ENGAGING THE FEMININE:

REFLECTIONS

HERTA JOSLIN

As I search for words with which to communicate my sense of

the feminine, my mind whirls, circles, intertwines, and that which is

uppermost gives way to that which rises. It turns, as the symbol for

the Yin and the Yang seems to turn on itself. In the Introduction to

his translation of the I Ching1, Richard Wilhelm helps to clarify our

concepts of feminine and masculine. He reminds us that when the

Chinese devised the circle divided into dark and light to symbolize

the duality in the world of female and male, they did not mean to

imply physical, sexual characteristics. Yin here means cloudy, dark,

yielding; Yang brings images of banners in the sun, brightness, the

firm. We now use these terms to identify the duality within a person,

recognizing feminine and masculine aspects within one being.

Some of the things which, for me, seem to relate to the feminine

are:

The sense of deep places, secret, powerful

The struggles of relationship

Connection with the earth, seeds, growing green things

A sense of power which rises in me unannounced

The Goddess

The sudden, nearly irresistable need to be a separate

being, which sweeps over me, regardless of other

relationships

The deep intimacy with myself

Being an introvert, as well as deeply subjective in my approach

to the world, my strongest attraction is for the intimacy with myself,

with the inner spaces. I find one of the most fascinating aspects of

my life to be the ongoing dialogue which I have with dreams—my

dreams, dreams of my clients, of my friends, dreams which I read in

books. When I was younger and beginning to read Jungian and

Humanistic psychology, whenever I came upon a dream I read it

with a guilty feeling. It was always so utterly wonderful that I secretly

felt I was treading on forbidden ground, that I might somehow be

punished for enjoying it so much. Odd though that may seem, the

feeling persisted until I returned to college to continue my interrupted

education, this time with the study of dream, myth, art, and

the psyche as the central network. At last I felt legitimate.''

My fantasy about the unconscious is that of an enormous warehouse,

vast beyond my imagining, where every image I have ever

seen is filed in some incredibly complex manner. This enables the

maker of dreams, to find precisely the combination of visual forms

required to create the symbolic representation of a psychic state or

process. There is nothing random about this choosing. Careful and

imaginative investigation by the dreamer, winding through a trail of

associations and memories, arrives, sometimes with an intuitive

leap, sometimes by a massing of understood images, at the mes-

sage of the dream. Then the seemingly meaningless succession of

fantastical images resolves giving the dreamer a deep sense of

Tightness, and the knowledge that this dream has been comprehended.

Exploring dreams in this way is a feminine process, a moving

within the darkness, making use of a diffuse sense of awareness,

yielding to the unknown, while trusting in the creative power of the

psyche. I can image moving into inner spaces as walking through

trees standing in sunlit grass, to a huge fir, spreading its branches

low to the ground. Moving within those reaching green arms, I find

myself close to the enormous trunk. Pitch oozes out, bubbles a -

gainst the shaggy bark. There is an opening in the wood. I step

inside. The passageway leads down, winding through the roots into

the earth. I sense the darkness, rich smells, rough texture. A rush of

air sweeps past me opening into a larger cave, a resting place—Ali

Baba's treasure trove, perhaps? The bedroom of a nymph? The

great god Pan's secret hideout? Whispers of all these marvels—and

more—rustle in my ears. Here the Goddess shines, an irridescent

gleam defines her. Here seeds await their time, dreams lie a-borning,

children snuggle their heads into their pillows. Wings of poetry

ready their shadows for flight into words, music draws a quiet

breath, colors shimmer and tremble in anticipation. I wait. There is

no need to move, to act, to decide. This is the place which precedes

birth, when time .and the act are together ripe. The bud will open.

Sometimes a dream or fantasy image is so visual that it seems

to compel some actualization, as though the unconscious were asking

for a chance to be seen. Painting, drawing, sculpting, poetry, all

are ways to facilitate the emergence of the image. Struggling to

paint my sense of the inner quality of the feminine, I find pictures of

a mountain with deep dark rivers running beneath it, a womb full of

flames, a crystal bowl containing fire. Each succeeding painting

reaches further into the reality I am experiencing, none seems to get

there. At last I paint a silver center; silver is the moon metal, cold

relating to the implacable heart of the deep feminine places. This

center is guarded by pointed crystals which shine in colors of violet,

blue, magenta. They guard the secret depth, and they pierce the

heart; the deep feminine follows its ultimate rhythm regardless of

personal desires. A spiral rises out of the center, growing larger as it

reaches out, touching all parts of the picture, leaving the page to

move beyond, giving me some sense that the absoluteness of this

deepest truth is merged with all life.

