Dear Victor, 16 December 1948
The spirit prompts me to write to you.
It is quite a while ago since I have heard of you and very much longer since I have heard you really.
I may be all wrong, but I confess to have a feeling as if when you were in America a door had been shut, softly but tightly.
I don’t want to disturb you, but I feel as if I ought to tell you about my fantasy, so that you know my side of the picture at least.
I know there are things somewhere too damned difficult to be even mentioned, but they should not cut you off entirely.
It is not bad for you to get a breath from the great wind of the world occasionally and from all the dark things “that go bump in the night.”
That is why I take the liberty of knocking at your door.
I suppose you are very busy.
Don’t feel pressed for an answer, please!
I am looking for my own peace and that is the reason why I tell you about my qualms.
Having done so I recline in my grandfather’s chair going on dreaming about Virgil’s “Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi … ”
Light that wants to shine needs darkness.
C.G. ~Carl Jung, Letters Vol. 1, Page 514.
Note: Virgil, Eclogue, I,1: “Tityrus, thou liest canopied beneath thy spreading beech.”