container

a psychological meditation

This week’s word is container. Whether I think of a physical container or of the psychological container of a relationship, I immediately feel the presence of walls. A container is a paradox of space and boundaries, of being enclosed, and yet with room for processes like relating, changing and alchemizing. It’s one of those Being/Doing words that seem to capture some of the contradictions of being human. Recently, this word showed up in two distinct ways.

In the first instance (I’m sharing with permission), I was with a friend and she was talking about a relationship she was not sure was working for her. Just as she opened her mouth to explain further, she suddenly paused, a strange look on her face. I asked her what the matter was. “It’s crazy, but when I thought about my experience of being in this relationship, an image popped into my head,” she said. “It was me. I was lying in a plastic box- the box looked like a Tupperware container- that was halfway filled with water. It looked like I was a biology specimen or something! The lid of the box was gently lowered, and the other person didn’t even notice. They just kept talking.”

The image, emerging, perhaps, from deeper parts of her outside of her conscious awareness (what Jungian depth psychology calls the unconscious), seemed to suggest (using a literal image of a container!) that the container of the relationship did not give her much room to breathe or move. What she might do with this information, whether it was true, etc. may need more exploration, but, what an image!

My second brush with the word container was in my ritual preparation of what I like to call a creative toolkit. As a very young person, I mistakenly assumed/learned everything was my responsibility. As an adult, it’s been a hard lesson to unlearn, to slowly move from all responsibility, all the time, to identifying how little is actually in my control. One way that has repeatedly helped is to bring more art and creative practice into my life. I don’t know if I am any good at it (and I don’t really care if I am not) but it has improved my capacity to navigate uncertainty. I have written about these kits before…

I carefully pick out the colors I want. Gray. Cadet blue. Cerulean. Indigo. Lavender. When I hesitate, ten pairs of eyes watch me from within the clutter of photo frames on my desk and I imagine I can feel our combined relief when I add Carnation Pink, Melon, and Prussian Green to the pile I’ve already selected. I tie the crayons together with an old ribbon and place them alongside the three Gelly Roll pens (red, black, and blue), a new, large dot grid journal, a small pair of scissors, a glue stick, and a pack of Post It assorted flags. I put them all into a large colorfully-embroidered cloth pouch, zip it up, and feel an immediate sense of relief. Because the cloth pouch and its contents are both life jacket and superhero suit, and a log cabin hidden between tall trees. - from Toolkit, Ten Thousand Journeys

When I think of the word container, one of the first images that comes up is of art, and creative practice, as physical tools and space that open a door into the internal world. Container, then, does double duty, of holding space and acting as portal.

It’s your turn. Let me know what the word container brings up for you.