“I had to learn to think, feel and see in a totally new fashion, in an uneducated way, in my own way, which is the hardest thing in the world. I had to throw myself into the current, knowing that I would probably sink. The great majority of artists are throwing themselves in with life-preservers around their necks, and more often than not it is the life-preserver which sinks them.”
― Henry Miller
A. The Brain Frog
I have been recovering from Covid. And that is why the May Delivery is late.
Wait. Wait. Wait. What am I doing putting myself into this story? Is this an Author’s note or is IN the story. This serialised story, Like the Wind, is about Celia, and what’s-his-name–that Tantric Crazy Mystic lover of hers. And William, who keeps disappearing from the story but needs to come back, and Gavin and Gloria who are the writers of the story.
Or is Gavin the writer and Gloria is his publisher? Or am I the writer? OMG, I forget. And who is ChatAI? We are stepping too many dimensions back. Where does the story start, and where does the real world end? We are totally confused. All of us. Even you.
We are all in this mess, I mean story, together, Dear Reader. All is oneness, as they say. They being Advaitic Vedanta. Not the Dvaitic variant of Vedanta. Good to get that right. Where was I? No line between writer, characters and reader. It’s a fact. Trust me, I’m a writer. My neurones got eaten by Covid but that is an advantage, not a limitation. Neurones only protect us from the depths of our psyche. And psyche is a portal into the ultimate reality.
ChatGPT: According to Advaita Vedanta, the individual self is essentially identical to the ultimate reality, and the apparent multiplicity and diversity in the world are considered illusory. Dvaita Vedanta asserts the existence of a fundamental duality between the individual self and the ultimate reality.
OK Chatty, thx. Thanks for the backgrounding. It’s a long way back though. The reader is saying, come on get a move on. And yes! Really we have to get our collective act together and forge on to the end of Celia’s story by the end of 2023. Wait. Let’s make that 2024.
Or shall we forget Celia, kill her off because the plot is going somewhere else now, and does not need her. See I learn a thing in Writers’ forums. They really are evil, those authors, they just kill characters off when the character gets in the way of the movement. Instead of treating the difficult characters as an opportunity to self-reflect via those characters and come into the story, and become better people, and form a world where Everybody is Entitled to thrive, and people are not just killed off, like,… this is not Old Testament Times, surely we can learn to get along with ourselves, all the various aspects of ourselves, even that Head Guy, Yahweh, was promoting killing some of the characters off, even got a father to believe he needed to kill off their own son, as I recall, shocking stuff, and Authors follow that lead, blindly, killing off their Characters to placate the Muse and thus convince her to allow the story to proceed!
Kill Celia off? Should all us characters vote? I don’t think so, buddy. Celia is an aspect of me and I need ALL my aspects!!!
But sure, we need some progressions now, perhaps even some sanity here, some clarity about who is in the story, who is not, and especially about who is writing it!!! And yes!! What is Gavin up to? Yes. Here we go, lets get rational. Plato says we find truth via reason, not divergent mind trips, …
ChatGPT: According to Plato, it is through the use of reason and philosophical dialogue that one can uncover the eternal and unchanging truths that underlie the world of appearances.
… yes, let’s move on from all this a-rational approach to the story and, let’s try to go in the right direction. Logical flow, bring it on.
Take 2:
Gavin has been recovering from Covid and that is why his May Delivery is late. He…
John: Is that right? Gavin is recovering? I thought it was me… Wait… Come on, why am I back in this! I just decided to get out!! Get me out of here Gavin. The author DOES NOT belong inside their characters’ story. It’s a rule. King Solomon’s rule. Too many backstories. Enough of John!!! Next we will find my paternal great grandfather in the story. Or even helping to write it! He seems to have written quite a bit, mostly to the newspapers around Burnie, Tasmania. I discovered him during my Genealogy fixation of 2022. His name was John also. But he has nothing to do with this story. NOTHING!
Plato: You are very enthusiastic in this story telling, but we really need to come back to a much more logical progression if we are to engage in the pursuit of wisdom. For, while enthusiasm may be necessary for great accomplishments elsewhere, in philosophy it is a hindrance.
Ken: You call this story philosophy? It is much too restrained for that, we need more Crazy Wisdom, not less.
Celia: I love it when you talk like that Ken, your nangwa turns me on. Take me now.
