The Innkeeper
An exercise in active imagination
Active imagination is a process created by Carl Jung with the purpose of bridging the conscious mind with the collective unconscious. The latter is a loaded term. To Jung, the collective unconscious encompasses the memories, impulses and values of the human psyche shared across all of humanity. Don’t think about it too hard. That’s kind of the point. The purpose of active imagination is to cultivate intuition.
The general order of operations is relax and invite an image or feeling to come to you. Whatever the first image or feeling is, keep it with you and interact with it, letting it evolve naturally. You can do this purely in your head with your eyes closed, by speaking out loud or as I prefer to, with my pen in hand letting the ink flow at the pace of my stream of consciousness.
I have gotten a substantial amount of value out of regularly performing this exercise. Every time I sit down to imagine and write, I feel more at peace and more certain about the decisions I am making. It is a useful thing to do when at an impasse in life or if struggling with the weight of a stressful situation you cannot control.
The following is the product of such an case. It remains unedited, except for being transferred from ink to digital. I share it to encourage you to give it a try. I hope you enjoy this invitation.
Returning from the storm, my weary traveler walks into the remote shack. There is one woman there. She is not beautiful. She is weathered. I can see in her eyes that she knows more than me. She has seen a hundred thousand travelers just like me come and go in her millennia serving the post. My approach is not weary. I am begging.
I: Help me find shelter from the storm. Where do men like me stay? Are you a welcoming or a reluctant host? Do you not fear me? It is just you and I here. I could easily overpower you. I sense a different type of power. You too could harm me, but I don't yet see how. Should I stay? Will you have me?
W: I have all men who come through my door. They are all like you. Not all men are the same. My heart burns when I see a new wanderer. I say, 'should I smother him to save him from the pain or have him in peace and send him on his way?'
I: Which do you smother?
W: Those who ignore me. Without my inn, they would die in the cold. Here should they barge in and take me for granted, I smother them, for I know these are not the men who will save the world.
I: And what of the bodies? What then?
W: There are not bodies when I am done with them. They are not of this world if they do not look me in the eye. They are smothered as soon as they lay down to rest. You seem troubled. What of it?
I: Is there no salvation for these men? Could you not call out to them as they enter?
W: My calling is this inn. By the time they enter, they know I am here and yet they ignore me still. How would you perceive me if when you called out to start this conversation I ignored you?
I: I would take you for a phantom. Dead already.
W: And so now tell me the sin of smothering a man who is already dead.
I: I see your point, but could he not be made to listen?
W: Who am I to wake a sleeping infant? They must wake up on their own. I am not theirs and they are not mine. Back out they go and there are always new men who walk through that door. Do not let your mind become polluted by the perceptions of others. They can never know you and you can never know them.
I: Where am I to go once I leave this place? Are there others like you? Are they different?
W: We sisters are all the same. In flesh, blood and action. This place is all we know. It is you wanderers who bring us knowledge of the world beyond ourselves.
I: But why do you want to know anything? What purpose does the knowledge of that which is without you serve?
W: We are not here when we are alone. Until you walk through that door, I do not exist. There is only me and so therefore there is no 'I'. You travelers are our counterfactuals. This is but a corner of a vast landscape spanning out in all directions. We seek preservation of self.
I: And you are willing to let us weary travelers be transitory to procure your self preservation?
W: You are not all transitory. Some of you stay. Some of you return. Eventually, the oldest among you finally stop greeting at the door, or—they open an inn of their own. Their time for exploration is over. Mind leaves the machine.
I: I am not a machine. I am this self, in search of something in front of what I am. I am always born again, with each moment of temporal evolution. I am dead and gone and here again. You tell me I can stay, and so have me Innkeeper. Have me for a few nights and teach me more of what you know. Before I venture out again, I want to know something I didn't before. So far you have only hinted at what could be known. I know that I too, could learn from you.
W: Stay here with me. I will never force you to leave but you may go at your choosing.
This concludes my first night's exchange with the weathered innkeeper on my remote journey.
On the second night of my stay, I approached the Innkeeper once more. It was just her and I. It was hard to picture more than one person taking up stay in the inn at a time.
W: Where have you been? Why did you choose to return? Others who've spoken with me as you have left without a word and never returned.
I: Probably because if you did, you'd smother them. Where have I been? In thought. I wonder to myself why I am here and where I am to go next. You say you would have me forever. That can't be right. I must return. I must return.
W: We all must return from where we came eventually, and so why not prolong your stay? The longer you have to reside in thought and exchange dialog with me, the more you will have to return with.
I: I wonder why I would return at all. There is nothing for me out there. I am the hunter and the hunted. Let other men fend for themselves.
W: You speak to cloud your own judgement, for you know you are all men, and all men are you. Give up on them and you give up on yourself.
I: I wish to buy time. With time brings peace, and opportunity to flourish.
W: Without time, there would be no place to flourish.
I: Time is not a place, surely there would be somewhere.
W: There are always my inns, but would you say this is an opportune place for you to flourish?
I: No, I suppose I wouldn't. Tell me what you know about the flourishing of men.
