mental-health

There is always a Beginning to Grasp the Whole! P 10

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Lenole Art (Instagram)

Dream Stimuli and Dream Sources (Traumreize und Traumquellen)

Hello, dear friends. I’m sharing another section of Freud’s book with my translation. I hope you find it interesting and insightful. This part discusses forgetting dreams—I usually forget mine, though the ones that endure seem to stay forever. I believe we forget dreams after waking because we don’t want to remember them right away, so we push them into the unknown for later.

Anyway, Dr Freud explains why we forget our dreams, and I think his research is worth exploring, especially since Dr Carl Jung admired Freud’s work. Here are some quotes from Carl Jung’s Depth Psychology, by my good friend Lewis Lafontaine. 🙏

It is Freud’s great achievement to have put dream-interpretation on the right track. ~Carl Jung, CW 8, Para 539

“Freud was kind to people and gave them his interest; that was what cured, and that is what always cures – the human contact.”
~Carl Jung, Meetings with Jung, Page 48

Let’s proceed with Freud’s arguments. The previous chapter is available here!

Why do we forget the dream after waking up? (Warum man den Traum nach dem Erwachen vergisst?)

It is proverbial that a dream “dissolves” in the morning. Yet it is certainly capable of being remembered. After all, we know the dream only through memory after waking; yet we very often believe that we recall it only incompletely, whereas more of it was present during the night; we can observe how a dream memory—vivid in the morning—fades over the course of the day until only small fragments remain; we often know that we have dreamt, but not what we dreamt; and we are so accustomed to the experience of dreams being subject to oblivion that we do not dismiss as absurd the possibility that a person who, in the morning, knows nothing of the content or even the fact of having dreamt, might nevertheless have dreamt during the night. On the other hand, it happens that dreams display extraordinary persistence in memory. I have analysed dreams of my patients that occurred twenty-five or more years ago, and I can recall a dream of my own separated from the present by at least thirty-seven years, yet it has lost nothing of its freshness in memory. All this is very strange and, at first glance, incomprehensible.

Strümpell discusses the forgetting of dreams at greatest length. This forgetting is evidently a complex phenomenon, for Strümpell attributes it not to a single cause but to a whole series of reasons.

To begin with, the same factors that cause forgetting in waking life are at work in the forgetting of dreams. When awake, we tend to quickly forget a vast number of sensations and perceptions because they were too weak—because the mental excitation associated with them was insufficiently intense. The same applies to many dream images: they are forgotten because they were too weak, whereas stronger images that occur alongside them are remembered. However, intensity alone is not the decisive factor in retaining dream images; Strümpell, like other authors (such as Calkins), acknowledges that we often quickly forget dream images known to have been very vivid, while many of the images retained in memory are shadowy and faint. Furthermore, in the waking state, we tend to forget events that occurred only once, while remembering better those we perceived repeatedly. However, most dream images are unique experiences (though recurring dreams have been noted; cf. Chabaneix’s collection); this characteristic inevitably contributes to the forgetting of all dreams. A third reason for forgetting is far more significant. For sensations, mental images, thoughts, and the like to attain a certain degree of memorability, they must not remain isolated but rather enter into appropriate connections and associations. If one breaks a short verse down into its constituent words and jumbles them, it becomes very difficult to commit it to memory. “When well-ordered and arranged in a logical sequence, one word supports another, and the whole remains firmly, easily, and enduringly in the memory. We generally find it just as difficult—and rare—to retain nonsensical material as we do material that is confused and disordered.”
Yet, in most cases, dreams lack coherence and order. Dream compositions inherently lack the basis for their own retention and are forgotten because they usually disintegrate almost immediately. – Admittedly, this view does not quite align with Radestock’s observation (p. 168) that it is precisely the strangest dreams we remember best.

Strümpell considers other factors, derived from the relationship between the dream and waking life, to be even more significant in causing dreams to be forgotten. The fact that dreams are forgotten by waking consciousness is evidently merely the counterpart to the previously mentioned fact that the dream (almost) never incorporates organised memories from waking life, but rather only isolated details torn from the familiar mental associations in which they are recalled during the waking state. Dream imagery thus finds no place within the array of mental sequences that fill the mind; it lacks all mnemonic aids. “In this way, the dream formation detaches itself, as it were, from the soil of our mental life and floats in the psychic realm like a cloud in the sky, quickly dispersed by a fresh breath of air” (p. 87). Working in the same direction is the fact that, upon waking, the encroaching sensory world immediately lays claim to one’s attention, so that very few dream images can withstand this force. They give way to the impressions of the new day just as the radiance of the stars fades before the light of the sun.

Sigmund Freud’s Letter to Carl Jung, September 19, 1907

Finally, a factor conducive to the forgetting of dreams is that most people show little interest in them to begin with. For instance, anyone who—perhaps as a researcher—takes an interest in dreams for a time will also dream more than usual during that period; this presumably means they recall their dreams more easily and more frequently.
Two other reasons for the forgetting of dreams—added by Bonatelli (cited in Benini) to those proposed by Strümpell—are arguably already implicit in the latter: namely, 1) that the shift in general bodily sensation between sleep and wakefulness is unfavourable to reciprocal recall, and 2) that the different arrangement of mental imagery in dreams renders them, so to speak, untranslatable for waking consciousness.

Given all these reasons for forgetting, it becomes—as Strümpell himself emphasises—all the more remarkable that so much of our dreams is nevertheless retained in memory. The persistent efforts of authors to formulate rules for recalling dreams amount to an admission that, here too, something remains enigmatic and unresolved. Certain peculiarities in the recollection of dreams have rightly attracted special attention of late—for instance, the fact that a dream one believes to have forgotten in the morning may be recalled later in the day, triggered by a perception that happens to touch upon the dream’s—supposedly forgotten—content (Radestock, Tissié). However, the entire phenomenon of dream recall is subject to an objection that could well lead a critical observer to devalue it significantly. One might question whether our memory—which omits so much of the dream—also distorts the fragments it has preserved.

Strümpell also voices doubts about the accuracy of dream reproduction: “It easily happens, then, that waking consciousness involuntarily inserts various elements into the memory of the dream: one imagines having dreamt all sorts of things that the actual dream did not contain.” Jessen expresses himself particularly emphatically on this point (p. 547):
“Moreover, when examining and interpreting coherent and logical dreams, one must give serious consideration to a circumstance that—it seems—has hitherto received little attention: namely, that the truth is almost always compromised in the process, because, when we recall a dream we have had, we—without noticing or intending to—fill in and supplement the gaps in the dream imagery. Rarely, and perhaps never, was a coherent dream actually as coherent as it appears to us in memory.
Even for the most truthful person, it is scarcely possible to recount a remarkable dream one has experienced without any additions or embellishments; the human mind’s drive to perceive everything as a coherent whole is so strong that, when recalling a somewhat disjointed dream, it involuntarily supplies the missing links in the narrative.”

