The psyche's playground...

I'm wondering if the metaphor of oil well drilling is a good one for delving into the subconscious. I need to delve deep, access trapped energy, lower or regulate the pressure in the rigid, silent parts of the personal and connective psyche. I need to create, and that doesn’t happen from a space of rigid tension.

During drilling, the drill pipe is surrounded by drilling mud, a fluid designed to remove cuttings, cool the bit, and control well pressure. It circulates endlessly, and is monitored continuously. What sparks my imagination is the balance it must hold: dense enough to put pressure on the formation so formation fluids do not enter the well, but not so dense that it forces itself into the formation and damages it. A fine balance.

Modern well trajectories can be complex, wandering through hundreds, sometimes several thousands, of meters of strata, heading toward black gold. It almost sounds playful. But it's not. Search. Purpose. Risk.

Energy — that which sustains life.
Gold — that which allows exchange of value.
Black gold — crude oil, the engine of human advancement thus far.
Mud — the nutrient-rich base of life, foundation and logistical transporter in one.
Depth and miles and heat and pressure and danger…

Metaphor and poetry are gateways to the psyche. Metaphors are useful up to a point — or they can be built to be useful.

But. Is it wise to delve into the subconscious at all right now? There are times when it becomes unavoidable. As we age, perhaps we are meant to evolve deeper into the psyche, to live there, away from the light. This is an unsettling thought when followed to its edge. Imagine Alzheimer's — the executive brain loosens its grip, leaving one slipping and sinking between old, deep wells — memory, consciousness, knowing — fragmented.

I often feel I'm doing something similar. The subconscious dominates; the I remains submerged. I sometimes compensate, tightening my tentative hold on the external. The weighty shadow elements of the psyche are actively present. Why excavate further?

To bring the I into the light.
There's black gold here. The stuff of alchemy, of transformation. And besides, it is in my nature to search.

I’m struggling with creativity at the stage of manifestation. Stars are born in chaotic gas clouds. Petroleum, too, seeded and formulated in the bowels of the earth. Creation sparks alive in chaos — but only when pressure is held, not when it overwhelms.

Alright then. I proceed. Pressure regulation matters. So too breathwork. Or navigating among tall trees. Heck, even deliberate crying works sometimes. Temperature, pressure, circulation around the temples — not metaphorical, but felt.

But of the drilling itself, what is the tool that delves? Hypnosis? Mind palaces? Inviting in floods of memories? Hmm, no. The tool depends on purpose.

Nowadays, for me, the tool is a certain kind of writing. Writing is strong enough to pierce the denseness. The cuttings — words — allow me to monitor whether I am heading in the right direction. And it’s meaty enough to shape something from the ephemeral without dissolution.

What also, of the zones of interest — where the black gold lies… Do I map these too? Meditate, move in physical meditation? Or set intention in the exquisite form of sankalpa, allowing trajectory to emerge naturally…

I’ve had internal breakthroughs over the past few years, but only recently have these translated into the material realm. The trouble with linear breakthroughs is that you simply arrive on a different floor with a new ceiling.

I imagine isolated pools of wellness once cut off, now accessed by a meandering well — feeding creativity, learning, and actualizing. Sometimes, even complex things can be accomplished simply. Create a way to create. My way. Write.

Not to explain or instruct, even to myself, but to explore — to stay with the pressure, the circulation, the meandering search.
A wondrous thing this — the psyche at play.

Written initially as part of David Perell’s Shiny Dime Challenge (2024).