shadows and repressed truths (2)
Echoes in the Gloom (allegory)
The storm had just passed, having shattered the world into a million confused pieces. It took with it the blue sky, coloring the heavens a burgundy red and then a pitch black. The sculptor and his companion crossed from the scarred, rain-torn, terracotta expanse into a bright, darkening corridor where gnarled trees wove themselves into closely packed ranks—a ceiling that the torrent was unable to penetrate. Within one step, muddy marsh became dry path. The carpet of mist, a sullen presence curling low along the ground, served a necessary reminder that the downpour had subsided. The moon itself fearfully lifted its stellar veil, lighting the crooked avenue with the few sparse blades of silver sharp enough to cut through the dense canopy. Each forward step was made uneasy by the weeping branches and illusions of movement at the edges of sight. The forest's damp chill wasn't just felt on skin; it carried the agreeable scent of rain-soaked soil. The air held its breath, as if the silence itself had grown too loud to ignore.
The sculptor walked with an agitated slowness, each footfall taking precise note of the uneven topography as if afraid to make any sound that might break the eerie stillness—the stillness that shivered. His tongue did not afford the same caution, however—he wondered aloud at the confines of the forest, how the trees appeared to construct the path and hem them into an ever-tightening space. "Perhaps they resent the intrusion," he mused, catching another shiver in his voice. Occasionally, a nocturnal bird called from a distant perch only to abruptly fall silent. The companion, only a few paces ahead, offered only the briefest turn of her head. She seemed to almost hover just above the ground, enough to leave no clear footprints. The thinning canopy gradually let in hints of the stars as the rainwater seeped through.
The sculptor paused. He allowed his eyes to trace the way moonlight fractured through the dripping canopy. Shadows gathered around like sentient things, flickering into shapes that danced just beyond comprehension. Each illusion sparked a new line of thought, more fraught than the last. This lifeless, non-existent place writhed unnervingly as if, it too, stood afraid of the horrors it hid. He considered whether he was really afraid of being alone in the dark forest or whether he was afraid of not being alone in the dark forest. Maybe something else was aware of his clueless presence. Or maybe these elusive forms belonged to him, given life by his mind and cast loose in an alien landscape. Glints of moonlight, at first, shifted predictably and harmlessly—random splatters of brightness in the gloom. But soon, he became half aware of how they silently coalesced into fragile shapes at the very periphery of his vision, before disbanding again when he turned his head.
Before long, the path itself began to meander in ways that felt less natural and more orchestrated, as if the forest deliberately rerouted them. He noticed a distinctive log—a split trunk streaked with moss—lying to one side. Moments later, after turning what seemed a gentle bend, the same trunk appeared again, perched at an entirely different angle as if they had circled back while something alive had tampered with the forest in their absence. An acute, inscrutable irritation set in. In the village or even the prison, corridors and alleys might be cramped and stifling but at least they had a geometry one could rely on; here, the geometry seemed firmly fluid like a shifting puzzle bent on eliciting confusion and anger. A chaos arranged with precision. Twice he paused, uncertain of the best route. Twice the robed woman gave only a slight nod, as if urging him to choose.
"The night deceives you," she spoke at last, her voice resonating with a wisdom he found at once soothing yet suspicious. It was a comfort sharp enough to cut, laced with the cold edge of a truth he wasn’t ready to face. The absence of an echo made it sound impossibly near. "Or perhaps it is you who deceive yourself."
The sculptor caught his breath and held it in his throat. "What is this place?" he confessed.
The companion lingered in silence, her response measured and withheld until it ripened into a greater meaning. "Somewhere to pass through once in a while," she said finally.
As they walked, the sculptor felt the night settle on him, heavy with the condensation of not only the air but of all those things he could not yet totally grasp. He struggled against a claustrophobic urge to turn back. The branches conspired to meet above them, colluding into an arch. He felt the molesting gaze of unseen eyes, always conveniently revealed to be merely twists of bark or tendrils of mist. The companion’s presence grew ambiguous in the dim light and mist, dissolving until nearly indistinguishable from the shadows.
Then, as if the forest relented, they arrived at a small, refreshingly open clearing. The moonlight revealed a gang of twisted, bark-like growths that jutted from the ground, deformed and bent as if flailing in some Promethean agony. Each one felt painfully alive—a silent witness to their presence. Each one shaped just human enough to disquiet the psyche. The false faces watched on, their unblinking stares locking onto the sculptor with still accusation.
"They watch us," he said, turning upon one grotesque form before facing another. "What do they want?"
