Anam Cara

The Fixed Image Atrophies Longing

We are no sooner out of the womb than we must begin this precarious unfolding and shaping of who we are. If we have bad or destructive times in childhood, we begin to fix on a survival identity to cover over and to compensate for what happens to us. If we were never encouraged to be ourselves, we begin to construct an identity that will gain us either attention or approval. When we set out to construct our lives according to a fixed image, we damage ourselves. The image becomes the desperate focus of all our longing. There are no frames for the soul. In truth, we are called, in so far as we can, to live without an image of ourselves, or at least to keep the images we have free and open. When you sense the immensity of the unknown within you, any image you have built of yourself gradually loses its promise. Your name, your face, your address only suggest the threshold of your identity. Somehow you are always secretly aware of this. Sometimes, you find yourself listening to someone telling you what you should do or describing what is going on inside you, and you whisper to yourself that they have not the foggiest idea who you actually are.

The Swiss writer Max Frisch describes something of the mystery of friendship in one of his diaries: “It is remarkable that in relation to the one we love we are least able to declare how he is. We simply love him. This is exactly what love is. The wonder of love is that it holds us in the flow of that which is alive; it maintains us in the readiness to follow this person in all his possible unfoldings. We know that every person feels transfigured and unfolded when we love him. And also for the one who loves, everything continues in the same unfolding, the things that are nearest and the things that are long familiar. We begin to see things as if for the first time. Love frees us from every image. That is the excitement and adventure and tension: we will never be finished with the one that we love as long as we love him and because we love him” (author’s translation). As it continues to unfold, a loving relationship fosters the adventure of belonging. It also becomes a mirror for our thoughts and emotions: we can look at life from another’s point of view and expand our horizons of imagination and perception; it rescues us from false limitation.

It may be more helpful to consider yourself in terms of symbol rather than image. A symbol is never completely in the light. It holds a vital line into the rootage in the dark. It has many faces. Paul Ricoeur says, “A symbol invites thought.” The symbol does not nail thought to half-truth. A symbol is alive; it constantly nudges thought towards new windows of seeing. Because it is alive, it mirrors most faithfully the subtle changes that are always happening in your soul. Though our outer lives retain a certain similarity—our faces, behaviour, friends, work, remain the same—there is an endless ebb and flow of newness inside you. This is the paradox of being a human. Looking at your body, thoughts, and feelings in a symbolic way enables you to inhabit more fully your presence and its freedoms. There is hospitality and space in a symbol for your depth and paradox. The self is not an object or a fixed point of reference. It is a diverse inner landscape too rich to be grasped in any one concept. There is a plurality of divine echoes within you. The Tao Te Ching says wryly, “The Great Symbol is out of shape.”