Of course, here I have peace and can collect myself.
Your human world makes me drunk so much human blood-I could get intoxicated on it to the point of madness.
Doors of iron, walls of stone, cold darkness and the rations of penance-that is the bliss of redemption.
You do not suspect my torment when the bloody intoxication seizes me, I would like to hurl myself again and again into living matter from a dark fearful creative urge that formerly brought me close to the lifeless and ignited the terrible lust for procreation in me.
Remove me from conceiving matter, the rutting feminine of yawning emptiness.
Force me into confinement where I can find resistance and my own law.
Where I can think about the journey, the rising sun and the buzzing, melodious golden wings.
Be thankful-you wanted to thank me? You are deluded. ~Jung’s Soul, The Black Books, Page 262