Sensitivity, Receptivity, and Respect in Soul Work (Q & A)

Okay, so we've covered quite a lot of ground already, and as you can see, there's a lot to this. You guys have thrown yourself into it. Anything you would like to ask, anyone, any questions? Yes?

Q1: narrative versus iconic images

Yogi: [inaudible] not working so much with narrative images ... [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah, okay. So I think with all of this, there's not really a right or wrong. Lauren's question is she's sure she's heard me say something about the difference between narrative images, and images that are more staying with something that's not so narrative, and can I say a bit more about it? So yeah, thank you. I have mentioned that, probably not for a while. [What] I call a narrative image -- at first I wasn't sure about words, and I actually spoke to a friend, and he said, "What about these words?" So a narrative image is something that moves in time. It moves from a beginning, from a situation, through a series of events in time, to some kind of resolution, or dénouement, or whatever it is. So that's a narrative image, and often it stars -- guess who? [laughter] And that's part of the problem, okay? In contrast to that, I call something an iconic image, which is more eternal. That's this element/aspect that we talk about, eternality or timelessness.

But I really want to get away from dogma, and give it back to you as an exploration, and just see: what's the difference in my experience when I entertain narrative images and kind of stories in meditation, with all the awareness and sensitivity, compared to an image that either it doesn't really go anywhere, almost like -- not a still frame, not really a looping video, but just a sort of timeless snapshot of something, or a little period of something; or it's a narrative image, but there's really this sense of 'it's always happening.' In other words, the beginning is happening at the same time as the end, and it's not really moving towards some either catastrophic thing or triumph, yeah?

So the reason why is, with a narrative image, oftentimes it stars me, and it works in a way to kind of build and solidify the self-sense, the ego-sense, and not making it so imaginal, not making it so 'neither real nor not real.' It tends to get reified, be about me, and about my life, and what I'm going to achieve, and that kind of thing. Not always, but tends to be. And it happens over time and over space, whereas an imaginal image tends to be just a bit more ... not static, but eternal, timeless. It's as if it's condensed or distilled some kind of important thing that has messages, more than could be conveyed in a narrative, and more than could be conveyed for a self that makes this journey. Does that make sense at least?

But again, I would give it back to you as an exploration. Open it and see. See if you can kind of feel the difference, and the difference in effect. It's really your exploration. But my -- I don't know what you call it -- positing is that there will be a kind of richness and depth and mystery, all these things, the endlessness, the profundity, in the more iconic images. They will touch you deeper, and be a kind of unfathomable resource in other ways, even more than just for yourself, and give more of a sense of what we call soul, etc., generally speaking. Were you going to say something else?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: You mean they're on a journey, and you sort of meet them at different points in their ...? Yeah. So it's the same character doing different things? That sounds fine, yeah. It's all really fine. I would just, as I said, give it back to you. It's like, what feels soulmaking? I know we're kind of explaining, "It's got this. It's got that," but really what we want is your firsthand experience of, like, "Yeah, I can feel that difference. I might not be able to articulate it" -- or maybe you can now with some of the language. But it just has a different sense. And then I would wager that you're going to prefer that sense to anything. Even if it kind of makes you more assertive and more efficient and all that in life, there's going to be some attraction to this soulmaking thing over and above anything it kind of gives you on that practical level. You can just follow that, you know. So in terms of those images that you're sort of alluding to, that sounds great. You're talking about characters that you're meeting in different situations, and they are imaginal figures to you. They're beings, like you meet people in different situations, and you have different kinds of interactions with them.

I'll say one more thing, which is sometimes an image is actually not a narrative image, but the mind makes it a narrative image, or thinks it is. I'm a bit tired, so I can only think of one example, which I've already put on tape somewhere. I was walking on Dartmoor, near where I used to live, and the earth reached up these tentacles towards me, with sort of desire towards me. It was a wonderful image, really beautiful. But that was it. That was the sort of brief snapshot. The mind could kind of add a bit extra, like it pulls me down to ... what? To dissolution, to union, to something. But actually it didn't. It was the moment of reaching, you know? Does that make sense? So I was kind of thinking, "Oh, this is an image about union," but actually it wasn't, because it never got to union. So the image preserved the twoness. Sometimes the mind kind of jumps to a conclusion that's not actually there in the image. Does that ...? Yeah? Good.

