"On Becoming an Alchemist" by Catherine MacCoun

"...I find conjunction the most agreeable phase of the Great Work [Alchemy-- kg]. It feels less like work than like coming home. That's because the heart itself doesn't need transmuting. An injured heart might need healing, but aside from that, the hearts we're born with work just fine.

In its natural state, the heart is vulnerable. It will still be vulnerable when it becomes the philosopher's stone [i.e., the instrument by which alchemy is performed-- kg]. It needs to be, for it is our center of connection. It couldn't connect if it were tough and self-sufficient. Nor could it perceive the between. At the outset of our work, the heart's predicament is that it is neither a center of conscious intention nor a center of instinctive will. It is caught between the two. So we experience the heart as helplessly vulnerable. It can ache, but it can't act.

As our center of connection, the heart is basically magnanimous, empathetic, outgoing, and affectionate. Beneath it are three will centers whose natures are necessarily selfish, since their primary task is to ensure our survival. Until they are transmuted, this basic selfishness of the instinctive will undermines the generous impulses of the heart. We want to help others, but we're lousy at it.

Our bottommost will center is driven by fear. When this fear unites with the heart's instinctive empathy, the result is Job's comforter syndrome. The suffering of another makes us afraid for ourselves. And so, in the very act of offering sympathy, we try to distance ourselves from the victim. We seek reassurance in any differences we can find between self and afflicted other.

The second will center is driven by passion. It seeks to seduce, to incorporate another into the self. When joined with this seductive impulse, the heart, in its empathy, projects rather than perceives. We imagine ourselves into another person's shoes, feeling 'what would I feel in his place,' while failing to perceive feelings that are different from our projected selves. This kind of empathy is isolating to those who suffer. It feels generic. Our caring only reaches the spot that hurts when we are able to perceive others from their own point of view.

The third will center is driven by the need for self-affirmation. Its approach to helpfulness is a kind of one-upmanship at the expense of the victim. It makes itself feel powerful by taking over, and smart by doling out unsolicited advice. It is attracted to the weakness of the afflicted and tends to foster their dependence. It is also keen on being admired, seeing in the troubles of others an opportunity to show off how good it is.

Because the heart is so sensitive, it knows full well that these gestures are ineffectual. But it can't do better all on its own. It has to wait for the will centers to transmute themselves. When fear is transmuted into confidence, the suffering of others stops freaking us out. We no longer have to distance ourselves by blaming the victim. When passion is transmuted into devotion, we don't have to identify with others in order to care about them. Instead of imagining what they are feeling, we perceive it directly. When territoriality is transmuted into integrity, we don't have to borrow our strength from the weak. We respect the autonomy of those we are trying to help. As a result of these transmutations, the will centers learn to take instruction from the heart.

As the philosopher's stone, the heart will become the source of all our magical deeds. Even its perceptions will impact the world, as if to perceive were to do. Its vulnerability will become active and savvy compassion. This is not because the heart itself will change, but because everything around it will have changed. Transmuted and realigned so that they all face the heart, the intention centers will inspire it and the will centers will empower it.

The processes that transmute intention and will are a lot of work. But all the conjunction process [one of the stages of the practice/process of alchemy--kg] requires of us is that we keep our hearts healthy, soft, and impressionable. You do this by coming home to your simple humanity. Anything that gladdens the heart is good for it. You know the kind of stuff I mean: cuddling, presents, spaghetti dinners, three-hanky movies. Planting tulips, walking the dog, tucking the kids into bed. Getting the giggles, singing off-key, reading a fat pulpy novel on the beach. You certainly don't need instruction from me on what makes you happy, but you might need reminding to pursue it now and then. Don't let alchemy turn you into a Great Workaholic."

[That last emphasis-supplied advice seems to me to be a particularly feminine redefinition of 'practical dharma'; and I must have been looking for it, because it made me heave a great sigh of relief when I read it.]

It's me retyping pp. 195-197 of On Becoming an Alchemist: a Guide for the Modern Magician, one of my local bookstore's important serendipities of a year or so ago that I picked back up this week.

hhttp://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Alchemist-Guide-Modern-Magician/dp/1590303695

-- because it's a particularly perceptive take on practice, even though it is couched in a different vocabulary than those I've been more familiar with.