In his own time, Meister Eckhart performed the same role.
I then told Jung that I thought that in his own being he represented a link with the secrets of the past.
‘You have found the connecting road, the path which was lost with the coming of the European Enlightenment, if not before.
Just as the Renaissance found a bond with the external Classic Age, so you, for our own time, seem to have established a link with its internal side.
Thus, thanks to you, the essential qualities of man are able to survive.
In his own time, Meister Eckhart performed the same role.’
‘What I have tried to do,’ he said, ‘is to show the Christian what the Redeemer really is, and what the resurrection is.
Nobody today seems to know, or to remember, but the idea still exists in dreams.’
I then told Jung that I had gone to Florence to see Leonardo’s painting, ‘The Annunciation’.
And I told him that when I was looking at that picture, I thought of the Massacre of the Innocents, an event which coincided with, and in a real sense polarized, the birth of Christ.
‘Much fuss has been made about the death of Christ,’ I said, ‘but no one bothers about the death of so many innocents.
Their deaths seem to be accepted merely as something necessary for the birth of a Redeemer.
It was the same with the birth of Krishna when all the children of the district born on that same day were ordered to be executed by the tyrant Kansa.
Thus there always seems to me to be something terribly unjust about the coming of a Redeemer; indeed, one might almost consider it a positive evil.
There is always the question of whether the end justifies the means.’ ~Miguel Serrano, Jung and Hesse A Record of Two Friendships, Page 101
Carl Jung Depth Psychology Blog
Jerusalem
A hand in my soul can reach out and touch Jerusalem
as my other hand tastes the beauty of the Rhine.
And my bare foot can stand upon the holy ashes of rain—each drop a
fallen Phoenix—that sang out from the fire of union
with clay.
The hills, the valleys, the beasts, the vineyards, the sacred meadows
on our earth and body—they shall pass and ascend as all form does,
tiring of the space within a cage;
for all crowds the soul but the infinite. Ascenders to God we are.
Look though how we enrich this planet with our melting organic
shadows, wondrous shadows are all but He.
What a womb God has—what wild love He must have made to
Himself for days and days without stopping
to have given birth to all you can imagine, and to all you cannot conceive.
Draw a circle around the frontiers of space, barely can God fit a
toe there.
All language has taken an oath to fail to describe Him;
any attempt to do so is the height of arrogance and will
always declare some kind of war:
the inner ones that undermine our strength, and the outer conflicts
that maim red.
I cried out one night in the madness of separation from love,
in the madness of doing, of trying to add to the Perfect;
for Perfect is All.
The awakened heart is like a luminous sphere—just giving without
thought to any who may come close or gaze at it.
The soul becomes blessedly lost to all
but its own holy
being.
When we cannot be who we are our divine senses become mute,
mute and sick from the insanity of judging
what He made Immaculate.
Who must God have made love to in order to have given birth to all this sound,
to this sacred spectrum of color, scents, and music from the
wind’s body and existence’s plea for mercy—that
plea for the real mercy, unbearable joy?
Once we had four legs and tails so useful to balance our raid into
heaven, and I found them again.
I am a swimming galaxy tonight. Angels prowl around me
hoping I will toss them a fresh piece of light—
here dears, here, my sack is full.
The universe rents space from me, and oceans are drawn
from my well. How can that be?
For I can touch Jerusalem while my other hand tastes
the beauty of the
Rhine.
Yes, I can kiss Jerusalem while my mouth
tastes the wonders of
the Rhine. ~Meister Eckhart