A few days ago I dreamt I was in an antique jeweler’s shop. He didn’t have much, but I spotted one ring. It was large, made up of three thin, white, square pieces (the jeweler told me it was made of bone), joined together on top, and the base of the ring was made of wood. The miniature carving on the front of the white pieces was like one of those old paintings of Jesus. A side pose. A brown-ish halo around his head. I was spell-bound by the carving and how beautiful the ring was. I wore it. It was a perfect fit. It was very expensive for me but I told the jeweler I would come back for it. Even though the ring looked large, bracelet size, when I wore it, it was the perfect fit.
— From Marie von Franz books
Biologists say that trees are social beings. They can count, learn, and remember. They nurse sick members, warn each other of danger by sending electrical signals across a fungal network and for reasons unknown, keep ancient stumps of long felled companions alive for centuries, by feeding them a sugary solution through their roots.
— From Call to Change
Every sane person is an agnostic to the extent that the universe is fundamentally ambiguous to human perceptions.
— Jim Rigby
Yet through depression we enter depths and in depths find soul. Depression is essential to the tragic sense of life. It moistens the dry soul, and dries the wet. It brings refuge, limitation, focus, gravity, weight, and humble powerlessness . . . The true revolution begins in the individual who can be true to his or her depression.
~ James Hillman
Humanity is confronted with an unknowable mystery that it keeps trying to shrink to the size of its small imagination. We keep trying to pierce the veil of the larger paradigm of existence with our science while we also try to freeze it within the bounds of our comfort zones with creeds and other certainties. The mystery of who we are and what we’re doing here remains, regardless. So far, our means of demystifying it are inadequate to the task.
Life events seem designed to strip us of our comforting delusions and certainty. We seem to need to “live the questions,” as Rilke said. We seem…