Continued Reflections (or, Part 2 of The Cloak of Cancer)

The theme of “time thieves” or, silent men in grey in the book Momo, parallels “The Nothing,” so ominously phrased in The Never Ending Story, and is pressingly relevant to us all. Michael Ende was warning us. He sensed the real threat of what being brought into the folds of the mirage of “saving time,” “being efficient,” “being realistic” means for us. Oh, the podcasts and YouTube videos that export these themes! And when we do fight back a little bit because something in us senses we need more space, more peace, we schedule a 10 minute meditation. Which can become, itself, an experience of “being practical, efficient” etc.  

This begs the question, What do we do then? 

I’m brought back now to a phrase that Carl Jung often used; that of our attitude towards the unconscious, and I’d add, toward life, too. That word, Attitude, has stuck in my mind. What is Attitude? 

It’s not just the way it’s used in daily parlance: having a “good attitude” or a “bad attitude.” 

Apparently, after a quick search, the word arose in Italy in the 17th century, attitudine, used in the context of sculptures and paintings. The way a human figure “fit” into the scene or the landscape. Is the figure in harmony with the surrounds? And this Italian use emerged from the Latin, aptus, meaning fitness. 

Today, standing outside the hospital near sundown, I was gazing at this vast sky above the buildings. Across the street in a garden apparently, grew tall and thin bamboo. And they swayed in the way they do. Watching them under the sky with the clouds slowly moving, endlessly shifting form, color, and there they are - these little plants, way down below. I was aware of how they are swaying, dancing, with the sky. They are in “fit” with the vast sky above, with the greater living world. 

I can hear Jung introjecting, what’s important is not only the outer world, but the “reality of the psyche” which, for us humans, who by some miracle or freak of nature, have access to an infinitely rich inner world. Is that the sky within us?

Those thin bamboo trees, doing as only they know how to do. How nice! They have no other option! But us. It’s quite different. So many options! Tantalizing ones. Reinforced ones. The immutable man-made objects below; the stop sign out front. The mailbox. The concrete sidewalk, cars, rectangular large objects everywhere! None of which flow. None of which move! 

I want to be more like the bamboo. We are all the bamboo in our essence. To know that, and act accordingly, with attitudine, is a prayer I offer up for all of us.

The Re-emergence of Johnson Through the Cloak of Cancer

This is the first piece of writing I’ve done in goodness only knows how long. The last piece I posted here is of my interactions with the wonderful Robert Johnson. And I’m becoming aware that a theme we talked about way back then is re-emerging now. 

As my clients are only too aware, I was diagnosed with a cancer in November 2024, and consequently put my practice on pause at the end of that month to attend all the doctors appointments and lean fully into healing, learning, and god willing, recovering. A diagnosis like this upends everything. Maybe it’s just bad luck, but I find I’m just not capable of subscribing to that way of thinking. I cannot help but ask, there is an environment, an atmosphere, within me that has cultivated a cross-wiring of cells, and what has lead to this? The body keeps the score, as someone once said (wink, wink). And this proliferation of little vampires who are nothing but a voracious appetite (nod to the new Egger’s Nosferatu movie), I cannot imagine come out of nowhere. So I put my practice on hold and for the first time in two decades, really slow down and acknowledge, I don’t have all the answers. It’s a way of putting up my hands and saying to the universe, “I don’t know, and I am now open to any and all forms of assistance!” An immediately, I realize I've been given assistance all along! Only I haven’t perhaps really listened or taken it to heart (we humans are fools, aren’t we? always needing to learn the hard way). 

In the last entry, I mentioned the dream I brought to Robert. It concerned the imminent slaughter of domesticated animals and Robert was not hesitant to give me a sharp warning.  I wrote in my notebook, “I told him my dream from this morning - animals on a farm - being hurt and abused - were trapped in tight maze-like fences. He was very concerned with the dream.” Animals as images often imply our instinctual nature, but in this case, being domesticated farm animals, the emphasis may be on care. There must be a farmer and those who watch out for, feed, and nurture, the animals. In this dream, clearly something was out of sorts. An inhuman maze, a forcing, even death at the end of that maze. Is this the “atmosphere” that has cultivated a cancer? 

Robert said I’m stronger than him; but maybe not in a good way. I could tolerate more, put up with more without allowing myself to feel into the pain of who or what I was actually hurting inside of myself. A blindness that got me through grad school! That allowed me to dive into the whole new strange culture of Japan. And allowed me to be forever so strong in what was ultimately a misconstrued and lonely marriage. I unwittingly forced those poor, dear animals into that maze, thinking I was doing the noble thing, yet lacking the compassion or the maturity to look at what was really happening within. 

Something jumped out at me the other day, precipitated by a synchronicity. A client had some time ago recommend a book by the author, Michael Ende, who wrote the novel, The Never Ending Story which was my childhood favorite. This recommended book is called Momo, and once I ordered it, once it arrived, once I cracked it open to read together with my son, it struck me like things do that we must pay attention to. It was a reminder of the help I’ve been given from the beginning but could neither fully understand nor put into action.

In brief, Momo is a ragamuffin girl, an orphan, who’s gift in life is to be able to really listen. She innately knows how to make space and time for all those around her. She nurtures. In a sense, she is Fantasia that we see in The Never Ending Story. The space of the imaginal, the space of being, of allowing. Anything! At least, anything that says Yes to life, to wonder, no matter how small, nor strange. She is a farmer who knows how to honor and care for the beasts on her farm. My dear Momo. 