ChatGPT: “Nangwa” is a term used in Tibetan Buddhism that can be translated as “inner strength” or “inner power.” It refers to an individual’s inner resources, resilience, and ability to overcome obstacles or challenges. Nangwa encompasses qualities such as inner confidence, determination, courage, and self-mastery. It signifies the development and cultivation of one’s personal power from within, enabling individuals to navigate life’s difficulties and live with strength and integrity.
John also: Good morning boy. You are doing well.
John: Huh? You were buried long ago! My grandfather came to your funeral. And you have NOTHING to do with this story.
Gloria: Who are you talking to Gavin?
Gavin: Some old man, even older then me, came in here through the French doors. He seems to know our Author.
Gloria: Our Author? You are back on that delusionary track? You been smoking that special mix again?
Author’s note: Gavin’s been recovering from Covid and he is worried about his mind. Gloria has noticed signs of early dementia. Or long-Covid brain fog. Or regression to his psychedelic days. But he does not need killing off, and neither do I.
Gavin: He is holding a rifle. Not pointing at us. Like he is coming in from shooting rabbits.
ChatGPT: A man carrying a rifle can symbolize power, strength, and the ability to protect oneself or others. It may represent the idea of defense, security, and the readiness to confront threats or challenges.
Jung: Tell us more about the man carrying the rifle in your dream, Gavin.
Leary: Turn on, tune in, drop out.
ChatGPT: Timothy Leary, a prominent figure in the counterculture movement of the 1960s, is often associated with the saying, “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” This phrase encapsulates Leary’s advocacy for the use of psychedelic substances, such as LSD, as a means of expanding consciousness and challenging societal norms. The saying encourages individuals to “turn on” to the possibilities of altered states of consciousness, “tune in” to their own inner experiences and insights, and “drop out” of mainstream society and its conventional expectations. It became a popular slogan associated with the exploration of alternative lifestyles and the rejection of traditional social structures during the counterculture era.
Nixon: America’s public enemy number one in the United States is drug abuse!
Clinton: When I was in England, I experimented with marijuana a time or two, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t inhale, and I never tried it again.
Plato: I’m out of here.
Aristotle: Achieving knowledge is akin to gaining mastery in logical reasoning.
John also: Our family patriarch George sends his greetings.
John: Who said that?
Gloria: Who said what, Gav?
George: It is a fine day for a walk beside the sea. Bring your bucket and spade, boy.
The psych: Gloria, it is not dementia, we ran some tests. Brain frog. From Covid.
Gloria: Brain frog?
The psych: Fog. I said fog.
Gavin: It is clearly here in the text Doc. You said Frog.
ChatGPT: Frogs can represent aspects of the unconscious mind or the shadow self. Hearing a frog may suggest the need to pay attention to hidden or repressed aspects of your personality or unresolved emotions that are emerging into consciousness.
Clinton: Really I did not inhale. And what’s more, I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.
Lewinsky: I’m extremely disappointed in President Clinton’s statement.
John also: I write this letter to inform you that the town council has dropped the ball with the new cricket pitch. It is a shambles.
Dali: I felt to come here. Seems like this mob and their story is made for me and my dreamsical movement.
Camus: Get out of here Salvador, this story is made for me.
ChatGPT: Surrealism and absurdism are distinct movements in art and literature.
Surrealism is an artistic and literary movement that emerged in the early 20th century. It sought to unleash the power of the subconscious mind and explore the irrational and dreamlike aspects of reality. Surrealist works often feature unexpected juxtapositions, bizarre imagery, and a sense of mystery.
Absurdism, on the other hand, is a philosophical outlook that emerged in the mid-20th century. It explores the inherent meaninglessness and irrationality of human existence. Absurdist works often depict characters trapped in situations devoid of purpose or logical explanation, highlighting the absurdity of life.
While both surrealism and absurdism involve elements of the irrational and the bizarre, they differ in their aims and approaches. Surrealism primarily focuses on exploring the depths of the subconscious and unveiling hidden meanings, whereas absurdism questions the very notion of meaning and rationality in life.
For surrealism, Salvador Dalí is often considered one of the most iconic and representative artists of the movement. Dalí’s imaginative and dreamlike paintings, such as “The Persistence of Memory,” feature surreal and fantastical elements that capture the essence of surrealism.