V. Egger’s remarks, which were certainly conceived independently, sound almost like a translation of Jessen’s words: »… l’observation des rêves a ses difficultés spéciales et le seul moyen d’éviter toute erreur en pareille matière est de confier au papier sans le moindre retard ce que l’on vient d’éprouver et de remarquer; sinon, l’oubli vient vite ou total ou partiel; l’oubli total est sans gravité; mais l’oubli partiel est perfide; car si l’on se met ensuite à raconter ce que l’on n’a pas oublié, on est éxposé à compléter par imagination les fragments incohérents et disjoints fourni par la mémoire …; on devient artiste à son insu, et le récit periodiquement répété s’impose à la créance de son auteur, qui, de bonne foi, le présente comme un fait authentique, dûment établi selon les bonnes méthodes …« {Observing dreams poses particular difficulties, and the only way to avoid error in such matters is to commit to paper, without the slightest delay, what one has just experienced and noted; otherwise, forgetting—whether total or partial—quickly sets in. Total forgetting is of no consequence, but partial forgetting is treacherous; for if one subsequently sets out to recount what has not been forgotten, one risks filling in the gaps—using one’s imagination—within the incoherent, disjointed fragments supplied by memory… One becomes an artist unwittingly, and the story, through repeated telling, comes to be believed by its own author, who then—in good faith—presents it as an authentic fact, duly established according to sound methods…}

Spitta (p. 338) holds a very similar view; he seems to assume that it is only when we attempt to reproduce the dream that we introduce order into the loosely associated dream elements—”transforming the side-by-side arrangement into a sequence or a separation, thereby adding the process of logical connection that is absent in the dream.”
Now, since we possess no means of verifying the accuracy of our memory other than objective confirmation—which is impossible in the case of a dream, an experience of our own for which memory is the sole source—what value can we still attach to our memory of the dream?

_____________Stay tuned! More coming soon!_________________

Thank you all so much, dear friends. As for my condition, I was constantly bouncing around and acting without paying attention to my age. But after the recent surgery, I realise, and must admit, with my tired bones, that I am an old man now! This is the reality of life on this earth, and I accept it.
I may write an extra post about that.

Take care, everyone.🙏🤗

There is always a Beginning to Grasp the Whole! P 9

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Dream Stimuli and Dream Sources (Traumreize und Traumquellen)

Dreams are the guiding words of the soul. Why should I henceforth not love my dreams and not make their riddling images into objects of my daily consideration?
~Carl Jung, The Red Book

Carl Jung believed that dreams are direct messages from the unconscious mind. According to Jung, these nightly visions are not random or meaningless; instead, they offer valuable insight into our deepest thoughts, feelings, and truths. By paying attention to dreams, he argued, we can better understand aspects of ourselves that are usually hidden from conscious awareness. He saw dream interpretation as an important tool for personal growth and self-discovery. Through understanding our dreams, Jung believed we could achieve greater harmony within ourselves and that dreams serve as direct messages from the unconscious mind.

“Dreams are impartial, spontaneous products of the unconscious psyche, outside the control of the will. They are pure nature; they show us the unvarnished, natural truth, and are therefore fitted, as nothing else is, to give us back an attitude that accords with our basic human nature when our consciousness has strayed too far from its foundations and run into an impasse.”
~Carl Jung, CW, Vol.10, para 317

However, since Jung is more advanced in his ideas on this issue, we return to the basic findings that Freud had begun to explore and move on to the next level of his book, Dreams’ Meaning. (Preview here!)

“The painting at the top: Andrew Ferez, a surreal Russian illustrator”

In July 1931, the sculptor Oscar Nemon created a bust of Sigmund Freud. Freud posed for Nemon in a garden in Pötzleinsdorf, Vienna, captured here by an unknown photographer.
Source: Freud Museum London

Ad 4) Sources of psychological irritation

When we discussed the relationship of dreams to waking life and the origin of dream material, we learned that it is the view of dream researchers—both the earliest and the most recent—that people dream about what occupies them during the day and what interests them while awake. This interest, carried over from waking life into sleep, constitutes not only a psychological link connecting the dream to real life but also provides a source of dreams that should not be underestimated; alongside the stimuli that become significant during sleep—namely, those acting upon the sleeper—it should suffice to explain the origin of all dream images. However, we have also heard the objection to the above claim—namely, that the dream detaches the sleeper from the interests of the day, and that we—for the most part—only dream of the things that gripped us most deeply during the day once they have lost their immediate relevance to waking life. Thus, in analysing dream life, one constantly gains the impression that it is impermissible to lay down general rules without introducing qualifications such as “often,” “as a rule,” or “mostly,” and without preparing for the validity of exceptions.

If waking interests, together with internal and external sleep stimuli, sufficed to account for the aetiology of dreams, we ought to be able to give a satisfactory explanation for the origin of every element within a dream; the riddle of dream sources would be solved, leaving only the task of distinguishing the respective contributions of psychic and somatic dream stimuli in individual dreams. In reality, however, such a complete resolution of a dream has never been achieved; anyone who has attempted it has almost invariably been left with a substantial number of dream elements whose origins could not be determined. Evidently, waking interests as a psychic source of dreams do not go as far as one might expect, given the confident assertions that people continue to pursue their daily business in their dreams.

No other sources of psychological dreams are known. Thus, all explanations of dreams found in the literature—with the possible exception of Scherner’s, to be mentioned later—leave a significant gap regarding the derivation of the imagery most characteristic of the dream. Faced with this difficulty, the majority of authors have tended to minimise as much as possible the psychological component of dream formation, which is so elusive. While they do distinguish—as a primary classification—between dreams triggered by nervous stimuli and those arising from association (the latter deriving exclusively from reproduction; Wundt, p. 365), they cannot shake the doubt as to “whether they occur without an initiating somatic stimulus” (Volkelt, p. 127). The characteristic of the pure association dream also fails: “In true association dreams, such a firm core is no longer present. Here, the loose grouping penetrates even the centre of the dream. The imaginative life, already freed from reason and intellect, is no longer held together by those more weighty bodily and mental arousals and is thus left to its own colorful pushing and shoving, its own loose, chaotic tumbling” (Volkelt, p. 118). Wundt then attempts to downplay the psychological component of dream excitation by stating that “the phantasms of dreams are probably wrongly regarded as mere hallucinations. Most dream representations are likely in reality illusions, in that they originate from the faint sensory impressions that never cease during sleep” (pp. 359 ff.). Weygandt adopted this view and generalised it. He claims that for all dream representations, “their immediate cause is sensory stimuli; only then do reproductive associations follow” (p. 17). Tissié goes even further in suppressing the psychic sources of stimuli (p. 183): “Dreams of absolute psychic origin do not exist,” and elsewhere (p. 6): “The thoughts of our dreams come from outside…”

Authors who, like the influential philosopher Wundt, occupy an intermediate position do not fail to note that in most dreams, somatic stimuli and the—unknown or recognised as matters of daytime interest—psychic instigators of the dream interact.

We shall learn later that the riddle of dream formation can be solved by uncovering an unsuspected source of psychic stimulation. For the moment, we need not be surprised by the tendency to overestimate the role of stimuli originating outside mental life in the formation of dreams. Not only are these stimuli easily identified and even verifiable through experimentation, but the somatic view of the origin of dreams also aligns entirely with the prevailing school of thought in psychiatry today. While the brain’s dominion over the organism is emphasised most strongly, anything that might demonstrate the independence of mental life from demonstrable organic changes—or spontaneity in its manifestations—alarms psychiatrists today, as if acknowledging such things would inevitably bring back the era of natural philosophy and the metaphysical soul. The psychiatrist’s mistrust has, as it were, placed the psyche under guardianship, demanding that none of its stirrings betrays a capacity of its own. Yet this attitude reveals nothing so much as a lack of confidence in the durability of the causal link extending between the physical and the mental. Even when investigation reveals the mental as the primary cause of a phenomenon, deeper inquiry will eventually trace the path all the way to the organic basis of the mental. Yet where the mental represents the limit of our current knowledge—what ought to be the final station—it need not be denied on that account.

