A Dream, Excerpt from Carl Jung’s Red Book, My Last Thanksgiving at Home

In my dream, I met your brother. He was crying. He told me that he missed you and I being together. He told me that you were kissing other men. I then received an angry voicemail from you. You asked what I was doing? Why I was doing all these silly things like writing these sad posts? Or why I was setting myself up to be disappointed and hurt by asking you to meet me? I was hurt by this. I love you was the answer. Why else would I choose to be hurt every day…?

I woke up, confused and weakened. It felt like I had to rethink my growth and my ideas of change. I wandered to Lee’s in a daze. I’ve been reading some of Jung and ideas of the anima, the feminine side of male unconsciousness. I’m trying to figure out this dream. Was this my unconsciousness telling me to let you go? I know that your family doesn’t want me to be with you anymore. I want you to be with someone your family loves and accepts. I want to become that man… I mean that’s the downfall of Gatsby -becoming something for someone else, someone of the past. From what I know of Anthony’s personality, he most likely doesn’t think about stuff like this. Nor would he be emotional about me. I think in my dream, he represents a childish version of myself (I always wanted to help him because I realized the core of his problems were similar to problems I faced). But in my dream he was sad and emotional about something I have no longer have control over. Something about that speaks to the futility of all this.

You, being my anima in my dream, was upset at me. I think that’s my unconsciousness confronting me about how I am still living my life for you, rather than myself… I’m so torn. I developed so much. I fought through so much. And I want nothing more than to be reunited with you. I looked into myself, the ugliest part of myself and I’m conversing with him to become better…. I incorporated my shadow. But now I have to confront and incorporate my anima. I don’t think I’m at the Eve stage. I don’t think I’m at the Helen stage either. I think I’m at the Mary stage where I know I can only find completeness and happiness in myself, and that extends to my partner and other people. Perhaps that’s why my anima was mad at me. I have been basing my happiness on you again.

I think I have to accept that I still want you, but rather than hurt over it, I should find happiness and solace in it. And on that day, I’ll know your choice. I feel better. I need to live my life. Jung did write live yourself… May each seek his own way

May each seek his own way

If you are boys, your God is a woman. If you are women, your God is a boy. If you are men, your God is a maiden. The God is where you are not. So: it is wise that one has a God; this serves for your perfection. A maiden is the pregnant future. A boy is the engendering future. A woman is: having given birth. A man is: having engendered. So: if you are childlike beings now, your God will descend from the height of ripeness to age and death. But if you are developed beings, having engendered or given birth, in body or in soul, so your God rises from the radiant cradle, to the incalculable height of the future, to the maturity and fullness of the coming time. He who still has his life before him is a child. He who lives life in the present is developed. If you thus live all that you can live, you are developed. He who is a child in this time, his God dies. He who is developed in this time, his God continues to live.
The spirit of the depths teaches this mystery. Prosperous and woeful are those whose God is developed! Prosperous and woeful are those whose God is a child! What is better, that man has life ahead of him, or that God does? I know no answer. Live; the unavoidable decides. The spirit of the depths taught me that my life is encompassed by the divine child. From his hand everything unexpected came to me, everything living. This child is what I feel as an eternally springing youth in me.  In childish men you feel the hopeless transience. All that you saw passing is yet to come for him. His future is full of transience. But the transience of the things coming toward you has never yet experienced a human meaning. Your continuing to live is a living onward. You engender and give birth to what is to come, you are fecund, you live onward. The childish is unfruitful, what is to come to him is what already has ‘been engendered and already withered. It does not live onward.

Last night is my final thanksgiving at my childhood home. I asked Spencer and his mom to come over to eat with my family. I realized that for the longest of time, my parents had no friends. This is very unhealthy, and something I need to watch out for when I’m old. People need other people. Well Spencer’s mom and my parents were able to talk about Taiwan’s politics, a very important election is coming up. Anne came back home and she’s talking to my parents again despite very heated disagreements. I think I was able to dispel some anger on her side… Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. It’s bittersweet that it took losing our home for my family to openly express love for one another. There are things I will change about my family by changing myself.

