A traveler sets out on a journey; crossing into verdant hillsides. Her route undulates and snakes into unseen territory. Roaming farther beyond the previous confines of her own maps, the wilderness is suddenly upon her. The moon hangs red in the sky, enormous and swollen like a leech. The night is thick and tangible now. It draws around her, pulling tighter, until she wears it like a second skin.
Peering into a nearby lake, she catches sight of her distorted reflection. It ripples and fragments in the gentle currents. She feels her heart begin to beat faster as the image breaks. An ancient, terrible laugh echoes through the forest. Looking up, she sees forms dancing in the trees and crawling up out of the water onto the shore. Their eyes, teeth, and skin blur together in a welter of confused perception.
Beyond her borders, something waits, watching her with her own eyes. The unclaimed parts of her slide forward with an accompanying agony she only distantly remembers.
The Crisis can be one of the most important experiences we undergo. It is a journey into humanity’s common darkness in which we are tested and reshaped. This helps us access feelings and memories that have lain dormant in us, waiting to grow into renewed intention . These are deep clefts in our inner life that go unloved and unnoticed; doomed and lurking at the periphery. They exist on the margins; subsisting in unseen spaces.
Over time, our self-image ossifies and becomes more concrete. Hewn from the raw material of experience it hardens into abstraction. The ego pulls at the threads of life, weaving them into a single narrative. Any aspect of our experience is capable of being subsumed into this vast apparatus we call the Self. In this development, parts of ourselves are inevitably cast aside. We make the simultaneous movement of appropriation and rejection, fearing the imagined instability past this image. This rejected material is the province of what we define as the psychotic, irrational, and alien.
Our childhood experience provides the impetus for this ruthless self-selection. Although we attempt to repress certain of our aspects, they simmer underneath the surface. Trying to drown out their urgent whispers, we may lose ourselves in certain experiences and pleasures. This helps us forget, for a time. The extreme control and attempted modulation of these undesirable features are a temporary relief for the terror brought on by their repression. Those outside the gates clamor through the night. Communication ceases as they slip below the lines drawn out in the interior.
A longing for the open ocean gnaws at us, as the land is gnawed by the sea. A dark fluidity at the roots of our nature rebels agains the security of terra firma, provoking a wave of anxiety in which we are submerged, until we feel ourselves drowning, with representation draining away.
– Nick Land
Meditation and other methods can open up these lines of communication once more. Dredging up long forgotten experience, the unloved return once more to the fold. The door leading to unimaginable depth is thrown open and our memories stream into the light. The process begins with the shock of recognition. Our disintegration is aided by the discarded parts of ourselves. Unable to harmonize these aspects, the person’s self image begins to change, becoming something other than what they had supposed.
It is no wonder that this personal breakdown is evidenced across such a wide spectrum of humanity. It is bound up in symbolism that attempts to help the person experiencing it navigate its unfamiliar paths. Often viewed in the context of an initiation into new orders of reality, the person undergoes what is represented as a death to old symbolic, personal, and cultural systems and a birth into new life. Let’s take a look at some concrete examples of this and see how they apply.
The tradition of Shamanism is one of mankind’s oldest spiritual blessings. These men and women underwent a profoundly painful and transformative process in the loneliness of solitary nature. Feeling themselves begin to open, they had to confront and understand what they found there. They learn the shamanic cosmogonies and the plurality of beings. The Shaman can then move among the worlds of heaven, earth, and the underworld. This has been termed an “initiation”. Religious scholar Mircea Eliade cites several examples of this progression in his book Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy:
For example, a Yakut shaman, Sofron Zateyev, states that as a rule the future shaman ‘dies’ and lies in the yurt for three days without eating or drinking. Formerly the candidate went through the ceremony three times, during which he was cut to pieces . . . The candidate’s limbs are removed and disjointed with an iron hook; the bones are cleaned, the flesh scraped, the body fluids thrown away, and the eyes torn from their sockets. After this operation all the bones are gathered up and fastened together with iron . . . the ceremony of dismemberment lasts from three to seven days; during all that time the candidate remains like a dead man, scarcely breathing, in a solitary place . . .
According to another Yakut account, the evil spirits carry the future shaman’s soul to the underworld and there shut it up in a house for three years (only one year for those who will become lesser shamans). Here the shaman undergoes his initiation. The spirits cut off his head, which they set aside (for the candidate must watch his dismemberment with his own eyes), and cut him into small pieces, which are then distributed to the spirits of the various diseases. Only by undergoing such an ordeal with the future shaman gains the power to cure. His bones are then covered with new flesh, and in some cases he is also given new blood.