It will continue. I might update my condition here shortly: it’s been about 10 days since my surgery, but I still don’t feel fully well. Still, I need to improve, as I have to work on Tuesday! Take care, everyone.🙏✌

There is always a Beginning to Grasp the Whole! P 8

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Dream Stimuli and Dream Sources (Traumreize und Traumquellen)

Hello, friends! Building on my previous post, I want to share a new insight from Freud’s dream analysis. He emphasizes the crucial role dreams play and their profound impact on our lives. I’ve often observed that during sleep and dreaming, my body feels more sensitive than when I am awake.
In dreams, our souls are much more attuned to our bodies’ condition and our traumas.
As Dr Jung said:
“For what is the body? The body is merely the visibility of the soul, the psyche, and the soul is the psychological experience of the body. So it is really one and the same thing.”
~Carl Jung, Zarathustra Seminar, Page 355.
And:
Soul and body are not two things. They are one.
~Carl Jung, Zarathustra Seminar, Page 355

Ad 3) Internal, organic bodily stimulus

If we look for the sources of dreams not outside the organism but within it, we must remember that almost all our internal organs—which, in a healthy state, scarcely make us aware of their existence—become sources of usually unpleasant sensations in states of irritation or illness. These sensations must be placed on the same level as the external stimuli that cause pain or other sensations. These are very old observations that led Strümpell, for example, to state (p. 107): “In sleep, the soul attains a much deeper and broader sensory awareness of its corporeality than in the waking state, and is compelled to receive and be affected by certain sensory impressions originating from parts and changes in its body of which it was unaware while awake.” Aristotle himself considered it entirely possible that one might be alerted in a dream to the onset of a disease that is not yet perceptible in the waking state (by virtue of the amplification the dream accords to impressions; see p. 13 above), and medical authors—who were certainly far from believing in any prophetic gift of dreams—have acknowledged this significance of dreams, at least with regard to the early warning signs of illness. (Cf. M. Simon, p. 31, and many earlier authors.)

There appears to be no shortage of authenticated examples of such diagnostic functions of dreams, even in recent times. For instance, Tissié—citing Artigues (Essai sur la valeur séméiologique des rêves[Treatise on the Semiotic Value of Dreams])—reports the case of a forty-three-year-old woman who, while seemingly in perfect health, was troubled by anxiety dreams for several years; a medical examination later revealed the onset of a heart condition to which she soon succumbed.

Established disorders of the internal organs evidently act as dream-precipitating factors for a considerable number of people. Attention is often drawn to the prevalence of anxiety dreams among those suffering from heart and lung diseases; indeed, many authors place such emphasis on this connection between dream life and physical ailment that I may here content myself with a mere reference to the literature (Radestock, Spitta, Maury, M. Simon, Tissié). Tissié even suggests that diseased organs leave a characteristic imprint on dream content. The dreams of cardiac patients are usually very brief and end with a sudden, startled awakening; the scenario of death under gruesome circumstances almost invariably plays a role in their content. Patients with lung disease dream of suffocation, crowding, and flight, and they are subject in striking numbers to the familiar nightmare—which, incidentally, Börner was able to induce experimentally by having subjects lie face down and covering their respiratory openings. In cases of digestive disorders, dreams contain imagery related to eating and disgust. Finally, the influence of sexual arousal on dream content is palpable in everyone’s experience and provides the strongest support for the entire theory of dream formation triggered by organic stimuli.

When one examines the literature on dreams, it is also quite unmistakable that certain authors (Maury, Weygandt) were led to study the problems of dreaming by the influence of their own pathological conditions on the content of their dreams.

Incidentally, the addition to the sources of dreams drawn from these indisputably established facts is not as significant as one might suppose. After all, dreaming is a phenomenon that occurs in healthy individuals—perhaps in everyone, and perhaps every night—and for which organic disease is evidently not an essential condition. For us, however, the question is not where specific dreams originate, but rather what the source of stimulation might be for the ordinary dreams of normal people.

Yet only one further step is needed to arrive at a source of dreams more abundant than any before it and seemingly inexhaustible. If it is established that the interior of the body, when diseased, becomes a source of dream stimuli, and if we grant that the mind during sleep—cut off from the outside world—can pay greater attention to the body’s interior, then it is natural to assume that the organs need not actually be diseased in order to transmit excitations to the sleeping mind, excitations that somehow turn into dream images. What we perceive only dimly in the waking state—as a general bodily sensation defined merely by its quality, to which, in the physicians’ view, all organ systems contribute—would, if it exerted a powerful influence at night and became active through its individual components, be the most potent and, at the same time, the most common source for the generation of dream images. The remaining task would then be to investigate the rules by which these organic stimuli are transformed into dream images.

We have here touched on the theory of dream formation that has become the preferred one among medical authors. The obscurity in which the core of our being—the moi splanchnique, as Tissié calls it—is hidden from our knowledge, and the obscurity surrounding the origin of dreams, are too closely related not to be linked. Moreover, the line of reasoning that identifies vegetative organic sensation as the source of dreams has another attraction for the physician: it allows for an etiological connection between dreams and mental disorders—phenomena that show such striking similarities—since alterations in general somatic sensation and stimuli arising in the internal organs are also considered to be of far-reaching significance in the genesis of psychoses. It is therefore not surprising that the theory of somatic stimulation can be traced to more than one originator who proposed it independently.

~Carl Jung; The Spiritual Problem of Modern Man; CW 10: 195.

For many authors, Schopenhauer’s line of reasoning, developed in 1851, became decisive. Our worldview arises within us because our intellect casts the impressions it receives from outside into the forms of time, space, and causality. Stimuli originating within the organism—specifically from the sympathetic nervous system—at most exert an unconscious influence on our mood during the day.
At night, however, once the overpowering effect of daytime impressions has faded, those impressions rising from within can command attention—much as, at night, we can hear the trickling of a spring that the noise of the day had made inaudible. Yet how else is the intellect to respond to these stimuli than by carrying out its own characteristic function? It therefore transforms the stimuli into forms filling space and time—forms that move along the thread of causality—and thus the dream is born. Scherner and, later, Volkelt sought to examine more deeply the relationship between bodily stimuli and dream images; we shall reserve our assessment of their work for the section on dream theories.

In a particularly rigorous study, the psychiatrist Krauß traced the origin of dreams—as well as deliriums and delusions—back to the same source: the organically conditioned sensation. It is scarcely possible to conceive of any part of the organism that could not serve as the starting point for a dream or a delusional image. However, the organically conditioned sensation “can be divided into two categories: 1) that of general bodily states (coenesthesias), and 2) that of specific sensations inherent to the principal systems of the vegetative organism—of which we have distinguished five groups: a) muscular sensations, b) pneumatic, c) gastric, d) sexual, and e) peripheral.” (P. 33 of the second article.)

Krauß describes the process by which dream images arise from bodily stimuli as follows: the sensation that has been aroused, in accordance with some law of association, evokes a related mental image and combines with it to form an organic entity; however, consciousness relates to this entity differently than it normally would. For it pays no attention to the sensation itself but directs its focus entirely toward the accompanying mental images, which is precisely why this phenomenon could go unrecognised for so long (pp. 11 ff.). Krauß also uses a specific term for this process: the “transubstantiation” of sensations into dream images (p. 24).

While the influence of organic bodily stimuli on dream formation is almost universally acknowledged today, the question of the law governing the relationship between the two receives widely varying—and often obscure—answers. Within the framework of the bodily stimulus theory, the specific task of dream interpretation is to trace a dream’s content back to the organic stimuli that caused it; yet, unless one accepts the rules of interpretation discovered by Scherner, one is often confronted with the awkward fact that the source of the organic stimulus reveals itself through nothing other than the content of the dream itself.

