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The anima yearns for deep connection and calls to the ego to descend into the unconscious to dissolve and re-emerge whole. The unconscious, non-differentiated, anima can portray a sense of soft purity and an instinctively nurturing nature, but has a destructive, dark side that grips ego-consciousness and sinks it into the matrix.
Danny Heart, Falling into the Matrix: Analyzing Psychological Movement from Ego-Consciousness toward the Bottomless Subject (Oct. 2018)

When the anima calls, an instinct is awakened and a death-rebirth process is set ablaze. The dissolution of ego and Self separation is imperative for the re-membering of the bottomless subject, where the ego returns to witness the raw impulse that lies at bottom.
Danny Heart, The Differentiated Anima: Exploring Alchemy as a Technology of the Soul (Oct. 2018)

“During the individuation process, the totality of the psyche is constantly dissolved, differentiated and re-assimilated into a centralized awareness closer to the God-Image, or the true Self. In order to individuate, the ego must fall back into the matrix of which gave it life–the unconscious–in order to reconnect with nature and instinct during psychic restructuring… The meaninglessness that plagues the modern secular era trapped in an obtuse object, or the ecological disconnection from nature and interconnectedness, results from the evolution of consciousness in that contact has been lost with the universal patterns of energy that move through us. Accepting the destructive and crude aspects of the imagination and “ego-instincts” (as cited in Jung, 1968, p. 43) starves the need for destructive and crude habits and behaviors, attributed to repressed psychic energy living within the unconscious, to be expressed outwardly…” – Danny Heart, a paper on Jung, Individuation and the Symbolic Life (Oct. 2018)

Intentionally Untitled

For the Hopelessly Hopeful:

It’s us…It’s always been us.
We, who – Abdicate the surface to love so deeply with our souls;
We, who trade our lungs with bated breath for organs filled with Their smiles instead.
We, whose veins are filled with the persisting scent of the lasts’ betrayal; Who release our past through the same vertical nicks that we’ll shelter our future.
We, who have a self-destruct-button of a heart.

We open up our veins expecting to bleed blissfully.
Idiotically. Repetitively.
We forget about the shock, the damage and the shut-down.
We end up fiend-ing for warmth in the palm of Their hands.
We end up anemic.

An Active Imagination account, Mar. 2020

I want to choose the Edgar Allan Poe poem, or the Spirit of the Dead image as much as I don’t want to. My dad has been visiting me in my dreams recently, so was there really another option? I look for my white, fluffy sleep mask and can’t find it. I settle for the black one with cat ears on it. It feels safe and requested. I decide to lay on the couch with my legs bent over its arm, a cylindrical throw pillow under my neck. I am careful to set the scene, pale sand; swaying leaves; salty air; pink and red skies. Somehow it is yet sunset and solar noon, simultaneously. I feel nervous to call for my dad, yet he appears beach ready. We make it to the coast before Dad turns into a scary crone and tries to push me into the ocean. I beg this to stop and we reset to our original positions. This time we’re routed to a dry area where large leaves act as canopies. We briefly talk about mom before addressing the elephant. I ask if he may show me what she wants in the form of an item. He holds out a purple clam and I intuitively know a pearl is inside. I think I’m ready, I say. Dad holds my hand as we inch our feet into the water, “It’s cold ain’t it?” We joke but I really want to know what she wants with me, so I ask him. He smiles. And then I am off, a tall but skinny wave lifting me into the sky, “Will you stay with me?”

I am always with you. And now he is the clear blue sky, there is his face, a tiny cloud acting as his stubbly mustache. I slide down the wave on my bum, am met with another wave which shoots me up in the sky and another and another. My dad is now the fuller cloud, talking through the wind. And then he is a bird. “I am always right there beside you.” I feel I must look down, and now I see. The ocean’s essence is my reflection or the other way around or both. I breathe deep and am gently let down into the water, my dad is a fish blub blub smile. I float shallowly beneath the surface. I am afraid I will be snatched up by the depths. Fish dad assures me I will not; I am no longer needed there. I am lifted from the water by the reverse of time and am found in a moment in time wrapped in memory.