Three Ocean Temples

Hello, and welcome to A Wild Green Heart. Thank you for being here, I'm grateful for your companionship, wherever in the world you might be. ¹

Firstly a note, both for regulars here and new readers. I always provide both the text and audio of these posts, partly for accessibility reasons, and partly to satisfy both the writer and the storyteller within me. I'm doing the same today, but if you're more of a reader, I'd like to urge you today to put that preference on hold, and to listen to this post.

And for both listeners and readers: there's a short introductory part today for the first five minutes of the audio, then we dive into some imaginal storytelling for about 25 minutes. If you're able to listen to this while sitting or lying down, with minimal interruptions, it will really help you to enter the fullness of the experience, which I hope will be primarily felt in your body and in your emotions. Failing that, listening while walking or doing a task you don’t have to think about much is next best.

Bolton being Boltonesque

I know it's not always possible for everyone to find that kind of space, but if you can I believe it will make this whole thing land much more as I intend it to. This also explains the distinct lack of images in today's post. Normally I like to liberally sprinkle them throughout, but today they're being used sparingly, to help you focus your attention inwards.

And where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the centre of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world.

- Joseph Campbell

Today, as mentioned previously, I'm going to begin my explorations of Imagination and the Imaginal Realm.

I've been pondering where to start as there's simply so much to talk about. But, guided by the wisdom of good teachers, I've decided to follow the principle of “show don't tell” - and rather than dive headlong into talking about what the Imagination is and isn't, as I understand it, I'm going to tell a story birthed from my own Imagination. There will be plenty of space in the coming weeks to further explore what other people have said about the Imagination, how it is accessed, what it is useful for, and so on. For now, all I will say is simply this: I didn’t just “make it up!”

Here’s a little context for the three-part story I'm about to tell. It emerged from me in late 2021, in a turbulent time of life. I was deep into some work with my therapist, where I frequently found myself visiting various realms within me, and meeting parts of myself that I had hidden in the shadow or otherwise maligned or repressed.

Alongside this, I was also deep in the world of myth and storytelling, which was providing me with another essential means of support and sense-making.

Various stories worked their way out of me in this context, born from a combination of meditation, therapeutic techniques, and a predilection for the mythic. As such, they are deeply personal. And like all deeply personal encounters, their specificity and potency makes them also somehow universal. As Carl Rogers has written:

I have most invariably found that the very feeling which has seemed to me most private, most personal and, hence, most incomprehensible by others, has turned out to be an expression for which there is resonance in many people. It has led me to believe that what is most personal and unique in each of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared and expressed, speak most deeply to others.

With profound belief in this as my starting point, I will add only this before diving into the depths of my Imaginal telling. Often during therapy sessions or times of meditation following them, I would find myself either near or in the ocean. You probably don't need me to tell you that the ocean represents emotions in the world of psychotherapy. Today's set of stories was no different: I found myself all out at sea, but this time on a small boat.

So, I encourage you to pause at this point, make yourself comfortable, and allow yourself to be immersed in what is about to unfold…

Part 1 – Temples from Above

I don't recognise them at first. The last time I saw them, they were a pair of ravens, scouring the upper world for news to bring to their forgetful, partially sighted master. Huginn and Muninn. Yet here they are, in the vastness of the ocean, a pair of jet-black seals, their wet fur glistening, smoothed flat to a perfect gloss. They are beckoning to me with their flippers; summoning me to enter where I do not want to go, once again.

I have been here before.
I am terrified of this water.
I know I need to do this,
but I desperately don't want to.

This time, though, I seem to have a choice of sorts. I haven't appeared in the depths like on previous ocean visits. I'm in a boat. I can remain in the relative safety of the little cabin, keeping warm and dry. There are modest comforts available here. But I also know I am hopelessly lost, alone and out of fuel in the open sea. It does not feel like much of a choice once all the facts are considered, though the attraction of the cabin remains strong.

I also know about these kinds of psychic portals, and how they act. If they are not chosen, they are inevitably entered anyway. Those are the occasions that feel the hardest and most disorienting. I know what I need to do, but still, I stay frozen to the spot.

The seals are restless. They sense my resistance to the cold, dark depths. They have been sent for me, but they will not wait indefinitely. They take it in turns to nudge the boat with their powerful tails, before diving under the waves, each time leaving it a little longer before they surface again. I know that, sooner or later, they will not re-emerge. It is now or never.

