Araucaria #4
Golem
June 16, 2026
The Golem legend, a clay guardian shaped in sixteenth-century Prague to protect people, is also a story about each of us. In this episode I look at the parts of us that once formed to keep us safe: the vigilance, the self-sufficiency, the control. They are not the problem. They are guardians, brought to life for an important reason.
Drawing on my work with children and adults after difficult experiences, and on Peter Levine's somatic approach, I ask what these inner guardians need. Not shaming or criticism, but to have their effort seen, and then the question they have been waiting for: do you still have to stand guard? The episode includes a short somatic invitation, so you can feel the ground under your feet and the difference between a threat and the memory of one.
Audio not available in English.
Transcript
You are listening to Araucaria.
What story do you need to hear to heal?
Today I'd like to invite you to encounter one of the most extraordinary stories I know, one that was brought back to my mind by Prague and a trip there for the Somatic Experiencing conference. It's the legend of the Golem, a legend from the sixteenth century. And for me it's also a story about how that which was meant to protect us sometimes takes over the controls of our life, and what that changes.
It's a story about a being shaped from clay by a rabbi, from Prague, in fact, who created it to protect people from danger. And even though it comes from an ancient tradition and this legend, this tale, is already so many years old, it's also deeply universal.
When I think about the human psyche, about trauma, about how extraordinarily wisely the body knows how to care for our survival, the image of the Golem is exactly what comes to me. And also a thought that perhaps each of us carries some sort of golem within. And of course not to harm us, but to protect us.
Welcome.
Let me begin by sketching this story a little, because not all of us are necessarily familiar with it. To me, it's a tale about a clay guardian. Long ago, according to one of the most famous accounts,
so, the sixteenth century, connected to Prague, a rabbi shaped a human figure out of clay.
And he didn't create this figure for amusement or for fame, but for people. So that people living in fear could feel safer. For people who needed protection, someone who would keep watch when danger grew too great. And the Golem was exactly that. Strong, obedient, tireless, he asked no questions, felt no fatigue, he simply carried out his tasks. And of course he protected, he guarded, he rescued, but he also had a certain limitation. That is, he wasn't capable of reading nuances, he didn't fully understand contexts. You could also say he was clumsy at handling what was happening. That he didn't feel. And he also didn't distinguish a threat from the memory of a threat. That is, he didn't know when to stop.
And by the same token, he didn't know that his mission was already over and that he could rest.
He became downright impossible to stop, and in the end his creator had to take away his power. And so the Golem returned to clay.
But the legend about him remained,
one that, as I think about it, is inspiring and can move us to this day.
Because it doesn't speak only about that clay creature, but in a certain sense about each of us.
And when I work with children, but also with adults after difficult experiences, I often see what extraordinary strategies a person can create in order to survive.
For example, a child becomes self-sufficient when it couldn't count on support.
Or one who lived in unpredictability develops extraordinary vigilance.
And when, as children, we experienced rejection, then we learn not to need.
We can't count on anyone. And these strategies are often impressive. They help us live, survive. And for me they are proof of the body's extraordinary intelligence. You could say, however, that this is when our inner golem begins to form. He begins to be born within us then. And he is not the problem. In today's therapeutic culture, we sometimes too easily say that this is the problem. We talk about dysfunctions, about defense mechanisms, about symptoms. But if we look at it precisely through the lens of this story, most of them appear for an important reason. Because if someone doesn't trust people, then most likely they once learned that trust isn't safe. Or when someone controls everything, it's for an important reason. Because perhaps that chaos was too terrifying. When we don't show weakness, it may be that we weren't lucky enough to meet someone who could embrace those weaknesses of ours. That's why I don't like to think of these parts within us as problems. I would rather see them as guardians, such clay guardians. Imperfect ones, sometimes rigid, sometimes wearing us out, but nevertheless called into being for an important reason. There comes a moment, though, I think many of us know this moment, when we begin to pay a certain price for having this golem inside us.
