It is – probably – the second-to-the-last day of real summer; tomorrow is probably, as it were, the closing firework display of good weather. Pleasant that it will be a Sunday, after Rumana's big party tonight. Of course the weather forecast from Monday onwards, and knowledge of how North Sea weather goes, gives just a hint of William Ackerman's beautiful, but gently sad, piece for guitar and celli, 'The Last Day at the Beach.'
My houseguest Thomas has left – while he was here, I got some work done (completed a major grant application, didn't complete the article but will get back to it tomorrow; other things in the wings... oh, and impending teaching and administration: but some of the most anxiety-making messes are cleaned up, so it may not be a bad year; and I'm still considering whether I can finish my first-half Jung-Institut exams in February, or if it is necessary to wait until July. Heigh-ho).
He gave me a hefty set of kitchen knives – yes, I get the suggestion here (my knives are admittedly not great, and I seriously need to find a place to sharpen them). And a cat basket, as I have been repeatedly instructed by several people to go ahead and get a cat... I keep dithering about it, but hopefully there will be a Ralph II in the future.
The great concern/focus of the time with Thomas – for me at least – was: can I break some of the bonds of procrastination?... well, interestingly, I shuttled back and forth rapidly enough between completely stalling out, and getting back to work, that I could see the strange interface of mental static that boils and simmers between them. Quite odd to get in touch with one's own complexes, experientially.
Oh, and there were dreams: where, weirdly enough, I hovered around anxiously, as other figures (not recognizable as friends in the waking world) handled things for me with ease and dispatch. The (very Jungian) interpretation: that although my ego is still stuck and confused, unconscious parts of myself are moving and changing things: a kind of reparative psychology.
This is one of the great attractions of Jungian work – and I'm sure that for anyone particularly cynical or epistemologically locked into the waking ego, it must seem to be the aspect of Jung that is too much like religion, or like magical thinking, or simply yet another wish fulfillment. But there is a sense that one can, and should, let the unseen parts of the self act, to move forward – it is a great comfort, at least potentially.
And I am washing the new kitchen knives, and gorgeous music is coming from the computer speakers, and I will take a shower and perhaps go for a walk on one of the last warm days. And then the party, and people....
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