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Black Books

Three serpents that lie on a rock, coiled in a knot. A sword has hacked them.

A strong one-armed man wields the sword.

His eyes flicker in chaotic passion.

It was probably a follower and pupil of Dionysus, who had lost one arm.

Where did he lose it?

He chopped it off because it seemed foul and inadequate, yes, he himself hacked off his right arm in a frenzy.

He no longer wanted to act, but simply to be driven.

One also needs to be able to be driven.

Why couldn’t he let the serpents sleep?

Who told him to set his dog on the devil’s dangerous hound that wanted to leave him?

His wild and untamed drive, which he called a sense of duty, had whispered the wrong thing to him.

He wanted to be alone, to rule alone, intoxicated in solitude far from Gods and men, a castrato of his God.

Why do you despise the loving darkness of the feminine, the cooling night?

The whisper among the trees, my dark, healing speech?

Why did you not speak to me? ~Jung’s Soul, The Black Books, Vol. VII, Page 207