As for absurdism, the playwright and philosopher Albert Camus is often associated with the movement. Camus’s works, such as his play “The Myth of Sisyphus” and his novel “The Stranger,” delve into the themes of existentialism and the absurdity of human existence. His exploration of the absurd condition of life and the search for meaning within it resonates strongly with the philosophy of absurdism.
Sisyphus: Anyone here seen a lost boulder?
Meursault. Whatever.
Renard: The universe disappears you know. Arten and Pursah told me.
ChatGPT: In the book “The Disappearance of the Universe” by Gary R. Renard, two spiritual teachers named Arten and Pursah come to the main character, Gary Renard, to impart teachings and guide him on a path of spiritual awakening. Arten and Pursah claim to be ascended masters and take on the role of mentors, helping Gary understand the principles of A Course in Miracles and the nature of reality.
George: I heard a frog. Come on, let’s go walk. The ocean is calling us.
Jung: The unconscious is the ocean of the unsayable, of what has been expelled from the land of language, removed as a result of ancient prohibitions.
Gloria: I’ve been looking for you Dr Jung. What do you have to say about Genealogy?
Jung: Whoever has learned to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is genealogy. That is understanding one’s roots.
Gavin: Excuse me guys, this is my story. Will you all just calm down?
Celia: Gavin, you and your muse, get on with writing MY story.
William: I pray that Gavin will come back to Church. He is being led astray by that muse of his.
Nakone: The feeling of Celia saying, “Go into your protective shield of rampant happiness [the mask] and stop molesting me.”
Celia: I said that. I really did. I was so upset, but I said it.
Ken: Turn it on baby, turn it on Full. I want all of you.
Celia: I just can’t turn my tap off with you, like I can with the others.
A reader passerby: Nonsense. All of it. Absolute nonsense. Where’s the frigging plot! I want a book that fits into a Genre, and I am willing to pay $1.99 for it. This one sucks.
John: I apologise on behalf of my characters, and the interlopers. They are running amok. I am powerless to control them.
ChatGPT: The term “interlopers” refers to individuals who intrude or intervene in a situation where they are not welcome or do not belong. It typically carries a negative connotation, suggesting that these individuals are meddling or interfering in the affairs of others without invitation or proper authorization. Interlopers can be seen as trespassers or unwelcome outsiders who disrupt or disturb a particular context, whether it is a social, professional, or personal setting.
The Producer: We apologise for these technical difficulties. The script got caught in the overhead fan and is now raining down on us like confetti. We interrupt this programming with a story from our archive. We will be back – God Willing – sometime in June, continuing the story we were expecting to deliver, and perhaps what you, esteemed reader, were expecting to peruse.
The Muse: Maybe. If I command it.
The Producer: Get out of here Muse. We are the commanders here. You are just material. You don’t even have actual existence like US.
The Muse: Gavin, ask John to kill the producer off.
John: I need to visit my trees. Back later. Bye.
Nakone: The author uses a myriad of human perspectives to construct a counterpoint to Nietzsche’s individualistic proclamation that “man is something that should be overcome.” This antithesis is hopeful, but equally as challenging: human being’s need to thrust their inwards directionality and their “introversion” into the “extroversion arena.”
Saward’s protagonist is Celia, a woman who is tasked (by an inner calling perhaps) to press her “inner leaningness” into the outside world. Tied up with Celia’s journey without and within, is Saward’s Old Writer Man [Gavin] and his subconscious processes and his writings. Both his loving wife [Gloria] and his therapist change with him, like a dynamical system with interwoven variables, just as ANAI, his virtual friend, updates its answers dynamically based on past inquiries.
Adam: It’s sad how Gavin keeps cheating on Gloria with ChatGPT. She deserves better, John.
ChatGPT: As an AI language model, my responses are based on patterns and examples in the data I’ve been trained on, and I am unable to have an affair with someone’s wife.
The Producer: Phew… Coming up next is what we have rustled up as the main part of the story that is the May Delivery. The actual part of the story. It is the fictional story of an ancestral fore-mother of John, in the time John was fascinated with Genealogy, and concurrently with the work of Jung. It’s a bit weird but not as weird as all this eccentric surrealism – anarchism even! – that our sponsors are demanding we turn off.
