Entering the Labyrinth
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worse
Are full of passionate intensity.—W. B. Yeats, “The Second Coming,” 1919
The nominee for most threadbare, overused quote of the twentieth century goes to William Butler Yeats for this poem, or at least the first verse. The temptation to quote is irresistible. W. B., You nailed it. The images are so vivid, the emotions so compelling, the message so apt. There is no falconer. The center did not hold. The West Bank is devastated, and nothing is slouching toward Bethlehem. Dilapidated as it is, the poem feels more like a fait accompli than a threat. Whatever lies ahead will not be discovered by waiting for a second coming. There is no point in looking back. That isn’t the way we are going. No amount of bullying, commandeering, manipulation, lawbreaking can turn back time.
There are, however, messengers among us. There have always been human angels who go to great lengths to share the wisdom that has come their way. They find ways to communicate with us. When it resonates, it feels like a spark of divine guidance. I am grateful to them. Perhaps what is coming is not a new messiah, but a connection to the whole, of which we are all part.
When I am lost, what shows up is an intelligent human being who is willing to share hard won knowledge. It is the task of depth psychology to bring what is unconscious to consciousness, giving us the power to choose and become accountable for who we are. I offer here two welcome messengers: neuroscientist Nicole Vignola, and Jungian analyst James Hollis.
Nicole Vignola does a fine job of explaining neuroscience to the uninitiated. Her book Rewire: Break the Cycle, Alter Your Thoughts, and Create Lasting Change (Your Neuro Toolkit for Everyday Life) was published in June 2024. It is an accessible introduction to neuroscience with the intention of providing instructions for managing your internal belief system and mind chatter. She writes, “Living in a constant state of alertness, reactiveness, and readiness to attack means that your brain is not going to prioritize making new connections to renew your narrative” (39). When beset with worry, stress, and/or anxiety—not the same thing, as it turns out—it is possible to literally rewire the brain. “Neuroplasticity is the ability of the brain to change and adapt in response to the internal and external factors that shape it” (7).
This is useful information, although not necessarily a new perspective. For centuries we have been told that we can change our experience by attending to our thoughts. The mindfulness of Buddhism, the positivism of Barbara Fredrickson, the power of positive thinking advocated by Norman Vincent Peale, the Unity principles outlined by Charles and Myrtle Filmore, the observations of C. G. Jung and Sigmund Freud are but a few examples. Neuroscientists are explaining what we have always known to be true. The beliefs we construct affect our perceptions. We create ourselves as we live our lives. From Pollyanna’s “glad game” to Jungian analytical psychology, we are reassured that we are not predestined puppets of the gods, but rather our own creations. We have been informed about exercise, meditation, healthy eating, gratitude, walking barefoot in the grass, and tree hugging. These kindly gifts come from altruistic humans.
In the summer of 2025, I feel a level of apprehension unlike anything I have previously experienced. These are not just “interesting” times. This moment in time feels precarious. I am not at all sure that any of my skills are up to the task. As a mythologist, it appears to me that the verities of the past have become quite threadbare. With the help of Dr. Vignola and others, I have faith that I can use my cherished brain plasticity to modify my experiences. I believe that I can re-create myself. I have done so before. What is different now is that I have no clear understanding of what precisely it is that I wish to create. What I think I know is likely to be what I need to release. I have let go of one trapeze with absolutely no idea if there is another to grab. I am a postmodernist who has deconstructed myself into oblivion.
In the past, when we set about reinventing ourselves, we thought in terms of coming into congruity with the beliefs we claim as our own. To be a better scholar. To live more mindfully. To eat healthier. To break bad habits. To be a better practitioner of whatever faith is our own. To be good to our mothers and wise with our children. We vow to do a better job of living up to the standards by which we judge ourselves and others.
I teach about mythologies using metaphors, as do most depth psychologists. We talk about tapestries, containers, maps. Now fraying, leaking, obsolete.
I am seeking a part of myself that exists outside my mythic clutter. (James Hillman calls this our diamon.) This requires the willing suspension of beliefs. This is harder to do than Coleridge’s “willing suspension of disbelief.” I use a different metaphor; we are entering a labyrinth. We do not know what we are searching for or what we may encounter. It is uncertain that we will find a way back. We may get eaten by the minotaur or we may emerge “rewired” with an entirely new perspective. I would not place a bet one way or the other. According to the archeologists, labyrinths have been around for at least four thousand years. They have been used as a method of quieting the mind to create space for a connection that is outside our normal experience, to enter an altered state of consciousness.