I'm just going to prioritize people who haven't got to ask before. But I can't see. Is that Derek? Yes? Hi, Derek.

Q2: timelessness and the imaginal concertina

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: How does that relate to the concertina?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah, so Derek's saying, "Is what we just talked about related to the idea of the concertina?", that element. I'm not sure. I think the more imaginal any image gets, the more this quality of timelessness is apparent, and it becomes a way we recognize an image. So all the images in the concertina, it's like they're just there kind of in the shadows; usually you can't even make out what they are. Sometimes they may be related to this person in front of me. I'm looking at my friend, my beloved, sensing her with soul imaginally, and I can kind of sense that there's almost like a selection of images that are available, kind of like a halo or a cloud of available images. But any one of them is always already happening; it's going to be eternal.

So, for instance, here I am working in this dyad, and looking, and there's the eros, and I sense her as the cosmic, mystical queen or whatever. I might be in that image. I start to get involved as the cosmic, mystical king. There's this dyad there, and it's beautiful. That's one image, but it's always happening, and whatever they do is always happening. It's almost like you're tapping into something that's always happening. But in relation to her as an object, in this example -- or it could be a tree or whatever -- there could have been other images. These are what's waiting in the concertina. They will probably also have this sense of always already happening. It's as if you're, yes, tapping into some kind of more eternal level of things. Does that make sense? Is that kind of what you're asking?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Lots of other stuff. Good, great.

Q3: intensity and effortlessness in imaginal work and jhāna

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah, sure. So I'll just translate that for people. So (yogi's) asking, on the last retreat -- you mean the Colehayes one?^[1] -- there was an image that came, and it was the most profound experience of your life. Yeah? Okay. So that's lovely! And really powerful, and kind of atomic bomb, all the nodes, all the elements going off, and tremendous opening. And then since then, nothing has quite lived up to that sort of technicolor extravaganza experience. So there's a bit of disappointment, and comparison, and a bit of craving, wanting that kind of intensity of opening again, and what to do with that.

So, you know, this is actually, I think, really important. Two things. One is: an image is autonomous. It's like you're in relationship with a being. It's really helpful to think of it: this is another being that I'm in relationship with, and imagine if we were (or you and someone else were) close friends, or lovers, or whatever it was, and you just had this amazing experience, and then you kept putting pressure on them to do that. Or you ended up ignoring your other friends. People do that kind of thing, you know, but it really, in a way, serves us really well to think: these are autonomous beings deserving of respect. In a way, we can talk about dependent arising. Another way you can think of it is, yeah, if you treat them a certain way, you get a certain result.

So there's this intensity. Wonderful. It might have been what you needed at the time, or what soul needed at the time, but that might not be the case any more. Further deepening, further opening, further refining, and nuancing, and widening and all that may not come through intensity. This is a general thing about practice anyway. Sometimes we get really impressed by intensity, and it's not always what effects the most profound transformation or opening or learning. Sometimes it is, but often it isn't -- it's just intense, and then we seek out that as a measure of some significance. It's not necessarily at all. So that's where wisdom needs to come in.

Second thing: there's a relationship here between jhānic experience, a kind of mystical experience in general, and imaginal experience. Oftentimes, if a person is, let's say, practising jhāna practice and deep samādhi, not always, but oftentimes, the first few times they break through to a new state -- let's say, this jhāna or whatever that's new for them -- it's just amazing, like a dam breaking. The experience feels completely effortless and totally mind-blowing and everything. That might happen a few times. Then, it's like the work begins, okay? Like maybe in a relationship, where you fall in love, and it's all like, "Great, wonderful," and then after a few months [laughs] then the work begins. Or not. So that's where the real depth can come in. In the jhānic experience, what happens then is it stops feeling completely effortless, and you start noticing really subtle differences, and subtle ways you can shape the experience. That's where the learning and the relating comes in. It's similar with image.