A Link Between Us

song for poem

I hear a calling across my lifetimes
to awaken; to find you.
What castle have you ventured to now?
Where will I find your heart now?
Through the temples, I found courage
the deserts, myself
and the woods, my purpose
across the highlands, across the Great Sea
in all the pottery, nothing of you
but a link between us
I lie awake with the stars, by the sleeping fire
Can you hear the grass shift,
the snow fall atop the mountains,
and the clouds sailing where we flew side by side
Are you shrunken inside the smallest cranny?
Is the moon falling upon your world?
I have asked the winds with song
they point to every direction
but nowhere to you.
Listen! Listen to my heart!
Follow my heart
Of all the battles fought
treasures won, and the friends made
this is for the link between us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acid Trip Epiphany Articulated – Happiness

There is no higher state of happiness; the things we think would make us happier, maybe money or love, are exactly that because they are inaccessible. We are infatuated with the idea of chasing happiness. The things we want are the things we can’t in anyway, in the next moment, obtain. It’s like I wish I had a thousand dollars, but obviously I won’t get that any time soon.  Well I think happiness becomes layered then. First layer, I think of what tangibly, materialistically, and realistically obtainable would provide me happiness: a nice cup of Lee’s coffee, a cigarette in the morning haze, maybe sex. But then these things are fleeting moments of happiness as well. The energy from caffeine has ran its course. The cigarette burned out. The orgasm reached. We’re down another layer now. If these things can only provide momentary happiness, then what is a more stable form happiness? It becomes obvious nothing of the flesh and senses. Happiness then becomes a wrangle with the psyche because it is immaterial. Self acceptance. Self development. The Self. Conversations about emotions and psychological development are intensely gratifying for me because they seem to address the problem itself. It is surrender to your circumstance. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for growth. It’s just happiness at the present, which is oddly the only form of happiness we can experience. So I guess a person should relieve themselves of chasing happiness. Love oneself. Love the people in our lives. Love our disastrous situation. But then keep improving. Keep sowing seeds for happiness…

Affinity

I really like the word affinity. It’s a word that implies each person has an inherent programming towards something. It’s a word that speaks to the uniqueness in every one. It’s a word that evokes a journey of self-realization.

Life is good. A cup of coffee in the sunlight. A few hours of writing and reflecting. I like talking to old people and listening to their stories.

I’m a fucking writer

Self-loathing should come naturally to any writer. It is simple –if you peer deeply enough into yourself, you should recoil; there has to be something that makes you go, “oh god that’s a part of me?” And that’s introspectively speaking. In terms of bringing forth that ugliness, well, I think Anthony Bourdain said it best: “Let’s face it. Anyone who writes a book with the notion that they have a story worth telling, that people want to listen, you’re already, by definition now, an abhorrent personality of self-regard. That’s not normal. That’s often at odds with being a functioning, well rounded, good person.”

So what is a writer but an oscillation between two polarities? One: a fink who ritualistically goes to coffee shops, mooches off Wi-Fi for hours, occupying that very outlet you need, who at the end of a torturous dredge, seems no happier –an eternally gloomy funk. Two: the unholy combination of narcissism, vanity –I mean the medium of a blog is vanity itself, and this ungodly inflated ego. This explains why I tend to like very few writers in person.

This all sounds rather scathing. Of course there has to be some sort of reconciliation. I mean I fucking write. Anthony Bourdain wrote. And reading others’ works can elicit many emotions and beauty. So what is it about writers that makes them write…? I mean why subject ourselves to this constant self-examination and this self-absorbed practice? I think! I think… somehow this oscillation between vanity and self-hatred is magnified in writers. Perhaps this constant sliding is just what it means to be human?

I mean how many people consider themselves excellent drivers? Hur dur I considered myself a good driver. Who hasn’t sat in traffic in a fit of rage, thinking if only that one person didn’t suck at driving, then this whole lane would be moving more efficiently? No one else? Fine. Well after a second of rage, I reflected. There were probably, most likely, many times people went, “this guy, this fucking guy,” because of how I was driving.

A study conducted by Allstate shows that 2/3 of Americans consider themselves excellent drivers. Anyone who has been gridlocked in LA traffic can attest to the delusion of this statistic. Anyone who has sat in their friend’s car can attest to this…What I’m trying to say from this horribly drawn out example is that people probably have a hard time stepping outside of themselves. And writing is perhaps an attempt to step outside of oneself. And maybe, it’s not so much an oscillation, rather a cycle of god mentality (vanity), the fall  (self-hatred), and then the slaving away (reconciliation), and that this cycle is an inherent human cycle. Writers probably go through this cycle a lot of fucking times because their subject is often the human condition.

