Writing as catharsis

Coming soon: a reflection on Carl Jung’s ‘Memories, Dreams, Reflections’

Posted in Ranting and rambling, Zen by Lachlan R. Dale on May 9, 2013
Carl Jung - Memories, Dreams, Reflections

Carl Jung – Memories, Dreams, Reflections

I’ve been a little bit quiet of late; work, post-graduate study and music have been taking up a lot of my time. I thought I’d quickly let you know what I’ve been working on.

I’m developing a summary-of and reflection-on Carl Jung‘s autobiography ‘Memories, Dreams, Reflections‘ in the hope that I can communicate some of the wisdom and exceptional ideas he developed over the course of his life.

It’s a considerable task, but one I feel is particularly important. Jung was a fascinating individual who had the incredible insight to link the psychology of the ego and the unconscious with eastern philosophy and spirituality. His work is still exceedingly relevant to people dabbling in eastern philosophy/religion today.

I’m really hoping I can do this project justice – so if you don’t hear much out of me for a while, you’ll know why.

Ideally I’d like to follow this up with some reflections/highlights of some of Hermann Hesse‘s work on philosophy, art and psychology.


Dreaming of a black wolf

Posted in Dreams, Prose, Ranting and rambling by Lachlan R. Dale on February 22, 2013

“Unconscious wholeness therefore seems to me the true spiritus rector of all biological and psychic events. Here is a principle which strives for total realisation – which in man’s case signifies the attainment of total consciousness. Attainment of consciousness is culture in the broadest sense, and self-knowledge therefore the heart and essence of this process..”

– Carl Jung.

In the spirit of Carl Jung’s Dreams, Memories, Reflections I’ve decided to record and analyse my dreams as much as I am able in the hope that my slumber might unveil aspects of my psyche that are otherwise inaccessible. Here is my recollection of one such dream.

Black WolfI found myself in a farmhouse which partially resembled that of my Grandfather’s. The room had the amplified dimensions of a rural property free of the confines of the city, with floors of a beautiful polished wood. I sat in a leather chair near a window, overlooking a grand countryside that more closely resembled the Canadian wilderness than the dry hills of western New South Wales (it is not uncommon that dreams take place in bastard chimeras of various familiar locations). Two hounds lay contentedly beside me, one a rather muscular looking black wolf, while the other reminded me of my childhood border collie. In peace I observed the majestic expanse beyond me, struck by the beauty of the landscape.

Suddenly a fox scurried into my line of sight. With a gaunt frame with a coat matted with filth, it was obviously starving and scrounging for food. If it found none it would soon die. I was struck by how pathetic it looked. As it turned to look at me I saw that, despite the appearance of it’s body, it’s face was that of a beautiful Ontarian Red Fox. In the gaze of those deep eyes I was struck dumb and my entire being welled with pity.

Red foxMoved, I stood and opened the window in front of me – what my intentions were I could not tell you, but I wanted to do something for the poor creature. I called out to the fox. It eyed me warily. Then – disaster. The black wolf jumped through the open window and pounced upon the lesser hound; snarling, growling and snapping it’s jaws, it monstered the poor creature. The size difference was immense; the fox was rendered a plaything in the jaws of this huge predatory beast. The scene horrified me.

As I helplessly called on the wolf to relent I was overcome with guilt and sadness that my actions had brought such misery upon the fox. I had not wanted this, but I knew that I had done this.