This protection starts to cost us, and it starts to cost us too much. That's when we say, I can't rest, I don't know how to ask anyone for help, I'm constantly on alert, I control everything. I don't remember the last time I felt joy. And in such moments you can get the impression that this guard is still standing at his post. Only there's no longer any threat. And the thing is, our guard didn't recognize it, didn't notice it. And our nervous system, after difficult experiences, often operates in exactly this mode. Not at all because it's somehow damaged, but because it's faithful to the mission that began long ago, to protect us at all costs. And it's probably for this reason that I meet children who often behave like little adults, watching over everything, worrying about their parents, not wanting to cause trouble, not asking for help. And at first glance such children seem mature. But if you look closer, you can see this enormous effort. As if they had been performing some kind of duty for a long time. As if someone had entrusted them with exactly the task of protecting others, or themselves, much too early. And in such moments you might think of the golem, summon this golem, to better understand that these children had to become stronger than they should have when they were at that stage of their lives. And I tell myself that this is important. And then I ask myself a question. Okay, since we already have this golem, then what does it want to tell me? What does it need? And this question awakens my curiosity. And I begin to wonder. But precisely from this place of curiosity. And the answers that come are answers that speak about how such a golem needs neither shaming nor criticism, it doesn't need to hear stop being afraid, or stop controlling, stop worrying. No. First of all it needs to meet someone who, above all, respectfully notices its effort, this struggle, and acknowledges it. I see how long you've kept watch. I see how much you've done so that I could feel safe. Thank you. And this appreciation opens space for the next question, which only then can appear. Do you still have to be on guard? Now I'd like to invite you to a small exercise, if you feel like it, of course. If you're wearing shoes or socks, slippers, then check what it would be like to take off one shoe or one sock and simply feel the ground. Feel the difference, what it's like to feel the floor through a shoe and to feel the floor with a bare foot. Give yourself a moment. If you feel like it, you can also look around. You don't have to rush. Find three elements in your surroundings that seem pleasant to your eyes. It could be a color, it could be light or some shape. And now notice all the places in your body that touch the ground. It could be the floor under your feet, but it could also be a chair, a couch. And now check whether there's some part of you that has long been trying to take care of something. Give yourself as much time as you need. Don't change it. Don't persuade it. Just notice this part. Maybe it's tired, or maybe it's brave. Maybe it's been on duty for a long time. The legend of the golem ends with a return to clay.
And I like to think about this symbolically. That is, clay, like earth, can be touched. And that reminds me precisely of sensory impressions. Of touch, of the body, of breath. Of what is real. Here and now. In one of the most well-known versions of the legend, the Hebrew word emet is written on the golem's forehead. Otherwise, truth. And when the golem became unpredictable and no longer helpful, the rabbi had to remove the first letter e from the word emet, leaving the word met, that is, dead. And this seems to me a moving symbol. That is, difficult experiences often force us to live in an incomplete truth about ourselves. This is the truth about our pain, loneliness, longing, fear. And it is hidden. Or it was hidden. Because it was too difficult for us to bear. And in this process of healing, of coming out, or saying goodbye to the golem, it isn't at all about ruthlessly uncovering everything. It's rather about gradually reclaiming precisely our truth, which the body and the nervous system are already ready to receive. And maybe this is what it's about. And somehow that draws me to this story about the golem. That is, some kind of similarity. Because perhaps healing isn't at all about getting rid of the golem within us, or getting rid of these inner guards of ours. But rather about them no longer having to exist in solitude, in that carrying of responsibility for our entire life. Maybe it's exactly about allowing curiosity to appear alongside vigilance. So that alongside survival, life could exist. So that alongside control, trust could also appear. And in this sense it is a story that, after all, gives hope. And now I'm reminded of the words of Peter Levine, who is currently working on his latest book and about such connections between difficult experiences, traumatic experiences, and spirituality. And he said a sentence that stayed with me, that when we heal, or come out of these our deepest traumas, we need a kind of total presence. A kind of being within ourselves. A kind of being precisely close to the ground, close to this here and now. So that we are able to separate the threat from the memory of it. So that we remain in what is here. And have contact with safety, in order to be able to hold this history of ours and the truth about ourselves. Thank you for being with me today in Araucaria. This is a spontaneous episode, recorded right after coming back from a conference. I wish that all the inner golems, mine and yours, might one day find a place where they will be able to catch their breath, at least for a moment. Thank you very much and until next time.