"They want to know you, and for you to know them," she replied. "Do you know yourself?"
The path dragged on. It curved and looped, feigning direction only to collapse back upon itself. In the disquiet of the forest, sounds were elusive, like half-said random words that refused to consolidate into meaning. The air was uneasy with distant echoes that may have been sighs, and with quiet noises that may have been doubts. He watched the lines of trees repeat their dreary mantra, forming patterns so familiar he knew them like his own thoughts. He began to trace a clarity steeped in confusion—recognition without understanding. Every loop, the forest reshuffled itself again. An ugly trunk sprouted at shoulder height, sprouting rough branches that suggested a face frozen in a scream without sound. Another crouched with thick roots like splayed and severed limbs. They were, of course, only illusions formed by branches, moss, and lichen—yet the effect was that of an audience assembled in silent judgment.
He inhaled. A drop of water fell from a high branch, landing on his shoulder. He flinched. The companion’s voice, low and contained, drifted to him. "Have you ever seen something like this before?"
He shook his head, reluctant to answer. In truth, it reminded him of something—shapes he had once tried to sculpt in stone, back in a forgotten ambition. The chorus of hushed murmurs—the strange artifacts of the wind—began to pursue them. It was never articulate, but it never needed to be. It was never more than a bare suggestion of sorrow or regret, and yet it reminded him of old mistakes, old doubts, half-finished statues, words spoken in wrath. Feelings he thought he’d left behind.
He caught himself breathing faster. "Are you hearing that?" he asked, more sharply than he intended. He swallowed hard, stepping around another perverse figure with a deliberate caution. Its outstretched bark-limb seemed to graze his cloak, snagging the fabric with a damp twig that felt momentarily like a hand. He shivered. The robed companion did not respond.
The forest pressed closer as more living statues of leaves and moss surfaced at random—one in a half-sunken hollow, another perched on a rock slope, leaning forward as though to beckon him closer. The sculptor cast his gaze around erratically, watching for hints of guidance. But the moon was a trickster, casting a light that darkened, revealing more shadows than truths. A loose curl slipped from beneath the companion’s hood, catching the moonlight like silver ink. He noticed how her lips tightened—not in fear, but in consideration.
Was there no path but this one? The sculptor. A tremor of futility began to rattle in his bones. Perhaps the journey itself was the trap, all else an illusion.
"We'll walk these circles forever," he said with mournful certainty.
"If that is your desire," she spoke without turning, without emphasis, without pause, the simple truth of it anchoring him to the spot.
This forest, an open wound that refused to heal, a never-ending cycle of broken assurance, forced thought. His mind backtracked again to the twisted figures they had left behind, to the faces with eyes, and to the questions they left unasked.
The sculptor noticed an anomaly ahead—two boulders leaning against one another, forming a gap no wider than a doorway. A natural threshold. He paused at this stony arch. The forest’s murmurs surged again; a wail welled up around him. He realized his pulse thrummed in time with it in a shared, frantic beat. He pressed his palms over his eyes, but the sound was inside as much as out, stirring up memories of shame, of doubt, of anger turned inward. A strangled breath escaped him. He had so many regrets, so many shards of himself he’d tried to keep hidden. A familiar sound of dripping water prevailed out of the loud silence.
"Stop it," he hissed, though he wasn't sure if he addressed the illusions or himself, or whether that made a difference.
Regardless, no answer came. The living statues remained stoic. The companion let him confront them alone. That realization ignited a new, fresh wave of anger: at her, at this place, at the moon, at the sun, at everything. He felt a tremor build in his chest—part rage, part despair. He twisted and writhed and warped, hands over his eyes. The forest contracted more, leaving no more room for denial. The moon held its unrelenting gaze, exposing each form in cruel detail. Then, as if on instinct, he let out a soft, ragged exhale. He stood still, paralyzed by the enormity of the confrontation.
They are me. The thought surfaced unbidden in his mind. If these illusions existed, they existed because he brought them into this forest. He carried them. He now felt an urgent push to name them. Instead of railing against them, he let the tension bleed from his shoulders. Slowly, he relaxed his stance and steadied his breathing. He surveyed the grotesque bark-limb shaped like a hand, the mossy trunk molded into a faceless head, the gnarled root forming a chest, every one of the beaten bodies posed in attitudes of anger and sorrow and guilt. The sickly choir of emotions they sang from their voiceless throats and throatless voices subsided. None of it moved. In that moment of acceptance—yes, you are a part of me—the illusions, the museum of failures catalogued and left to gather dust in the corners of his soul, seemed to relax a little.