This incredibly detailed description evokes the descent into the forbidding regions of ourselves as the Shaman watches his own dismemberment. Undergoing these trials creates new understanding. The Shaman becomes instantiated in their new communal role in the process. This comprehension of levels of the cosmos and planes of reality bleeds out and makes the Shaman the focal point of interaction between these worlds and the Earth. In order to achieve this, they must undergo some of the nightmarish aspects of initiation. Eliade continues with another example of Shamanic initiation:
Then the candidate came to a desert and saw a distant mountain. After three days’ travel he reached it, entered an opening, and came upon a naked man working a bellows. On the fire was a caldron ‘as big as half the earth.’ The naked man saw him and caught him with a huge pair of tongs. The novice had time to think, ‘I am dead!’ The man cut off his head, chopped his body into bits, and put everything in the cauldron. There he boiled his body for three years. There were also three anvils, and the naked man forged the candidate’s head on the third, which was the one on which the best shamans were forged. Then he threw the head into one of the three pots that stood there . . . The blacksmith then fished the candidate’s bones out of a river in which they were floating, put them together, and covered them with flesh again. He counted them and told them that he had three too many; he was therefore to procure three shaman’s costumes. He forged his head and taught him how to read the letters that are inside it. He changed his eyes; and that is why, when he shamanizes, he does not see with his bodily eyes but with these mystical eyes. He pierced his ears, making him able to understand the language of plants. Then the candidate found himself on the summit of a mountain, and finally he woke in the yurt, among his family. Now he can sing and shamanize indefinitely, without ever growing tired.
These examples (and many others in Eliade’s book) are linked and share a symbolism. The Shaman is taken apart, and put back together, acquiring his powers in the process. He not only gains powers of communication with spirits, but also improves in full-body functioning. The Shaman gains the ability to cure mankind of many of its self-wrought afflictions.
When they came to a high place, the guides showed him seven tents with torn roofs. He entered the first and there found the inhabitants of the underworld and the men of the Great Sickness (syphilis). These men pried out his heart and threw it into a pot. In other tents he met the Lord of Madness and the Lords of all the nervous disorders, as well as the evil shamans. Thus he learned the various disease that torment mankind.
Through the Shamanic awakening, the person discovers new frontiers and lands beyond their “everyday” levels of discernment and common sense. Eliade concludes that there are affinities at work between these accounts, describing a mystical death and rebirth. It is particularly worth pointing out that in this text, the Shaman is instructed by demonic beings:
. . . from the Cosmic Tree and by the will of the Universal Lord himself, he receives the wood to make his drum; semi-demonic beings teach him the nature of all disease and their cures; finally, other demonic beings cut his body to pieces, boil it, and exchange it for better organs. Each of these elements in the initiatory story is consistent and has its place in a symbolic or ritual system well known to the history of religions. To each them we shall have to return. Taken together, they represent a well-organized variant of the universal theme of the death and mystical resurrection of the candidate by means of a descent to the underworld and an ascent to the sky.
As we will see from other examples, many seekers have undergone some variation of this journey, as a descent and purification, culminating in renewed insight. Another author who delved into his unmapped psychological realms and described them courageously was psychologist C.G. Jung. Jung wrote eloquently on this matter, the ancient depiction of man’s descent through darkness, and passing into the light (using symbolism that includes heaven, fusion, and kingship). This procedure can be expressed through the duality of solar and lunar, the liminal and subliminal factors of the human organism.
In his classic work on alchemy, Mysterium Coniunctionis, Jung analyzes this and the movement through the frail walls of the ego.
In this psychologem all the implications of the Sol-Luna allegory are carried to their logical conclusion. The aerobic quality which is connected with the dark side of the moon, or with her position midway between heaven and the sublunary world, displays its full effect. Sun and moon reveal their antithetical nature, which in the Christian Sol-Luna relationship is so obscured as to be unrecognizable, and the two opposites cancel each other out, their impact resulting – in accordance with the laws of energetics – in the birth of a third and new thing, a son who resolves the antagonisms of the parents and his himself a ‘united double nature.’ . . . The moment of the eclipse and mystic marriage is death on the cross . . . It is clear from this text that the ‘hidden’ thing, the invisible center, is Adam Kadmon, the Original Man of Jewish gnosis. It is he who laments in the ‘prisons’ of the darkness’ . . . He is the product of the conjunction of sun and moon.