Without allowing myself further thought to delay me or prevent me from acting, I climb onto the edge of the boat and jump feet first into the water. There is an initial thrill as I plunge into the waves, followed by the shock of the cold and then anxiety as I begin to sink. I try to find my bearings but cannot see anything. Panic quickly rises as I realise the foolishness of what I have done. Surely, I have given myself to the kind of death I most fear, out in open ocean, and for what? I can feel my body begin to struggle and writhe, my legs kicking desperately in a futile bid to take me back to the surface. I have felt this terror before, and it is crippling. Surely in a few short moments I will take the breath that fills my lungs with brine. I open my mouth wide...

And I can breathe.
And I can see.

I am in the water, but the water is not in me. I don't understand what's happening, but I know that I have shapeshifted in some way that enables me to be here, and to encounter whatever it is that awaits.

I turn my head and once again see my two phocine companions circling slowly nearby. They seem as impatient as before. The one nearer to me speaks: "Come, swim down with us! The time is now, what keeps you?"

"Fear!" I reply. "And confusion. I think I'm ready now, though. Which are you? Huginn or Muninn?"

"Those are feathered names, for flight in the overworld. They do not apply here. For while Thoughts and Memories may remain, as you already know, this place is made only of emotion, all its depths and currents. Here you may call me Grief, and my brother Anguish."

Fitting names for guides on a journey such as this, I muse to myself. And for the seals themselves, with those black, bottomless eyes, which seem to perceive all the troubles of the world in a glance.

I start to consider the nature of such a place, where thought is rendered useless and feeling becomes everything. I cannot begin to fathom it, and I realise that even the act of trying is futile. I have spent my life surviving by understanding things, by making sense of unpredicted events, by finding patterns in seemingly meaningless happenings, but I know that these mechanisms do not always serve me well. So, to have reason stripped away, suddenly and completely... Grief and Anguish, indeed.

I turn to the other black seal and ask, "So, where are we going?"

His voice, when it emerges, is heavier than his brother's, and his words are spoken sparingly: "We must take you to your Origin. But first we will visit the ocean Temples."

Grief adds to this sparse information with his own, equally mysterious comment: "That is where we are going now. To the Temples which can only been Seen from above, and whose concealed entrances are within you."

So many questions arise in me on hearing this, but again I know it is pointless to seek explanation. All that needs to be revealed will no doubt have to be experienced. I must simply trust that, in the moment, I will do what is necessary, even without a framework for knowing what is required.

We continue our descent towards the ocean floor. Even in the deepening gloom, I find I can still see a short distance ahead of me, and after swimming for some time, I can make out curious shapes and shadows on the seabed.These are rock forms that I have not imagined before. Their strange angles and geometric nature seem to suggest human intervention, but these are undoubtedly natural forms. They remind me a little of the basalt columns that form Giant's Causeway; but these rock-forms are far more varied in size and shape and colour.

I gaze around at the fascinating array of monoliths, pillars, domes and towers. They do indeed resemble the structures of ancient temples, albeit in a peculiar mishmash of styles and colours. Together it appears as a curious conglomeration of every conceivable age and religion and culture. Everything the would-be worshipper needs... except for a door.

The words that Anguish spoke are still fresh enough to be present. The way inside must somehow be in me. It makes no sense, but sense is of no help here. I turn to the seals to seek further guidance and realise they have disappeared. Naturally. This is something for me to figure out alone. No. Not to figure out. Something to encounter alone.

I descend the final few metres and find myself standing on a relatively flat portion of the temple roof. To my right is a long colonnade, with volcanic columns rising to meet another enormous slab acting as the covering. To my left is an array of smaller, irregularly shaped pillars. Ahead is a domed structure, which I instinctively move towards and climb. Sitting on top of this, I close my eyes and pause to feel within myself.

Immediately I am overwhelmed with what feels like an endless tide of loss and misery and helplessness. I lie face down on the smooth rocky surface and begin to cry; deep, shuddering sobs that wrack my body and bring a long flow of tears that mix seamlessly with the salt water I’m immersed in. My stomach is a knot of tightly bound snakes, writhing and twisting painfully. My throat is a scalding well of bile and mucus. My entire body aches with the deep and bitter sorrow of ages. I lie there crying and retching for what seems like many hours, unable to halt the flood of emotion.

When I eventually open my eyes, I am immediately struck by two realities. The first is that what I have opened myself up to in this flow of sensation is anguish. Anguish as beautiful and terrible as the ocean itself. The second is that I am now inside the same temple I had thought I was lying on top of.

Part 2 – The Birth of an Angel

The inside of the temple is spectacular beyond words. There are ornate fountains, immaculate statues and ancient scrolls. There are intricate mosaics depicting scenes from a hundred creation myths. There are stained glass windows portraying saints and angels in colours I have never imagined. There are frescoes to deities represented with such splendour that their images seem to dance from the walls.