"They are me…" he said at last, each word an agony. His voice cracked and he almost did not recognize it now, so broken and unused to truth.
"Yes."
"I have given them life," he said, wonderfully and in despair. "But they live only for me."
"Yes."
The moon did not blink. He teetered between resistance and acceptance, the desire to flee and the need to stand firm. The companion waited.
"I must let them be," he said, with a strength in his voice.
In that decisive moment, the sculptor stepped fully into the stone archway, fully into himself. He saw the figures for what they were—extensions of his own mind, wrought from his own self-doubt and fear. The illusions flickered, wavered, and then released their grip on the landscape and on his mind, leaving a true clearing emptied of accusation and ripe with a new clarity. The path widened furthermore. The shadows remained behind him. Indeed, they would always be part of him, but they had loosened their grip. That was enough for now. No single acceptance could instantly resolve the tangle of fear, but the path ahead felt less suffocating and the horizon more tangible. The moon began to yield to traces of an uncharacteristically dull orange. The forest, in one abrupt frontier of trees, gave way to a sterile, bleak expanse of nothingness. A single, lonely, distant structure inhabited the horizon.
essay
I. What Lurks in the Shadows?
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
You are the groundskeeper of a garden you didn’t create. A garden shaped by seasons that came before you that will continue to be shaped by seasons you can’t control. You do what you can, though. You plant those seeds you want to nourish and you pull those weeds you refuse to let take root. But the garden does not forget. Beneath the soil, the seeds of the discarded still linger. Waiting. Some of them since long before you arrived. Others, though, you buried yourself, hoping to never see again. But roots run deep. Those parts of your garden that you have shunned still spread under the surface, shaping the ground you walk on—threatening to starve the beautiful plants that you want visible. The roots sprout in unsuspecting corners when you aren’t looking, creeping into spaces you once thought clean. The roots are a part of you. To kill them off entirely would mean to burn the whole garden.
Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung’s concept of the shadow is a metaphor referring to the parts of ourselves we hide, repress, or deny. These are uncomfortable, painful traits sometimes suppressed because we believe they would be deemed undesirable or unacceptable by society. These parts of ourselves often challenge our own self-image and so we choose to avoid confronting them. But they aren’t inherently evil. The word "shadow" suggests that these are some dark parts of ourselves when really they aren’t. Your shadow is inalienable so long as you’re in the sun. Maybe you read this and believe that you have no shadow of your own, and that this isn’t applicable to you. If that’s the case, then maybe you’re avoiding a deeper confrontation with yourself either by subconscious instinct or intentional aversion. Jung’s framework goes beyond just our personal shadows: it encompasses a more “collective unconscious” shared by our communities and, more broadly, all of humanity. Within this collective dimension, we inherit universal archetypal patterns formed by timeless motifs or characters (the Mother, the Hero, the Trickster, God, the Jesus figure/messiah, etc.) that appear in myths and stories which constitute the basis of the psychological complexes we experience.
Our shadow forms long before we have any control over it. They can arise from early childhood experiences, social norms, family expectations, among other things. It’s an intrinsic part of who we are, and adds nuance to our personalities. The shadow often camouflages itself, influencing you into seeing the world differently. A person who represses deep-rooted anger and has a short temper as a result may be quicker to dismiss this as others being overly aggressive or annoying. For example, If you find absolutely everyone irritating, then the problem may lie within you, not them. Shadow traits most commonly surface in our more intimate relationships, when conflicts highlight the qualities of our deeper selves, like jealousy, insecurity, or defensiveness, that we need to address internally.
II. Your Quiet Partner
True introspection demands that you confront and accept your shadow. Repressing these parts of yourself creates unnecessary internal conflict, feelings of inauthenticity, and emotional chaos. You must acknowledge and integrate it benevolently as if it were any other part of you. Ignoring it means letting it grow stronger. How can you expect to function authentically when you harbor a part of your own mind whose indignation toward you only grows as you oppress it? The ways that the shadow is able to seep into your thoughts, behavior, relationships, and outlook are exceedingly difficult to trace because your own faults can easily be misconstrued as the faults of others or of society at large. The more we push our shadows away, consciously or unconsciously, the more they quietly shape the decisions we make and the way that we interact with the world. By avoiding this necessary step of self-understanding, we condemn ourselves to remain fragmented and unable to fully understand our own motives, reactions, or potential as people. And the shadow isn’t an unfortunate fact of life; the shadow can serve as a reservoir of creativity, new perspectives, deeper insights, and untapped potential—you just need to drill deep enough. It’s neither something you need to suppress nor something you need to acquiesce to. It’s something you ideally should embrace lovingly. Self-love entails not only loving the parts of yourself that you like, but also the parts of yourself that you’re afraid of. The more we refuse to face our shadows, the more power they hold over us. Confronting the shadow allows us to reclaim our sovereignty over ourselves. We stop letting these hidden traits control us because we know how they work—an active exercise in metacognition. The process of self-confrontation, however uncomfortable, is ultimately an act of self-liberation.