Interesting parallels can be drawn between this and the story of Adam and Eve. Far from being a literal creation narrative, Adam and Eve is a highly symbolic glyph that helps to clarify the spiritual experience. The snake is known for having the ability to shed its skin, and for its associations with the nocturnal. Upon eating of its fruit, Adam and Eve learn of good and evil, and they come to experience life’s privations. One way this can be read is humanity’s knowledge of the myriad potentials of good and evil. For how could humanity be free to act without this choice?
We eat of the tree of knowledge when we experience some version of the Crisis, and its upwelling of unintegrated material. Like many endeavors, this type of self-discovery is dangerous and its outcome is not preordained. There is no way of knowing in advance how we will comprehend this often frightening psychological landscape. Later in this same work Jung clarifies the inherent risk in this type of procedure:
From the (nuptial) impact between the two the spark is struck, the Archeus, which is a ‘corrupter of the body,’ just as the ‘chemist’ is a ‘corrupter of metals.’ This negative aspect of the scintilla is remarkable, but it agrees very well with the alchemists’ less optimistic, medico-scientific view of the world. For them the dark side of the world and of life had not been conquered, and this was the task they set themselves in their work. In their eyes the fire point, the divine center in man, was something dangerous, a powerful poison which required very careful handling if it was to be changed into the panacea. The process of individuation, likewise, has its own specific dangers. Doran expresses the standpoint of the alchemists in his fine saying: ‘ There is nothing in nature that does not contain as much evil as good.’
The Chaos Magician and writer Grant Morrison explains this so artfully that it is worth quoting extensively:
Aleister Crowley embodied the destruction of Egoic Self structures as Choronzon, the Devil 333. Choronzon, we are told, is the all-devouring guardian of “the Abyss” (the Abyss being a suitably dramatic and evocative term for an experiential “gap” in human consciousness.) The term can be applied to that state of mind during which Individual Egoic Self-consciousness begins to cannibalize itself rather than confront the usually frightening fact that Personality is not “Real” in the existential sense and is simply a behavioral strategy.
Most of us have had some small experience of the gigantic boundary complex Mega-ChoronzonnoznorohC-ageM; the Choronzonic Encounter is present in the relentless, dull self-interrogation of amphetamine comedowns or fevers, near-death experiences. Think of the chattering mind, annihilating itself in unstoppable self-examination and you will hear the voice of Choronzon.
Choronzon then, is Exisential Self at the last gap, munching out its own brains, seeking nourishment and finding only the riddle of the Bottom That is Bottomless. Choronzon is when there is nothing left but to die to nothingness. Beyond Choronzon, concepts of personality and identity cannot survive. Beyond Choronzon we are no longer our Self. The “personality” on the brink of the Abyss will do anything, say anything and find any excuse to avoid taking his disintegrating step into “non- being”.
Most of us in the increasingly popular Western Consumerist traditions tend to wait until we die before even considering Choronzon. Since we can only assume that Egoic Selfsense is devoured whole in whatever blaze of guilt and fury or self-denial or peace perfect peace our last flood of endorphins allow in the 5 minutes before brain death, the moment of death seems to me to be a particularly vulnerable one in which to also have to face Existential terror for the first time.
Better to go there early and scout out the scenery. To die before dying is one of the great Ordeals of the magical path.
The Abyss, then, is that limit to Self consciousness where meaning surrenders and reverses into its own absolute opposite and is there consumed in “Choronzonic Acid,” a hypersolvent so powerful it dissolved the Selfitself. Here you will encounter the immense SELF/NOT SELF boundary wall on the edge of Egoic Consciousness and be obliterated against it. The Abyss is a hiatus in awareness, where notions of identity, race, being and territory are consumed in an agonizing fury of contradiction.
Magicians who have successfully “crossed” the Abyss are considered no longer human, in the sense that survival of this ordeal necessitates the breaking down of SELF into multiple personality complexes.
Alan Moore has also described this in his magical studies, in which we must take a step beyond the limits of what we think we know, “outside”:
Obviously if you’re gonna be exposed to the world of magic, you’re gonna have to have taken a step past the normal perimeters of the rational world. The very nature of magic is connected to the irrational. You’re gonna have to step out of the realm of conventional sanity at the very least.
This is a journey into one’s personal abyss. There we uncover and merge with our own unconscious content. This part of contemplative practice can be associated with mortification, as the intense suffering that the crisis can produce begins to change the ego’s parameters and its self-imposed boundaries. The person then comes to a more all-inclusive view of their own polarities, and the ways in which their experience can no longer be described coherently through the framework of their personality as it has developed.
