As a child, I did the ritual, first did something and only then, realizing what it was.

And it was not the only thing that I found for myself at school. But before
to talk about this, I must mention the gloomy atmosphere of that night
as if thickened in the house. Something happened at night, something incomprehensible and
disturbing. My parents slept apart. I slept in the room of his father. The room
mother came something frightening in the evenings mother was a strange and
mysterious. One night I saw her coming through the door weakly
glowing blurry figure, her head was separated from the neck and floated
ahead through the air like a small moon. Then came another head and
also separated. This was repeated six or seven times. I was worried about the dreams in
the subjects then increased, then decreased. For example, I dreamed
a tiny ball located at a great distance, gradually approaching,
growing into something monstrous and causing suffocation. Or I dreamt Telegraph
the wire sitting on them birds; wire expanded my fear grew,
until at last with terror I awoke.
 These dreams were harbingers of physiological changes associated with
puberty, however, they had another reason. In seven years I
sick of false croup with asthma. One night during this
I attack with thrown back his head stood up in the bed, while the father
held me under the arms. Over him I saw a circle of blue flame about the size
the full moon, and inside it moved Golden figures, I thought - angels.
The vision was repeated, and each time the fear of suffocation become weaker. But suffocation
in neurotic the dreams occurred again and again. I see this as psychogenic
factor: stifling grew the atmosphere in the house.
 I hated going to Church. The exception was Christmas. I
loved the Christmas song "This day God created". And
in the evening, of course, was a Christmas tree. Christmas was the only
Christian holiday, which I heartily rejoiced, the rest was
indifferent. Yet somehow I was attracted to eve, though he clearly stood on
second place. But in the advent was something disharmonious, something to do with
at night, storms, wind and darkness of the house - that whisper that seemed
supernatural.
 I now return to the opening, which made communicating with my
village school friends. I found that they tore me from
myself, I was not at home. I participated in their
pranks and even he invented them that the house never would come to me in
head (so it seemed to me, at least). Nevertheless, I knew
what I can do. I thought, what has changed under the influence of my friends. They
somehow taking me away from  yourself or forced to be
from what I was in reality. The impact of this wider, not
only the parent of the world seemed to me doubtful, perhaps
suspicious, and somewhat, though not clearly, but hostile. More
aware of the bright beauty of light filled day of the world, where there is
"Golden sunlight" and "green foliage", I at the same time felt
power over an obscure world of shadows, full of unanswered questions. My
evening prayer was a kind of ritual: it is, as expected,
finished the day and  preceded the night and sleep. But in a new day concealed new
danger. Scared me this is my split, I saw him as a threat to their
internal security.
 I upominaetsja also that at this time (seven to nine years) I loved
to play with fire. Our garden was surrounded by a stone wall, in the masonry of which, between
stones, formed deepening. In one of these recesses I along with
other boys often bred a small fire. It should have been
to support, and we all gathered for him branches. However, no one but
I was not entitled to maintain this fire. Other could light a fire in the
other grooves, and these fires were common, they didn't bother me.
Only my fire was alive and sacred. It for a long time became my
a favorite game.
 The wall slope started, which I found buried in the ground
stone - my stone. Often, sitting on it, I indulged in strange
metaphysical game - it looked like this: "I sit on this rock, I'm on it, and
he's beneath me". The stone also could say "I" and think: "I lie here on this
the slope he is sitting on me." Further, the question arose: "Who am I? Or, who
sitting on  the stone, or am I the stone on which he sits?" I didn't know and
whenever lifting, felt like I didn't really know who I am now. This
the uncertainty accompanied by strange and fascinating feeling of the dark,
arising in consciousness. I had no doubt that this gem a secret
way connected with me. I could sit for hours on it, fascinated him
a mystery.
 Thirty years later I again visited this hillside. I already had
family, children, home, their place in the world, my head was full of ideas and plans. But
here I suddenly turned into that baby, it burned full
the mysterious meaning of the fire and sat on the stone, not knowing who was who: I or
he me? I thought about my life in Zurich, and it seemed alien to me, as
news from another world and another time. This was scary, because the world of childhood, in
I plunged again, was an eternity, and I broke away from him, felt
time - lasting, leaving, going down further and further. The attraction of the world was
so strong that I had a sharp force to tear yourself from this
places to not to forget about the future.
