Mindful Imagination

The daydreaming network supports memory, imagination, and meaning-making. It is the ground of active imagination. The same network, stuck in a tight loop, becomes rumination: replaying an argument at 3 a.m., or the inner critic that will not stop. The same network has two faces:

• Memory. Flexible: used to make new sense of the past. Stuck: replaying old failures.

• The future. Flexible: imagining what might be possible. Stuck: anxious rehearsal of what may never happen.

• Inner images. Flexible: spontaneous, meaningful, alive. Stuck: repetitive and self-critical.

Early studies of experienced meditators found less activity in the hubs that drive this looping (Brewer et al., 2011). More importantly, mindfulness does not silence imagination. It strengthens communication among the daydreaming network, the salience “switch,” and the executive “witness” network. A trial with beginners found this after only a month of practice (Bremer et al., 2022). A review pooling twelve studies found stronger coupling between the switch and the daydreaming network after mindfulness training (Rahrig et al., 2022).

In plain language, the part of you that replays gets put in conversation with the part of you that can notice. A similar three-way coupling also predicts creative ability (Beaty et al., 2018). These findings describe group tendencies from fairly small studies, not guarantees for any one person.

That is the inner posture active imagination needs: letting an image come, while knowing you are the one having the experience. Too little witness, and imagery floods. Too much control, and nothing arises.

A newer, still untested idea adds one more piece. In a 2026 opinion article, Juha Silvanto proposes that mental imagery evolved out of interoception, the brain’s sense of the body’s inner state, so that images carry their felt, emotional charge with them. It resonates with what Jung described in 1913: before any image appeared, he felt the ground give way beneath him. This is one reason I so often ask where something is felt in the body.

What this looks like in therapy

Many people who find their way to this work can explain their patterns clearly, and still feel stuck in them. Insight matters, but on its own it often does not change how we feel, react, or relate.

In the therapy room, one way I bridge mindfulness, the body, and imagination is Hakomi, a mindfulness-based somatic psychotherapy developed by Ron Kurtz. Hakomi starts from a simple observation: much of what shapes our emotional lives runs outside awareness. Our beliefs about safety, belonging, worth, and whether we can rely on others live not only in our thoughts, but in how we breathe, hold tension, and brace against or reach toward people. Many of these patterns formed early, when they helped us adapt. What once protected us can later limit closeness, spontaneity, and freedom. Kurtz called the part of us that organized them the organizer of experience. Talking about it rarely reaches it. Noticing it as it happens, here and now, often does.

Hakomi is not meditation added to therapy. Meditation cultivates awareness of experience over time. Hakomi uses brief moments of mindfulness inside the therapeutic relationship, to study how a particular pattern is organized and to discover what new experience might become possible.

Most sessions begin with conversation. From there the work is collaborative and follows what emerges, not a fixed sequence. It often includes:

1. Safety and connection. The relationship comes first. Hakomi calls the therapist’s attitude loving presence: warmth, respect, and real curiosity about you. There is no pressure to share more than you are ready to. Your pace, your boundaries, and your “no” guide the work.

2. Listening to the body. As you speak, I notice small signals that usually pass unseen: a held breath, a hand that closes, a shift in posture or voice. Now and then I name one simply (“Something touched you there”), not to interpret it, but so we can both be curious about what it might be expressing that words have not yet caught.

3. Turning inward. At times I may invite you to pause the story and turn your attention inside, with eyes open or closed. You might notice a sensation, an emotion, a memory, an image, or an unexpected thought. There is nothing you are supposed to experience. You become a curious witness rather than a narrator.

4. Small experiments. In that mindful state, we try something small and notice what happens. I might say a short phrase in a quiet, neutral voice, such as “You don’t have to do everything alone.” It might bring relief, tightness, sadness, or an inner “that’s not true.” Each response shows something about how you learned to relate to yourself and others. Someone who has carried everyone else for years may discover how hard it is to receive care. Or, if your shoulders are bracing, you might support them with your own hands, so your body no longer holds that effort alone, and notice what comes when it can rest.

5. Body, image, and meaning. We slow down and stay with what comes: “Is that familiar?” “If that heaviness could speak, what would it say?” Sometimes a sensation becomes an image or an inner figure, and Hakomi meets active imagination: we can engage it and speak with it, as in the three movements above. At other times the work stays with sensation, emotion, or relationship. Either way, the experience often leads to something learned long ago, such as “I have to manage on my own.” Saying it while feeling it is very different from knowing it as an idea.

6. New experience, and returning. Understanding an old pattern matters, but change usually needs something more: an experience that was missing when the pattern formed. Being understood without having to explain yourself, receiving support without having to earn it, setting a boundary without losing connection. We make room for this a little at a time and let it settle in the body. Before we close, we notice what has shifted and come back to the room, so you leave grounded. All of this works online as well as in person.

Hakomi’s principles of mindfulness, nonviolence, organicity (the trust that your system knows its own way toward healing), and the unity of body and mind shape all of this. Protective responses are not obstacles to get past. They are meaningful adaptations, respected and studied with curiosity. The aim is not to make yourself feel something, or to get rid of difficult feelings, but a different relationship with your own experience, with more awareness, flexibility, and choice.

Hakomi and Jungian work are not the same thing. Hakomi listens closely to how the body organizes present experience. Jungian psychology engages the symbolic life of the unconscious and the longer arc of individuation. Meditation cultivates the awareness both depend on. In my work they inform one another without becoming interchangeable.

WHO THIS MAY HELP

This way of working may be meaningful if you:

• Understand yourself well, but still feel stuck. You can explain your patterns and where they came from, yet the same reactions keep returning.

• Live with anxiety, perfectionism, or chronic stress. You may look capable from the outside while finding it hard to slow down or rest.

• Keep meeting the same relationship patterns. Trust, closeness, boundaries, or asking for what you need feel harder than you want them to.

• Are more at home in analysis than in feeling. You solve problems well, but find it hard to know what you feel or need.

• Carry the effects of earlier relational wounds. Automatic responses such as withdrawing, pleasing, staying on guard, or feeling responsible for everyone else’s feelings.

• Are navigating identity, belonging, or a life transition. A move between cultures, a change of career, or a new stage of life.

• Meditate, or are drawn to dreams and Jungian psychology, and want these to connect with the rest of your life. No meditation experience is needed.

You don’t need to be at ease with your body or emotions to begin. Many people notice very little at first, feel unsure about turning inward, or prefer to start with conversation. All of these are welcome starting points.

It is not the right first step for everyone. Meditation, active imagination, and Hakomi all ask for a steady enough sense of self and support in daily life. With significant trauma, frequent dissociation, or a very fragile period, we emphasize grounding, choice, and stability first, rather than long stretches of inward attention. Sometimes that takes weeks, and it is part of the work, not a delay. If you meditate on your own and notice increased agitation, numbness, or distressing images, it is wise to pause and talk with a professional.

If you would like to explore whether this way of working fits you, you are welcome to request a free 15-minute consultation.