And again, it's worth just thinking about this autonomy and personhood, and sometimes even further: this is bigger than me. Am I subjecting it to my ego demands? And if I do, it will have an effect. Not to say that if I don't, maybe I'll get the intensity back. It's more like a conception to entertain, to play with, is "This is bigger than me. It has more than I can understand. It's a grace and a mystery. I will never get my head around it." And how would you relate to such a thing? I'm not going to try and make it serve whatever ends, small ends I have. Does that make sense? And in the larger scope of things, you know, you're going to open, and learn, and grow, and change, through intensity, through one image repeated, through lots of little one-off images, through all of that. How does that sound?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Well, put down that, but pick up a more -- what would be the right word to describe the kind of -- instead of just putting that down, another way of entering into relationship with not just that image, but all images. It's very easy to have this kind of misunderstanding about intensity. Sometimes people are afraid of intensity. I don't think you are. [laughs] Some people, they need, "Can you bear a little more intensity? Can you bear a little more energy?" But to make the mistake to equate intensity with liberation or transformational experience, that needs some questioning, I think. Okay.

Chris? Yes, please.

Q4: willingness to experiment with images

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah, thank you. So this was before we even mentioned the pilgrimage thing? That's interesting, as well, isn't it? So Chris is sharing that, just very briefly, this image of three pilgrims yesterday popped into consciousness. There was a kind of halo around them. Carrying shepherd's staffs with the sort of hook, which the mind thought, "That's a bit hackneyed. That's a bit cliché." But wasn't quite sure what to do with it, because then they went away: "Should I engage? Should I follow them? What should I do? And is this just my ego?" Is that ...? Yeah?

So I think there are a few things here. One is, you know, I don't even want to use the word 'mistakes,' but I think we've got to be free enough to just try stuff and see how it feels, like I said with Lauren. Some of the examples I gave, you hear me saying -- maybe not on this retreat, but -- "then I tried this. That felt like that didn't really help, that wasn't right, so I revert," or "the image changes, or I try this, and it doesn't work." It's okay to feel like that wasn't quite the right thing, or I'm putting too much pressure on it or something. I think you've got to feel free to kind of just see what happens, play and see what happens. Yeah? Some of you may not feel this at this point, but I was saying to someone, there's a kind of superabundance of images. If you say, "Oh, I missed it with that one," it's okay. On the other hand, maybe bringing it back deliberately, and just hanging out, and seeing what resonates with you. Maybe walking with them, maybe just -- whatever it is. You can find your way back more deliberately to that, and just try and see what happens.

But I don't think there's a right and wrong. That's one of the things I'd really like to communicate on this retreat. It's like, yes, the willingness to experiment, without a sense of right and wrong, and just see what happens. I think that the key word there for me is 'experiment,' which implies doing a range of things. So sometimes what happens is a person might show up and, "I've been working with images for ages. It's what I do," but it's actually a fairly fixed way of relating to them, and there isn't that experimentation there. There are different images, etc., but how they relate to them is quite fixed. Does that make sense?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. So this is the thing. Don't be afraid. I don't even want to call them mistakes. But don't be afraid to just try different things, and you'll get a feel for kind of what feels more soulmaking, you know. It's like we learn in comparison to what doesn't [feel soulmaking]. So, in a way, maybe you have to go on a narrative, and then make them do stuff, and push them around, and then kind of realize, "Oh, it doesn't feel so [soulmaking]." On the other hand, like we said in some exchanges, it's not, as a rule, the fact that 'me making stuff happen' means it's not going to be soulmaking. It might be. So anything can happen, but I'm going in there with a sense of, like, "Well, let's see. Let's play a little bit. And let's kind of use my intuition as to what might feel soulmaking." And then it's interesting, the fact that you had that image and then Catherine introduced that thing last night. Several people have said that they sort of have an image, and then the world seems to do something very similar. And that opens up all kinds of questions, which is beautiful. I'm not going to say much more about that. [laughter] Does that ...? Is that okay? Okay, good.

