"The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach."
—Carl Gustav Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections
2. WHOLENESS AND THE AMNIOTIC UNIVERSE—BPM I
"Deep peace on the running wave to you
Deep peace on the flowing air to you
Deep peace on the quiet earth to you
Deep peace of the shining stars to you
Deep peace on the gentle night to you
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you
Deep peace to you"
—Traditional Gaelic blessing
Assisted by the therapist and a trained nurse, the man, a psychiatrist in his mid-thirties, was guided into an altered state, where he moved slowly but profoundly into a world that existed in the deepest recesses of his consciousness. At first he did not notice any great perceptual or emotional changes, only subtle physical symptoms that made him think he might be getting the flu. He experienced malaise, chills, a strange and unpleasant taste in his mouth, slight nausea, and intestinal discomfort. Waves of mild tremors and twitches rippled through various muscles of his body, and he began to sweat.
He grew impatient, convinced that nothing was happening and disturbed that he had apparently caught a flu bug. Perhaps, he reasoned, he had chosen the wrong time to do this work since he seemed to be coming down with an illness. He decided to close his eyes and more carefully observe what was happening to him.
The instant he closed his eyes, he felt himself move into a totally different and deeper level of consciousness, a level that was entirely new to him. He had the odd sensation of shrinking in size, his head considerably larger than the rest of his body and extremities. And then he realized that what he had at first feared might be the flu coming on had now become a whole complex of toxic insults on him—not as an adult but as a fetus! He felt himself suspended in a liquid that contained some harmful substances that were coming into his body through the umbilical cord, and he was certain all these were noxious and hostile. He could taste the offending substances, a strange combination of iodine and decomposing blood or stale bouillon.
As all this was happening, the adult part of him, the part that had been medically trained and had always prided itself in its disciplined scientific perspective, observed the fetus from an objective distance. The medical scientist in him knew that the toxic attacks in this highly vulnerable stage of his life were coming from his mother's body. Occasionally he was able to distinguish one of these noxious substances from another—now it seemed to be spices or some other food ingredients not appropriate for a fetus, another time elements of cigarette smoke his mother must have inhaled, and yet another time a touch of alcohol. He also became aware of his mother's emotions—a sort of chemical essence of her anxiety at one moment, anger the next, feelings about the pregnancy at another time, and even sexual arousal.
The idea that a functioning consciousness could exist in a fetus was in conflict with everything he had been taught in medical school. But even more than that, the possibility that he could be aware of subtle nuances in the interactions between himself and his mother during this period of his life astonished him. Still, he could not deny the concrete nature of these experiences. All of it presented the scientist in him with a very serious conflict; everything he was experiencing went against everything he "knew." Then a solution to the conflict presented itself to him and everything became very clear: It was necessary to revise his present scientific beliefs—something that he knew had happened many times to others in the course of history—rather than to question the relevance of his own experience.
After a period of considerable struggle, he gave up his analytical thinking and accepted all that was happening to him. His flu symptoms and indigestion vanished. It seemed now that he was connecting with the memories of the undisturbed periods of his intrauterine life. His visual field was clearing and brightening and he was becoming increasingly ecstatic. It was as if multiple layers of thick, dirty cobwebs were being magically stripped away and dissolved. The scenery before him opened up and he found himself enveloped in brilliant light and energy that streamed in subtle vibrations through his entire being.
On one level, he was still a fetus experiencing the ultimate perfection and bliss of a good womb or of a newborn fusing with the nourishing, lifegiving breast. On another level, he became the entire universe. He was witnessing the spectacle of the macrocosm, with countless pulsating galaxies. Sometimes he stood outside, watching these things as a spectator; at other times he became them. These radiant and breathtaking cosmic vistas were intertwined with experiences of an equally miraculous microcosm—a dance of atoms and molecules, then the emergence of the biochemical world and the unfolding of the origins of life and individual cells. He felt that for the first time in his life he was experiencing the universe for what it really is—an unfathomable mystery, a divine play of energy.
This rich and complex experience lasted for what seemed an eternity. He found himself vacillating between experiencing himself in the state of a distressed, sickened fetus and the state of blissful and serene intrauterine existence. At times, noxious influences took the form of archetypal demons or malevolent creatures from a fairy tale world. He began receiving a flood of insights concerning the reasons children are so fascinated by mythic stories and their characters. Some of these insights were of a much broader relevance. The yearning for a state of total fulfillment, such as that which can be experienced in a good womb or in a mystical rapture, appeared to be the ultimate motivating force of every human being. He saw this theme of yearning expressed in the unfolding of the fairy tales toward a happy ending. He saw it in the revolutionary's dream of a Utopian future. He saw it in the artist's drive for acceptance and acclamation. And he saw it in ambitions for possessions, status, and fame. It became very clear to him that here was the answer to humanity's most fundamental dilemma. The craving and need behind these drives could never be satisfied by even the most spectacular achievements in the external world. The only way the yearning could be satisfied was to reconnect with this place in one's own unconscious. He suddenly understood the message of so many spiritual teachers that the only revolution that can work is the inner transformation of every human being.