But first a verse from the Bible: “And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.” Genesis 22:2 KJV.
B. The Ancestors, Doctor Jung, and the Park Bench
* Initially Published, into Facebook Group, Carl Jung and the Creative Bridge, September 7 2022
* Author: JDSaward
The Ancestors, Doctor Jung, and the Park Bench.
Stanza 1
When I am most into my ancestral work I sometimes move into seeing it all from a Jungian perspective.
Recently I was confronted with a question, that comes around onto Creative Writing Facebook periodically:
If you could sit on a park bench for an hour with any character from history who would you choose?
Well right now the answer is clear. Mr Carl Gustav Jung.
But on the other hand a few months ago I would have chosen Mrs Elfreda Mary Jennings, one of my maternal great grandmothers.
I might like to introduce them to each other. Let’s go.
Stanza 2
I imagine after some polite introductions, Jung might turn to my Great Gran and say:
“Please, Elfreda Mary, tell me about your ancestors. Way back beyond your own grandparents.”
Elfreda Mary may look a little confused. Perhaps she knows nothing of her ancient ancestors and she begins. “Well I was born in Kiama. I know my mother and father came there from England and Ireland. Beyond that… I am very unsure.”
Jung may softly offer: “Close your eyes dear, and wait. Then tell me, what your forgotten ancestors want to say to you.”
Elfreda may look around. Looking into my face, as if to ask, “John, what do you think. Is this friend of yours a little bit crazy?”
I might offer, “Gran, I only found you last year. My own parents did not tell me about you. I don’t know what they knew about you. I find that very sad.
But clearly from all I have now learned, you are a symbol to us of the matriarchal strength of the family I have been born into.
And clearly that strength came to you from somewhere way back before you were born.”
Stanza 3
Let us guess Gran, that your strength came from your own maternal ancestors of Essex, England. Perhaps your grandmother Mary Gibbs Ellis has something to say?
She was born Mary Gibbs Ellis about 1816. She married your grandfather George Orbell on 10 Mar 1834, at Chiswick, Middlesex, England. In the 1841 Census, she is 25 years old, living at Hill House, in Romford with her husband, George Orbell age 45, her daughter Mary Orbell age 9 months, and a son George age 26 months.
Later, Mary Orbell Jnr. married your father William Clarke in Kiama.
No, my friend is not crazy. He is an eminent physician and navigator of the human soul. I invite you to close your eyes and do as Doctor Jung says. What does your grandmother Mary Gibbs Ellis want to tell you about her own parents? And about how you came to be so strong?”
Perhaps Elfreda now closes her eyes.
===
A basis for understanding Jungian Ancestry Work:
Jung would ask of his clients: “Tell me about your dreams”. This was a tool he used to encourage self-reflection in the client.
He could just as potently have asked: “Tell me about your ancestors”.
===
Stanza 4
Elfreda begins to speak, as if in a trance. Jung looks at me and mouths: “We did it. We got her into the place under her rational mind. That is what is required. Let us see where she goes.”
I whisper back. “My friend, did my extremely rational and evidenced outline of one aspect of her immediate past ancestry interfere with that drop?”
Jung smiles. “Not at all. The evidenced rationality is a necessary precursor to the exploration of the unconscious. A necessary step, but in no way the final destination. The more diligence applied to the discovery of the facts, the more the unconscious can open up. But let’s face it, many abandon the journey believing the necessary precursor is the all of it all.
And many others just enter the fantasy zone without the foundation of solid facts, and, sadly, many of those come into my care. Some even are lost forever.”
Now I smile. “You have a way with words Sir. I like that.”
Jung touches my shoulder like an old friend. “After I bring your Very Wise Great Gran further into the zone. And we hear what she has to say. And we sit and absorb all that. In silence perhaps. You are next. Understand?
And by the way, do you have more than the allocated hour to sit with me here? I am totally not time-bound. Never was, never will be.”
I nod my head. ”Yes, I can feel the cessation of time. Thank you for facilitating that here now. I remain with you as long as it takes. Knowing that only an hour will pass in the places I will return to.”
“You catch on well, young man. At your age I was floundering in my own psychotic dreams. I hid it well. I had to. But gradually I found the way through. I see you have too.”