However, there is a fairly consistent interpretation of various forms of dreams—called “typical” because they recur in so many people with very similar content. These include the well-known dreams of falling from a height, losing teeth, flying, and the embarrassment of being naked or scantily clad. The latter is said to arise simply from noticing, while asleep, that one has kicked off the bedclothes and is lying exposed. The dream of losing teeth is attributed to “dental irritation”—though this does not necessarily imply a pathological state of excitation in the teeth. According to Strümpell, the dream of flying is an apt image used by the psyche to interpret the quantity of stimulation arising from the rising and falling of the lungs, at a moment when tactile sensation in the chest has faded to the point of unconsciousness. It is this latter circumstance that mediates the sensation associated with the idea of ​​floating. The sensation of falling from a height is said to arise when—after conscious awareness of tactile pressure has been lost—an arm drops against the body, or a drawn-up knee suddenly straightens; this restores the sensation of tactile pressure to consciousness, while the transition to conscious awareness is psychically embodied as a dream of falling (Strümpell, p. 118). The weakness of these plausible explanatory attempts evidently lies in the fact that, without further evidence, they allow various groups of organic sensations either to vanish from mental perception or to force themselves upon it, simply in order to create the constellation favourable to the explanation. Incidentally, I shall have occasion later to return to these typical dreams and their origins.

M. Simon has attempted to derive certain rules regarding the influence of organic stimuli on the determination of dream content by comparing a series of similar dreams. He states (p. 34): If, during sleep, an organic system that normally participates in the expression of an affect enters—due to some other cause—the state of excitation into which it is otherwise thrown by that affect, then the resulting dream will contain ideas appropriate to that affect.

Another rule states (p. 35): If an organic system is active, excited, or disturbed during sleep, the dream will produce images related to the performance of the organic function carried out by that system.

Mourly Vold undertook the task of experimentally demonstrating, within a specific area, the influence on dream formation posited by the theory of somatic stimuli. He conducted experiments in which he altered the positions of the sleeper’s limbs and compared the resulting dreams with these modifications. He presents the following propositions as his findings.

  1. The position of a limb in a dream roughly corresponds to its position in reality; that is, one dreams of a static state of the limb that matches the actual one.
  2. When one dreams of the movement of a limb, that movement always takes a form in which one of the positions assumed during its execution corresponds to the actual position.
  3. One may also attribute the position of one’s own limb in a dream to another person.
  4. One may also dream that the movement in question is impeded.
  5. In the dream, the limb in the position concerned may appear as an animal or a monster, establishing a certain analogy between the two.
  6. The position of a limb in a dream can give rise to thoughts related to that limb; for instance, if one is occupied with one’s fingers, one dreams of numbers.
    From such findings, I would conclude that even the theory of somatic stimuli cannot entirely eliminate the apparent freedom involved in determining the dream images to be evoked.

It will continue, though I don’t yet know exactly when. On Monday I’m heading off again—not far this time, just to a nearby hospital for another surgery!
My last break (holiday) was a mix of heaven and hell. For about two weeks now, I’ve been spending a huge amount of time in the bathroom, and it’s absolutely no fun at all!!
Thank you all. Be safe and well. 🙏🤗💖

Another line from an elderly man!

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I’m sharing a brief update today to avoid repeating last week’s mistake of not mentioning my absence. After three days, I took a short trip with my wife and kids. We’re also planning another two-week holiday near Athens, Greece, starting on Sunday. Although my current situation isn’t ideal, I feel like I’m in a twilight zone (pardon me; I pray to be able to empty my bladder every time I go to the toilet!). Still, I don’t want to cancel this trip, which my wife is very excited about. So, after the vacation, before the vacation!

Reflecting on my age, I don’t feel like I’ll be seventy-two soon. I don’t act like a typical person my age, and people are often surprised when they find out how old I am. I recognise that ageing brings wisdom and value: as Carl Jung said, “Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research.” This idea divides human life into two psychological phases, shifting the focus from survival to inner purpose. “Die Lebenswende” (translated as “The Turning Point of Life” or “The Stages of Life”), a pivotal 1930/1931 essay by Carl Jung.


Certainly, he focuses more on the mental aspect than the physical, as I observe daily that I cannot act or react as I once did. There’s a fleeting warning to slow down; I’m no longer as quick as I used to be.

Eventually, we all age gradually and need to accept our situation, but we should never lose sight of the child within us! Also, continue researching and asking questions; learning never ends. Take care, dear friends.

“Song For The Asking”
Here is my song for the asking
Ask me, and I will play
So sweetly, I’ll make you smile
This is my tune for the taking
Take it, don’t turn away
I’ve been waiting all my life
Thinking it over, I’ve been sad
Thinking it over, I’d be more than glad
To change my ways for the asking
Ask me, and I will play
All the love that I hold inside

PS: I’ll leave the comment open, though I might reply later. You might be aware that I’m on my way and uncertain when I’ll be able to respond. I don’t want to miss your generosity; thanks in advance. 🥰🙏💖

There is always a Beginning to Grasp the Whole! P 7

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Dream Stimuli and Dream Sources (Traumreize und Traumquellen)

While reading and translating this study from Freud’s work on dreams, I was reminded of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, “Night Terrors,” due to its similarities to REM sleep. Of course, Freud was unaware of this concept; REM sleep was officially identified in 1953 by Eugene Aserinsky and Nathaniel Kleitman at the University of Chicago. Aserinsky, then a graduate student, observed rapid eye movements during sleep in both infants and adults and linked these active sleep phases to vivid dreaming.
Anyway, in the classic Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Night Terrors” (Season 4, Episode 17), the USS Enterprise crew becomes trapped in a space anomaly called a Tyken’s Rift. This Rift prevents them from entering REM sleep, leading to widespread paranoia, intense hallucinations, and aggressive behaviour unless they find a remedy. As a result, they are unable to sleep or dream and begin to daydream.

Rapid Eye Movement (REM) sleep is a unique sleep phase marked by quick eye movements, increased brain activity, and vivid dreams. It happens several times each night, making up 20-25% of an adult’s sleep. REM sleep is essential for both mental and physical health, boosting cognitive abilities such as memory, learning, and emotional regulation by helping the brain process and organise information, consolidate memories, and discard unnecessary data. Good REM sleep enhances problem-solving, creativity, and emotional stability. It also plays a role in physical recovery, especially in brain development during infancy and childhood. Disruptions to REM sleep are associated with mood disorders, memory issues, and weakened immune function. Long-term REM deprivation may lead to irritability, concentration problems, and increased stress sensitivity. Overall, REM sleep is crucial for brain function, emotional health, and physical well-being.

So, let’s now return to Freud’s concerns about dreams, stimuli, and their sources. (previous)

Ad 2) Internal (subjective) sensory excitation (Ad 2) Innere (subjektive) Sinneserregung)

Despite all objections, one must admit that the role of objective sensory excitations during sleep as dream stimuli is indisputable. If, in terms of their nature and frequency, these stimuli appear insufficient to explain all dream images, one is prompted to look for other sources of dreams that operate analogously. I do not know where the idea first arose of invoking internal (subjective) excitations within the sense organs alongside external sensory stimuli; it is a fact, however, that this is done with varying degrees of emphasis in all recent accounts of dream aetiology. “Furthermore,” says Wundt (p. 363), “subjective visual and auditory sensations—those known to us from the waking state as the ‘light chaos’ of the dark visual field, as ringing or buzzing in the ears, etc., and among them especially subjective retinal excitations—play a significant role in dream illusions, explaining the dream’s curious tendency to conjure up before the eye a multitude of similar or identical objects. We see countless birds, butterflies, fish, colourful beads, flowers, and the like spread out before us. Here, the ‘light dust’ of the dark visual field has assumed fantastic shapes; the numerous points of light that compose it are embodied in the dream as an equal number of individual images, which, owing to the mobility of the light chaos, are perceived as moving objects. – It is likely here, too, that the dream’s strong tendency towards a wide variety of animal forms has its roots, as the richness of their shapes readily adapts to the specific forms of these subjective light images.”

