Whatever Is Rejected From The Self, Appears

At The Moment I Am Looking Into Astrology, Which Seems Indispensable For A Proper Understanding Of Mythology. There Are Strange And Wondrous Things In These Lands Of Darkness. Please, Don't Worry About My Wanderings In These Infinitudes. I Shall Return Laden With Rich Booty For Our Knowledge Of The Human Psyche.

Life Has Always Seemed To Me Like A Plant That Lives On Its Rhizome. Its True Life Is Invisible, Hidden In The Rhizome. The Part That Appears Above Ground Lasts Only A Single Summer. Then It Withers Away—an Ephemeral Apparition. When We Think Of The Unending Growth And Decay Of Life And Civilizations, We Cannot Escape The Impression Of Absolute Nullity. Yet I Have Never Lost A Sense Of Something That Lives And Endures Underneath The Eternal Flux. What We See Is The Blossom, Which Passes. The Rhizome Remains.

We Are Born At A Given Moment, In A Given Place And, Like Vintage Years Of Wine, We Have The Qualities Of The Year And Of The Season Of Which We Are Born. Astrology Does Not Lay Claim To Anything More.

The Experience Of The Self Is Always A Defeat For The Ego.

Psychoanalysis Cannot Be Considered A Method Of Education If By Education We Mean The Topiary Art Of Clipping A Tree Into A Beautiful Artificial Shape. But Those Who Have A Higher Conception Of Education Will Prize Most The Method Of Cultivating A Tree So That It Fulfils To Perfection Its Own Natural Conditions Of Growth.