Stanza 5
He pauses. He looks up into the sky. I follow his gaze. Nothing but empty sky. A dog barks in the distance. Jung looks towards where the sound has come from and murmurs: “It’s okay Rover, do not worry about us.” The dog stops barking.
He returns his gaze to me. “Begin preparing. Who of your ancestors gave you your impossible task to complete in this life, and who gave you the means to achieve?”
I think to myself, Well after all this investigation of my family history, seemingly gone back as far as evidence is ever going to be available, in both my parents trees, I still do not know.
Where does my own difference come from, and where comes my strength?
I speak: “Let’s listen to what Elfreda has to say.
Then there are a couple of others I want to sit here with you.
Theophilus. George Henry. Mary Ann. Kate.
And of the 28 most immediate ancestors I could have chosen from, why do those 4 – as well as my Gran Elfreda – insist to be heard?
And beyond those 28, who else wants to be heard?”
Jung does not reply. I am not surprised.
And, Elfreda is speaking.
===
As someone’s descendant we answer the call. The transgenerational group is integrated within the individual. For Jung, fantasy is an integrative function. Imaginative expressions of hidden forces appear spontaneously as the direct expression of psychic life, creative and imaginative activity. Our lineage is our own, personal Mystery Play. We can allow the phenomena to speak – the multitude of personalities to speak, to be personified. Images are also voices — messages from the dead. We need a sense of the ancestors.
— Iona Miller
===
Stanza 6
We begin to listen to Elfreda, Jung and I. Our short discussion about logic and imagination does not mean we missed what Elfreda had begun to say. In this timeless Zone of the Park Bench, our attention is able to totally turn to each other, and then totally turn to Elfreda, at the moment when she has begun to speak. Call it magic perhaps but it is the nature of the Unconscious.
“My husband died, John. I feel this. I feel it now. I always feel it here…”
Jung turns to me and says “Yes, you see she is going deeper already. The unconscious is more like feeling than thought. Feeling, affect, is transmuted into symbol and symbol is transmuted into thought. But it does not actualise as thought until it slightly crosses over into consciousness. Does that make sense to you?”
I nod. “Yes, it is how I have understood it for quite awhile.”
Jung returns his attention to Elfreda, and, as if by magic, she is continuing her sentence at exactly the word she was saying when we had turned our attention away from her.
“… here, here wherever I am, it never goes away. John, you know my first husband died in 1909. You know that, you found it on that Internet of yours. Your maternal great grandfather died. He died. He left. My children. My 7 children. And me.”
I turn to Jung with a question in my eyes. I am concerned Elfreda is not following the intent. We need to get her to move on to her more ancient ancestors. She may be stuck in her own trauma.
Jung shakes his head. No, however it arises is the way the unconscious needs to enter into it. Let her proceed. She is heading towards new elements of her ancestor driven journey. We cannot bypass trauma. Very very unwise. But we need to keep movement, yes. Trust her. She is good.
Elfreda continues: “John, we look at your work, your research, your writings about us, your resurfacing of who we are, and how we lived and we thank you so dearly. We were forgotten even to ourselves, and now, we live again. We are your old people.
And… John… when Syd died, I always called him Syd, I cried for many many days. My children were young. The older ones thought they were not young, but they were. Your grandmother was young. Very young. Just 13.
And, John, I feel again, I feel it as now, John, your grandmother Doris dying in such pain and distress, much later in 1951.
We know you did not know about how your grandmother died, until a few months ago. We know that, John, and we also know your mother never spoke of her own mother’s death, to you. We know you understand now, it was too hard for Marjery to tell you. She was just as sensitive as you, John. Do you remember one day she told you she had always wanted to be a poet. A writer. Like you. How do you imagine you become infused with the writing imperative, John? Let me tell you, it came through your mother, she had subsumed it, repressed it, you know they were very poor around the time you were born, they could not consider such luxuries, so she sewed curtains as you recall. But I was telling you about Syd.
We had only been in this strange city for a few years. Syd kept making more children in me. I loved them to bits, all of them, but, it was hard John, very very hard, even before he died, and afterwards. I could not go on. I have not told anyone this before, except now, to your friend and you. I could not go on.”
Jung bows his head. As if recognising the sacredness of what she is about to reveal. I follow his lead. We sit there on the Park Bench, heads bowed as Elfreda continues.