Yes, is it Gladys? Yeah.

Q5: eros and inspiration, the self becoming image, endless expansion of soulmaking dynamic

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: So just tell me what the "that" is that you'd like me to say something about. About eros? Eros and inspiration? Okay. Okay, so if I say, "No, no, no, it's not that," that might help you redirect your question. Mm. Let me think. They're definitely connected; there's no question. We haven't talked a lot about eros on this retreat. We have in the past on other retreats. We could talk endlessly about eros, and the beauty, and what it does. But eros, you know, by definition, is a kind of alive state. It's a state of ignition, and awakeness, and interest, and fire, illumination, all that. So all those qualities go with a state of inspiration. There are just those parallels. But I think more than that, a state of inspiration or artistic inspiration has eros in it. There's a sense -- I mean, I'll say this from my experience artistically. If it doesn't fit yours, that's, you know. When you're inspired with something, you're kind of in love with this thing that you're doing. Someone like Stravinsky, you know, very prolific composer near the end of his life. "What's your favourite piece that you've written?" And he said, "The one I'm writing right now." In other words, it's part of the creative project to have eros about this thing. It's like it's got this mystery and this attraction for us. You understand?

And, I would say -- we've mentioned this, but not so fully -- that when there is eros for other, whether it be a piece of visual art, or whatever it is, or an object in nature, or an internal image, if we don't get in the way, at some point the self becomes imaginal as well. So the artist at work, or the meditator inspired, has an image going on, a fantasy of themselves doing the work, doing the practice, dedicating themselves. Do you understand? To some people, that sounds like ego. That sounds like, "I'm not concentrating on the thing, because I should be lost in the object." No. This is what happens with -- maybe we'll talk more about this on the retreat -- the eros spreads, and you notice when you're really inspired, then you go for a walk or whatever, and how does the world seem? The eros, the soulmaking will spread. Self, other, world, everything. Everything becomes imaginal and becomes an object of eros, infused with eros. So then I, as the image of the artist painting or whatever it is, I become an object of eros for myself. I become image for myself. This, to me, is absolutely beautiful. So all that goes on in inspiration. Inspiration, I think, is full of eros.

And we haven't lingered on it too much, but Catherine talked about it: this idea of the eros-psyche-logos dynamic, and how that works together, but we can get in the way of that in many different ways and stop it doing its thing. Sometimes what happens is we stop it coming back to ourselves. Catherine mentioned this. The other is divine and imaginal, and we're not, for instance. That's kind of lopsiding the whole process, and it doesn't move so well. It doesn't deepen and grow so well. So there's all that. And then we can talk about eros in terms of fire analogies; also water analogies. It's a very juicy state, you know. You'll feel that in the experience as well. But I'm not sure if this is what you're after.

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Okay, good. Is there more there or ...?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. Where's it going to stop? Right. So the question is: where is it going to stop? Is it a question of curiosity, or is there concern, or is it not really a question, it's just ...? Okay. In the conceptual framework that we have, that's a central principle: that if we don't get in the way, it won't stop. What does that mean, "it won't stop"? It means, similar to what I just said, something -- whatever thing it is, a piece of art that I'm doing, or someone else's piece of art, or a tree, or a person, or an internal image -- is an object of image. It might start there. It could start with the world, though. It could start any place. And that becomes erotic-imaginal other for me. In the process, in the movement, the involvement, the dance of eros-psyche-logos, it starts to involve me, as I just explained, and then the world, and other objects, and then even aspects of me -- not just me, but aspects of me. For instance, my eros becomes an erotic-imaginal object for me. My eros is seen and felt imaginally, and with all that, starts to have dimensionality and divinity. My eros, is it mine? Or is it God's? Or the Buddha-nature's or whatever? So it will keep finding new faces of belovedness, and new aspects, and new complications, and new folds in whatever it is. Yeah, if we don't get in the way, it won't stop. So there's an endlessness that's possible here. Thank you. Yeah, that's lovely.

