Alternate Archetypes
Currents of co-creation
There are three ways I could begin, three paths that I have followed in this Solstice time, exploring patterns within and without, finding resonances. Once upon a time I would have tried to link them logically or linearly, but there are no lines here, only meanderings, wanderings.
One
There is a pattern of language that I recognize instantly. It is the language of immersion, of experience. Language that does not describe or analyze. Language that dissolves the perception of separation. Language that is felt, received more than it is interpreted, comprehended. The poetry of Hannah King and Mary Oliver and Rainer Maria Rilke. The immersive essays of Kate Clearlight and Marija Petkovska and Bill Davison. Language of embodiment, of softening, of curiosity. Language that speaks to my soul.
I have often imagined this approach as feminine, in contrast to the familiar flight into abstraction and thought and separation that feels comparably masculine. And it is indeed true that more women write and speak in this way, that it is perhaps easier for those of us in male bodies to forget that we are embodied beings, without the monthly somatic cycles, the new life growing inside, the experience of birthing and nursing.
But more recently I have been releasing this distinction. And as I have been settling into an experience of deeper embodiment, I have been asking myself what masculinity looks like, feels like, beyond separation.
Two
I have not felt called to “mythopoetic masculinity”, to men’s gatherings, to the archetypes of Warrior, Magician, Lover, King. Perhaps I have some wounds left to heal in relationships with fellow men, but I also simply don’t feel a resonance. These archetypes feel too much like roles, identities, abstractions, ways of doing or ways of thinking more than ways of being.
So, if not that, then what? What archetypes would feel resonant to me?
Three
Last month I had a conversation with a tree. A very large, very old, yang-feeling fir tree high on a coastal ridgetop. And the question I asked was something along the lines of what it means to hold masculine energy in a forest. Not in a village or a wolf pack or some other social structure, but in the deeper fabric of reciprocity and co-creation that speaks in rivulets and raindrops and lichen and mycelium.
Whether the tree answered me or whether I simply peered deeply inside myself in his presence is an open question, but what I felt in that moment was the beginning of a framework of paired masculine and feminine archetypes that has gradually taken shape in the weeks since.
The River
She who flows. She who is like water. She who is flexible and yet indestructible.
She who surrenders to the current and in so doing comes to know herself.
That part of us which cannot in any way be defined but can always be felt, is always in motion.
The blood within our veins. The air in our lungs. Spring breezes. Storm winds. Molten rock deep beneath our feet. River of stars overhead.
All of the other archetypes have some vocation, some profession, some animal, some activity that aligns or resonates. The River does not. Changing, shifting, flowing, transforming is her nature, and yet in so doing she creates form, leaves tracks upon history, carves channels into rock.
The Builder
He who contains and channels the flows. The beaver. The carpenter. The mason. The engineer. The conductor.
He who holds space, who creates containers. Physical containers. Social containers. Energetic containers.
He who defines boundaries, creates structure. Walls of our homes. Our bones. Our skin.
There is a sometimes-subtle but important difference between containing the flows and controlling them. Sometimes we act like oversize beavers, making rivers deep enough for our boats, transforming flow into motion and energy, containing without controlling. And sometimes we seek to tame the rivers, to keep them confined in their channels, to make them flow when and where we want them. And in so doing we create disharmony, dominion, separation, a war mentality.
There are parallels in the way we build our homes, in the way we build our gatherings and communities. Are we seeking to contain, to create structure within which all can blossom and express and co-create, or are we seeking to control, to create conformity to a rigid plan or vision?
The Sprite
She who steps lightly. The mountain stream. The bubbling spring. The dancer. The kinglet flitting among branch tips.
She who laughs easily, who allows emotion to wash over and through, who shifts from grief to anger to joy in minutes.
She who is spontaneous, curious, impulsive, intuitive, quick.
She who lives entirely in this moment: expressive, creative, attuned, unpredictable.
The Monk
He who watches and waits. The mountain. The ancient oak. The soaring hawk.
He who feels deeply but slowly, who holds memories of deep time, who is content to watch the river flow past, to gaze at the stars, to take in the endless patterns of clouds overhead.
He who is calm, observant, meditative.