III. Afraid of the Dark?
As intimidating as it may seem, the shadow feels a lot scarier to confront than it really is. A lot of this fear manifests in denial and is rooted in timid anticipation, not from the nature of your shadow itself. We fear the unknown. We fear what we may find, too. The shadow is often tied to deeply entrenched emotions like shame or guilt or anger. Marble looks cracked only to the most meticulous eye. If you’ve spent years constructing an image of yourself, maybe as a rational or kind or disciplined person, you may instinctively avoid anything that contradicts that narrative. We fear that introspection might confirm our worst suspicions—that we aren’t the people we think we are. That we aren’t as "good" as we want to believe. Buried grief, unresolved trauma, concealed resentments—they’re still there whether or not you want to play hide and seek. It’s truly terrifying to have to change the way you behave, the way you think, or the way you perceive yourself. It’s human nature to fear change. The fear of the shadow often arises from our strong attachment to a specific self-image or ego identity. “Ego death,” then, is the experience of dissolving the rigid boundaries of who you think you are, which is as terrifying as it is liberating.
Confronting your shadow also means admitting that there were times in the past when you may have acted irrationally out of ignorance, fear, anger, or pain. It forces you to face moments when you may have hurt others or yourself. It forces your mind against the stovetop of guilt. Of regret. It’s easier, psychologically, to deflect blame and to dismiss your failures as products of external circumstances rather than to accept the fact that your own shortcomings may have been self-inflicted. But the garden does not forget. Avoiding acknowledgement doesn’t erase what has happened in the past. Cycles of denial keep you repeating old habits and patterns rather than learning from them. Above all, we fear being rejected. Social and cultural conditioning instills a sense of which traits are "acceptable" and which must be hidden from early on in our lives. We tend to fear what other people will think of us more than we fear what we’ll think of ourselves. Vulnerability is not weakness. Curiosity is not nosiness. Confidence is not arrogance. Humility is not self-deprecation. Patience is not lethargy. Resilience is not stubbornness. Independence is not isolation. Ambition is not delusion. Sensitivity is not fragility. Charisma is not manipulation. Open-mindedness is not a lack of principles. Rejecting your shadow does not make you any more acceptable; it just makes you less whole.
IV. Righteous Minds
We must work on our shadows. We must acknowledge them. Shadow work is not an abstract idea—it’s a process. There’s no one single path to integrating your shadow, but there are practical tools that can help bring your shadow into the light. The more you engage with these tools, the more you understand the forces that shape your thoughts, behaviors, and emotions. You must first have the willingness to see things that you do not want to see—the bravery to know things about yourself that you do not want to know.
You should begin by knowing the nature of your shadow. Notice your emotional triggers. If something or someone consistently angers, irritates, or deeply unsettles you, it or they may be reflecting a part of yourself that you haven't fully accepted yet. Ask yourself: "What makes me irrationally upset? Why? Are there certain traits in others that I despise? Why? Could those be traits I repress in myself? How?" Pay attention to the patterns in your life. In many spiritual and philosophical frameworks, the concept of karma doesn’t just consist of external cause-and-effect dynamics but also recurring internal patterns. Unresolved shadow elements may reappear in different circumstances until they’re finally addressed. For example, if you find yourself stuck in the same conflicts, relationships, or struggles, your shadow may be guiding your actions in karmic (cyclical) ways you haven’t yet realized. Avoiding these lessons only guarantees their recurrence. After all, the garden does not forget. Only owning up to our karmic patterns breaks the cycle. Also, reflect on your childhood conditioning. Much of the shadow forms in childhood, when we first learn what is conventionally "acceptable" and what must be hidden. Were you taught that certain emotions (anger, sadness, ambition, etc.) were "bad?" Did you feel pressured to succeed? To study? To be "good?" Life is a masquerade dance. We all know ourselves, and we all know another, separate version of ourselves that we present to the world—our mask. And the mask is multifaceted. Understand the little nooks and crannies that light can’t quite reach—that’s the shadow. How exactly do you act differently around people? How do you overcompensate in your behavior? Perhaps we only act overly confident and self-reliant because we hate to feel vulnerable. Perhaps we’re only sweet because we’re suppressing a deeper bitterness.