Is it Maisie? Yeah?

Q6: lots of images arising during mental tiredness

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah, thank you. That's really important. So Maisie is saying, particularly towards the end of the day, the mind just starts whirring up images, lots of images, very quickly, one after the other, and none of them seem particularly deep or anything. They're sort of interesting at a certain level, but not particularly soulmaking or interesting. To me, that sounds like a particular type of mental tiredness, which I also get. So some people, when they get tired, everything just kind of stops in their mind, and other people, when they get tired, it gets a bit faster, this kind of thing. So it sounds a little bit like that, towards the end of the day, etc. It might be it's a time to let go of those images, and come back to body and something much more simple and nourishing. Your mind might still wander; it's a bit tired. And just see if you can work with that kind of gathering the energy rather than trying to figure out, "Now, which one of these images ...? And why aren't they meaningful?", and that sort of thing. Does that make sense? Yeah? Sometimes you get a sense, despite what I said about doubt and everything, sometimes you get a sense that this thing or that thing is not really worth particularly following; it's just sort of flotsam and jetsam of the mind that's floating around because of tiredness, yeah? Good.

Is that Nicole? Yeah?

Q7: image/eros with long-term projects, including the dukkha; looking at one's life from beyond death

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: If I understand, Nicole's asking -- there's a lot of eros, that's comfortable and lovely and all that. The question is about eros in regard to long-term projects, which there's a sort of personality inclination to want to commit to and to stay with, or long-term relationships or whatever, and is there something to be said about eros in relation to long-term projects?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. So I think there's something, again, about including the dukkha, you know? Again, I'm tired tonight, so I can't really think of examples, but you gave an example of me writing my book.^[2] Several aspects became image there. The book itself became image at a certain point, and the writing of the book, including the difficulty of it and the sort of isolation and things like that. It might be that, you know, you're not looking for something that doesn't have dukkha in it. The image of the one who perseveres, the one who trudges endlessly through deserts or whatever it is, the one who shows up no matter what -- all this can become image. Image, the way we're using it, imaginal image and eros, they kind of imply each other. Where there's eros, if it's left to do its thing, images are born and get deeper and get more varied. Images, by their nature, elicit eros, evoke eros. So the whole thing starts mutually inseminating. But it might be there are images of the -- whatever they are for you, for this long-term dedication, this willingness to be there when it's dry, and when it has a cost, and when you'd rather be doing something else; that all can become image. It might be an image that's other, or it might be you as image, or mixtures of all that.

So that's one thing. And the other thing, a little harder to articulate, is that you can't have images all the time. For me, that's part of the grace aspect. So we feel we're given an image, or we have access to something, and then it goes. If it was there all the time, it might just get a bit ordinary, you see. It's as if, let's say, taken as an image of the sort of long-term commitment, it's someone who just -- he's got to trudge; she has got to trudge through this desert to get to wherever, and they just need to walk, but there are little oases on the way. Sometimes connecting with an image is like hitting an oasis for a while; it kind of can hold you more. It's not going to be all the time, necessarily. Does that make sense? Is there a piece missing? Are you sure?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: If the question is, "When we love something, is there always an image underpinning it?", it depends on how you mean the 'always.' I would say yes. When we really love something and we're devoted to it -- maybe those two words, love and devotion -- there's an image there. There's an image operating and driving that. You could say the drive for it is coming from the image, as opposed to a result of the love. That's a certain way of looking at it. I would say to realize that is a certain level of just psychological awareness. It's not an awareness that everybody has or that society kind of realizes or whatever. I would say that. So that's the 'always,' in that sense -- there in every instance there is. However, at times, we lose contact with an image, and then there's just the dryness and the slog or whatever it is, and that's where these oases businesses come in.

