As a psychiatrist I became worried, wondering if I was not on the way to “doing a schizophrenia,” as we said in the language of those days.
I was just preparing a lecture on schizophrenia to be delivered at a congress in Aberdeen, and I kept saying to myself:
“I’ll be speaking of myself! Very likely I’ll go mad after reading out this paper.”
The congress was to take place in July 1914-exactly the same period when I saw myself in my three dreams voyaging on the Southern seas.
On July 31st, immediately after my lecture, I learned from the newspapers that war had broken out.
Finally I understood. And when I disembarked in Holland on the next day, nobody was happier than I.
Now I was sure that no schizophrenia was threatening me.
I understood that my dreams and my visions came to me from the subsoil of the collective unconscious.
What remained for me to do now was to deepen and validate this discovery.
And this is what I have been trying to do for forty years. ~The Black Books, Vol. I, Page 37-38