V. Our Practical Tools for Shadow Work
Next, you need to engage in shadow work. Shadow work isn’t about self-punishment or drowning in regret and self-pity or waterboarding a truth out of yourself. It’s a voyage. To where? Nowhere in particular. Don’t obsess over the destination when shadow work is actually just the journey. It’s a timeless process of fostering an understanding of your shadow. Of yourself. On the way, you’ll join your shadow to form a more whole, honest, and authentic self. Mutinies are not resolved by force—you’ll have to convince your shadow to cooperate. Look upon yourself and your shadow lovingly; practice self-love and understanding.
Writing is one of the most powerful tools you have to engage and interface with your shadow and your thoughts. It's difficult to ignore them when they’re right there on the paper; when they’re looking at you with a more ferocious fixation than you can look back at them. Allow your thoughts to communicate with you, do not dictate how they are to exit your mind. Just write. dont bother w/ formalities or speling or punctuation Just write the thoughts as they appear in your mind, and don’t stop writing for a little while. Hand yourself the pen and switch off. Let it not be a chore to write. Your shadow will surprise you; it is a curiously creative creature. In fact, any sort of creative adventure is an opportunity for you to interface with your shadow. Give it gifts. It likes paintbrushes and chords and movement and drama and fashion. Express yourself by letting art play a role in your life; the shadow may live in darkness, but it thinks in color.
Notice your relationships too—whether internal or external—whether familial, romantic, or platonic. Relationships are mirrors that serve to reflect parts of our shadows back to us. The conflicts, irritations, and emotional triggers we experience when interacting with others and with ourselves help us reveal aspects of ourselves we haven’t acknowledged. Instead of blaming others for your emotional reactions, follow those feelings back to their roots. Inquire and ask those close to you how they see you. Dialogue with yourself, too. Question yourself in your head and answer those questions yourself. Entertain yourself through your own thoughts. Maybe imagine your shadow as a separate entity beyond just the metaphors I’ve built here. Do not judge it; converse with it and understand it; make peace with it. Adopt the policy of curiosity over that of fear. To know what lies in the dark is not meant to destroy you, but to complete you.
Also, notice repeated symbols, dreams, or odd coincidences that happen to resonate with ongoing internal struggles. Not necessarily because they hold meaning themselves, but because you can learn a lot from analyzing how you interpret them. According to Jungian philosophy, this process of meta-analysis examines the synchronicities—the events arising from alignments between internal (psychological) and external (worldly) events—in our lives, which can act as “messages” from the unconscious, in a sense, highlighting hidden or repressed aspects that need attention. In your own shadow work, journal not just thoughts and emotions but also any bizarre signs or repeated motifs that may be reflective of the shadow’s attempts to speak.
VI. Incomplete Identities
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
Advaita Vedanta is a Hindu tradition of philosophy that posits that the jivātman, the individual soul, is ultimately not different from Brahman, the absolute reality, even if it is often mistaken with the physical self and the sensual reality. The term Advaita itself is often translated as “non-duality,” and, as such, Advaita Vedanta emphasizes that the apparent opposites of our universe (light vs. dark, good vs. bad, etc.) are interdependent parts of a larger whole. From this viewpoint, shadow and self aren’t truly separate. In truth, “dark” qualities often complement “light” ones. Shadow integration involves transcending these black and white judgments in order to recognize that our darkness contains seeds of light and vice versa.
Shadow work isn’t a one-time job. Integration is an ongoing play between your conscious self and the parts of you you once repressed. The worlds within us are dynamic: they consist of their own shifting landscapes. As we grow, our relationships, our environments, and our beliefs change. The shadow is fluid, too. It’ll continue to adapt and reveal itself in different ways, growing alongside you like a forgotten sibling. You must embrace the changing seasons in your life. Your garden will shed its leaves, and you’ll need to see the beauty in it even then. What does spring even mean without the discomfort of winter? Our recurring challenges are opportunities to bond with your shadow on a deeper and deeper level. Fall in love with yourself. That’s what the roses are for. They hurt to hold but it's definitely worth it. Introspection comes with its own thorns but that shouldn’t deter us. Every arising pattern in your life is a sign that there’s still work to be done—another chance to deepen your self-awareness. Welcome both the light and the dark. Dandelions are just as pretty as orchids, so let some of the weeds grow.
