Island SevenIsle of

Archetypes and Layered

Histories
(Extract from: Muse of the Long Haul Thirty-One Isles of the Creative
Imagination)

Copyright, Dr Ian Irvine, 2013 all rights reserved. All short extracts from the texts discussed used
under fair usage related to review and theoretical critique under international copyright law. All
other images copyright Andy or Ian Irvine, 1984, all rights reserved. Front page image:
Stonehenge, England 1984, copyright Ian Irvine.
Publisher: Mercurius Press, Australia, 2013. NB: This piece is published at Scribd as part of a
series drawn from Ians soon to be print published non-fiction book on experiential poetics
entitled: Muse of the Long Haul: Thirty-One Isles of the Creative Imagination.

Isle of Archetypes and Layered Histories

Id taken the following books to the UK with me: The White Goddess, Gravitys Rainbow, The
Dictionary of Modern Thought, The Primal Scream and one or two books by Wilhelm Reich and
Carl Jung (my favourite Jung text at the time was The Archetypes and the Collective
Unconscious and Id read it cover to cover). Chetwynds A Dictionary of Symbols was also in the
luggage since I saw it as a succinct summary of Jungs extraordinary system of thought. I carried
these books around with me all over Britaininitially to cricket matches, later to pubs, castles,
abbeys, Bronze-Age ruins, soccer stadiums and so on. I bought others too on the road, for
example, The Ways of the Imagination a fascinating book exploring the creative reading habits of
the Romantic poet Coleridge. Also, Dantes Inferno, which I acquired during a trip to Oxford to
look around the university and the towns many museums. My time away from studying
Commerce and playing cricket quickly turned into a read-a-thon. Better still, I was only reading
books that I felt had direct relevance to my life.
Chetwynds populist outline of Jungian theory in A Dictionary of Symbols describes The
Shadow as follows:
First experienced as dark and alien or lying on the far side of a barrier, but separated from
the Ego as dark is from light: The Shadow is the personal embodiment, or
personification of the dark side. Any power or force in the psyche neglected by the
conscious Ego remains unconscious and therefore irrational and potentially destructive.1

He goes on to list typical symbols, among them one encounters:

Neglected figures who are exiled, or thrust into the UNDERWORLD but from there
manage to cause a lot of trouble. 2

Further along in the passage Chetwynd writes about the process of Integrating the Shadow and
points to both its eternally negative aspects and its vigorous, life-enhancing possibilities if
balanced with the Jungian idea of the Ego. Another aspect of the Shadow is its tendency to
project internal conflicts outwardsi.e. to scapegoat others for the personal failings one is
unable or unwilling to acknowledge. Much of the blind brutality and stupidity of ideological and
religious zealots seemed to me, as a young man, tied up with collective Shadow stuff. By 1984 I
was thinking and talking like a Jungian!
In returning to my own journey I should state that I was reading a lot of Jungian material
in the northern summer of 1984. Existentialism hadnt really offered me an antidote to the
condition it had so accurately diagnosed. For a personal antidote I had to look elsewhere
perhaps to the people whose job it was to heal such maladies, i.e. psychologists. The Isle of the
Jungians can be visualised as part of a mini-archipelago also composed of the Islands of the
Psychoanalysts, Primalists and Transpersonalists.
Back in early 1984 I looked to Jungs system for a solution to the identity problems I was
experiencing (see Island 4 for a summary). Also, given my interests in the arts, I was fascinated
1
2

Chetwynd, A Dictionary of Symbols, p.132.

Chetwynd, A Dictionary of Symbols, p.132.