And everywhere, everywhere, oh everywhere is the light: the purest, most brilliant light imaginable, the source of which is unknown and unquestioned. It is surely the light of god, made manifest and then dimmed just enough with time and distance for human eyes to use it for seeing, in much the same way we use the light of our nearest star, but so much clearer!

Bathed in all this luminosity and wonder, I notice that the primal depths of pain and heartache I felt just moments earlier are all evaporating, dispersing as if nothing more than a fragile mist beneath the sun on a summer's morning. There is such relief in this release from anguish that I feel that this must be the greatest, most heartfelt peace a man can know. I lie still, eyes half open, basking in the radiance of such utter serenity.

Then, a voice, as gentle as it is potent, arises. I cannot tell whether it speaks from within me or reaches me from outside. Trying to discern whether it is male or female, human or inhuman is a senseless task. The voice simply Is. But I am in no doubt that I am the intended Listener.

"Child, do not mistake the absence of anguish for peace. Do not interpret the want of chains for freedom, or the lack of threat for love. For none of the divine gifts are the simple negation of evil, just as no truly malevolent thing can neutralise what is pure and life-giving. What you experience in this moment is no more than the respite from feelings that have overwhelmed you. Would any true deity really gift their creatures with torture followed by relief and call it joy? Neither should you settle for the absence of terror and label it peace."

Not able to perceive the source of the voice, I am left to simply absorb the words. As I do, their Truth begins to sink in. Certainly, there is light in this place, and stillness and beauty in great abundance. But what I feel inside is not peace, but merely the calm aridity of a desert. No surges of dark, tidal forces hurling me at the rocks. But no gentle waters to soothe the body or quench the thirst, either.

All this I am aware of, without thought. I resist the urge to start the process of rational sense-making. The temple, like the ocean it lies beneath, is a place of pure emotion. Yet, as I now realise, I feel nothing at all. How can this be?

I close my eyes and begin to carefully descend into my own body, sending tendrils of perception deep within myself. After some time, I sense one of these coils bump into something, curling around it gradually like the root of a plant might encircle a rock in its path. Indeed, the surface of the object does feel smooth and cold like stone. Impenetrable and lifeless. I wrap my senses one more time around it and scream aloud as it makes itself known to me. Inscribed on the stone is a single word: Alone.

A flood of feeling is released as the word is ingested. Now there are memories hidden within the shrouds of pure emotion. The knowing, deep down in the pit of my guts that I'm not good enough. Not wanted. I'm too much. I'm not enough. I'm the wrong kind. I'm shameful. I'm a fucking selfish, evil bastard little child. I cry aloud again as these sentiments unfurl themselves into my consciousness. I feel at once a series of inner conflicts arise:

I want to be able to love,
and I want to cut myself off from love.

I want to give reason to be loved,
and I want to give reason to be hated.

I want to reach out and embrace,
and I want to run far from touch.

I want to be good
and I want to oppose goodness.

I want to prove them wrong,
and I want to prove them right.

I want to be seen,
and I want to hide.

I want to be heard,
and I want to remain a secret.

I want to know peace,
but I cannot find it.

With the emergence of these struggles, a voice speaks again. This one is different from the first. It is a male voice, deep and resonant but without passion. It is the voice of a narrator; telling without explanation or opinion.

"Behold, the birth of an angel. And the birth of a demon. The light and the shadow, hidden one from the other in the drama of living. Both are sown, and both must be known. As one rises, the other diminishes. As one is followed, the other is ignored. But if one is attacked, they both suffer. If one is denied, they are both hidden. If one is buried, the other will choke. Should one die, the other, inevitably, will die. For how can alchemy manufacture gold without a base metal to work with? And how can lead be transmuted into a substance that does not exist?"

As I hear these words, I am impacted by their veracity. Their heft lies on me with the weight of a gravestone and the immutability of an epitaph. And with this gravitas, a new feeling emerges. Pure terror.

I can feel the frantic urges within me. The overwhelming desire to understand this moment, to place it in context, give it a reason, find it in textbooks, explain it to myself. The need, the frenzied, urgent, desperate need to Know The Right Thing To Do, and to do it. But here, on the illuminated tiled floor of an underwater temple with no door, there is only feeling, and all these instincts to save myself through what I can rationalise are rendered impotent.

Instead, I sink again into the terror, the fear, the gnawing sense of abandonment as it floods through my arteries with the pulsing insistency of adrenaline. It feels like drowning from the inside, and I am sure my body will rupture with the pressure or be torn apart by the sheer force of sensation. But just as I'm certain that death is inevitable, I open my eyes again and realise my surroundings have changed.

