I recently had my copy of Jung’s “Memories, Dreams, Reflections” returned to me by somebody I’d lent it to ( *Gasp!* somebody actually returned a book!!! ). I suspect this person didn’t actually read it. When I asked them what they thought of it they were vague, saying only: “Some people just think too much”.
Really? That’s all you got from it? This is Carl Jung we’re talking about. I’d say it’s a feckin’ great thing that he “thought too much”. I can think of worse thoughts than the ones that sprang from his brain, for Christ’s sake. But anyway…. There was a piece of paper in the back on which I’d written something. The book is full of interesting and profound insights – I remember placing bookmarks in the thing at such points. This resulted in pieces of paper falling out onto the floor like confetti every time I picked the damn thing up, so eventually I just gave up and had to accept that the entire book was chock full of brilliance.
Where was I going with this? Oh, yes: the thing I’d written, which somehow had managed to cling to the inside cover for all these years, was a quote which seems more relevant to me now than ever ( just replace the word “man” with “woman” and he’s describing me) :
It may be that for sufficient reasons a man feels he must set out on his own feet along the road to wider realms. It may be that in all the garbs, shapes, forms, modes and manners of life offered to him, he does not find what is peculiarly necessary for him. He will go alone and be his own company. He will serve as his own group, consisting of a variety of opinions and tendencies- which need not necessarily be marching in the same direction. In fact, he will be at odds with himself, and will find great difficulty in uniting his own multiplicity for purposes of common action”Carl Jung- Memories, Dreams, Reflections
And then this little extra: “Nothing so promotes the growth of consciousness as this inner confrontation of opposites”. Well, fuck. That’s at least validating. How is it, though, that I don’t really feel that I’m growing, but just going around in circles? Maybe ol’ Carl would be able to tell me were he still alive.
My moods are erratic lately. (I mean, when are they not, really?) . One minute I’m inspired and ambitious; the next I’m overwhelmed with a sense of futility. But this always happens when I get back onto the meditation horse. The blender brain stills itself and all the crap that was whirring around in it floats up to the surface. All the issues come up. But it feels a bit deeper than that this time. There are certain realities that I’ve been sweeping under the carpet regarding the people I’m surrounded with at the moment . I do not belong with them, and no amount of meditation or mushrooms or walks alone through the hills will make that any less true. I’m a human being, and all human beings need a place to belong, and people to belong with.
I’m fast running out of hope that such things will be possible for me, however. I’m not getting any younger. And when I think of all the lovely things that have happened lately, barely any of them feature human beings. How is it that I managed to befriend a Butterfly, an Echidna and a Kookaburra so easily over the last few months, but when it comes to humans it’s just one endless fucking struggle? Why is it that people are only too happy to stop their cars to tell me how much they love my outfit but nobody seems to think the human soul within the outfit is worth knowing? Why is it that people can’t see past the eccentricity? I mean, I appreciate that they’re kind about it, but I’m more than a novelty. I’m more than an accessory. I do have some fucking depth, actually. Maybe somebody would see that if they bothered talking to me for more than five minutes per year, and about something other than my funny hairstyle.
Why am I writing this? I’m not even articulate enough to be able to effectively express what I’m feeling. I suppose this is why I’ve always been more drawn to music and art as modes of self expression than the written word. They are better vehicles for such undertakings. I need them. They’re my voice. It’s why creative blocks make me feel so frustrated and lost.
I think I’ll leave it there. I already know I’m talking to myself. But perhaps somebody will like the scenery I’ve posted photos of here. I posted them because I miss this particular location dearly, and am at the point where if I had to choose being alone somewhere like this and persevering where I am in the vain hope that I’ll eventually “find my tribe”, the first option is looking more appealing by the day. Maybe some of us belong to tribes that just happen to be scattered all over the world; made up of similar solo beings who will never actually meet one another in the flesh. Maybe it’s time to accept this lonely fate.