When I sit in Meeting for Worship this same spiral sometimes

appears, making a connection between the individual me and the

greater Spirit. The Spirit has always been masculine in character for

me—I experience it as a penetrating light which enters from above,

expanding within me, filling me with a sensation of space, an openness

wherein the Spirit may work upon me. With an increasing

awareness of the depths of the feminine, I am receptive in a different

way. The image is not so much that of a bride as of a priestess—

an active participant in the mystery. I find that she is more interested

in ritual, in some activity, that sitting in silent waiting is not

her preference.

These things are still emerging into my awareness. The sense

of the Goddess present within me comes more frequently, and I

begin to recognize certain qualities. She is that part of me which is at

home in the dark, luminous with mystery, nurturing, circular in

awareness. She waits at my left side, a little behind me, coming up

from below. She does not enter until invited. When I sense her

presence, or I am in need of her, I silently request her help, opening,

in image, an area in my body around my left lower ribs and kidney.

How she manifests, or what direction her intervention will take, I

never know until it has happened.

This process which I have been describing, of attending to

dreams, to fantasy, of change, of ritual and being open to the entrance

of the Goddess, is also the process which attenders of the

Friends Conference on Religion and Psychology have come to expect

will take place at our annual gathering. Many times I have

described this conference to potential newcomers: This is a place

where people come expecting change—and it happens! Over the

thirty-nine years of our existence the blend of the Quaker religion

and Jungian psychology has allowed us to open our minds and

hearts to the mysterious depths of myth, dream, fantasy, silence,

and the Gods. And though many of us tried all year to do just that,

we found, as we met again in a group, that the power of our multiple

spirits and souls worked its magic on each individual. We experienced

the shaking reality of the Gathered Meeting when a whole

room of silent worshipers seemed to be linked in one Spirit. We

were caught in the excitement of creating our images in clay, paint,

words, or dance. We formed lasting friendships, deep ones, open to

soul communication, renewable without effort year after year. And

when we said goodbye we wept with joy for the sharing which we

held with so many.

In May 1982, however, we did something different. In previous

years we had a topic, a focus for our attention, around which our

diffuse awarenesses were gathered, something which challenged

us, inspired us, threatened us, saddened us. This year we had the

feminine as the topic, our title, "Engaging the Feminine," led us

straight back into ourselves, into our corporate feminine being.

There was no escape, for our speakers refused to allow us to stray

out of the personal experience into the intellectual discussion.

Colors in hand, we drew our way through lectures, small groups,

even Meeting for Worship. Some of us got angry, some were frustrated.

That which we had been engaging unconsciously through

the years was now coming into our conscious awareness. And the

elements cooperated. The rain seemed determined to melt us all

into primordial mud. Never had so many machines broken down,

beginning with the steam table for breakfast and ending with innumerable

tape recorders. To anyone who has tried to write or talk

about the feminine, this disintegration of logical reality will be

familiar. She is elusive, she manifests in images, and when the

masculine word-power of Logos is brought to bear she slips away,

running like water through the fingers, leaving a strong sense of her

presence but few words to taste.

Feminine awareness has a circular quality. The mind travels

around the terrain, absorbing information, gathering images, sensing

nuances. The beginning of such a process is frequently confusing,

and much trust is needed to persevere, to allow the emerging

image its own time and space. To engage the feminine Conference

in a feminine manner brought two diffuse awarenesses together,

two women, as it were, meeting to know each other. I dreamed of

such a situation shortly before the Conference:

I am in the front seat of a car with a man and woman—she is

between us, we are tickling her playfully. He says, "I know

what," and carefully ties together a pubic hair of hers and

mine, joining us. He leaves. She and I are delighted. She

says, "This is the best of all." I agree. We embrace closely—

then separate, smiling at the tiny pain of the hair pulling

out. I get out of the car, it is time for class and I gather

my books. I stand for a moment in the morning to clear my

eyes.

I interpreted this at the time to be my own connection with my

feminine self, brought about by a male figure, my animus, who first,

in previous dreams, had attracted me to himself. When I felt drawn

to his presence, he then brought his wife into the group, then gradually

arranged the connection with her which culminated in the

dream which I related. Sharing my responses to these events at the

Conference, I spoke of my personal delight in feeling so connected

with the woman within, as well as in increasingly close relationships

with women in my outer life. Coming near to my own feminine

aspect in this way I found I was also entering into a personally

intimate experience of the Goddess, beginning to explore into the

range of her power. But, as most of our speakers discover, the

Conference is a powerful entity in its own right, and we are often

moved far beyond our original intent, as individuals respond and

group dynamics develop. I discovered that the dream woman from

the unconscious was not only my own personal feminine but also the

Conference feminine, married to the masculine, functioning but

unaware of herself. Now, in a new emergence, she moves up to be

connected with the conscious woman, represented in the dream as

myself, which is also the consciousness of the Conference. Choosing

to address the title, "Engaging the Feminine," we brought her to

our collective diffuse awareness, engaged in active relationship

with her, and tied a link between ourselves. I am not surprised, with

such a challenge, that we had to undergo some melting at the start,

that the rain was so uninhibitedly coming through our shoes, into

our luggage and through the roof. Allowing the components first to

dissolve is an initial step in the alchemical process; this permits

them then to recombine into new forms. By making use of the colors

of Cray-pas we had the opportunity to shape images, helping to

bring the diffuse into the concrete. Sharing these images, talking

about our experiences as they emerged, allowed Logos an opportunity

to clarify our evolving awareness. As the time passed, we became

familiar with a variety of egg-shaped containers, vulva shaped

openings, flowers, vases, wombs containing new life, and the inverted

triangle used in ancient times as a feminine symbol.