I hear people refer to their inner dialogue as the “monkey mind.” This is the voice of your personal mythology being defended by your ego. When you use this intentionally derogatory term, you alert your ego to a threat. This is rather like saying to a bully, “What are you looking at?” You are starting a confrontation. Activating the flight/fight response narrows your options to two poor ones. Your inner smart aleck is coming after you. This is not a useful way to begin any introspective journey. Most of the mistakes we make are the result of following the guidance of your ego. Inner chatter is a collection of beliefs, cowering or strutting, assembled by you over the course of your lifetime. (The neuroscientists tell us that inherited material is included in this collection. I consider this bad news.)
In the field of depth psychology, we call this a mythology. This word is sometimes used to describe something that is patently false. All mythologies are simultaneously true and false, a tension of opposites. They represent assembled beliefs, conscious and unconscious, that comprise a narrative about reality. Mythologies are human constructs, meticulously created, defended by the ego. They are our personal department of defense and our global positioning system. To give you a shamelessly simplified explanation, in The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell discusses the ways that mythologies function. First, mythologies remind us that the universe is both wonderful and terrible. Second, we participate in a mysterious cosmology that is made comprehensible through experience and knowledge. And third, mythologies ground us in a social order, assuring us that we belong to a collective that both accepts and welcomes us. We attend to the first two, in hopes of achieving the third. That is what we want mythologies to do for us. However, in today’s world, I’m not sure this promise is holding. Acceptance and welcome are hard to come by these days. Change is occurring at a frightening rate and beliefs once held as unassailable are collapsing. (Revelations of higher consciousness, or even alternative consciousness, are not always accepted or welcomed by the ego.) Finally, we are charged with the task of learning how to live our lives in the context of that mythic container.
Personal mythologies are our own unique collections. Much of this belief system is unconscious, but powerful, nonetheless. Campbell thought we demand this from our mythologies, which is why we are committed to them. For many of us, this contract is on shaky ground. The work of depth psychology is to bring to consciousness that which is unconscious, thereby presenting us with choices for which we are accountable. The criteria by which we make these choices feels elusive these days. Nevertheless, psychoanalysis is a worthwhile endeavor. The exploration of the psyche is an engaging journey, but these revelations are not to be found in the labyrinth. When you enter the labyrinth, you wish to step outside your personal mythology and create a different kind of relationship with your ego.
In Ego Land
The amygdala evolved about 200 million years ago. Reptiles and mammals have them, as do humans. Our amygdala is the home of our biggest and most devoted fan—our ego. The ego has one purpose, which is to keep its host alive. It is linked to the survival instinct. It thinks like a reptile: fight or flee, bite or run.
Human newborns are dependent upon older members of the species to survive. Infants are unable to bite or run. What can an infant do when danger threatens? What resources are available to a baby who is cold, wet, hungry, or afraid? The infant has one superpower, a noise so penetrating, so persuasive that adults within hearing feel compelled to respond. For each of us, it worked because here we are, years later—never left to starve or freeze to death. Herein lies the first lesson we each learned. It is important to demand what I want and not give up until I get it. From the ego’s point of view, I am right about everything. I am entitled to anything I want. I should always get my way. If I do not, I will surely die. When thwarted, I am justified in using any means available. The end (i.e., my survival) justifies the means. If I throw a big enough tantrum, someone will see that I get it. (This turns out to be erroneous, but it is based on experience.) This is one of the first beliefs we include int our mythologies. We put it in there and nail it down. It doesn’t work very well for the rest of our lives, but we cling to it, despite efforts made to civilize us. Behavioral modifications are forced upon us, but we secretly harbor a belief in our ego’s omniscience. We long for the good old days, when we were attended by slaves who responded promptly to our demands, when our wants and desires were never questioned. To our dismay, at about two years of age, things began to change. Despite persistent screaming, we were thwarted. Our mythologies became more complex as we were forced to adapt to the reality of growing up, but that core of resistance persists.
The belief that we must do whatever it takes to get our way is hardwired into our unconscious. If we are frightened, angry, frustrated, insulted, or bothered, our ego will respond. The amygdala is where traumatic memories live in a survival shelter. Coiled like a rattlesnake, the ego will tell me that life is dangerous. Obsessed with survival, resistant to the threat of change, my ego will always advise vigilance. In a world that I can control, I am safe.
Change feels dangerous. The very ground upon which we stand—certainty, self-righteousness, entitlement, superiority—is being eroded. The temptation is to fight or flee. The Earth has no right to threaten annihilation. The Others have no right to claim equality. Victors are entitled to the spoils.