During episodes when he was reliving positive memories of his fetal existence, he experienced feelings of oneness with all the universe. Here was the Tao, the Beyond that is Within, and the Tat tvam asi (Thou art That) of the Upanishads. He lost his sense of individuality. His ego dissolved and he became all of existence. Sometimes this experience was intangible and without content; sometimes it was accompanied by many beautiful visions—archetypal images of Paradise, the ultimate cornucopia, the golden age, or virginal nature. He became fish swimming in crystal-clear waters, butterflies floating in mountain meadows, and seagulls swooping down to skim the surface of the ocean. He became ocean, animals, plants, clouds—sometimes one, sometimes another, sometimes all of them at the same time.
Nothing concrete happened after that except that he began feeling at one with nature and the universe, bathed in golden light that was slowly decreasing in intensity. He gave up this experience and returned to his everyday state of consciousness reluctantly. As he did so, he felt certain that something extremely important had happened to him and that he would never again be quite the same. He reached a new feeling of harmony and self-acceptance, along with a global understanding of existence that he could not find words to describe.
For hours after this experience he felt absolutely convinced that he was composed of pure energy and spirit, finding it difficult to fully accept his old beliefs in his physical existence. Late in the evening of that day, he had the profound sense of being healed and whole, coming back into a perfectly functioning body.
For the psychiatrist who experienced all this, mo
re questions than answers came forth in the months ahead. It might have been easy to dismiss much of what he had experienced if his experience had only been intellectual. Intellectual understanding could have come from books or films. But something more than this had occurred. More than anything else his experiences had been sensual—extraordinary physical sensations, filled with feelings of strange textures, the light and the dark of life. He had felt the sickness caused by the toxins that had bombarded him in the womb, and then the inexplicable clearing.
Granted, some information about this realm might have come from books he had read or films he had seen, but what was the source of his minutely detailed sensations? How could he have known the feelings of the fetal period of his life? Clearly, his consciousness was providing him with amazingly detailed, complex, and concrete information that he had never dreamed possible. He had felt the oneness with the universe, the Tao. He had experienced the dissolution of his ego and a merging with all of existence. But if all this was true, he had to abandon what he had believed up to that point, that our minds could only provide us with the memories of events we had experienced first-hand in the period following our births.
How do I know so much about the questions that went through this psychiatrist's mind? I know because the experiences described above are my own. Yet, I have also found that these experiences are neither unique nor unusual in deep consciousness research. On the contrary, my own narrative represents a particular set of human experiences that has appeared in many hundreds of similar sessions of other people I have witnessed over the past thirty years.
Biological and Psychological Features of BPM I
The central features of this matrix, as well as the images that flow from it, reflect the natural symbiosis that exists between the mother and child during this period of our lives. It is important to remember that during this time we are so intimately connected with the mother, both biologically and emotionally, that we are almost like an organ in her body. During the periods of undisturbed intrauterine life, the conditions for the baby are close to ideal. The oxygen and nutrients needed for growth are continuously supplied by the placenta, which also disposes of all the waste products. The fetus is protected from loud noises and concussions by the amniotic fluid, and the mother's body and the temperature in the womb is kept relatively steady. There is security, protection, and instant, effortless gratification of all needs.
This picture of life in the womb might look very wonderful and rosy, but it is not consistently so. In the best situations, optimal conditions are disturbed only rarely and for short duration. For example, the mother might occasionally eat foods that cause the fetus distress, have an alcoholic drink, or smoke a cigarette. She might spend some time in a very noisy environment or cause the baby and herself some discomfort by driving in a car on a bumpy road. Like anybody else, she might catch a cold or a flu. Added to this, sexual activity, especially in the later months of pregnancy, may also be experienced at some level by the fetus.
In the worst situations, life in the womb can be exceedingly uncomfortable. The infant's existence might be affected by the mother's suffering a serious infection, an endocrinal or metabolic disease, or severe toxicosis. We can even talk about "toxic emotions," such as intense anxiety, tension, or violent outbursts of anger. The quality of pregnancy can be influenced by work stress, chronic intoxications, addiction, or by the cruel treatment of the mother. The situation can be so bad that spontaneous miscarriage is imminent. In deep experiential work, people have even discovered wellkept family secrets, such as the fact that they were unwanted and that the mother had tried to abort them in the earliest stages of their lives.