What story do you need to hear to heal?
Today I'd like to invite you to encounter one of the most extraordinary stories I know, one that was brought back to my mind by Prague and a trip there for the Somatic Experiencing conference. It's the legend of the Golem, a legend from the sixteenth century. And for me it's also a story about how that which was meant to protect us sometimes takes over the controls of our life, and what that changes.
It's a story about a being shaped from clay by a rabbi, from Prague, in fact, who created it to protect people from danger. And even though it comes from an ancient tradition and this legend, this tale, is already so many years old, it's also deeply universal.
When I think about the human psyche, about trauma, about how extraordinarily wisely the body knows how to care for our survival, the image of the Golem is exactly what comes to me. And also a thought that perhaps each of us carries some sort of golem within. And of course not to harm us, but to protect us.
Welcome.
Let me begin by sketching this story a little, because not all of us are necessarily familiar with it. To me, it's a tale about a clay guardian. Long ago, according to one of the most famous accounts,
so, the sixteenth century, connected to Prague, a rabbi shaped a human figure out of clay.
And he didn't create this figure for amusement or for fame, but for people. So that people living in fear could feel safer. For people who needed protection, someone who would keep watch when danger grew too great. And the Golem was exactly that. Strong, obedient, tireless, he asked no questions, felt no fatigue, he simply carried out his tasks. And of course he protected, he guarded, he rescued, but he also had a certain limitation. That is, he wasn't capable of reading nuances, he didn't fully understand contexts. You could also say he was clumsy at handling what was happening. That he didn't feel. And he also didn't distinguish a threat from the memory of a threat. That is, he didn't know when to stop.
And by the same token, he didn't know that his mission was already over and that he could rest.
He became downright impossible to stop, and in the end his creator had to take away his power. And so the Golem returned to clay.
But the legend about him remained,
one that, as I think about it, is inspiring and can move us to this day.
Because it doesn't speak only about that clay creature, but in a certain sense about each of us.
And when I work with children, but also with adults after difficult experiences, I often see what extraordinary strategies a person can create in order to survive.
For example, a child becomes self-sufficient when it couldn't count on support.
Or one who lived in unpredictability develops extraordinary vigilance.
And when, as children, we experienced rejection, then we learn not to need.
We can't count on anyone. And these strategies are often impressive. They help us live, survive. And for me they are proof of the body's extraordinary intelligence. You could say, however, that this is when our inner golem begins to form. He begins to be born within us then. And he is not the problem. In today's therapeutic culture, we sometimes too easily say that this is the problem. We talk about dysfunctions, about defense mechanisms, about symptoms. But if we look at it precisely through the lens of this story, most of them appear for an important reason. Because if someone doesn't trust people, then most likely they once learned that trust isn't safe. Or when someone controls everything, it's for an important reason. Because perhaps that chaos was too terrifying. When we don't show weakness, it may be that we weren't lucky enough to meet someone who could embrace those weaknesses of ours. That's why I don't like to think of these parts within us as problems. I would rather see them as guardians, such clay guardians. Imperfect ones, sometimes rigid, sometimes wearing us out, but nevertheless called into being for an important reason. There comes a moment, though, I think many of us know this moment, when we begin to pay a certain price for having this golem inside us.