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. And you know, that can even form another level of image. Again, if you go back to the timelessness, it's like, look at your life from beyond death. You look back at the totality of your life, and these periods of long dedication with periods of aridness, and periods of inspiration, and periods of non-inspiration, and the willingness to continue in the periods of non-inspiration. Do you get what I'm saying? That can become image. It's like a different vantage point on the aridity, aridness. So that's also connected to this time thing. And actually, just as a general point: that's sometimes a really skilful thing to do, is come out of your life and look at the totality from after death, so to speak. You see the totality of your life, and it can become image. You become image for yourself. Your life becomes image, becomes pilgrimage, becomes image of devotion, etc., hopefully, depending on how we live and all that. Yeah?

Is that Mei-Wah? Okay.

Q8: working with Catherine's seven steps exercise

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: So if I try and understand, other retreats where there was a lot of intensity to the whole process and the images and things, and this retreat, less intense, but perhaps more subtle and getting more nuanced? And then when Catherine did the seven steps exercise,^[3] was it that lots of different images were coming up very rapidly? No?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Okay. I missed the last bit. Another logos? What?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: So if I understand, Mei-Wah, following Catherine's instructions this morning and what we played with there, felt the sense of trying that with different images, and a sort of losing the sense of grace, and replacing that with a sense of, "Oh, there's a kind of automatic process here that I can sort of do," and that lost the sense of beauty, and specialness, and mystery, and grace. Is that ...? Yeah, yeah. Okay.

A couple of things. One is -- Catherine and I were just talking briefly after the thing that it's not really a formula so much as just, how about this: can you see the beauty in not necessarily that series of steps as in each, let's say? Each of those seven, to me, had a kind of beauty in it. So, for instance, the one that really struck me this morning was this saying "sorry." That really touched me, saying "sorry" on behalf of the human species, or certain cultures and things, and myself. So rather than a series of step by step, one, two, three, ignition, takeoff kind of thing, it may be more that these are some of the ways that we can learn about this practice, and also learn something about the mystery of participation, the mystery of participation in the imaginal. Then it's possible that my humility and my willingness to say "sorry," in that example, that itself becomes image. Rather than a technique, it can become image. And again, your self as soulmaking practitioner can become image. So it's not so much a technique of mastery as a mystery of initiation in which there is some art and some grace, but you become image as well, and your participation in something utterly mysterious. The levels of what participation means can become image. Does that resonate at all? Does that satisfy?

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. I think the thing about everything potentially becoming image, you said, yeah, that is where we're going, but not as art -- it's almost like just recognizing the wonder of that, that everything can become image, and then, yeah, within that, you can become image, you as practitioner, or you as even participator. This business about participation, it's the last node, and it's the most mysterious of the nodes, I think, of the elements. It's like, the meaning of the profundity of our participation in reality, or truth, or perception, or what things are, and what opens up. And that itself can become soulmaking, sensing that and feeling into that, which is very different than "Now I've got a set of techniques and tricks to sort of switch things on." It's a different level of things. Okay.

I just want to check how we're doing. It's a hard question. I'm tired, but not in a sense that I can't go on. It's more in a sense I recognize I'm not quite so with it as I usually feel I am. But I'm okay with that if you're okay with that. That's all. It doesn't feel like I can't continue. Should we do a few more? Yeah? Okay.