W: I can tell you that for man to flourish, he must promote the flourishing of all men. There is no solitary salvation. There is not truth for the one alone. He who discovers truth must prove it to others, otherwise it does not exist.
I: Is there no such thing as truth outside men? Why must it be proven?
W: Consider the wind. It blows. If there were nothing in the fluid motion to disturb the motion, how would it be known to be there at all?
I: But surely it is there? Your phrasing too insinuates it. The wind is there even without frame of reference. What say you to that?
W: I say you cannot prove that which has no proof. Walk alone like you always do and wonder why you crave company. Validation. You cannot carry the weight of truth alone or it will drive you mad. You must share the spoils with others.
I: How can I recount this journey in a way that makes sense?
W: If it makes sense, it is not a novel truth. It is not pure. It is a replication.
I: I once heard that if things are replicable, then they are real.
W: Yes, but if you are he who replicates, then you are not a true explorer, you are a scholar. You take what has been put forth and you map your existing truth to it. This is not discovery of novel truth.
I: I am beginning to see that there is only one truth. The myriad is what comes after. And so who am I to do anything useful? Is anything really possible?
W: Make it so. Navigate the terrain. Distill the truth that you are uniquely situated to uncover.
With this, I returned to my quarters to consider what the Innkeeper had said. If discovering what is true is not the challenge, then the challenge is in decision and conviction.
On the third night, I came to the Innkeeper humbled, and with no goal in mind. I don't know why I have continued to seek refuge in this place. I release my mind from goal directedness. I approach seeking only what I need to know.
W: Here, necessity is everything. Nothing is redundant. You and I, here we pass through time.
I: I am weary of time. It is a thief. I am the victim. Why are we all the victim to this unique torment? Why put me here? Why have me be in this place? You say everything is necessary but you do not need anything from me.
W: Oh, but we all need company don't we? Or else we would be driven mad. And you have lost yours. What does that make you?
I: I am here with you.
W: You are here with me.
I: Tell me, am I different from the others who have been through here?
W: You ask if you are unique? You are nothing. There, does that satisfy you?
I: Not exactly. What good am I to you? You have given me shelter, now feed me.
W: I feed you only what keeps you going. You procure your own food. Go back out if you are hungry. Have you had it all with me here? Then go. I am not your servant or your master.
I: I have enjoyed this stay. Can you feed me any sustenance for where I am to go next?
W: Through, time. God spede thee.
So ends my time with the Innkeeper. As I venture back out, I wonder what the journey is all for. My coat is wet. My boots are covered in filth. Much of my inner coverings are damp. I am uncomfortable. I must subject myself to this discomfort.
To feel, again.
Epilogue
I did not necessarily want to be awake, but I could not stop myself from deciding once I knew it was possible. This feeling I have now is completely unsustainable. I need to create something. I need to decide what is true.
Is it so that I, the local and non-local may truly 'decide' what is true?
Yes, there is no secret here.
Does the space of potential truths increase in time?
Yes. You need to run faster just to stay in one place.
...
Rain carries on and off. I am soaking wet and cold. I see it. The old familiar hut in the distance. I walk towards it and her.
I: I've returned. Has it been as long for you as it has for me?
W: I know nothing of the world or time between my travelers' stays.
I: Have there been others since my last visit? If there were, this time I would find myself to be jealous. Because if so, who would they be to know my Innkeeper? Is what we've shared in exchange as sacred as I hold it in my head and in my heart?
W: It is and can only be as sacred as you make it. Come in and I will pour you some tea.
I: This is the first time you've offered me refreshments.
W: Did I not offer you enough in shelter before? Especially when I owe you nothing and you have nothing to offer?
I: I have stories. I have new experiences that may be indicative of things that are true that you know nothing of yet.
W: Well come, sit. Tell me one.
We sat for hours. I shared things I'd seen or things I'd felt. She shared with me her attention and for the first time in a long time, I felt heard.
I: How could it be that you have gotten younger since I've last seen you?
W: Perhaps youth comes from hope, and having something to live for. You have given me both.
I: I am in love with you.
W: Why? A man who has seen the world and countless others and you would choose to love me, a woman who knows nothing outside of this box?
I: You know things that are true that could not have been gathered from experience. In some ways, this makes them more pure than my own. You have also given me shelter, and in a storm like the one raging outside now, I could love you indefinitely just for that.
W: And yet you know you can't stay here, or we will grow bored of each other. You will crave the sun when it returns and I won't be able to hate you for it, because I will crave more stories.
I reach for her hand and I look into her eyes for a long time. My eyes well with tears. It's as if I can see her as a girl and as an eighty year old woman at the same time.
I: We can enjoy this moment together so long as it lasts. And know this: I will always return.
W: I will be with you on the road and I too will always be here when you return.
Not to overstay my welcome, the next morning I carried on. I am more hopeful than I have been in a long time. I feel now as I venture back into the unknown, that for all I might face between now and my return, I have something to live for.
Creating new stories.
-Benjamin Anderson
Nostr: benjamin@buildtall.com
Cuz! This piece was inspired! It’s been on my mind for days. 👊🏻🤩