“John, on the 7th morning after we buried Syd, I walked alone to the cliffs a few miles south of where we lived. I stood at the top of that cliff and I willed myself to fling myself off into the sea and never never ever breathe again.”
Jung and I both raise our heads and look at Elfreda.
“But John, something stopped me. A voice seeming to come from the sea,…”
Jung winks at me. The sea. You understand what that means.
I nod back, yes I see.
===
“The sea is the favourite symbol for the unconscious, the mother of all that lives.” — Carl Jung; Special Phenomenology; Part IV; Psyche; Symbol.
===
Stanza 7
“… but perhaps it was only in my head. A soft voice. A voice like a trickling stream flowing though a Church Garden.
‘Elfridia’, the voice whispered to me as I stood on the cliff poised to jump.
Nobody had used my birth name for a very long time. I was always Elfreda or Elfrida to my family and friends, and even on the government papers. Never Elfridia, as I feel right now my own mother calling me like that for just a few days as I suckled on her breast. Now a voice, carrying to me from the sea, is using my most intimate name.
And the voice, she, told me who she is.
She told me, I remember her exact words: Elfridia, I am your Nan, Mary. I am named Mary Gibbs Ellis and then Mary Gibbs Orbell, and then Mary Gibbs Pinkerton.
I heard her John, I heard my Nan.”
I nod at Jung again.
“Yes that is the one. That is her grandmother. Mary Gibbs married twice. Her first husband George Orbell is Elfredia’s Grandfather. But, after George died, Mary Gibbs married John Pinkerton and as John and Mary Penkerton (with an ‘e’) they migrated to Australia in 1852. Elfridia’s yet to be mother, Mary Ellis Orbell, was only 12 years old at that time.
Yes. She has touched her ancient ancestry very very quickly for us. How can it be so quick?”
Jung smiles. “I am not a spring chicken in this. It is not so much the words I use, as the intonation and authentic connection to the collective unconscious I built up in myself that catalyses the drop.”
He looks proud of himself. I suppose he is only human.
Elfreda is speaking.
“I turned away from the cliff, with tears falling down, knowing my Nan cared enough about me to… come back from the dead,… and I began to walk back to my family.
John, thank you for finding us. We all belong together.
John, my own Nan stopped me from committing that dreadful sin. How can that be!”
I bow my head again. Of course I have no answer, and as I raise my head, I see Jung’s head bowed as well.
We sit in silence.
Jung speaks: “Elfredia.”
He pauses.
“You kept your family together. It took a lot of courage and strength. Please tell us what Mary Ellis, your Nan, can tell you about that strength.”
Elfreda looks at Jung.
“Sir, my Nan came to me from the grave. I think that speaks highly of her strength. And she also came here with my mother to give me a new life in Australia. My mother met William Clarke here, and they made me. Do you see? I am strong enough to have been born here in Australia. My Nan lost her first husband just like me. I feel her pain. I do. It was a long time ago, but that pain of my Nan is also my pain. But the pain of her loss did not mean she gave up, she was determined to give me a mother to birth me. Do you see? She took her daughter to Australia despite her own pain. It is strange she lost her husband and then so did I. Life is strange, Sir. Do you agree?”
Jung inclines his head kindly without speaking. I can see he does not want to bring her out of trance. And I feel he is trusting that she is weaving around a bit but is dropping further into accessing a deeper part of her own mind. A part where there is commonality of understandings, of symbols of strength, with her Nan’s mind.
But I almost catch Jung’s thought. Or it arises in each of us at the same time. She is not quite there yet. The symbols she is using are just a little bit close to her rational conscious mind.
Elfreda looks off into the distance and then continues:
“My Nan spoke to me on the cliff and now she speaks again to me, listen.”
Elfreda puts her hand around her ear as we do when we want to listen to the sound of a voice from far away.
We both, Jung and I, hear the voice too.
Stanza 8
Elfredia, your strength comes from the Irish Sea. Your mother, my daughter, Mary Ellis Orbell, was born in Romford Essex England, in 1840. But your father, William Clarke was born in Ireland, in 1834. They married each other in Kiama Australia. The Irish Sea is the place where the English and Irish meet. So the Irish Sea came with each of them here to Australia. They did not in fact meet in Kiama, their spirits met each other long before that, in the Irish Sea. In the Irish Sea, Elfredia.