by Jungs emphasis on symbolism, as well as his more positive attitude toward creativity and
artistic practice (we werent all seen as hopeless neurotics as per Freud!). I felt I could become
acquainted with age-old themes for possible use in songs and novels at the same time as I
explored my own collective unconscious (a second, primordial level to the unconscious
composed of universal Archetypes) on the way to individuation (the Jungian version of psychic
wholeness). Two birds, one stone as far as I was concerned. I just needed time away from
ordinary life to let this integrative process unfold. Things came to a head in the second half of
1984Ill call it my Jungian year, but in truth it could just as easily be described as the year I
became an adult.
Reading Jung informed me that my relationship with Alison hadnt worked in part due
to my having been raised in a patriarchal society. My male and female energies had become
unbalanced. It was important, therefore, that I developed other aspects of my psyche particularly
the more intuitive, emotional aspects. In my mind the aggressive fast bowler (Gilgamesh?)
figure I became on cricket pitches was in truth a hurdle to me developing genuine intimacy with
a girlfriend. Imbalances between the ego and the various levels of the unconscious were also
making me anxious and incapable of feeling true joy and peace of mind. This amounted to a
conventional Jungian diagnosis of my problem.
Jung, however, proved vague and intellectual about the best way to fix the problem.
Although Jungian therapy, with its talk of archetypes, persona, the self archetype,
synchronicity, etc. seemed perfectly suited to my burgeoning creative temperamentfor
example, I really wanted literary symbols to help me find peace of mind!I doubted it could
really cure me of the anxieties haunting me at that time. Promoting the union of opposites and
integrating negatively polarised archetypes, struck me as a slow and overly esoteric process. I
felt I needed a full scale personality lobotomy insteadliterally a cutting away of the mask or
persona that Id contracted via unhealthy social conditioning. I eventually looked to Primal
Therapy to do the job.
In the interim, Jungs books, gave me some interesting ideas for songs and poems. I also
acquired a range of fascinating terms to describe what I thought I was going throughterms like
confronting the Shadow, integrating the collective unconscious etc. seemed to make the
whole process of personal growth strangely heroic. I was left with a vague sense that Graves
White Goddess was akin to Jungs Anima figureand that the two together were figuring
prominently in my (non)relationship with Alison. Similarly, Jungs archetypes sounded
suspiciously like the ancient polytheistic deities of many cultureseven though hed placed
them deep in the psyche (related to developmental processes) rather than out in the world at
large.
The first gain from not having to play cricket wasparadoxicallya temporary cessation to the
bouts of vomiting Id been afflicted with after bowling sessions. Overall, however, life on the
road proved more intense than life as a professional cricketer. For the next five months Andy and
I toured Britaineventually doing over 10,000 miles in our battered blue Mini-van with its
dodgy alternator and brakes you had to pump three times to get them to work. When we finally
limped it home to Pat in Wales it was only fit for the wreckersI have a picture Pat sent me of it
being symbolically bludgeoned to death by him, Phil and three of their mates.
That summer and fall, as the henges, forests, castles and abbeys flashed by, as we spent
long periods with family in Yorkshire, Scotland and Wales or mixed with strangers from all over
the world in obscure backpacker hostels, I felt both profoundly liberated and profoundly anxious

about the direction of my life. I remember gypsy tents and burning late model cars in a field
across from Stonehenge. I remember Chester with its Roman ruins, Whitby with its seaside feel,
vampire legends and towering Abbey. I remember fern-clad stone walls that belonged to an
ancient Bronze-Age fort in the highlands of Scotland. I remember Stirling Castle and Edinburgh
castle and a drunk night in St Andrews kissing a Scottish girl Id never met before in my life and
sad, for a moment, that she wasnt Alison.
As the experiences came and went, also, as the bouts of vomiting and stomach pains
again became more frequent, I circled a decision I feared I wouldnt be able to carry through
with upon returning to New Zealand. I knew I had to abandon my Commerce studies altogether.
I also knew I needed to find a way to work through the emotional residue of an unsettled, if
adventurous, childhoodI was thinking simultaneously in Jungian and Primal terms (apart from
Jungs work I was also reading Arthur Janovs book The Primal Scream). Mainstream politics
now left me coldI was done with the Labour Party. In all likelihood I was also finished with
highly competitive sportthough this decision would take longer to make and after returning to
NZ in late 1984 I was selected for one senior representative game for Auckland province (against
a Northland eleven). On the way back to Auckland after the match, however, I recall having to
stop the car several times to vomit. After that trip I realised I probably needed to see a doctor
perhaps the vomiting episodes werent simply anxiety about all the changes/upheavals in my life.
In late October, however, as the English rains grew colder and
more frequentmaking camping a soggy, miserable affairI
received a letter from New Zealand. Alison said she missed
me, wanted to know where I was. Almost in passing, she also
wrote that she wouldnt mind having me back there to talk to.
She also wanted me to send her posters and recordings of
Style Council, a British band. Although I much preferred
The Jam (The Style Councils earlier and more
dynamic/gutsy incarnation) I nevertheless bought Alison the
posters and tapes.
I probably read far more into the letter than was
intended, but given Andy and I didnt fancy staying on for the
British winterwed caught up with all our relatives (were
probably on the verge of becoming burdensome late-teenage
over-stayers!)and were growing tired of the endless tourist
attractions, cider, heavy beer and being in limbo about work
and study, we decided it was time to go home. By midNovember we were on our way back to NZfor my part, I intended to deliver the posters and
tapes to Alison in person.
Home to the Land of the Long White Cloud
These days I believe that the personal unconscious works hand in hand with the collective
unconsciousand feel that neither should be privileged over the other. They are but two sides of
the same coin. The collective unconscious projects archetypal developmental needs onto the
world. The world either responds or obstructsin the process sowing seeds of either harmony or
discord between the two realms of the unconscious.