As a source of dream images, subjective sensory excitations evidently have the advantage of not being dependent on external chance, as objective ones are.
They are, so to speak, at the disposal of any explanation that requires them. However, they fall short of objective sensory stimuli in that it is difficult, or even impossible, to obtain the kind of confirmation of their role as dream-instigators that observation and experiment yield for the latter. The primary evidence for the dream-inducing power of subjective sensory excitations comes from so-called hypnagogic hallucinations, which Johannes Müller described as “fantastic visual phenomena.” These are often highly vivid, shifting images that tend to appear during the period of falling asleep—quite regularly in many people—and may persist for a time even after the eyes are opened. Maury, who was deeply influenced by them, devoted a detailed study to them and asserted their connection—or rather, their identity—with dream images (a view also held, incidentally, by Johannes Müller). According to Maury, their emergence requires a certain mental passivity, a relaxation of attentional tension (pp. 59 et seq.). Yet it suffices to lapse into such a state of lethargy for even a second—given the appropriate predisposition—to experience a hypnagogic hallucination, from which one may wake up again, until this interplay of drifting off to sleep, repeated several times, finally concludes. If one wakes up after a relatively short time, as Maury notes, it is often possible to identify the very same images in the dream that had appeared as hypnagogic hallucinations before falling asleep (p. 134). That is what happened to Maury once with a series of grotesque figures—featuring distorted expressions and peculiar hairstyles—that pestered him with incredible persistence as he drifted off to sleep, and which he recalled dreaming about upon waking. On another occasion, while suffering from hunger due to a strict diet he had imposed on himself, he saw—hypnagogically—a bowl and a hand armed with a fork, taking some food from the bowl. In his dream, he found himself at a lavishly spread table and heard the sounds the diners made with their forks. Yet another time, as he fell asleep with irritated, aching eyes, he experienced a hypnagogic hallucination of microscopic characters that he had to decipher one by one with great effort; upon being woken after an hour, he recalled a dream featuring an open book printed in tiny type, which he had been obliged to read through laboriously.

Much like these images, auditory hallucinations of words, names, and similar sounds can also occur hypnagogically and then repeat themselves in the dream—acting, as it were, like an overture announcing the leitmotifs of the opera that begins with it. G. Trumbull Ladd, a more recent observer of hypnagogic hallucinations, follows the same path as Joh. Müller and Maury. Through practice, he managed to rouse himself abruptly from sleep—without opening his eyes—two to five minutes after drifting off; this allowed him to compare the retinal sensations, which were just fading, with the dream images persisting in his memory.
He asserts that a close relationship between the two was evident in every instance: the luminous points and lines of the retina’s intrinsic light provided, as it were, the outline or schematic framework for the dream figures perceived by the mind. For example, a dream in which he saw lines of clear print—which he proceeded to read and study—corresponded to an arrangement of luminous retinal points in parallel lines. To use his words: the clearly printed page he had read in his dream dissolved into an object that, to his waking perception, resembled a fragment of an actual printed sheet viewed—from too far away to discern details—through a tiny hole in a piece of paper. Ladd—without, incidentally, underestimating the central role of the phenomenon—suggests that hardly any visual dream occurs within us that does not draw upon the material of the retina’s internal states of excitation. This applies particularly to dreams occurring shortly after falling asleep in a dark room.

A sequel will continue, though I can’t say when I’ll be able to do this or any other post! Thank you all. 💖🙏

There is always a Beginning to Grasp the Whole! P 6

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I remember watching an intriguing film, A Dangerous Method, years ago, directed by David Cronenberg. It’s based on Christopher Hampton’s play and is “drawn from true-life events.” The film offers a fictionalised account of the complex six-year relationship between Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung, including a period when they shared a patient, Sabina Spielrein. I find the dynamic between Freud and Jung fascinating, and their connection with the remarkable Sabina Spielrein adds even more intrigue.

Before I proceed with my translation of Freud’s dream analysis (The last part, here!), I want to begin with a brief essay by Susan E. Schwartz, a Jungian Analyst, on the intriguing relationship between Jung and Freud. My thanks go to Laura London for sharing it on @JungianLaura on X. It is definitely included in an episode of Speaking of Jung: Interviews with Jungian Analysts.

“From Jung’s point of view, Freud initially fulfilled the role of a respected father figure. Jung hoped to have the autonomy and freedom to pursue his scientific enquiry, based on Freud’s ideas but revised in light of his own research. This research led to his interpretations, revisions, and additions, including his views on the nature and function of libido, and to the broadening of ideas about the complex and the collective unconscious. Jung’s ideas meant departing from the Freudian focus on the Oedipus complex by incorporating universal archetypal themes and by elaborating and reinterpreting the concept of the Self.

Jung and Freud ended their powerful, earth-shaking connection, leaving a compelling residue of feelings, concepts, and differences that influenced subsequent followers. Their mutual, unconscious and unmet expectations left the profession in opposition. Over the years, they have remained polarised like those dysfunctional fathers and sons who cannot communicate, include each other or share ideas.”
(Though I tend more towards Tesla and Edson as examples, mine!)

~Susan E. Schwartz, PhD, Absent Fathers, Yearning Sons: A Jungian Analysis of the Father-Son Dynamic, p. 61

Photo by Liam Daniel. From the film, A Dangerous Method (since we don’t have many photos of Jung and Freud together).

Let’s explore Freud’s attempt to interpret dreams. Although it might seem somewhat primitive, there’s much to learn from these basic perspectives. As Dr Jung states,

“one of the most important sources of the primitive belief in spirits is dreams. People often appear as actors in dreams, and primitive individuals easily believe these figures to be spirits or ghosts. For them, dreams hold a much greater significance than they do for civilised people.” ~Carl Jung, CW 8, Para 574

Dream Stimuli and Dream Sources (Traumreize und Traumquellen)

What is meant by “dream stimuli” and “dream sources” can be illustrated by referring to the popular saying, “Dreams come from the stomach.” Underlying these concepts is a theory that views the dream as the result of a disturbance to sleep. One would not have dreamed had something disturbing not stirred during sleep, and the dream is the reaction to that disturbance.

Discussions of the precipitating causes of dreams occupy the greatest space in authors’ accounts. It goes without saying that this problem could only arise once the dream had become a subject of biological research. The ancients, who regarded the dream as a divine message, had no need to seek a source of stimulation for it; the dream originated in the will of a divine or demonic power, and its content derived from that power’s knowledge or intention. For science, the question immediately arose as to whether the stimulus for dreaming was always the same or could be manifold, and with this came the consideration of whether the causal explanation of the dream fell within the province of psychology or, rather, of physiology. Most authors seem to assume that the causes of sleep disturbance—that is, the sources of dreaming—can take many forms, and that somatic stimuli, no less than mental excitations, can serve as dream instigators. Opinions, however, diverge widely on which of these dream sources should be prioritised and how they should be ranked by their significance in the dream’s formation.

When the enumeration of the sources of dreams is complete, four types emerge—which have also been used to classify dreams:
1) External (objective) sensory excitation.
2) Internal (subjective) sensory excitation.
3) Internal (organic) bodily stimulus.
4) Sources of stimulation that are purely psychic.

Sigmund Freud in his study.