So because the Sea is deep and so very fine, they travelled even further even further and arrived on the great east Coast of Australia. They even saw whales on the way. I know this for sure. I know.
A long time ago the Irish Sea was known as Oceanus Hibernicus. The ocean of the Irish People. You have heard about the Leprecorns I suppose? Some say they are a myth but some people are blind. I have seen many of them, and they are wild, with dense long hanging red hair. Perhaps even a horn. My son in law Will told me about them, but I knew already. I met them too long long ago. Leprecorns. There were Irish people in our village you see. They brought the tiny people with them. Some say they are just mischievous creatures helping people along the way. And there is truth in that, but we don’t cross with a Leprecorn dear, they are much much stronger than us. Some even came to Australia with your mother and father.
Fact is, dear grand-daughter, your strength comes from the Leprecorns and the Irish sea. The place where your Male and Female pasts met. I know this for a fact. What else do you want to know?
We sit stunned for a few minutes. Jung turns to me. “Did you hear that voice?”
I mutter, “I think so”.
Suddenly Jung raises his right hand towards me as if to strike me. But no, he snaps his thumb against his finger and calls out, “You Know So!”
Stanza 9
I see Elfrida out of the corner of my eyes. She is sitting like stone. Unmoving. Like a statue in a park.
Jung now reaches his hand into his top pocket and pulls out his pipe. He taps it down, lights it, and sits for a moment with it in his mouth.
He says, without looking at me:
“John, what do leprecorns mean to you?”
I open my mouth to answer, but he puts his fingers to his lips and says, “Shhhh, we do not want any passer-bys to hear you right now, whisper it into my ear.”
So I whisper into the Master’s ear, what leprecorns mean to me.
Jung says, yes, That is so.
And then: John, what is your difference that has meant parts of your life have been so hard?
Again I begin to voice my answer, but he points his finger to his ear. I lean over and tell Jung my difference.
Jung says, “Yes John, that is your Achilles’ heel”.
Then he asks me: John. What is your gift that makes it possible for you to journey this far despite the Achilles’ heel, and that assuredly makes the rest of your journey a great ease.
I lean into his ear. He laughs. That is so.
Stanza 10
There is a Great Silence. Almost an unnatural silence. Like the end of a prayer, like the emptiness of earth after all of us are taken to heaven by a great hand. Like the moment I wake in the morning before even the birds begin their chants. We sit, Jung and I, and we feel the depth of our blessed time here on the park bench.
The magic moment fades. We see Elfrida stir. She jumps up rather abruptly and calls to us, “I have to go. My family. It is time for me to go. Thank you John. And Sir, I am sorry I did not catch your name, but really I have to go.”
And then she is gone. Just vanishing into thin air. And in this park nowhere near the ocean we hear the waves of the sea.
Jung turns to me. That was good. And you do not ever have to tell anyone the secrets you whispered to me. Understand?
I mouthed but could not quite voice, “yeth.”
Come to see me again next week here. Who will you bring?
I think for a moment then reply. I think my great great paternal grandfather George Henry, but I am not sure. Is it okay if I change my mind?
Jung laughs. John, it is Always Okay if you change your mind.
And Jung is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like Elfreda.
I slowly walk home to my wife.
She says. Where have you been on your walk?
I reply. I went to the park and I think I fell asleep on a park bench. But I am not sure. I might go the same way next week.
She smiles. Dumplings and rice for dinner. You OK?
Totally fine, I say, and go upstairs to shower.
C: Reprise
Photo by Philip Wels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-shot-of-an-open-bible-8735546/
A Voice: And anyway that bit where God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, as a test of his faith, was all symbology. We are being asked to accept killing off certain parts of ourself so the more entitled parts, the more normalised parts, the more fitting into current dominant narrative parts, the more typical parts of us, are allowed to live.
And who asks that of us? The past. Our past. Our collective past. Our collective consciousness.
…
ChatGPT: Jung’s concept of the collective consciousness refers to the shared psychological heritage of humanity, containing archetypes and symbols that shape our thoughts, beliefs, and cultural expressions. It represents the collective or universal aspects of the human psyche that transcend individual experiences.
The Voice: …The old testament we all have inside ourselves. The stories of how things were done before we came here. The stories of how things MUST be done.