This was how I tended to understand my own situation as I boarded the British Airways
jet in November 1984, destined for Auckland. My Gilgamesh-Enkidu complex needed
integrating, and fasthow else would I be able to change sufficiently to be able to form a
genuine, mature relationship with a woman (specifically, Alison, at that time)?
As I lay there on the edge of a troubled sleep (probably somewhere over the Middle East)
the image of a sleeping (perhaps dead) Anima figure imprisoned somewhere underground
appeared to me. I also imagined a Shadow figure, a huge almost demonic fast-bowler, blocking
the entrance to the underground passageway that led to the sleeping woman. He sneered at me,
called me weak and challenged me to a fight. Later in the trip, perhaps over Thailand or
Indonesia, I was pulled out of another bizarre nightmare by air turbulence and the strong urge to
once again vomit due to a sore stomach. This nightmare involved Humpty Dumpty. He was lying
at the foot of an old stone wall (like the ancient walls Id seen all over the British countryside),
and though he was in pieces he was nevertheless able to speakhe complained bitterly, in fact,
about his fragmented state: Youve all but dissolved the Persona, you idiot! Now what will we
do? Youve smashed me to smithereens and theres nothing left but ocean and moonlight! Well
its on your head! You cant build a life out of fragments! Obviously Humpty had also read a lot
of Jung!
Moments later, with my head in an airline toilet, I remember being flooded with a curious
fear and not just of the suction mechanism! The year overseas should have cleared my head
and renewed my sense of purpose. Instead I felt overwhelmedincredibly fragile
psychologically. So much had changed and yet flying home it became obvious to me that nothing
important had actually been resolved. I was really only beginning the journeybig decisions
were looming and I felt ill-prepared to make them.
As I struggled to suction-atomise the partially digested remains of an earlier airline meal,
I realised with a kind of panic that my life was out of controlI was starting to understand what
it meant to go off the rails. If I wasnt already derailed I wasnt far from it. Id been
bombarded with many intense experiences whilst in Britain and felt that there was no going back
to the old Ian. However, no acceptable alternative Ian seemed to be on the horizon. Part of me
wanted to simply flick a switch and turn back the clockto the time before Id read all those
books, to the time when Id been a conformist Commerce student who happened to be able to
bowl quickly.
As I vomited yet againMust be to do with the cabin pressure, I thought at the timeI
resolved, somewhat shakily, to return to my degree studies, also to my career as a professional
cricketer. Alison would help me in this questwed reunite soon after my return and things
would finally work out between us. This in turn would give me peace of mind and selfconfidencewasnt that the outcome of most of the Romantic movies Id ever seen? Shed be
happy to live the life of a test cricketers wifeposing for photographs in womens magazines,
conducting interviews, appearing on television for worthy causes, dressing up for awards
evenings, etc. Shed also travel to the UK with me every year and look after the inevitable
children whilst I played high level cricket. In this fantasy, all my symptoms of alienationall of
my anxietieswould simply disappear. Thered also no longer be a need to torment myself with
endless questions about life, the universe and everything.
A lot hinged on the reunion.

Author Bio (as at April 2013)

Dr. Ian Irvine (Hobson) is an Australian-based poet/lyricist,
writer and non-fiction writer. His work has featured in
publications as diverse as Humanitas (USA), The Antigonish
Review (Canada), Tears in the Fence (UK), Linq (Australia)
and Takahe (NZ), as well as in a number of Australian
national poetry anthologies: Best Australian Poems 2005
(Black Ink Books) and Agenda: Australian Edition, 2005.
He is the author of three books and co-editor of three
journals and currently teaches in the Professional Writing
and Editing program at BRIT (Bendigo, Australia) as well as
the same program at Victoria University, St. Albans, Melbourne. He has also taught history and
social theory at La Trobe University (Bendigo, Australia) and holds a PhD for his work on creative,
normative and dysfunctional forms of alienation and morbid ennui.