PSYCHOANALYSIS; PSYCHOANALYSIS SYMBOLS

There are writers who "create" their readers, tease them, provoke them, shape them. And they do it by offering them one series of puzzles that they will be asked to solve throughout the book. Why am I saying this?

Because I have just finished re-reading Carl Gustav Jung's The Philosophical Tree, a work that has returned me intact the emotions of the first reading (but, combined with them, I also found a new awareness, perhaps due to experiences and time elapsed since that first time).

For those who live "in suspension" like me, in the eternal search for the "mystery" of life (without religious implications or pseudo-spiritualistic, but only logical-philosophical) this is really a fundamental work. To be associated perhaps the best of Prigogine (I am thinking for example of Between Time and Eternity) or Monod (such as
need).

I would say that there is everything here: the value of science as a "hypothesis", as a starting "metaphor" on the path, sometimes difficult, of knowledge; the sense of psychological "language", which is not - and will never be - divorced from the philosophical one (from on the contrary, in some ways it depends); the "matrix" of living in the "ramification" of existing, with all the corollaries related to meaning of life, the morality to be given to it, the "right means" to achieve the goals we have set for ourselves, and
I could go on.

In short, an essential work, not to be forgotten.

And I say this to myself, of course.

PSYCHOANALYSIS SYMBOLS

He was in his room intent on studying, with the half-open door leading into the dining room, where the
mother, now a widow, was knitting by the window: and suddenly there was a loud sound

 it exploded, like a gunshot, and into the large round walnut table, which stood next to the mother, a slit opened, from the edge to beyond the center. This despite the fact that the table was very solid, made of wood of solid walnut, perfectly seasoned for at least seventy years. Two weeks later, the young student, returning home one evening, he found his mother, 14-year-old sister and maid in the throes of a great agitation: about an hour earlier there had been another deafening bang, this time from one heavy nineteenth-century sideboard. The women had examined it immediately, but found no sign of it
particular. But nearby, in the drawer where the bread basket was stored, Jung found the knife used to cut the bread with a shattered steel blade: in one corner of the basket was the handle, and in each of the others a small of the blade. Throughout his life, Jung kept fragments of that concrete event.

In Jung, Selected writings, edited by Joseph Campbell, Red Edizioni, pag XII

PSYCHIC DEPENDENCE

The only effective choice to get out of every possible form of addiction (from the world, from others, from the routine of life) is to resemble oneself only.

I don't think there are other viable ways. At least I have not found that this.

PSYCHE DAMION

"If we take the word Daimon in its Greek sense, as it is used for example by Socrates, the Daimon are
genes, which reside in us and at the same time outside of us. The Daimon guides and teaches us. It is owned by a Daimon, as in those rites in the course of which a God incarnates himself in a person and speaks through his mouth. In the world contemporary we can be possessed by ideas and their vital force: a vital force that is in us and makes
beat our heart and lift our lungs. We are possessed by this life force, which some call as genes, and that is none other than the biological organization, developed and passed on from generation to generation. We are at the same time possessed by the culture that comes to us from society, which has taught us a language of norms, rules. But at the same time we can dialogue with what possesses us and acquire a certainty autonomy, a certain freedom. "

 

in http://francescomorace.nova100.ilsole24ore.com/2008/01/citazione-fm.html

HERE AND NOW

I take a chair.

 

I place myself in the center of the room.

 

I don't miss anything.

 

It is a precious moment.

 

I don't miss anything:

 

the wind, the light, the sun spin like memories

 

on the sky of the room.

 

I would not want another life,

 

I'm not interested in being in anyone else's place.

 

I was fine in this world,

 

I could have been born with the head of Berlusconi or La Russa.

 

I was fine in this world,

 

I felt immediately

 

that the train whistle can take you far,

 

that scarecrows teach silence,

 

that lack is a resource

 

and the Pleiades nocturnal fireflies which have a shape but not a boundary.

 

I was fine in this world,

 

at 5 I met the first man

 

who taught me to look for Poetry.

 

In a black notebook, in calloused hands,

 

in the slow, enigmatic journey

 

and complex of a turtle.

 

I'm in the center of a room,

 

things welcome the night.

 

And I am happy.