Ad 1) The external sensory stimuli (Die äußeren Sinnesreize)

The younger Strümpell—son of the philosopher whose work on dreams has already served us several times as a guide to the problems of dreaming—famously reported the case of a patient suffering from general anaesthesia of the body surface and paralysis of several higher sense organs. Whenever the few remaining sensory gateways to the outside world were closed off for this man, he would fall asleep. When we wish to go to sleep, we all tend to seek a situation resembling the one in Strümpell’s experiment: we close the most important sensory gateways—our eyes—and try to shield the other senses from any stimulus or any change in the stimuli acting upon them. We then fall asleep, even though we never fully succeed in this endeavour; we can neither completely keep stimuli away from our sense organs nor entirely eliminate the excitability of those organs. The fact that we can be awakened at any time by stronger stimuli serves as proof that “the mind remains in continuous connection with the external world even during sleep.” The sensory stimuli that reach us during sleep can very well become sources of dreams.

There is a wide range of such stimuli—from the inevitable ones inherent in the state of sleep (or those that sleep merely allows to occur occasionally) to the chance stimulus capable of, or destined to, put an end to sleep. Intense light may penetrate the eyes, a noise may become audible, or an odoriferous substance may irritate the nasal mucosa. During sleep, we may expose parts of the body through involuntary movements—thereby subjecting them to a sensation of cold—or generate sensations of pressure and touch by shifting our position.

A fly might sting us, or a minor nocturnal mishap might assail several senses at once. Observers have collected a series of dreams in which the stimulus was identified upon waking, and a portion of the dream content corresponded closely enough to the stimulus for it to be recognised as the source of the dream.

I cite here a collection of such dreams—stemming from objective, more or less accidental, sensory stimulation—following Jessen (p. 527): Any indistinctly perceived noise evokes corresponding dream images; the rolling of thunder transports us into the midst of a battle; the crowing of a rooster can transform into a person’s scream of terror; and the creaking of a door can trigger dreams of burglaries. If we lose our bedcovers during the night, we might dream that we are walking about naked or have fallen into water. If we lie askew in bed with our feet protruding over the edge, we might dream that we are standing at the brink of a terrifying abyss or plunging from a steep height. If our head happens to slip beneath the pillow, a massive rock looms over us, on the verge of burying us under its weight. An accumulation of semen produces voluptuous dreams; localised pain gives rise to the notion of suffering abuse, hostile attacks, or physical injury…

“Meier (*Attempt at an Explanation of Sleepwalking*, Halle 1758, p. 33) once dreamt that he was set upon by several individuals who laid him flat on his back on the ground and drove a stake into the earth between his big toe and the next. As he imagined it in his dream, he awoke to find a straw wedged between his toes. According to Hennings (*On Dreams and Sleepwalkers*, Weimar 1784, p. 258), on another occasion—when he had pinned his shirt somewhat tightly around his neck—he dreamt that he was being hanged. Hoffbauer dreamt in his youth of falling from a high wall, and upon waking, noticed that the bed frame had come apart and that he had indeed fallen… Gregory reports that he once placed a hot-water bottle at his feet before going to bed and subsequently dreamt of a journey to the summit of Mount Etna, where he found the ground’s heat almost unbearable. Another person, after having a blister plaster applied to his head, dreamt that he was being scalped by a band of Native Americans; a third, sleeping in a damp shirt, believed he was being dragged through a river. A gout attack occurring during sleep led a patient to believe he was in the hands of the Inquisition and enduring the agonies of torture (Macnish).”

The argument based on the resemblance between a stimulus and the content of a dream can be further substantiated if one can induce dreams corresponding to a specific stimulus by deliberately applying sensory stimuli to a sleeping person. According to Macnish, Giron de Buzareingues had already conducted such experiments. “He left his knees uncovered and dreamed that he was travelling on a mail coach at night; he noted that travellers would be well aware of how cold one’s knees get in a carriage at night. On another occasion, he left the back of his head uncovered and dreamed that he was attending an open-air religious ceremony—for it was the custom in the country where he lived to keep one’s head covered at all times, except on occasions such as the one just mentioned.”

Maury shares new observations on dreams induced in himself. (A series of other attempts met with no success.)

1) His lips and the tip of his nose are tickled with a feather. – He dreams of a terrible torture; a pitch mask is placed on his face and then torn off, taking the skin with it.

2) Scissors are sharpened against a pair of tweezers. – He hears bells ringing, then the alarm bell, and is transported back to the June Days of 1848.

3) He is made to smell Eau de Cologne. – He is in Cairo, in the shop of Johann Maria Farina. This is followed by wild adventures that he cannot recall in detail.

4) He is lightly pinched on the back of the neck. – He dreams that a blister plaster is being applied to him and thinks of a doctor who treated him as a child.

5) A hot iron is brought close to his face. He dreams of the “Chauffeurs” (bands of robbers in the Vendée who employed this form of torture) who have sneaked into the house and are forcing the residents to hand over their money by thrusting their feet into a brazier. Then the Duchess of Abrantés appears; in the dream, he is her secretary.

8) A drop of water is poured onto his forehead. – He is in Italy, sweating profusely and drinking white Orvieto wine.

9) Candlelight is repeatedly shone on him through red paper. – He dreams of the weather and heat, and finds himself once again in a storm at sea—one he had actually experienced on the English Channel.

D’Hervey, Weygandt, and others made further attempts to experimentally induce dreams.

The “remarkable ability of the dream to weave sudden impressions from the sensory world into its fabric in such a way that they form a catastrophe—one for which the ground had already been gradually prepared—within that dream” has been noted by several observers (Hildebrandt). “In my younger years,” this author recounts, “I would sometimes use the familiar alarm clock—usually attached to a timepiece—to ensure I rose at a specific hour each morning. It happened to me fully a hundred times that the sound of this instrument fitted into a seemingly very long and coherent dream in such a way that the entire dream appeared to have been constructed solely for that moment, finding in it its true, logically indispensable climax—its natural, predestined conclusion.”

I will quote three of these waking dreams again for a different purpose.

Volkelt (p. 68) recounts: “A composer once dreamed that he was holding class and was about to explain something to his students. He had already finished and turned to one of the boys with the question: ‘Did you understand me?’ The boy shouted like a madman: ‘Oh yes.’ Annoyed by this, he told him to stop shouting. But then the whole class shouted: ‘Orja!’ To which they replied:

‘Eurjo!’” And finally: ‘Fire whoop!’ And now he awakens to real fire whoop shouts in the street.”

Garnier (Traité des facultés de l’âme, 1865), in Radestock, reports that Napoleon I was awakened by the explosion of the infernal machine from a dream he had while sleeping in his carriage, which allowed him to relive the crossing of the Tagliamento and the Austrian cannonade, until he awoke with the startled cry: “We are undermined!”

A dream experienced by Maury has become famous (*Le sommeil*, p. 161). He was ill and lying in bed in his room; his mother was sitting beside him. He dreamt of the Reign of Terror during the Revolution, witnessed gruesome scenes of murder, and was finally summoned before the tribunal himself. There he saw Robespierre, Marat, Fouquier-Tinville, and all the tragic heroes of that ghastly era—he answered for his actions, was sentenced after various incidents that left no imprint on his memory, and was then led to the place of execution, accompanied by a vast multitude. He climbed the scaffold; the executioner strapped him to the plank; it tipped over; the guillotine blade fell; he felt his head being severed from his body, woke up in sheer terror—and discovered that the bed’s headboard had fallen down and struck his cervical vertebrae, in a manner strikingly similar to the guillotine blade.

Linked to this dream is an interesting discussion—initiated by Le Lorrain and Egger in the *Revue philosophique*—about whether and how the dreamer can compress such an apparently vast wealth of dream content into the brief interval between the perception of the waking stimulus and the act of waking up.