Q9: different meanings of the word image

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: Yeah. Okay. So Matt's question is, we've been using the word 'image' in different senses, a lot of different senses, actually, and not taking that much care with it. One is image in the usual sense, like I just talked about tentacles coming out of the earth. And another, the sense that Matt's talking about, is something becoming image, and what does that mean? Yeah? So for something to become image means -- and many of you will have had this experience; you arrived at Gaia House, and something here was just a something here. And at some point, it starts to become, we can say, perceived imaginally, sensed with soul. It has beauty, dimensionality, some kind of mysterious depth, etc., all that. That could be a person. So someone, you know, they're just a person, and then they start becoming an image for you, meaning they start to have -- there's eros towards them, not necessarily sexual at all; there's a profound beauty, and mystery, and unfathomability -- all the rest of it. So rather than just a person who I like, or I don't like, or whatever it is, just functional, that person becomes image for me. They mean something that I can never quite sum up what they mean to me and the resonances in my soul and the beauty. Does that ...? Yeah? Okay, good.

Roxanne, yeah?

Q10: images being different than we expect, the autonomy of imaginal images

Yogi: I kind of have a weird question. I'm kind of wondering if when you're having, like, you've got your image and you're going towards soulmaking, if it ever unfolds the way you want it to. Because it never seems to unfold for me the way -- like I maybe have an idea of, "Okay, I've got this heartbreak, and is there any image that comes up for me?", and I want to visualize a monster or something really dark, and then it's like this beautiful image comes up instead, when I'm thinking it should be some dark thing because I'm feeling dark. It wasn't what I was -- like I wasn't reaching for that image, but that's the image that comes, that just kind of comes to me, that will give me this profound sort of feeling or strengthen me or something.

Rob: Yeah. So Roxanne's asking, sometimes she wants a certain kind of image, and what comes is a very different kind of image. For instance, feeling sad or something like that, and wanting a kind of dark image that you would think is appropriate or reflective, and what comes is something very beautiful instead. It sounds like what elicited and opened the soulmaking is the image that you got, rather than the image that you thought you wanted. Is that so?

Yogi: Yeah. It seems like I keep encountering that. You were going through the seven stages, and I was practising. I just kind of thought of an image, and I was going down the list with the image, and at one point I was asking permission to this image, and it was this flowing lava, like in Hawaii, and I asked for permission to get closer to it or to know it, and it said no. [laughter] I was so surprised! [laughter] I was like, "Okay." Maybe it's my logos. Maybe I've got to adjust something. And finally I was like, "Why?" And it basically was like, "I don't want to burn you. I don't want to hurt you." So I kind of sat with that.

Rob: Is there a problem here? [laughter] You know, in our logos, the images are autonomous. They're like people. And they have an intelligence and a sensibility and a care, you know, all of which sounds like it's reflected. So to be surprised, I think, is part of the territory. Yeah. It sounds great!

Yogi: I wondered if other people had the same ...

Rob: I think in different ways people will be surprised, yeah, and recognizing the autonomy. This is why we make that an element, recognizing the autonomy of the image. Look, if it was just kind of "I could make everything do what I think I want everything to do," it wouldn't be very fulfilling or rich, you know. In relation to the first thing you said about feeling -- was it sad? I can't remember the word you said. Grief? Okay, grief and heartbreak. And then the image that arises is beautiful. But if we go back to what we said with Gladys, I can also become image in relation to the image that arises for me. So I am heartbroken, and a beautiful image might then touch my heartbreak, you know? Then the whole thing is the image, rather than just that. You understand? So you can begin to feel actually what the image is is that beauty in relationship to your heartbreak, in contact with, and the whole thing is image. Does that make sense? Yeah? So again, not thinking, "Oh, that doesn't seem right." It's the two. That's great.

Maybe one last one?

Q11: autonomy and the self in images, infinite echoing and mirroring

Yogi: I was a bit confused about what I want to ask you, Rob. It has something to do with twoness. [inaudible] There's a sense in which it's arising from the ground of my own experience, and therefore that image is arising, but it has its autonomy, and yet I'm also there. I guess the confusion is something about the connectedness between the image and myself. Sometimes the image might feel more like a part of me rather than something autonomous. It always feels very personal. [inaudible]