Jung talks about this! This is the hero’s journey, the process of individuation, as he states, “the attempt to free ego-consciousness from the deadly grip of the unconscious”. The unconscious is the god mentality, the fall is the realization you’re full of shit, and the slaving away, the climb up to become different, better is the freeing of the ego-consciousness! This is the story of the fall of man in the bible. Perhaps, life composes of these micro-cycles, and that writers write stories because their stories somehow reflect this micro-cycle in themselves.

Thoughts on Love, Emotions, and Fate

I don’t think I believe in one, true love. I think if time goes on, I might likely find another person. As you might too. But I do believe there are forces greater than myself pointing me to you. This all sounds like mysticism bologna. It really is a strange feeling; when I really meditate on us, when I concentrate on our story together, the best way I can articulate it is that we’ve lived many lives together, and that I’m meant to love you right this life. When I read Jung’s idea about synchronicity (a similar Chinese idea is yuanfen), it immediately clicked with me. It’s this idea that there are sometimes coincidences in life that can be interpreted as having meaning. Of course, he argues that this could just be the brain trying to make sense of things, an attempt to create a narrative to what can be utter chaos. But in a mental exercise, why not try to make sense of the chaos? It is there. Why not find meaning in the strangeness of you and me?

It’s the same as how I see nihilism. If nothing matters, then why exist? Why do anything? Why not just kill oneself? To me, it’s too easy and convenient. Nihilism is the acceptance of chaos and impotence. I found that on the opposite spectrum of nihilism, where everything matters, where every second counts, where there is this immense responsibility and ownership, I can almost justify the meaning of my existence. A profound happiness swept over me; everything I did and everything that happened to me led me here. It’s not always clear, and the best it amounts to is a feeling. A feeling. All my life, people have told me that feelings and emotions play secondary to logic, math, and akasdlkfa science! But as I got older, I realized that people are governed by emotions and feelings. Choices with money, buying a house, moving to another place, and  investment, things that require objectivity and rationality –emotions, feelings, and intuition are at the heart of these choices…

Sure, people may not outwardly express it. They may be a staunch believer of logic and smartness, but in my time paying attention to them, listening to them, weighing their actions and how they justify them, I found they leak of emotions and feelings –that at the base of all their rationality is emotion they have yet to recognize, acknowledge, or they may even be blinded by emotion! I interpret a lot of Jung’s writing as an exploration of our inescapable unconsciousness. Feelings and emotions are the first layer of our unconsciousness. A lot times, people use rationality and logic to merely justify emotions and feelings, and that often leads to neurosis.

But back to you and me. It’s a feeling, a powerful feeling.  I know I have a tendency to see things with rosy tints, but not about you and me anymore. The greatest catalyst of my growth these last few months is my confrontation of how ugly our relationship was. Thank you for making me take that journey. The truth is we were not good for one another. I’ve done terrible things to you. You couldn’t take me off the pedestal. Yet, despite that, we truly loved each other. We always wanted to protect one another. We always wanted the best for one another. We gave each other everything about ourselves. Our unconsciousness was blended together from our acid trip; I know you… you know me. I’m not smart enough to completely articulate it, but it’s this feeling. I can’t justify it more than that.

The sum of my growth is this acceptance that my perspective is important. If I’ve learned anything these past few months, it’s to love myself, to have more self-esteem, and to value my perspective. This isn’t to justify my rationality. It’s just being aware of this great emotion and feeling in me. And perhaps it means nothing, but I’m deciding to follow it. I’m deciding to take the risk and to pursue it, despite how unreasonable it is, despite how much it hurts me, despite the many times people have advised against it. The strangest part is that I’ve managed to convince everyone I’ve talked to. This goes beyond rationality. It has become a matter of my unconsciousness telling me something and what I can only surmise as fate… I will face the consequences of my choices and whatever happens as a man of character…

Fire

I am a man of fire
birthed of rage and anger
Self-immolation, I had died
rebirth –I am change
a journey of self,
the sum of things learned
I bring forth my soulfire
Transmuted, I am energy:
a strong will
warmth radiated
and controlled,
shed the lesser bark–
becoming, becoming.