Examples of this kind make objective sensory stimuli during sleep appear to be the most reliably established of all dream sources. Indeed, this is the only source that plays a role in the layperson’s understanding. If one asks an educated person—otherwise unfamiliar with the literature on dreams—how dreams originate, they will undoubtedly answer by citing a case known to them in which a dream was explained by an objective sensory stimulus recognised after waking. Scientific inquiry, however, cannot stop there; it finds grounds for further questions in the observation that the stimulus acting upon the senses during sleep does not appear in the dream in its actual form. Still, it is represented instead by another idea that bears some relationship to it. Yet the relationship connecting the dream stimulus and the resulting dream is, in Maury’s words, *une affinité quelconque, mais qui n’est pas unique et exclusive* [a certain affinity, though not a unique and exclusive one] (Analogies, p. 72). Consider, for instance, three of Hildebrandt’s “alarm-clock dreams”; one is then compelled to ask why the same stimulus produced such diverse dream outcomes, and why it gave rise to precisely these particular ones:

(p. 37) “So, I am out for a walk on a spring morning, strolling through the greening fields towards a neighbouring village; there, I see the inhabitants—dressed in their Sunday best, with hymnbooks tucked under their arms—making their way in large numbers to the church. Of course! It is Sunday, and the early service is about to begin. I decide to attend, but first—feeling somewhat overheated—I pause to cool off in the cemetery surrounding the church. While reading various epitaphs there, I hear the bell-ringer ascending the tower and spot the small village bell high up—the one that will signal the start of the service. It hangs motionless for quite a while, then begins to swing—and suddenly its strokes ring out, bright and piercing—so bright and piercing, in fact, that they put an end to my sleep. For the sound of the bell is actually coming from my alarm clock.”

“A second scenario. It is a bright winter day; the streets are piled high with snow. I have agreed to go on a sleigh ride, but must wait a long time for the announcement that the sleigh is waiting outside. Now come the preparations for boarding—the fur coat is put on, the footmuff brought out—and finally I am seated in my place.

Yet departure is delayed a moment longer, until the reins give the waiting horses the signal they can feel. Then they pull away; the vigorously shaken bells strike up their familiar Janissary music with such intensity that it instantly tears apart the gossamer web of the dream. Once again, it is nothing more than the shrill sound of the alarm clock.”

“One more example! I see a kitchen maid walking down the corridor toward the dining room, carrying several dozen stacked plates. The column of porcelain in her arms looks to me as if it is about to lose its balance. ‘Watch out,’ I warn, ‘the whole load is going to crash to the floor.’ Naturally, the inevitable objection follows—that she is used to this sort of thing, and so on—all the while I continue to watch the woman with anxious eyes. Sure enough, she stumbles at the threshold—the fragile crockery falls, clattering and crashing into a hundred shards across the floor. But—as I soon realise—the sound that continues endlessly is not actually a clatter, but a distinct ringing; and the person now waking up recognises that this ringing is simply the alarm clock doing its job.”

The question of why the mind misinterprets the nature of an objective sensory stimulus during a dream has been answered by Strümpell—and, to much the same effect, by Wundt—by stating that, when faced with such stimuli while asleep, the mind operates under conditions that give rise to illusions. We recognise and correctly interpret a sensory impression—that is, we assign it to the category of memories where, based on all prior experience, it belongs—provided the impression is sufficiently strong, distinct, and enduring, and we have the time necessary for this mental process. If these conditions are not met, we misinterpret the object that gives rise to the impression; we form an illusion based upon it.

“If someone is walking in an open field and perceives a distant object indistinctly, they might initially mistake it for a horse.” Upon closer inspection, the interpretation of a resting cow might suggest itself, and finally, the image might resolve with certainty into that of a group of seated people. The impressions the mind receives from external stimuli during sleep are similarly indeterminate in nature;

It forms illusions based on them, as the impression awakens a greater or lesser number of memory images, through which the impression acquires its psychological significance. Which of the many relevant spheres of memory yields the associated images, and which of the possible associative connections come into play,

remains—even according to Strümpell—impossible to determine and is left, as it were, to the caprice of the mind’s own workings.

We are faced with a choice here. We can admit that the underlying principles of dream formation cannot really be pursued any further, and thus forgo asking whether the interpretation of the illusion triggered by a sensory impression is subject to other conditions as well. Or we might be led to suspect that the objective sensory stimulus acting upon the sleeper plays only a modest role in the dream, and that other factors determine which memory images are evoked. Indeed, when one examines the experimentally induced dreams of Maury—which I have recounted in such detail for this very purpose—one is tempted to say that the experiment actually accounts for the origin of only one of the dream elements; the rest of the dream content appears far too autonomous and too specifically detailed to be explained by the single requirement that it must be compatible with the experimentally introduced element. One even begins to doubt the illusion theory and the power of the objective impression to shape the dream when one learns that this impression sometimes undergoes the most peculiar and far-fetched interpretation within the dream. For instance, M. Simon recounts a dream in which he saw gigantic figures at tables and distinctly heard the terrifying clatter produced by their jaws striking together as they chewed. Upon waking, he heard the sound of a horse galloping past his window. If the noise of the horse’s hooves did indeed evoke ideas from the realm of memories associated with *Gulliver’s Travels*—specifically the stay among the giants of Brobdingnag and the virtuous horse-creatures (an interpretation I would venture to offer without any explicit support from the author)—must not the selection of this particular set of memories—so unusual in relation to the stimulus—have been facilitated by other motives as well?

P.S. Thank you for reading, even though this post is a bit longer than usual! I’ll see if I can post again next week—heaven knows. Thanks again, and all the best to you. 🤗🙏💖

Just Taking a Breath!

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Since I will be away from tomorrow until Saturday, visiting a friend and attending a concert together, I’ll just say hello and goodbye with my best wishes.

It will be a welcome change of pace in these turbulent times, though my friend is also Iranian, so there will definitely be some deep discussions.

Dr Jung’s philosophy (thoughts) suggests that a “break” often serves as an invitation to explore the unconscious, encouraging a shift from merely doing to a state of being.

“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being”.

Dr Jung’s insight about the nature of existence is thoughtfully highlighted at the conclusion of his Life and Death chapter in Memories, Dreams, and Reflections:

Our age has shifted all emphasis to the here and now, and thus brought about a daemonization of man and his world.
The phenomenon of dictators and all the misery they have wrought springs from the fact that man has been robbed of transcendence by the shortsightedness of the super-intellectuals.
Like them, he has fallen victim to unconsciousness.
But man’s task is the exact opposite: to become conscious of the contents that press upward from the unconscious.
Neither should he persist in his unconsciousness, nor remain identical with the unconscious elements of his being, thus evading his destiny, which is to create more and more consciousness.
As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
It may even be assumed that just as the unconscious affects us, so the increase in our consciousness affects the unconscious.
~Carl Jung, MDR, Page 326.(Via carljungdepthpsychologysite.blog, with thanks)

The band we’re meeting is called UFO, and they’re roughly my age, although the videos below are from their earlier years.

Do it well, do it better. 🤗💖🙏

My (Carl Jung’s) Most Difficult Experiment [p. 4]

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I had a dream a few weeks ago, and surprisingly, I still remember it clearly. Usually, I forget my dreams the moment I wake up, but this one is vividly etched in my mind. In the dream, a bird flew elegantly through my room. She looked like a hummingbird, but much larger. She stared at me as she was facing the window. I suspected that I knew her well.

That is what I kept in my mind and can recall. I used to be better at it earlier; I think I am lacking patience now!

She gazed at me for a while before flying away; I don’t know where, but somehow she disappeared right before my eyes.

It reminded me of a dream Dr Jung once described. However, his bird was transformed into a child and could speak; mine did not, but I believed she was wise and knew many things.

Carl Jung’s dream of a white bird transforming into a girl, often a dove or gull, was a key vision from his Black Book. It signalled his break with Freud, marked his dive into deep psychological work, and symbolised the soul’s link to the spirit world, spiritual change, and the union of opposites within the Self. Featured in The Red Book, the dream showed birds as messengers of the soul, bridging conscious and unconscious, representing freedom, wisdom, and the’ higher self”.

