of the monks unfolded in their many workshops and beautiful grounds. I love me a monastery. I have often fantasized about leaving modern life behind for a life of secluded contemplation and mindful work. I’d go the Buddhist route if I were to do it, as the tastes I’ve had on the ten-day silent retreats I’ve attended have been sublime. But I know it’ll never happen in this life.

As I walked to the pasture of horses and around toward the back of the enormous grounds, I came across a young woman in her riding boots. My people! Last year after 40 years of hiatus, I began to ride horses again. It has been my bliss and a portal to much healing. It is my home.

She and I exchanged words of broken english about our common love, and she pointed me to the stables.