Active Imagination

My endeavor now commences, chronicling the experiences bestowed upon me through the practice of active imagination. I shall faithfully document these occurrences for future introspection, preserving the voices of my internal archetypes and characters within quotation marks, while my responses shall be italicized. Additionally, I aim to encapsulate these sessions through artistic renderings. The inaugural session unfolded as follows:

Nov 16, 2023

"Come speak to me." I've already forgotten what I responded, but the subsequent question echoed, "What is it you seek?" Contemplation ensued fleetingly. A plethora of notions traversed my consciousness—yearning for love, to be loved, seeking pleasure. What is the true object of my pursuit? Perhaps an inquiry directed at my soul is warranted.

I retreated to my chamber.

"You are a slob." A burst of laughter ensued—a recognition that judgment resides within, not without.

I seek connection.

Can I approach as I deem fit?

"Yes."

Then, I shall approach with a smile. Despite harboring a hint of trepidation.

I choose to smile, nonetheless.

The procurement of this notebook and the candle, I realize, might not be a mere coincidence. (Curiously, the artwork adorning the notebook bears an uncanny resemblance to Jung's creations, a realization that occurred subsequent to my purchase. I intend to share an image of this correlation at the conclusion of this record.) It seems my Self guides me... or so I hope.

"How long can you wait?"

I don't know.

"How long can you wait?"

I am trying. Although recollection escapes me, a reassurance was tendered, affirming the acceptability of my state.

"How long can you wait?"

I shall endure for as long as I am able.

"Good." However, as soon as I began to revel in my patience, a gentle rebuke ensued, "Do not cling to goodness." An instructive admonishment, indeed.

Fleeting flashes of my life cascaded—an ensemble of my gravest moments. Instances at [_], moments of impatience with patrons, or moments ensconced in private indulgence. My task was not to judge but to observe. I chuckled—a self-amused recognition, tinged with a sense of the absurd.

Then, an abrupt surge of emotion overwhelmed me—an acknowledgement of the prolonged separation from this presence throughout my existence. Tears almost welled up.

"Fake tears!"

Again, laughter reverberated—a resonating reflection from the depths of my being. My thoughts echoed incessantly, echoing within the confines of my consciousness, sometimes manifesting audibly. ("Out of the depths of the heart, the mouth speaks.") Structure—neither essential nor to be disregarded. This presence embodies wisdom, kindness, humor, acumen, terror, brutality—yet an inexplicable pull draws me closer. We are one, entwined.

I seek you.

"If you seek something, you don't have it."

We are one, forever conjoined...

"Yes."

I desire for you to reveal something to me.

"You have approached to receive?"

I am sorry; that is not the point. Then what is?

"I am sorry." Subsequently, a whirlwind of incoherent expressions, words, and sensations engulfed me, nearly overwhelming. Then, enlightenment struck.

Ah, to comprehend.

"Yes."

But comprehend what?

"You pose too many inquiries. Simply listen."

Understood. My response, seemingly uncomplicated, belied the arduous internal struggle. A multitude of distractions and incessant thoughts pervaded my being.

The phrase echoed persistently, "If you're speaking, you can't listen."

"If you're speaking, you can't listen."

"If you're speaking, you can't listen."

How might I attain silence? I perceive nothingness; I AM.

"That's how."

Subsequently, more waiting ensued. Endless waiting.

"How long can you wait?"

I sense an impending venture into an immense desert. Yet presently, a smile adorns my countenance. No vivid images manifest, save for her! She materialized as a resplendent woman adorned with myriad eyes, only to grotesquely dissolve into oblivion. Should I be granted permission, perhaps I shall attempt to depict it. Or maybe not.

"You seek my form. Does form matter?"

Indeed. I fixate upon my form (my corpulence, my scars, my physical appearance). Nevertheless, do they truly hold significance... do they?

My mind experienced numerous tinglings. The closing utterances reverberated,

"Thank you."

Thank you.

"Enough!"

And I awoke.

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