You [Jung’s Soul] don’t escape me. The black birds are your retinue, they live from your sacrifice. It does not lie with them.
It lies with you.
You don’t confuse me through feigning the spirit of the dead to me.
They are prophets who have become dumb, eviscerated by you, by lovers choked by longing or hate.
Circe alone possesses the mystery, not the miserable swines of her garden.
Attempt your magic-he who lives his weakness, because he calls it holy, pries loose the rod from you. ~Carl Jung, The Black Books, Vol. VII, Page 188