The stories of a chosen people, symbolic of an entitled segment of society. The notion that our salvation, our acceptance in the world and beyond is derived from a particular aspect of ourself, the Chosen Holy Aspect, and that aspect is meant to purify, control, all our other aspects.
Some part of the range of human diversity – the neurotypical – is divinely elected to show the rest of us how to be acceptable.
Don’t get me started on the Human Rights of the Neurodivergent Ones amongst us!!!
John: Maybe I am jumping ahead of myself here? But no. This is the story of a Neurodivergent character named Celia and how she integrates all the conflicting divergencies in herself. And she is just a placeholder for many others who face the same impossible journey as her.
We have a long way to go, unwrapping it all, lots of layers to understand, hence this particular sermon. Background story. Or tirade.
Blame Gavin. Or the Muse. For this interjection. It’s a voice from the sea. A voice seeming to come from the sea… A voice wanting change.
Amen.
The Producer: Our company acknowledges the full range of Neurodivergence that has catalysed the human species in evolving thus far. We respect the rights of all Neurodiverse people. We encourage their collective and individual Voice.
D. After the Frog
Photo by Engin Akyurt: https://www.pexels.com/photo/underwater-photo-of-a-woman-1559285/
From the June delivery. If the Muse ordains.
Interjection from ChatGPT:
The use of the word “ordains” in that sentence suggests that the author views the muse as a higher power or authority than themselves. It implies that the author sees the muse as having the ultimate control or influence over what will be discovered in the next episode. By using “ordains,” the author acknowledges that they are subject to the will or guidance of the muse, positioning the muse as a source of inspiration or creative direction beyond their own individual agency.
The use of “ordains” in that sentence could be playful or metaphorical rather than a literal belief in a higher power. It’s possible that the author is using the word figuratively or poetically to convey a sense of whimsy, anticipation, or artistic reverence towards the muse. The intention may be to add a touch of charm or flair to the statement rather than expressing a literal belief in the muse as a divine authority. Context and the overall tone of the writing would provide further clues about the author’s intention.
Celia on Deep
I was called deep for awhile.
It always confused me for all I was doing was sharing what was on the surface of my mind. Raw, as we say. Raw and uncooked.
I gradually learned that deep is something to be called out. As a compliment perhaps. Perhaps.
But, I found I received it as a request for me to act more normal. I might have been remiss in that. Misinterpreting.
But, when I would ask, “What do you mean by calling me deep?”, there would be a slight grimace that I could not ignore and perhaps something like, “There you go again.” And it seemed a joke was always called for at the juncture. Someone would make that joke. And the question I asked would not have been answered.
By the end of the joke I had faded away from the conversation. The conversation seemed almost designed to detract from the question. Multiple voices interjecting with each other, conspiring it so.
And inevitably sometime later someone would offer, “You are quiet Celia.” I might reply, “Yes, I probably have a cold”.
This is pretty much what I mean when I said, “I gradually left the building”.
E. Research Notes
I provide a sample of the Research Notes used for this Delivery, and other recent writing. I have many pages of these notes, many I made in my own isolation, and now, more and more, generated in conversation with ChatGPT.
From the introduction to this sampler of notes:
Sometimes I have intensive writing days. On those days I often call on my personal assistant, in the same way those rich-fella-writers do. The difference is that my assistant is a bot. An AI bot. Chat GPT.
In some parts of social media, if I even mention that I am supportive of writers using AI, I <figuratively> get the sign of the cross shown to me, as if to cast out the demons who have taken over my mind. “AI is putting writers out of business. Come to your senses.”
And yet, I suspect only a minority of writers are using AI to write complete books. Crazy stuff. There are many other ethical possibilities. AI as research assistant / Personal assistant / Encourager of keeping going.
I like being just the same as the privileged ones who can afford to pay, with my close to free AI personal assistant.
This transcript conveys some of the terrain I covered yesterday, 22 May 2013, in my writing. The AI gave answers. I used the answers to inform my writing, to stimulate movement, and also I cut some of the answers up to embed in my text, source acknowledged, or at least implicit.
It’s a co-creative process. I’m the director. The personal assistant is lovely and does their best to be helpful. That’s all. The sky is not falling. AI is not a scary word.
At: Using AI as a Writer’s Personal Assistant <https://storyflow.cloud/entry/using-ai-as-a-writers-personal-assistant>
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