Wonder Shows the Way

 

The Hero’s Journey

“The men I enjoy and admire most are those who pause to wonder and remind me to heed the wisdom written on the railroad crossing: Stop. Look. Listen.”

Sam Keen (Fire in the Belly, p. 155; Bantam Books, 1992)

          Sam Keen’s book on the changing ideals of manhood, Fire in The Belly, explores in depth the making of a man and how it has changed over the last century. He writes, “Without wonder, the world of men turns into compulsive activity, self-sealing systems of thought and social organization, and men, at best become experts and efficient professionals, and at worst, puppets and functionaries of assorted institutions.” In Jungian psychology, the second half of a hero’s journey involves the rebirth of wonder, but first, it requires the death of that man-as-a-cog in an institutional wheel. It doesn’t happen overnight, but slowly, like waking up after thirty years of hibernation.

          Here’s an example: My friend, Harry, grew up a city boy, almost never going outside the boundaries of the (so called) civilized world. As a result, he had almost no relationship to the natural world. He just didn’t see it, didn’t grow up splashing in creeks, climbing hills to slide down snowy banks, or swimming in a pond. Now, in his seventh decade, he is waking up to nature. I received a text a couple of weeks ago saying that the birds and squirrels had abandoned his yard—he hadn’t seen or heard them for a few days. He was concerned that a hawk was threatening them. A week later, I received another text saying, “they’re back!” He was genuinely happy and had obviously been checking daily for the “wildlife” in his own yard. 

        According to Sam Keen, in the second half of the hero’s journey, “our eyes and our perception of the world change.” This is because at about midlife, which is later than it used to be, men begin to realize that something is missing. In all their competition, their striving to achieve, and their actual achievement, a sinkhole has opened, and they feel sucked into a lifeless, moody existence. The magic that little boys recognize as a normal part of childhood is gone and emptiness has taken its place. This is not pathology. This is the soul calling out, demanding to complete its mission.

          Wonder is the antidote. Waking up to wonder, to sensory and sensual experience, opens up a life that has been choked with work, competition, duty and routine. Interestingly, these are in the purview of the feminine. And just as women have an animus, an inner masculine, men have an anima or inner feminine, which for the most part, they project onto a flesh and blood woman rather than claim as their own. The second half of life, and the second half of the hero’s journey, are all about finding balance—and balancing the masculine and feminine principles is a big part of that. When men make the hero’s journey about weapons, about conquest, and about subjugating women, they have lost their way. When they allow wonder and the holiness of the natural world (including their relationship to women), to teach them that a man’s job is not to continuously fight in the arena, then the true fire in his belly is ignited. He becomes alive in a whole new, wider, and truly awesome way. What the world needs now is men with the fire of wonder in their bellies. May it be so.

                                                  In the Spirit,

                                                  Jane