Made Of Dreams


Memories, Dreams, Reflections -School Years-6-C.G.Jung

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Memories, Dreams, Reflections -School Years-6-C.G.Jung 

After my escapade with the boat, and my well-merited punishment, I began pondering these isolated impressions and they coalesced into a coherent picture; of myself living in two ages simultaneously, and being two different persons.

I felt confused, and was full to the brim with heavy reflections. At last I reached the disappointing realization that now, at any rate, I was nothing but the little schoolboy who had deserved his punishment, and who had to behave accordingly to his age.

The other person must be sheer nonsense, I suspected that he was somehow connected with the many tales, I had heard from my parents and relatives about my grandfather. Yet that was noit quite right either, for he had been born in 1795 and had therefore lived in the nineteenth century; moreover he had died long before I was born.

It could not be that I was identical with him. At the time these considerations were, I should say, mostly in the form of vague glimmerings and dreams. I can no longer remember whether at that time I knew anything about my legendary kinship with Goethe. I think not, however, for I know that I first heard this tale from strangers. I should add that there is an annoying tradition that my grandfather was a natural son oif Goethe.

One fine summer day thjat same year I came out of school at noon and went to the cathedral square. The sky was gloriously blue, the day one of radiant sunshine. The roof of the cathedral glittered, the sun sparkling from the new, brightly glazed tiles.

I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the sight, and thought "The world is beautiful and the church is beautiful, and God made all this and sits above it far away in the blue sky on a golden throne and

."Here came the great hole in my thoughts, and a choking sensation. I felt numbed, and knew only: "

Don't go on thinking now!Something terrible is coming, something I do not want to think, something I dare not even approach. Why not? Because I would be commiting the most fightful of sins. What is the most terrible sin? Murder? No, it can't be that.

The most terrible sin is the sin against the Holy Ghost, which cannot be forgiven. Anyone who commits that sin is dammed to hell for all eternity. That would be very sad for my parents, if their only son, to whom they are so attached, should be doomed to eternal damnation. I cannot do that to my parents. All I need do is not go on thinking."

That was easier said than done. On my long walk home I tried to think all sorts of other things, but I found my thoughts returning again and again to the beautiful cathedral which I loved so much, and to God sitting on the throne- and then my thoughts would fly off again as if they had recieved a powerful electric shock.

I kept repeating to myself: "Don't think of it, just don't think of it!" I reached home in a pretty worked-up state.

My mother noticed something was wrong, and asked, "What is the matter, with you?Ha something happened at school?" I was able to assure her, without lying, that nothing had happened at school.

I did have the thought that it might help me if I could confess to my mother the real reason for my turmoil. But to do so I would have to do the very thing that seemed impossible: think my thought right to the end.

The poor dear was utterly unsuspecting and could not possibly know that I was in terrible danger of commiting the unforgiveable sin and plunging myself into hell. I rejected the idea of confessing and tried to efface myself as much as possible. That night I slept badly; again and again the forebidden thought , which I did not yet know, tried to break out, and I struggled desperately to fend it off.

The next two days were sheer torture, and my mother was convinced that I was ill. But I resisted the temptation to confess, aided by the thought that it would cause my parents intense sorrow.
on the third night, however, the orment became so unbearable that I no longer knew what to do.

I awoke from a restless sleep just in time to catch myself thinking again about the cathedral and God.I had almost continued the thought ! I felt my resistance weakening. Sweating with fear, I sat up in bed to shake off sleep.

"Now it is coming, now it's serious! I must think. It must be thoughtout beforehand.why should I think something I do not know? i don't want to, by God that's sure. But who wants me to? Who wants to force me to think something I don't know and don't want to know? Where does this terrible will come from? And why should I be the one to be subjected to it? I was thinking praises of the creator of this beautiful world, I was grateful to him for this immeasurable gift, so why should I have to think something inconceivably wicked?

Reference: Memories, Dreams, Reflections: C.G.Jung




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