The lunar fields of our unconscious call to us, reminding us of our shared identity, and beginning the treacherous crossing back to union. This personal underworld is the entrance point for these types of experiences for many people. The modification begins when during a retreat, therapy session, or other form of intensive self analysis, we take the path into the hinterlands to see where it leads.
The shadow (or “gap in consciousness” that Morrison describes) spreads its wings into apprehension once more. This begins the descent down into our recesses, with a sense of what is happening and our own intuition to guide us safely through the labyrinth as it begins to collapse around us.
The idea of God is pale next to that of perdition, but of this I could have no inkling in advance.
– Deathspell Omega
Taking this step is to identify the different phases of the inner life. We can take a look at how our societies define concepts such as sanity and self, and see if these hold up under scrutiny. In order to do this, we have to understand the ways of thinking and sensations that make up what we consider to be beyond the pale. What do we make of these disavowed elements of ourselves? How does it feel to welcome them home? What do we fear from our demons, and what can we learn from honestly understanding them, as an indelible part of our humanity? Can we honor them, yet still act in ways that honor the whole as well?
Abandoned hatreds, anger, and intense emotionality are only a part of this. One may also encounter the inability to eat or drink fully until the process has run its course. Sleep is often halted by disturbing and malevolent dreams. Variously defined symptoms, such as panic attacks, depression, and paranoia contribute to an atmosphere of all-consuming anxiety. There are many reports of these and similar phenomena that occur through meditation, yoga, kundalini awakenings, psychedelic experiences, and others.
Keep your eyes and ears open, and experience all to the best of your ability. Old feelings cut deep, exposing you to the quick. Once the dust of ourselves settles, we begin to see more clearly. All in all, that should be seen through to completion. The Crisis may begin to ebb when we are better able to mesh all the diverse components of our inner life.
In order to more fully come to grips with what is happening to us, we must become adept at traversing all levels of our humanity. Reject nothing that comes to you, and allow the body to organize itself in a new manner. We have innumerable repressive tendencies, and the gradual recognition of what Peter Carroll calls our “psychic censor” moves us along. It also helps to recognize that the process of ego formation, while part of the personal development process, can severely restrict and limit us in ways that become more apparent as we mature. Self-compassionate care is also of utmost importance when dealing with what at times can feel like an emotional flood. Through this we learn the value of kindness and how to practice it towards ourselves and others.
The breakdown of the self-image gives us the opportunity to drop old behaviors. Although the egoic impulse never dies out, it becomes more porous, allowing us to navigate its changing edifice. We can see, with practice, how anything in our experience can be pulled out of transience and incorporated into our reality if we claim it as our own. Life constantly breaks our imagined solidity.
A strength coalesces out of the Crisis, innermost and bright, fecundity in what had once been barren. This change in our reality truly occurs when we have more fully plumbed ourselves. The olive branch of peace is then extended to all of life, including those aspects we most fear. For we comprehend fully that they are in all of us, inseparable from who we are. A changed vision appears, able to bring together all our seeming disparities and draw from them. This is described in Jungian terms as the “Self” by Anthony Stevens:
The transcendent refers to ideas, images, and symbols which lie beyond ordinary mundane experience. It is as if the psyche is subject to a transcendent imperative which enables it to deal successfully with the opposing or conflicting tendencies of which life is full. Through this transcendent function of the psyche, thesis and antithesis encounter one another on equal terms and achieve a symbolic synthesis which transcends them both. This is a factor of great psychological significance because it enables one to move beyond conflicts which would otherwise prove sterile, and avoid narrow one-sided modes of adjustment. Its action is powerfully enhanced when one attends to dreams and if one assumes conscious responsibility for the transcendent symbols arising from them. This is essential if one is to become committed to the goal of individuation and self-completion . . . The Self is thus the living embodiment in each and every one of us of the numinous power that has always and everywhere been attributed to ‘God.’
In effecting our own healing and completeness, and seeing the “Other Side” (hell, demons, the underworld, psychosis) we can come to understand our own multiple natures. This is a portal to the new life and perspective that many have intimated, and remains for those who wish to know it. All it requires is to cease our running away, and to look honestly within. We also develop a renewed appreciation for the power of our conscious choice. The Crisis as a whole asks us penetrating questions, and how we respond to these questions is how we choose to live, and the life we may make as a result.