I was enthusiastically playing dice

After the break with Freud was a period of internal oscillations,
if I had lost direction and could not feel the ground under my feet. But
first, I had to take a new approach to working with patients.
So came the decision to build on what they themselves say, not
assuming some initial prejudice, meaning surrender to the will
case. Our communication was limited now to the next: patients spontaneously
she told me about her dreams and fantasies, and I just asked them questions: "And
what did this remember?" or "How you do it you know? Where is
came to you?", etc. in Other words, the explanation was given by the patient, it
born from his own responses and associations. I tried not
to use any theoretical systems, but simply
helped patients understand themselves better, to explain they may have
unconscious images.
 Soon I was convinced that I chose the right path, that dreams should
to perceive in this way - as source material for interpretation
of unconscious processes. Of course, on this path I met
many  surprises. I increasingly felt the need for any
objective criteria, but rather, the initial reference point.
 At the moment all I have achieved so far, appeared in front of me
extraordinary clarity. I was almost convinced he had finally found the key to myth and
can now penetrate into the unconscious region of the human soul. However,
something prevented me to establish his own omnipotence, and now I'm
asked myself, what are my accomplishments? I was able to explain the origin of
archaic mythology, I wrote a book about heroes, about those myths in which
once found themselves people. But it looks like the myth of modern man?
You might answer that it is a Christian myth. "And do you
this myth?" I asked myself. - "Honestly, no. It's not my myth." -
"Therefore, we have no more myths?" - "I don't think so". - "And what's your
a myth? The myth in which you live?" But here I had to stop this
dialogue with myself - in front of me was a dead end.

 On Christmas eve of 1912, I had a dream. I was in
magnificent Italian Palazzo with columns, marble floors and marble
balustrade. I  sat on the Golden chair of the Renaissance for rich
jeweled Desk. It was made of green stone resembling emerald. I
I realized that I was in the castle tower. My children sat next to me.
 Suddenly planned a beautiful white bird, looks like a small Seagull
or the dove. She gracefully sat down at the table, and I gestured the children are not
move so as not to frighten her. Suddenly the bird turned into a little
fair-haired girl of eight and ran with the children to play in
the galleries of the castle.
 I remained seated, pondering what he saw. But the baby's hereback
and gently hugged me, then suddenly disappeared, and reappeared a bird
which slowly began to speak in a human voice: "Only in the first hours
nights when my husband is busy with the twelve dead that I can find
human form". After that, she disappeared into the blue, and I woke up.
 The only thing I'm sure - that this was a marvelous display
unconscious. But to explain it I couldn't, because not mastered the technique
penetration into unconscious processes. What may be common in pigeons
twelve dead? The emerald table reminded me the story of tabula
B. smaragdina. I thought about the twelve apostles, twelve months,
the twelve signs of the Zodiac, but reading could not find. In the end I
stopped to look for it. It only remained to wait, to live, trusting his
fantasies.
 Among them was one constant, scarily obsessive: I was
something dead and alive at the same time. So I saw the corpses in the ovens of the crematorium,
but then it turned out that it was still alive. These fantasies have peaked and
finally resolved within the dream.
 I was in a place that resembled the Champs Elysees (Elyscamps) near
from Arles, where there is a burial place of the Merovingian. In the dream, I left the city and
saw a alley, with the long rows of graves. These were stone slabs,
on which lay the dead in their garments, with folded hands,
like knights in armor in the ancient crypts. The difference consisted only in
that dead people in my dream were not of stone, and looked like a special
way made mummies. Stopping in front of the first grave, I
carefully looked at the dead man, who appears to have been from the 30-ies of the last
century. I studied his attire, when he suddenly stirred and separated hands. I
realized that it happened only because I looked at him. I was
somehow not on itself; going further, I stopped at the next one, he was
from the eighteenth century and also came to life as soon as I looked at him. Moving along
the entire series, I got to the tombs of the XII century up to the Crusader in chain mail,
which seemed to be carved from wood. I looked at him quite
for a long time, to make sure he's really dead, and suddenly noticed that
begin to move the fingers on his left hand.
 This dream for a long time bothered me. Of course, I immediately thought of
the idea of Freud that traces of archaic experience, that lurk in the unconscious
modern man. But such dreams and my own experience convinced me,
that is simply not the relics of lost forms, but a living part of our
beings. My later research confirmed this assumption, it
became the starting point of the doctrine about archetypes.
 However, the tremendous impression made on me these dreams, not
helped to get rid of uncertainty and to find solid ground under their feet.
On the contrary, I had sustained internal tension. In some point
his power increased so much that I felt like I was losing my mind. I
started to remember all my life, all the details, especially his childhood years,
in the past, hoping to find the cause of today's loss of composure.
But this retrospective nor to no avail, and I had to sign in
his own impotence. Then I said to myself: "since I don't know anything, all,
what's left for me is to just watch with me." So
by the way, I have intentionally given the freedom of the unconscious impulses.
 The first thing that surfaced in my memory, these are my the feeling, when I was
ten or eleven. At that time I was enthusiastically playing dice. Remember
both of them built castles and houses with gates and arches round from bottles.
Somewhat later construction material steel ordinary stones when I
used mud instead of mortar. This passion lasted long enough.
Strange, but the memories were very vivid, emotional and aroused
a lot of associations.
 "That's it, I thought, that's all it has for me
value. Little boy builds something, living a creative life, and
now  me exactly what is missing. But I can't be on it again
place. Is it possible to overcome the distance between an adult person and
eleven-year-old boy?" And yet, if I wanted to restore this relationship,
I didn't remain anything else how to be a child again and carefree
play your childish games.
 This excursion into the past is largely influenced my destiny.
After a long internal resistance, I eventually returned to
games, though not without painful and humiliating feelings of coercion. But
I really had nochoice.
 I began to collect suitable stones: some found on the shore of the lake,
some in the water. I built a castle and several houses - kind of small
the village. Realizing that it must be the Church, I folded a square building with
the dome and bell tower. It only remained to build the altar, but here I
hesitated.