And so in this process of questioning, of asking, I take Robert’s hand once again. I take my grandfather’s hand too. I take the hands of the guides and friends in that realm of “Fantasia” that is always there within us. I am slowly teaching myself, step by step how exactly to make space and honor these beautiful forces, beings, ideas (words don’t quite fit here). 

So there is this reckoning now in my life. I don’t know how things will play out, or where this path will now lead. But I will keep practicing listening, listening, listening. 

A Meeting with Robert A. Johnson

April 30, 2011 was my last meeting with the Jungian analyst Robert Johnson, the author of the misleadingly simple books, He, She, We, and Inner Work, among others. We were introduced a couple years before by my clinical supervisor, Dr. George Nicastro. I returned again, this time alone, to meet Robert at his home. After leaving, I quickly jotted down the “minutes” of our talk which I have transcribed below. It was a special and unique experience to meet and spend time with a man who is a true national treasure. I wanted to share this experience, at least to some degree, by writing about it here. 

It is Robert’s custom to serve tea to guests (“by the 5th cup, the conversation starts getting really interesting,” as Dr. Nicastro reports Robert saying). British style -  loose leaf in a large porcelain teapot. We sat in two simple chairs in the center of the living room, separated by a small round table where the tea tray is usually set. Before sitting down, he took me over to the large windows in his open apartment, pointing out  a strange device he had found in India. He explained, “time is measured in inches in India.” We burned one inch of a coiled candle that represented 4 minutes (if I remember correctly). We then sat down and chatted for a bit over two hours. 

His apartment has the peculiar feel of a monks cell. It is plain, without the usual sofa, dining table, or TV. Rather, there are three very old harpsichords. He had made a beautiful inlay design in one, representing a mandala. There is a long, shallow table at the far end against the wall, on which lie many, many oddities, mostly collected from India, including the time keeper. There is also a larger table, under the wide windows that look out over the town, suspension bridge, and ocean. There is an air of quietness, grace, and beauty here. Essentially, it is a space poised between the resonating sounds of the harpsichords and the infinite vista where the setting sun meets the ocean. Being in this simple space - a regular apartment building in San Diego, California - the feeling of Arvo Part’s music comes to mind. There is a sense of stillness, gentleness, and depth of feeling, that is similar in Robert’s home, writings, and person. 

The “Minutes”: 

• Jung’s main point was to be true to yourself. True to your psychological type. Marie-Louise Von Franz (close friend of Robert’s), at the end of her life, said to him “I’ve done it all wrong” - she realized she had lived her life through Jung. 

• Robert said I know how to be in the world - that I am stronger than him - and that now I can turn inward. 

• He told me the story of his most recent book, Inner Gold. That a young man with a publishing company in Hawaii was going bankrupt. He gathered scraps of Robert’s unpublished writings and lectures. Robert agreed to have them published and this saved the publishing business. 

• Robert never was able to write. All his books were recorded from lectures that he has given. 

• I told him my dream from this morning - animals on a farm - being hurt and abused - were trapped in tight maze-like fences. He was very concerned with the dream. He took it very seriously. He mentioned he didn’t know if the dream was speaking of inward or outward processes, but to pay attention to the animal side within me. “Civil” of civilization means “straight line”. This allows a lot to happen (technology, institutions, …), but also cuts so much off. He said, “I suspect getting your degree has had yourself cut off very much,” and perhaps the reason why the dream speaks now. Perhaps the psyche knew it would be listened to, knowing I was seeing Robert (someone who knows how to listen to the communications of the psyche) this day. 

• He emphasized to me, prefacing it with “this will likely sound strange, but …” when we meet in 50 years, and we are sitting facing each other again, he does not want to see a broken person. Pay attention to the animal side. Remain human. 

• He told me of his recently going to seeing doctors. Of 5 or six he met with, only one saw him as a person. This makes him very sad and worried about fate of humans.

• He said he had been a good therapist. I asked what made him one. He replied that he listens and genuinely cares for his client’s well being. “We’ve been trying to make psychology into a science. But psychology is an art.”

• Recently he’s been realizing how important having a supportive wife is. It can make all the difference in a man’s life. 

• When leaving, he said to call on him if I ever need anything. I said the same back to him. He said “You’re doing it already,” meaning (as I interpreted it), by working in my own small way to be true to myself, to add meaningfully to humanity, to do our work - what we are meant to do, and do it well. 

• He, I feel, really does not think we are going to survive as a civilization. He said, “Civilization was a good experiment.” Both times I have met with him, he asked me at the end what I thought the future held. I told him my optimistic perspective, he seems to want to believe it will all work out, but he is deeply concerned with our fate. 

• Recounting a conversation he had with Jung: “The most important element in a man is the Anima. And the most important in a woman is the Animus.” 

What stands out from our encounter was Robert’s ability to see beyond the immediate circumstances, or the sporadic bits of information that I brought in, and really felt into the undercurrents of my situation as well as our society’s. My strongest impression was just how deeply he felt with his heart. It was like he both held all the weight of the world - all of its sadness and pain - but at the same time exuded a peacefulness and joy. It’s hard to put this experience into words. Though a part of me hesitates to say it, I feel he is the most holy person I have met. Perhaps a better phrase is fully human.  We all need models in our lives. How to live, how deal with harrowing situations, how to mourn, how to embrace our own and the worlds contradictions. To see and feel - in a visceral way - what is possible as a human being, is a gift.     

Rest in peace, Robert. See you in about 40 years.