I am in a different temple.

Part 3 – The Eye of the Storm

If my surroundings a moment ago were encapsulated by the light that was present, this space must surely be defined by another element:

Fire.

The room I have appeared in looks to be made of rock, though all its fixtures and furnishings are crafted from various types of wood. Such adornments cover almost all the walls, ceiling, and floor space. Each of these things - altar, panelling, linencroft, icons, chairs - are aflame. Yet, like the bush encountered by Moses, they are not consumed or even damaged by the fire.

Accompanying this dramatic change in surroundings is an equally intense shift within me. The terror that had consumed me just moments previously has now shapeshifted into a very different emotion:

Anger.

As I lie on the Fire Temple's floor, I can feel in my chest a hot, heavy rock of rage. It burns with an insistent red heat and pins me down with its sheer weight. Trapped inside this stone is a dragon, whose lashing flames cause the rock to burn with an intensity I have long repressed and denied. The beast is outraged at being hidden and locked away for so many years and is desperate to free himself from his prison.

I watch as the walls and floor and ceiling of the temple blaze unceasingly, without burning away. I feel into the searing density inside me, which also continually burns without consuming me. I sense my curious wonder at seeing myself around me and at sensing my surroundings within.

Acceptance unfolds itself into my body, beginning with my chest. Just as the only way into this temple was within me, so the only way to leave is to venture inside myself. I must enter my own volcanic centre. I must meet and face my own dragon. I must feel my own fury with the intention of liberating it into the world.

Before I can consider the possible consequences of this, I sense another presence in the room. I glance up and find myself staring into the ardent yellow eyes of a huge and intimidating dragon. This is all happening quicker than I can comprehend. Without any way of knowing what to do, I can feel the fear returning and mingling with my rage. The dragon inhales loudly through his nostrils. His eyes narrow and a low, menacing rumble comes from his belly. He has sensed my growing dread and is preparing to attack me with flame.

Instinctively I tune back into my anger, focusing with all my senses on the burning stone where my heart and lungs should be. I see the rock glow with heat; hear it emit a low cracking sound; smell its acrid, sulphurous vapours; taste its gases rising in my throat; feel the heft of its mass, the smoothness of its surface, and the scorch of its touch. I sense myself become one with the stone. I have never felt such intense fury. Now I can feel the great lizard both trapped inside me and looming over me. I am ready to lay waste to this entire subterranean nightmare; to tear down temples, strangle dragons, and destroy myself in the process.

Tuning deeper still into the scorching ferocity inside me, I turn to face my reptilian self. Heaving a full breath, I stretch my arms wide, open my mouth and scream for all I'm worth into the dragon's face. I'm not surprised when white-hot flame sprays from between my lips and fills the air in front of me. I'm not even surprised when, in a fit of pure, agonising frenzy, I tear my own chest open and pull out the stone from within. Everything disappears in an eruption of fire and lava and apoplexy.

Then, suddenly: darkness, stillness and quiet. I am inside the dragon inside the stone inside myself inside the temple beneath the ocean within my heart.

My consciousness expands with each breath, until gradually I completely fill the form of the dragon with my own awareness. Together, we continue to grow, developing until we fill the stone and shatter it. Now we are inside my own body, swelling gradually until, finally, I resume my exact shape and size once again. But the expansions have not finished. My soul refuses to be imprisoned.

My consciousness continues to increase in size until it fills the entirety of the first temple. With a splintering of wood and a shattering of stone, I burst through the temple roof and into the ocean. Still growing, my body begins to fill the water above, morphing and swelling until, eventually, even the vast and uncontrollable ocean itself is within me.

And I am lying, tired and tearful, splendidly spent, on the wooden floor of my living room, with morning sunlight spilling through the windows above my head.

The Dragon Stone

Thank you for listening and experiencing this journey. Or, possibly, reading, if that's your thing. Either way, I would truly love to hear from you about your experience with this set of stories. What did you relate to? How did you feel while hearing it? What did you feel in your body? What memories did it stir? What moved in you? Comments from completely different angles are also warmly welcome!

1. This was going to be a post for paid subscribers, but I'm feeling a resistance to offering posts that are only for paid subscribers lately. There's a sense that much of what I'm offering needs to reach as many people as possible. And, I don't currently have an income, so if my work is connecting with you, and if you're able to support me with a paid subscription, your support will be met with great gratitude.

I'm starting to consider bonus options for paid subscribers, so that posts here can remain accessible for everyone - I'll say more on this soon!