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Carl Jung: You mean Being consists only of deception?

‘Black Books

  1. Nov. 1932.

I. I am worried. A dark dream torments me. I will first ask the I Ching. “Magic trick”? You say? No more ancient pranks. Did you stay behind?

Soul. “You left me.[“]

I. How so? Why didn’t you come along?

S. You went too quickly, without looking behind you.

I. You are right. I looked back too little. I hurried forward too breathlessly. Why didn’t you call me?

S. I called you through destiny and dream.

I. So that was it. I understand. But why did I run forward too fast and far?

S. Destiny, necessity, ambition, desire.

I. Yes, more looking back-that would be smarter.

S. That means “wiser.” Why always forwards? What lies ahead? Something better? All future like all past.

The look penetrates everywhere-the world of the past, the world of the future make the one, the object of the look, the mirror of Godhead.

I. I recognize that. But why did you speak threateningly in a dream?

S. So that you look back. Your desire grew in the meaningless, in lunacy.

That’s why I reflected madness to you. You are old enough to look back.

I. Should I look back in this threatening time?

S. All the more so, I say. The ancients always stand for that which was.

That is very often what is better-time rolls too quickly. Everything is rushed. Stop. One must ~top.

Somewhere the present must be past. Only in such a way does the circle close.

I. You are strangely general.

S. Because you are imprisoned in all kinds of particularities. But the particular doesn’t remain. It constantly changes.

Thereby you forgot the general, which remains and endures through all times.

I. I am not satisfied. I hang somewhere.

S. Keep hanging. It sticks to you, it doesn’t leave you. It slows you, since you have looked back. Now ask the I Ching.

Da yu. Possession in Great Measure.

I. I want to rest and observe the fullness of the given.

27- Nov 1932.

I. There is still unrest in me. Dark dreams! What do you want? What are you aiming at?

Something is not found on which I should position myself Speak to me!

S. I don’t know what I should say. It seems to be difficult. I can’t have everything.

I. But do you believe that it lies somewhere on your side, perhaps in the depths of your many dark worlds?

S. I’m hardly able to say. I want to wriggle out.?

I. Why so? Don’t you know that you should do nothing of the kind? Why this reluctance?

S. The attempt to be free-I know. I’m blessed in deception.

You always want to free yourself from illusion and do you know what you do as a result? You also want to free yourself. What for?

For rigid non-being.

I. You mean “Being” consists only of deception? Do you want to lame me?

S. Far from it. I want to involve you in actuality.

I. But what if I’m unwilling?

S. That’s it. You are unwilling. That’s why you have the feeling of being lamed. You lame yourself.

I. But whence this fatigue?

S. You are not in but outside.

I. Then you know what this “in” is.

S. I have an inkling.

I. So say it. What does my dream mean?

S. This strange man? Painted with colors of the dawn, wrapped in himself? Don’t you recognize him? Is he not yourself?

I. How so? The general never satisfies.

S. Oh no. In all particulars you are-a protection seeker, one wrapped up, needing self-protection.

One who does not waste himself. You don’t want to know this.

I. It is too paradoxical.

S. Bear the paradox. Ancient truth.

You can’t avoid landing in the general, as much as you attempt to escape it-if the Self unfolds, the I shrinks.

A greater light begins to stream, therefore the question of the colors of the dawn.

He is not it, you are not it, but the third, the greater. Pull yourself together. You must wane.

14/ 15 XII 1932 The Quest begins.

  1. Schi Ho. Biting through.

I. Dream. I am~ together with Prof. Fierz.

II. A farmer and his wife completely smeared with mud, naked, rolling in the field mindlessly drunk.

III. Joggi snaps a great piece of ham from me that I had hung as if from a fishing line.

I get it again, but a significant part has however fallen to the dog. ~The Black Books, Vol. VII, Page 247-249