The essential principle of synchronicity is that events occur simultaneously inside and outside of us, and that these events are meaningfully related. Synchronicity is an expression of a coincidence in time of contents with the same meaning, manifested in different forms—psychic and material. As Jungian analysts say, there is no clear boundary between matter and spirit:
“Consciousness actually creates the conflict between inner and outer by projecting one as materially real and the other as psychologically real, because we truly do not know the difference between material reality and psyche. Objectively speaking, we encounter something unknown that sometimes appears as matter and sometimes as psyche, and how the two are connected we do not yet know. Nor did the alchemists know. This is the mystery of life, which manifests itself simultaneously in psychological and material form. If we describe it externally, using an extraverted statistical approach, it appears as matter; if we approach it from within, it appears as what we call the unconscious.”
— Marie-Louise von Franz, Alchemy: An Introduction to the Symbolism and the Psychology, p. 161
I begin this article with the concept of synchronicity because I see a connection between the technical problems with my website lately—the external—and the absence of new publications on my part—the internal. I owe this reflection to those readers who tell me they recognize themselves in what I share and who eagerly await new articles. Yet for over a month there were none. Instead, there were technical problems with the site—first with the registration form for receiving updates, and later with disruptions in the site’s inner structure—its code—due to hacking attempts. For weeks, the IT specialist maintaining the site worked to resolve the issue, which required shutting down access entirely for several days.
And while the external problem is now approaching resolution, it remains unclear how the inner one—the absence of writing—will be resolved. Because at the same time as the technical difficulties, I was experiencing a block in writing. I felt as if my mind, too, had been “hacked” by forces beyond my control, and every time I sat down to write, I felt blocked and profoundly unproductive. This is a deeply distressing experience—you want to create something and cannot; you sense the seed that wants to emerge into the world through you, yet it cannot break through the hardened soil. And on top of that, you do not understand why this is happening.
One evening, exhausted by my futile attempts to give life to an article that had long been maturing within me (the site contains dozens of such drafts—texts resembling scattered construction sites), I came across a passage from The Cat by Marie-Louise von Franz that nearly brought me to tears. It explained the meaning of a recurring motif in fairy tales—the motif of infertility in the royal family and the miraculous conception of a child.
“Before the hero is born, there is often a period of infertility or difficulty in conceiving. Hundreds of fairy tales begin this way… the statement in the tale that the queen cannot have children always leads to the special child—the hero. What does this mean psychologically? Why is there such a long period of sterility before the birth of the hero-child?” — p. 32
Von Franz’s answer brought me comfort. I share it here now, knowing it will offer the same consolation to others like me—those who long to manifest creative energy in their lives but do not receive the cooperation of the unconscious.
Creativity, after all, applies to every meaningful aspect of life—home, work, family. It also includes the inner psychological work of self-knowledge and self-creation through the choices we make. This is precisely why it is important to know that sterility—these various forms of stagnation and the feeling that nothing is happening, that one can do nothing about it—has a very special place in the process.
“Generally speaking, in the beginning there is this period of depression, emptiness, stagnation, and the longer it lasts, you can calculate how much energy is accumulating in the unconscious. For something truly important to happen, there must be a period in which nothing happens in consciousness.
I have noticed this when writing an article. If I think, ‘This is interesting,’ and write it immediately, the result is superficial chatter. But when I first fall into depression and cannot do anything for a long time, the longer it lasts, the more certain it is that something better will emerge. That is why I do not trust what I write unless I have been depressed beforehand. I know it is something cheap that does not come from within, so to speak; for something good to arise, one must first endure a prolonged despondency. This can take the form of depression, or simply a life in which nothing happens. Life goes on, one eats breakfast, does one’s work, there are no interesting dreams, and everything is boring. Emptiness. Nothing.”
— Marie-Louise von Franz, The Cat: A Tale of Feminine Redemption, p. 32
It seems this is the price we pay to connect with what comes from deeper levels—the feeling of stagnation, emptiness, and helplessness to do what we want. This is the dark currency with which we purchase the descent of our vital energy into the deeper layers of the unconscious. It is the winter of our lives, and the condition for subsequent renewal. It opens a hollow of emptiness into which, unseen, the living water begins to gather—water that will later burst forth in new forms.
For true creativity does not come from the mind, but from a source beyond it, and therefore beyond the control of conscious intention. And whether we like it or not, that source is the very same one that sends us depression.
“You see, the unconscious cannot produce anything on command. A long process takes place within it; it seems to gather and balance its forces. If we imagine the psyche as a self-regulating system, it appears that all energies must be in exactly the right place for something new to emerge.” — p. 33
In my creative blockage, I did not have the power to write what I wanted, even though I had a clear idea and knew perfectly well how to construct sentences. And although I still do not know what will follow in the realm of writing, I do know that something within me—in my own self-creation—has already changed. A part of me is no longer the same. And if the unconscious decides to grant its blessing, I will be able to share this transformation in articles as well. But that, ultimately, is God’s work. I know this now in my bones.
So if there are no new publications on the site, it is most likely because I am digging the well of “living water.” If it springs forth for me, it will reach you as well.
For now, this is what can be shared: behind sterility in our lives lies the hidden ripening of the fruit in the deepest recesses of the psyche. And as Marie-Louise says, “the longer it lasts, you can calculate how much energy is accumulating in the unconscious. For something truly important to happen, there must be a period in which nothing happens in consciousness.”
The greatest ripening occurs during the dark night of the soul—and that night is, as a rule, long—very, very long. So if you are passing through it, be patient with yourself. Before something new is born, destruction must come first.
Kameliya Hadzhiyska
Note: The quotations are translated from Bulgarian and are not presented as verbatim citations.