This protection starts to cost us, and it starts to cost us too much. That's when we say, I can't rest, I don't know how to ask anyone for help, I'm constantly on alert, I control everything. I don't remember the last time I felt joy. And in such moments you can get the impression that this guard is still standing at his post. Only there's no longer any threat. And the thing is, our guard didn't recognize it, didn't notice it. And our nervous system, after difficult experiences, often operates in exactly this mode. Not at all because it's somehow damaged, but because it's faithful to the mission that began long ago, to protect us at all costs. And it's probably for this reason that I meet children who often behave like little adults, watching over everything, worrying about their parents, not wanting to cause trouble, not asking for help. And at first glance such children seem mature. But if you look closer, you can see this enormous effort. As if they had been performing some kind of duty for a long time. As if someone had entrusted them with exactly the task of protecting others, or themselves, much too early. And in such moments you might think of the golem, summon this golem, to better understand that these children had to become stronger than they should have when they were at that stage of their lives. And I tell myself that this is important. And then I ask myself a question. Okay, since we already have this golem, then what does it want to tell me? What does it need? And this question awakens my curiosity. And I begin to wonder. But precisely from this place of curiosity. And the answers that come are answers that speak about how such a golem needs neither shaming nor criticism, it doesn't need to hear stop being afraid, or stop controlling, stop worrying. No. First of all it needs to meet someone who, above all, respectfully notices its effort, this struggle, and acknowledges it. I see how long you've kept watch. I see how much you've done so that I could feel safe. Thank you. And this appreciation opens space for the next question, which only then can appear. Do you still have to be on guard? Now I'd like to invite you to a small exercise, if you feel like it, of course. If you're wearing shoes or socks, slippers, then check what it would be like to take off one shoe or one sock and simply feel the ground. Feel the difference, what it's like to feel the floor through a shoe and to feel the floor with a bare foot. Give yourself a moment. If you feel like it, you can also look around. You don't have to rush. Find three elements in your surroundings that seem pleasant to your eyes. It could be a color, it could be light or some shape. And now notice all the places in your body that touch the ground. It could be the floor under your feet, but it could also be a chair, a couch. And now check whether there's some part of you that has long been trying to take care of something. Give yourself as much time as you need. Don't change it. Don't persuade it. Just notice this part. Maybe it's tired, or maybe it's brave. Maybe it's been on duty for a long time. The legend of the golem ends with a return to clay.
And I like to think about this symbolically. That is, clay, like earth, can be touched. And that reminds me precisely of sensory impressions. Of touch, of the body, of breath. Of what is real. Here and now. In one of the most well-known versions of the legend, the Hebrew word emet is written on the golem's forehead. Otherwise, truth. And when the golem became unpredictable and no longer helpful, the rabbi had to remove the first letter e from the word emet, leaving the word met, that is, dead. And this seems to me a moving symbol. That is, difficult experiences often force us to live in an incomplete truth about ourselves. This is the truth about our pain, loneliness, longing, fear. And it is hidden. Or it was hidden. Because it was too difficult for us to bear. And in this process of healing, of coming out, or saying goodbye to the golem, it isn't at all about ruthlessly uncovering everything. It's rather about gradually reclaiming precisely our truth, which the body and the nervous system are already ready to receive. And maybe this is what it's about. And somehow that draws me to this story about the golem. That is, some kind of similarity. Because perhaps healing isn't at all about getting rid of the golem within us, or getting rid of these inner guards of ours. But rather about them no longer having to exist in solitude, in that carrying of responsibility for our entire life. Maybe it's exactly about allowing curiosity to appear alongside vigilance. So that alongside survival, life could exist. So that alongside control, trust could also appear. And in this sense it is a story that, after all, gives hope. And now I'm reminded of the words of Peter Levine, who is currently working on his latest book and about such connections between difficult experiences, traumatic experiences, and spirituality. And he said a sentence that stayed with me, that when we heal, or come out of these our deepest traumas, we need a kind of total presence. A kind of being within ourselves. A kind of being precisely close to the ground, close to this here and now. So that we are able to separate the threat from the memory of it. So that we remain in what is here. And have contact with safety, in order to be able to hold this history of ours and the truth about ourselves. Thank you for being with me today in Araucaria. This is a spontaneous episode, recorded right after coming back from a conference. I wish that all the inner golems, mine and yours, might one day find a place where they will be able to catch their breath, at least for a moment. Thank you very much and until next time.