He who holds stability, strength, continuity, serenity.
The Wise One
She who holds the threads of the pattern. The ocean. The grandmother. The seed saver. The librarian. The healer.
She who learns through connection, who honors every part, who ensures that all voices are heard.
She who holds all that has been created in form, through cycles of death and rebirth.
She who can sense imbalance and restore harmony, can resolve paradox into wholeness.
The Weaver
He who weaves threads into new forms. The architect. The plant breeder. The bard. The designer.
He who merges intention and wisdom into invention and creation.
He who allows the pattern to evolve, expand, grow.
The Mirror
She who receives and reflects. The Moon. The still pond. The listener.
She who perceives on all levels, who sees herself in another and another in herself.
She who allows us to know ourselves more deeply.
She who allows us to see through the illusion of separation.
The Illuminator
He who shines from within. The Sun. The firefly. The guide. The visionary.
He who lights the path, who helps others to find their way, to discover their own inner light.
He who reveals what has been hidden.
He who shows what is possible.
Unlike conventional archetypes, these are in no way specific to men or women, and perhaps I am creating confusion by describing them as masculine and feminine, by choosing gendered pronouns. All of them live, to some degree, within all of us. And yet there are tendencies that I have observed. Plant breeders (Weavers) tend to be men, and heirloom seed savers (Wise Ones) tend to be women. Builders of all types - those who create structure - tend to be men, as do monks and contemplative hermits of all denominations. Listeners, counselors, and healers tend to be women. And women who are builders tend to carry a masculine energy about them, while men who are healers often have a feminine energy.
Within myself, I find that I am perhaps equally River and Builder. I can, at times, struggle to create structure to contain my flows, and my journey of the past few years has been more surrender than intention. But I also enjoy building shelter, holding space, and I feel like that is something I will be opening more moving forward. It is also something that I feel a resistance to, an area where I have some old wounds left to heal.
I am more Monk than Sprite. I spent many days of my childhood immersively watching. Watching birds. Watching trains. Watching clouds drift overhead. Quietly communing. I find that my emotions can be muted, slow, that I can tend toward detachment and standing apart. I find myself attracted to others who are more spritely, impulsive, spontaneous, emotional, in order to awaken that part of me.
I am more Weaver than Wise One. I aspire to create new things, and I don’t feel specifically called toward healing, preserving, maintaining. Though I respect and honor all Wise Ones in their work.
I am perhaps equally Mirror and Illuminator, shining or reflecting as is most needed in a particular moment.
And I feel I am all eight of these, to varying degrees, more than I am Warrior, King, Magician, or Lover.
Do these “alternate archetypes” resonate with you? Which ones do you identify with? Are there others that you would include?
For more Winter Solstice reading:
Last year’s Paradigm Shift: a meditative poem for stepping out of separation.
Hymns for an Ecological Spirituality (2021): five songs for singing at Solstice time.
May you have a blessed Solstice!
~Markael
I like this idea of archetypes as fluid and evolving. I instantly identified with the River, and it actually put words to a feeling I was struggling with just last night, as I was contemplating my life path and coming to terms with the fact that I have always flowed from one thing to the next with no definite end in mind, resulting in what sometimes feels like a lack of solid, useful art or skill to offer the world. I know this is not true, and the idea of the role of the River in the greater picture helped solidify the sense of self-value I was nurturing.
I identity with some of the other archetypes as well, and as a woman, reading the pronoun “he” did interrupt the flow of engaging with your writing. It almost made me question whether I was really seeing myself embodying the “masculine” characteristics, or just aspiring to. I’m going to read them again and substitute “the one who” instead of “he” or “she” and see how that feels.
Thanks for sharing your exploration of archetypes!
I like these alternate archetypes. For myself, I'm a weaver more than anything else. Getting into landrace plant breeding reinvigorated me in terms of working with annual crops. Once I had grown the same annual crops in the same gardens enough years, it started to feel repetitive and my passion for it was starting to wane. In contrast, a tree continues to grow each year, so never feels like a stagnating project. For me, landrace plant breeding has turned growing annuals into something more like watching a tree grow. The individual plants may only live for a season, but the continuity of working with the whole population makes it feel more like watching a tree grow year after year.