 I will never forget that moment - like a short flashunusually
revealed the special property of time, a kind of "eternity" is only possible in
childhood. What it meant, I learned later. I was ten years old when my
internal dissension and uncertainty in the world generally led to the act,
absolutely unfathomable. Then I had a yellow varnished pencil case, like this,
what usually happens with school children, with a small castle and measurement
line. At the end of the line I cut out of a man, six inches long,
in robes, a top hat and shiny black boots. I painted it black
ink, cut with a ruler and put in  pencil case, where I gave him a little
bed. I even made a coat for him from a piece of wool. I put in
pencil case oval smooth blackish stone from the Rhine, painted it
water colors so that it seemed as if divided into upper and lower
half, and long wearing stone in my pants pocket. It was his stone, my
man. All together, this was my secret, the meaning of which I don't quite
understood. Secretly I took the case to the attic (forbidden because the floorboards there
were worm-eaten and rotten) and hid it on one of the beams under the roof.
I was pleased with - no one will see! No soul will find it there.
No one will discover my secret and will not be able to take it away from me. I felt
safe, and a painful sense of internal struggle is gone. When
I found it difficult when I was doing something wrong or my feelings had been
hurt when irritability of father or mother sore oppressed me,
I thought about my little man, carefully folded and wrapped about his
smooth, fine painted stone. From time to time, when I was
I am sure that nobody will see me, I had to sneak up to the attic. Climbing
on the beam, I opened the case and looked at my man and his stone. Each
once I put in the pencil case a little scroll of paper, where before it'd write something
in secret, I invented the language. New scroll I hid like
did a solemn ritual. Can't, unfortunately, remember what
I wanted to tell the man. I know that my "letters" were his
kind of library for it. It seems to me, though I'm not very sure about it that
they consisted of my favorite maxims.
 To explain to myself the meaning of these things I never tried. I felt
feeling again found security and was satisfied, owning what no one
did not know and which nobody could reach. It was the mystery that was impossible
open to anyone, after all, depended on the safety of my life. Why is this
it was so, I never asked. Just was and everything.
 Possession of a secret has a powerful influence on my character. I think it is
the most significant experience of my childhood. Similarly, I never
talked about my dream: the Jesuit, too, belonged to the mysterious sphere, about
which - I know - we cannot tell anyone. Wooden man with a stone
was the first attempt,  unconscious and child, give the mysteries of the external
form. I was absorbed in all of this and felt I should try it
to understand, but didn't know actually wanted to Express. I always hoped that
I can find something (perhaps in nature) that will give me the key to my
secrets finally clarify what it is, i.e. its real essence. Then
also I have a passion for plants, animals, rocks. I was always ready
to something mysterious. Now I realize that was religious in the Christian
the sense, though always with a caveat like: "All this is true, but not quite!" or "I
what to do with what is under the ground?" And when I hammered religious
dogmas and saying, "That's fine and that's good!", I thought to myself, "Yes,
all this is true, but there is something Else - a secret, no one knows".
 The episode with the carved man was the highest and last point of my
childhood. It lasted about a year. I never thought about it until then,
until I was thirty-five. Then in front of me with extraordinary
clarity re-emerged this childhood impression. I worked on the book
"Libido: its metamorphoses and symbols" and one could call it the "graveyardliving
"stones near Arlesheim, and the Australian charms, when suddenly
found that quite clearly imagine one of these stones:
black, oval, with two sides painted. For this image in my mind
have any yellow pencil case and wooden man. The little man was a little
pagan idol, some sort of ancient statue of Aesculapius holding a scroll.
 With this recollection I first visited the idea that there are
some archaic elements of consciousness that has no analogues in the literary tradition.
In the library of his father (who I met much later) there was not
a book in which they could find information on this topic. Not
mention the fact that the father had no idea about such
things.
 In 1920, being in England, I, completely forgetting about his child
experience, has carved two similar figures. One of them I have reproduced in
an enlarged scale of stone, now standing in my garden in küsnacht. And
only then the subconscious told me her name - "atmavictu" - "breath of
life" (lit. - breath of life). It was a continuation of those quasiexactly
images of my childhood, but  now they appeared as "breath of life",
a creative impulse. All together it was called "kabir" [Kabiri (or
gods-giants) - natural deity, a cult which, as a rule, was associated
with the cult of Demeter. Usually they are seen as the source of life and creation.], -
the figure, wrapped in a cloak, she had a so-called "kista" - stock
the life force in the form of an oblong black stone. But the connection is opened
me a lot later. As a child, I did the ritual as well as, according to my latest
observations, did the African natives; they, too, first did something
and only then, realizing what it was.