When Mary Hopkins was inspired, Monday morning, to create a

new symbol, ^ ff ensuing roar of laughter and delight

expressed how familiar we had become with our new language.

Perhaps it was also explosion of relief that now the two women had

truly been joined in consciousness. Our delight was compounded

when, as we finally subsided, a male voice from the rear of the room

said, quietly, "Ouch!"

And what of the masculine? Again and again, as men told of

their encounters with their feminine selves, of their struggles to be

in the feminine, that question arose, staying with many as a quest

still to be undertaken. I spoke of the feminine as being many things:

a sense of a deep place of power, a crystal, silver veined in rock

under the mountain, the Eros of relationship, nurturance, connection

with the earth. All these are recognized also by men, sometimes

as very basic qualities in their being—does that, they then ask,

make me less male? Am I, I respond, any less female when I settle

on a course of action and move with determination and clarity towards

a goal? The answers to these questions must come, ultimately,

from the men. In my dreams I find the beginning of an answer to

what my own masculinity might encompass, an awareness of the

strengths and abilities of my body and mind, a focus of attention, a

pleasure in challenge, an ability to order time and space. These

things I recognize.

But I am compelled away from these questions. An unrest grips

me, a sense of imminent arrival, yet no image arrives, no presentiment

stirs. I paint and draw huge pictures divided always between

water and fire. Blue, green, purple, lavender swirl on one side;

orange, red and yellow leap up on the other. They do not mix.

Guardians of a cave appear—within it I lie, in a variety of postures,

waiting for I know not what.

I dream I am on a roof, having climbed up with my son. He

has gone down the other side. But I am afraid and sit on the

peak. The only way down is to slide. I ask for a rope, but

when I've tied it to my waist there is nowhere to tie the other

end. I can't go down the way I came up. I must slide, catching

myself a little by holding the edge of the roof in places. I

wonder, wildly, if a helicopter might carry me away, but

realize I must go, now.

The next day, in session with a client, the sensation of the

Goddess came within me so powerfully that I nearly lost my breath. 1

felt completely possessed, my body sensations changed, I became

an archetype and, recognizing it, I spoke in her voice to my client.

The sensations persisted, a small part of me watched in awe. This

was the slide down the roof, the dream image accurately presaged

the emotional necessity. Not knowing how it would end, no more

than I could have predicted how I would hit the ground, I seemed to

have no choice but to continue, to commit myself to the Goddess and

the archetype with which she had invested me, until we came to an

end, which was, I believe, mutually agreed upon. When she and I

separated the knot was still there, again the image of the pubic hair

leaps to consciousness. That knot of hair, pulled by common consent

from our two bodies, becomes the link, the tool which enables me to

make use of both originators. To work with the dream and image, it

is necessary to keep awareness in both the unconscious, (following

the myth and its development), and in the present reality, (everyday

conscious life), into which we must all return from our excursions

within. The water and the fire in my paintings stay separate—a

preponderance of either extinguishes or vaporizes the other.

The world of dream and fantasy tempts me to remain there, to

see all things as symbolic, to live within the mystery, in constant

communion with the goddesses and gods. So also, as each conference

nears its end, we are loathe to leave such warmth and excitement

which, to some, seem far more real than life "out there."

Entering fully into that world, we may become lost. Allowing it to

enter us, keeping our conscious selves present, we may find the

connection we require to stay human while becoming channels for

the divine.

A recent dream offered a balance.

I am in Italy, racks of spaghetti dry in the sun. Peasant

women are packing boxes and I help. Into each box go some

bright marigolds, some spaghetti, and some silverware.

The flowers are beauty, sweetness, color, fantasy. The spaghetti

is peasant made, dried in the sun, a staple of life. The silver is

moon metal from the earth, the deep feminine, here shaped into

practical form. What a nice package: fantasy, color, food, and tools

with which to eat. Dreams are indeed remarkable!

HERTA JOSLIN was also one of the speakers at the 1982 FCRP. She is a

Jungian therapist and a member of the Society of Friends. This year was the

last of a five year term as co-clerk of the Conference with her husband,

Elliott.

REFERENCE

*The IChing, or Book of Changes, The Richard Wilhelm Translation, . . .

Foreword by C.G. Jung, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1950.