I would now like to reiterate his dream, which I presented in the first part, because it is remarkable.

I dreamt at that time (it was shortly after Christmas 1912) that I was sitting with my children in a marvellous and richly furnished castle apartment – an open columned hall – we were seated at a round table, whose top was a marvellous dark green stone. Suddenly, a gull or a dove flew in and sprang lightly onto the table. I admonished the children to be quiet so they would not scare away the beautiful white bird. Suddenly, this bird turned into an eight-year-old blond child and ran around, playing with my children in the marvellous columned colonnades. Then, the child suddenly turned into the gull or dove. She said the following to me: “Only in the first hour of the night can I become human while the male dove is busy with the twelve dead.” With these words, the bird flew away, and I awoke. (Black Book 2, pp. 17-18)

Key Elements of Jung’s Bird Dream:
The White Bird: Symbolises the soul, spirit, or divine feminine (Anima), depicted as a dove or gull.
Transformation: The bird turning into an eight-year-old blond girl playing with his children represents the soul’s embodiment and interaction with earthly life.
The Message: “Only in the first hours of the night can I transform myself into a human being, while the male Dove is busy with the twelve dead” highlights the unconscious’s link to the spiritual realm and the soul’s hidden work.
Context: This dream from around 1912 helped Jung realise the collective unconscious archetypes and influenced his relationship with Toni Wolff.
Broader Jungian Bird Symbols:
Archetypal Connection: Birds link earthly and spiritual realms, symbolising transcendence, consciousness, and freedom.
The Self: Birds often symbolise the Self, representing wholeness and inner guidance.
Individuation: Birds symbolise Jung’s concept of individuation—integrating archetypes to achieve wholeness.
Language of Birds: In dreams, birds speak a symbolic language that reveals hidden meanings and psychic realities.

Jung’s bird dream was a profound encounter with his own unconscious, initiating his personal myth-making and laying the groundwork for his analytical psychology.

I know that one day, if I am still alive, I will continue this never-ending story, though there is another “never-ending story” in which I am fully involved! Enjoy your peaceful lives. ✌💕🥰

Searching for the Eternal Girl/Boy P. 1 Puella Aeterna/Puer Aeternus and Corne/Senex

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Does fantasy lead to escape, or to the embracing of a new perspective? In other words, does it support psychic growth or impede it? That distinction is often complicated by paradox, but it helps to ask ourselves, “Is concentrating on this fantasy or daydream opening my creative possibilities, or is this sapping my ego strength in the real world?” ~Marion Woodman

This excerpt begins Marion Woodman‘s foreword from Ann Yeoman’s book, Now or Neverland, which I read some time ago, thanks to Deborah Gregory‘s recommendation, and I am very grateful for it.

Frankly, when I began reading this book, I felt at home; I saw myself as a puer aeternus, struggling to stay balanced on life’s rollercoaster.

Traditionally, the term ‘puer aeternus’ (Latin for ‘eternal boy’) is used to describe a child-god who remains eternally young. In Carl Jung’s psychology, it refers to an older person whose emotional life remains stuck in adolescence, often referred to as the “Peter Pan syndrome”. Jung suggests that the puer lives a “provisional life” due to a fear of being trapped. They seek independence, resist boundaries, and find restrictions intolerable. In Greek mythology, the term ‘puer aeternus’ originates from the Metamorphoses, an epic poem by Roman poet Ovid (43 BC – c. 17 AD) that explores Greek and Roman myths. Ovid refers to the child-god Iacchus as “puer aeternus” and praises his role in the Eleusinian mysteries. Iacchus is linked to Dionysus and Eros. The puer represents a deity of vegetation, resurrection, and divine youth, similar to Tammuz, Attis, and Adonis.

Senex is a Latin term that literally means “old man.” It can also be used to describe: a wise, elderly person, an archetype. The wise older person (also known as senex, sage, or sophos) is an archetype outlined by Carl Jung, as well as a familiar literary figure, often portrayed as a stock character. Such a figure can be a profound philosopher renowned for wisdom and sound judgment.

Marie-Louise Von Franz summarised her view of the puer as follows:
None of his reactions are particularly personal or special. He becomes a type—the type of the puer aeternus. He becomes an archetype, and if you become that, you are not at all original… He is merely the archetype of the eternal-youth god, and, therefore, he has all the features of the god: he has a nostalgic longing for death, he thinks of himself as being something special, and he is the one sensitive being among all the other tough sheep. He will have a problem with an aggressive, destructive shadow that he will not want to live with and generally projects. There is nothing special whatsoever. The worse the identification with the youthful god, the less individual the person, although he himself feels so special. (Puer Aeternus, pp. 121f)
Another type of puer that does not display the charm of eternal youth, nor does the archetype of the divine youth shine through him. On the contrary, he lives in a continual sleepy daze, and that, too, is a typical adolescent characteristic… The sleepy daze is only an outer aspect, however, and if you can penetrate it, you will find that a lively fantasy life is being cherished within. (Puer Aeternus, p.2)

Reflecting on my childhood, after my father passed away and my mother kept it a secret from my brother Al and me, I became very introverted. Once I learned the truth, I simply didn’t want to grow up. Al and I drew closer because of our mother’s lie, and over time, during our youth, we swapped roles as eternal children. Initially, I wanted to remain a child forever, while Al, aware of our father’s death almost from the moment it happened, tried to act as a mature older brother to look after me.

As we entered puberty, our roles underwent significant changes. I developed a strong sexual desire much earlier and believed I had to act like a man to attract girls, while Al began creating his own solitary world. For many years, this condition persisted. Although I was accepted into Al’s world and was part of it, I was the one who had to maintain contact with the outside world. As a result, I assumed the role of the senex, but I longed for my puer aeternus and tried to keep it concealed yet protected.

Let’s conclude this now, and I look forward to discussing this topic further in the next part. 🖖🙏

A Short Clarification and an Update!

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First, I want to thank all my friends for their sympathy and compassion shown in my post before my surgery.

However, as I read it myself, I wasn’t sure my suffering might be misunderstood, leading everyone to think I was yowling due to physical pain. I need to mention that I wrote about my soul’s suffering! To put it bluntly, I was concerned about my kidneys, which were the primary focus for the doctors, and whether they would function or if I would need dialysis. Having transported many such patients to their therapy in my job, I know it is not a life worth living. Therefore, I would refuse any treatment like this and allow my own body to poison me to death. But I am not alone, and I can’t imagine how my family—wife, son, or grandchildren—could ever endure this tragedy.

Anyway, I’m past the surgery now and free from those horrible catheters. However, there is some uncertainty in my blood, which causes my blood levels to fluctuate. It seems I’m over the hill, though, and if these blood levels also stabilise, I’ll be over the rainbow!!

Finally, I will only let you preview one scene while I experienced it myself; surprisingly, this happened the day after I returned home.
When I came home the first day, I was utterly exhausted. I had something to eat and then slept. On the second day, my wife had to go to work, so I was alone, lying on the couch for a while. I noticed a lovely sunny evening on the terrace, and I decided to step outside and enjoy sitting on the bench in front of the garden.

As I listened to the silence of nature, I closed my eyes. Suddenly, something rushed into my mind—some memory, some dream—in which I had once wished to be free of those catheters, sitting on the bench at home. There, I began to cry! It surprised me because I have always found it challenging to cry, but this time, my tears flowed like a waterfall! At that moment, I understood how heavy my suffering was.

I am now trying to regain my energy, as I lost it entirely this year. I wish you all health and prosperity. 🙏