The heroic model is to fight. Beliefs are worth fighting for. Vengeance will save me from humiliation. Collectively, we have glorified the destruction of the Other—the bombing of cities, the burning of babies, the raping of women, gunning down schoolchildren, scorching the earth. Those who would give their lives to destroy the enemy we consider heroic. These warriors make the ultimate sacrifice to go to war with the Other warriors, leaving destruction in their wake. A hero will either end in triumph or go down in flames. The coalition of egos has convinced us of the valor of this. Like rattlesnakes, warriors are venomous creatures, striking and killing in the presence of a possible threat. They do not always know who they kill, but they are justified, nonetheless.
My ego is as powerful as I let it be, but it will never stop yakking. Like so many things in life, it has its uses, but its usefulness has diminished. I am grown up, but it has not, which is why, it is best not to let my ego run my life. As nice as it is to have my own groupie, it operates with all the sophistication of a toddler. It may be the oldest part of my brain, but it is also the least reliable. My mythology is laden with false information, with incorrect assumptions, with outdated beliefs. The process of identifying these beliefs can be arduous, painful, freeing, enlightening, even thrilling. It is a worthwhile endeavor, which I heartily recommend, but it is not the work of the labyrinthian. There are so many ways to unpack it, but for the time being, simply imagine it as a very heavy suitcase you drag around with you every day, everywhere you go, all the time. Imagine for a moment, as you approach the entrance to the labyrinth, that you can leave it beside the entrance. I promise it will still be there when you return. You will have the option of retrieval or abandonment. James Hollis states, “If I am overthrown by something larger than my ego, I am called to grow despite my preference for ease, predictability and control” (3).
Entering the Labyrinth: The Willing Suspension of Belief
At some point in life, discomfort arises. We are called to reclaim that which has been obfuscated by this hoarded collection of mythological debris, this deluge of “beliefs” that we have used to protect and defend ourselves. Screaming, biting, and running are not going to get the job done. We are called by a deeper longing, more compelling than the desire to have our own way. Jung calls it the Self. Hollis refers to it as the Sage. “Within each of us is a deep resilience guided by some locus of knowing, independent of ego consciousness” (17). “The Self that transcends ego-consciousness . . . offers us that locus of personality authority. Disconnected from it, we serve our complexes, wounds, and received cultural and familial messages instead of serving the intent of our soul. Working with our dreams allows all of us to look within, to see the center of gravity shift from our many adaptations to the outer world to begin to trust that something within us knows what is right for us” (26). Some refuse this call, clinging to their personal mythologies, defending them to the very last. Others move into the labyrinth, having no idea what lies ahead.
I would suggest that we are witnessing an evolution of the collective consciousness, a shift that is affecting all who dwell on this planet. Some humans resist with fight and fury. Others are terrified of letting go of certainty. Personally, I cannot unsee what I have seen. We all have an inner rattlesnake, but personally I prefer to let mine slumber.
I am not alone in my labyrinthian journey. I have many guides, such as James Hollis and Nicole Vignola. They are my companions as I wander the labyrinth, seeking the essence of what lies outside the narratives that have contained us. We don’t know what we are going to discover just yet, but we do know that we wish to abandon some of the collective narratives we have considered as truth. We leave behind revenge. We abandon the rape and plunder mentality. We let go of illusions of entitlement, hierarchy, domination, the glory of war. We are evolving together. I have been the recipient of so many generous gifts of wisdom and love. Philosophers, psychologists, novelists, teachers, children, friends, and lovers. We all have something of our soul to share with one another, if only we disarm and share the essence of ourselves. We are one with all that is, or was, or will be in a stream of beingness and dissolution. What is will cease to be; what was will never come again. The only time we have is this moment, uncertain as it is. I leave you with this quote from Dr. Vignola’s book Rewired. What a gift she is to neuroscience and what a generous soul she is to share it with us. Thank you for your guidance.
I want you to have compassion for yourself. We will change this together, but I really want you to understand why your brain does what it does. We need to reprogramme it and upgrade the software so that you can stop talking to yourself in a particular way. So that you stop jumping to negative conclusions, so that you stop seeing the negative in everything you do, so that you don’t focus on what you haven’t achieved. I want you to see what’s ahead of you in this journey of change. The problem with going through change is that it’s hard to trust the process, not knowing whether things will work out. I totally appreciate that, but this is why people like me are here. . . . If you are struggling to trust the process, then I hope you are starting to trust in me and this book despite the fear that you are not making any progress. (89)
Works Cited
Campbell, Joseph, and Bill Moyers. The Power of Myth. Anchor, 2011.
Debenport, Ellen. The Five Principles. Unity School of Christianity, 2009.
Fredrickson, Barbara. Positivity. Harmony Books, 2009.
Hollis, James. Living between Worlds. Sounds True, 2020.
Peale, Norman Vincent. The Power of Positive Thinking. Om Books International, 1952.
Vignola, Nicole. Rewire. HarperCollins, 2024.