In modern obstetrics our negative experiences during the fetal period are considered important only from a physical point of view, that is, only as a potential source of biological damage to the body. If there are effects on the psychological development of the child, it is held that these came about only as the result of some organic impairment of the brain. However, experiences described by people who are able to re-experience this level in non-ordinary states of consciousness leave little doubt that the child's consciousness may be affected by a wide range of noxious influences even in the earliest stages of the embryonal life. If this is the case, we would have to assume that just as there is a "good" or "bad breast," so there is also a "good" or "bad womb." In this respect, positive experiences in the womb seem to play a role in the child's development that is at least as important as a positive nursing experience.
During non-ordinary states of consciousness, many people report their intrauterine experiences in extremely vivid terms. They experience themselves as very small, with a characteristically large head in relationship to their body. They can feel the surrounding amniotic fluid and sometimes even the presence of the umbilical cord. If one connects with the periods of fetal life where there were no disturbances, the experiences are associated with a blissful state of consciousness where there is no sense of duality between subject and object. It is an "oceanic" state without any boundaries where we do not differentiate between ourselves and the maternal organism or ourselves and the external world.
This fetal experience can develop in several different directions. The oceanic aspect of embryonal life can foster an identification with various aquatic life forms such as whales, dolphins, fish, jelly-fish, or even kelp. The sense of being without boundaries that we experience in the womb can also mediate a sense of being "at one" with the cosmos. One may identify with interstellar space, various celestial bodies, an entire galaxy, or the universe in its totality. Some people also identify with the experience of astronauts floating weightlessly in space, attached to the "mother ship" with the life-giving umbilical pipeline.
The fact that a good womb fulfills the fetus's needs unconditionally is the basis for symbolism such as the endless bounties of "Mother Nature"—an entity that is beautiful, safe, and nourishing. When we are reliving fetal experiences in non-ordinary states, those experiences can suddenly change into gorgeous sceneries portraying luscious tropical islands, fruit-bearing orchards, fields of ripening corn, or the opulent vegetable gardens of the Andean terraces. Another possibility is that the fetal experience opens into
the archetypal realms of the collective unconscious and instead of the heavens of the astronomers or the nature of the biologists we encounter celestial realms and Gardens of Paradise from the mythologies of a variety of the world's cultures. The symbolism of BPM I thus weaves together, in an intimate and logical way, various fetal, oceanic, cosmic, natural, paradisean, and celestial elements.
The State of Ecstasy and Cosmic Unity
The experiences of BPM I typically have strong mystical overtones; they feel sacred or holy. More precise, perhaps, would be the term numinous, which C. G. Jung used to avoid religious jargon. When we have experiences of this kind, we feel that we have encountered dimensions of reality that belong to a superior order. There is an important spiritual aspect of BPM I, often described as a profound feeling of cosmic unity and ecstasy, closely associated with experiences we might have in a good womb—peace, tranquillity, serenity, joy, and bliss. Our everyday perceptions of space and time seem to fade away and we become "pure being." Language fails to convey the essence of this state, prompting most to remark only that it is "indescribable" or "ineffable."
Descriptions of cosmic unity are often filled with paradoxes that violate Aristotelian logic. For example, in everyday life, we assume that things we encounter cannot simultaneously be themselves and not be themselves, or that they cannot be something other than what they are. "A" cannot be "non-A" or "B." Yet, an experience of cosmic unity might be "without content, yet embracing all there is." Or we might feel that we are "without ego" at the same time that our consciousness has expanded to include the entire universe. We can feel humbled and awed by our own insignificance, yet simultaneously have a sense of enormous achievement and importance, sometimes to the extent of identifying ourselves with God. We can perceive ours
elves as existing and yet not existing and see all material objects as being empty while emptiness itself appears filled with form.
In this state of cosmic unity, we feel that we have direct, immediate, and unlimited access to knowledge and wisdom of universal significance. This usually does not mean concrete information with technical details that could be practically applied; rather, it involves complex revelatory insights into the nature of existence. These are typically accompanied by a sense of certainty that this knowledge is ultimately more relevant and "real" than the perceptions and beliefs we share in everyday life. The
ancient Indian Upanishads talk about this profound insight into the ultimate secrets of existence as "knowing That, the knowledge of which gives the knowledge of everything."
The rapture associated with BPM I can be referred to as "oceanic ecstasy." Later in this book, in the section on BPM III, we will encounter a very different form of rapture associated with the death-rebirth process. I have coined for it the term volcanic ecstasy. It is wild, Dionysian, with seemingly insatiable amounts of explosive energy and a strong drive toward hectic activity. In contrast, the oceanic energy of BPM I could be called Apollonian; it involves a peaceful melting of all boundaries, along with serenity, and tranquillity. With our eyes closed and the rest of the world shut out, it manifests as an independent inner experience that has the features I have already described. When we open our eyes, it changes into a sense of merging, or "becoming one with" everything that we perceive around us.
The Holotropic Mind Page 5