Rob: So if I understand, there are two questions that Margaret's asking. I'm trying to clarify. There's a sense in which an image feels autonomous, and yet it also seems like it's part of me. That's one. And the other is that we talk about images being timeless, but I can also see that they arise from personal experience. Yeah? So all these are true, okay? An image is me and not me. And that particular sense of it being me and not me is more characteristic of images than "it is me" or "it isn't me." There's some kind of, "It's me and not me." That's exactly right. When we say 'autonomy,' it's almost like you can sometimes just lean on that one a little bit to grant it more, to stop it collapsing and being just me. But it's never to the point where it feels like, "This has nothing to do with me." Sometimes there is that sense, but that's where the infinite echoing and mirroring comes in -- usually there's some sense that this image, strange as it might seem, in some mysterious, infinite ways kind of echoes in my life, and my life echoes the image, and the image echoes my life, and they mirror each other. So it's sort of like subtle leanings. Some of the elements in this lattice, in this constellation, they feel like they kind of say the same things in different words or overlap, and some of them feel a bit contradictory, you know? Does that make sense?

Similarly with the timeless and the reflecting. Usual modern psychology is, "An image arises because it's reflecting something that has happened in the past." I think what's potentially really exciting and a beautiful thing to play with is what happens if we turn that upside down: my life is a reflection of image. The causality -- we're so used to thinking of causality in a certain way. It comes out of the scientific way of thinking. It's like, the past causes the present, and something that happened externally will cause an internal image to arise. What if we just play with that? There's another Greek word called telos. It means the cause comes from the end. So this, if you like, angel out ahead, or, if you like, the future causes the past.

We can say, "blaghalaghh, what's all that?" But what if we can just play with that as a poetic idea and see what happens, so that my life is an expression of certain images? Certain things happen to me, certain choices are made, certain things are expressed because I am expressing certain images. More than that, I am called on to express certain images. Now, if I say, "That's the truth," maybe that's a little too tight. But you can play with kind of turning things upside down. And I would say if you can play with that, it's quite a different sense of things, and something very beautiful opens up. And we can keep the other one, too, and go back to the traditional or the more common way of thinking about causality: "Yeah, this arises because of a cause in the past," etc. Is this making sense to people? Yeah? And, of course, traditional Dharma understanding involves understanding causality in the present -- my relationship with makes something, right now, in the present. So, you know, causality is really interesting. Most of us, it's really, really hard to shift our concepts of causality from the past and the external events -- for instance, the events of my childhood caused this. And it's not saying they didn't, but it's just saying there can be a tremendous liberation, a tremendous healing, and a tremendous soul adventure to sometimes play with just turning that on its head, and just play with that as a concept and see what that idea -- just very lightly, just playing -- what that does to my imaginal sense, to my sense of existence, to my sense of what this life is, to my sense of, for instance, what Nicole asked about dedication to something, all of that. I can see my life is caused by -- it has divine roots; it grows from the divine, the images of the divine, the gods, the deities, the daimons, and they express through me; they want something through me. Does that ...? To play with.

Yogi: Can I ask another question?

Rob: Sure.

Yogi: [inaudible]

Rob: So the question is, every time you've had an image, somehow you enter the image? There's an image of you in the whole ...? Yeah, so, is that right? Yeah. All kinds of things can happen in terms of the self-sense. Just to delineate a few, it could be exactly what you're saying. So here's this imaginal other, and then I get an imaginal me interacting with the imaginal other. One possibility. Fine, beautiful. Or that image is relating to me sitting here as me. Or -- as someone was reporting earlier -- it's just that image; there's no me, and that image is just doing their own thing, in their own world, doing their own thing. That's where it's a bit more subtle. It's like, "What's this got to do with me?" And sometimes it's just not that apparent. Those are oftentimes the most inexplicable and inexplicably beautiful images as well. This is where there's infinite echoing and mirroring. It does have something to do with me. Again, it's me and not me. And in some mysterious ways, that image is refracted into my life, and my life echoes that image, etc. So that's a possibility. All kinds of possibilities. I don't think there's a fixed way that that happens. Yeah? Okay. Good.

Let's have a bit of quiet together to finish.