Something imperfect was still in me

 Looking around, I noticed that the curtain from time to time stretches, how
from strong wind. Suddenly in front of  me there was Hans, a young man from our
village. I asked him to check, open a window. Hans came,
but he returned much frightened - in his eyes there was a horror. He was only able
to say, "Yes, there's something there. There is a Ghost!"
 Then I went there myself and saw the door leading to my mother's room. In
she didn't have one. I was not myself in this very large room with
the ceiling hung two rows of chests - five each, two steps short
to the floor. They looked like little gazebos, 2 sq m, and in each
it was two beds. I knew that in this room  my mother, who actually
fact died a long time ago, that these beds are designed for those
who will be staying the night. There were spirits that appear in pairs, so
called "engaged spirits", they can stay the night, and sometimes on
the whole day. [Similar to "trap ghosts" I later saw in Kenya. It was
small houses in which people put small beds and left
some food ("POSCO"). In bed usually put a piece of clay - a symbol
some of the disease that wanted to get rid of. The house was artfully led
paved stones road,  that the spirits were there, and did not linger in
the village where the patient lived. To "trap" spirits spent the night, and at dawn
back in the bamboo forest, his permanent abode.]


 On the opposite side of the room was the door. I opened it and found himself in
the great hall, resembling the lobby of a luxury hotel; some of the pillars stood
a lot of chairs and small tables. It sounded like music. I heard her back in
room, but could not understand where her source. The hall was empty, except
musicians who are deafening play some waltzes and marches.
 Brass band in the lobby  she looked deliberately at "the local",
unreal. Nobody would have thought to do that for real deliberately
the facade is hidden another world, which is located here in the same house. This
the lobby in my dream was a kind of a caricature of my secular
life. But this was only the external shell, hiding something completely
else that does not jibe with rousing music, a lab with fish and
hanging trap "spirits". There was a complete mystery silence of the night, then
the lobby was represented by the daily world, with its secular surface
existence.
  The most important images of the dream were "traps for spirits" and
laboratory fish. The first is indirectly hinted at coniunctio,
second on my thoughts related to Christ and the crucifixion; Christ and
there are fish (ichtys). Both took me more than one decade.
 It is noteworthy that the study fish were in the dream occupation of my father. There he
was, so to speak, a "Keeper" of Christian souls: after all, according to
the legend, the soul is the fish, and the Apostle Peter - catcher - seining.
Is true that my mother acted here as the guardian of lost souls.So,
my parents had me encumbered with the problem of "cura animarum" (the treatment
shower. - lat.) that actually was my goal. Something
imperfect was still in me, and because I was still linked with
parents; something hidden and unconscious was waiting in the wings. I haven't
was captured, the main problem of "philosophical" alchemy - the coniunctio and therefore
did not know how to answer the questions that stood in front of me, the healer
Christian souls. Not over yet was a lot of work on the legend of St.
Grail, work that my wife was considered a major part of his life.
[After the death of Mrs. Jung in 1955, this work was continued by Dr.Marie-Louise
von Franz, who completed it in 1958. See: E. Jung, Franz, von M. L.Die
Graalslegende in psychologischer Sicht. Studien aus dem C. G. Jung-Institut.
B. XII. Zurich, 1960. - ed.] Remember how I often call back bowl of St.
The Grail and the Fisher king, when I worked on the character "ichtys" in "Iona". I
very much appreciated the work of my wife, not wanting to interfere with her, otherwise definitely
would include the legend of the Grail in the plan of my research on alchemy.
 I remember the moral anguish of my father. Like White,
the Fisher king with an incurable wound, he felt a Christian suffering from
which the alchemists sought the panacea. As a silent Parsifal, I've seen it all
and, like Parsifal, didn't know how to Express it. All I had
to guess about them.