I Found Yoda on the River

I’ve been pre-occupied this week by thoughts of the Arkansas River.  She and I had a heated encounter last Saturday.  It was planned, She knew I was coming, because I have had a standing date with her every July 4^th weekend for the last five summers.  I bring Lauren with me, my younger sister Cheryl and her manfriend Jameson, and a variety of friends. She doesn’t mind – “The more the merrier”, She says.

Just like the past four summers, I arrived feeling both anxious and curious.  “What will Her mood be today?” I wondered.  The first summer She must’ve sensed my reluctance so She went easy on me, and I was able to leave feeling slightly shaken but mostly proud of myself for getting through it. One summer She was feeling ornery and doused me with cold hard rain, and I learned from Her how to Suck It Up and Hang Out With Her Anyway.  Something was different about Her this summer though.  She was… scary.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.  I had seen Her from afar a variety of times over the last few weeks, and She was raging like I’d never seen before.  “Maybe She’ll be feeling better by our date weekend,” I innocently put out there.  I could tell the moment I stepped off our rafting bus that She wasn’t.  “Can I take a rain check?” creeped to my lips but I swallowed the words whole.  Peer pressure aside, I was trying to form a long term relationship with Her. So abandoning Her at this point would be a decision I would regret later, feeling like a betrayal not only to Her, but to myself as well.

I have had a strange relationship with water all of my life.  My zodiac sign is Cancer the Crab, a Water Sign.  My disposition is very “water-like” in nature.  I love listening to the sound of rain, and ocean waves.  Looking at images of calm water, and even a gentle flowing river, can bring deep serenity to my sometimes hyper-active soul. And yet I’m not a huge fan of water when it touches me.  I like to drink it.  But all the way from the shower in my bathroom to water park rides to the ocean, I’ve got some sort of weird uncomfortableness with it.

It recently occurred to me that one reason Lauren has been put into my life is to get me to be more adventurous. Take more chances. Get uncomfortable.  Let go of some of my control issues.  Therefore, I have concluded she was the “matchmaker” for the Arkansas River and I, knowing full well She would challenge me and push me to my limits.  I made it through our first date in 2007 soaking wet, a little cold, and quite proud of the way I was able to handle myself with Her. Same would go for our dates in ’08, ’09,  and ’10.  So what would that say about me if I, upon arriving at our five year anniversary date, turned my back on Her just because She looked a little grouchy?  I climbed somewhat subdued into the raft with my oar, my lifejacket, and my helmet, as if my gentle approach would somehow not disturb her into a further tizzy.

I silently gave myself the “I am Xena the Warrior Princess” self-talk.  This has become a common practice for me before going on dates similar to this one, such as when I spend time on airplanes or with Lauren’s grandmother. I reminded myself that it was okay to feel hesistant and nervous, and to stay focused and cool. Oh, and that more than likely I wasn’t going to die, so it’s okay to look away from the river and enjoy the gorgeous scenery of the Royal Gorge.

What ensued was such a rough date that, at one point, I told Her I never wanted to see Her again.

That's me, second one back on the right. Looking like I'm kissing my a** goodbye.

Firstly, I didn’t dress appropriately for our time together.  I agreed to the wetsuit, but passed on the splashjacket.  Mere minutes into our visit I was sprinkled by just a bit of Her chilly waters on my all too bare arms, and I realized I had made a very very poor choice.  After we went through the first of the rapids I looked around at my smiling and laughing raftmates and felt jealous, as I began to shiver from the inside out.  “Why must I have such thin skin?” I wondered, hints of self-pity already beginning to make their way past my Warrior Princess armor.

The background music to our date was the amusing and terrifying storytelling of our host, Riverguide Sean. He liked sharing harrowing tales of rafts capsizing “just earlier this week”, thanks to the unusually high waters She was producing this season.  I decided to use the penetrating power of my Therapist Mind to deduct that he made all of the stories up in order to create nervous doubt within us.  This would be followed by feelings of euphoria and boastful pride, because we will successfully get through the trip without such calamities occurring, and therefore remember the trip as being much more exciting than it really was.

About midway through the trip, my sister was thrown from the raft in the middle of the 3 Rocks rapid, and I nearly joined her.  I realized then that Raftguide Sean was indeed not making those stories up about the river, and that this indeed was the Worst Date Ever.

Cheryl was brought quickly back onto the raft. She really is Xena the Warrior Princess, emerging victoriously from Her waters with a look of enthralled surprise on her face.  My friends Eileen and Tony had grabbed me from behind when they saw me falling out of the raft, but for some reason I thought they were holding me back from rescuing Cheryl so I let out a “Let go of me! I need to save my sister!” battlecry worthy of an Academy Award.  So yes, a part of me is impressed with the heroic drive I had to rescue her, yet the histrionic flair with which I expressed it seemed like overkill.  In other words, the river had me so nervous that, at that point, I demonized Her into a vortex that was going to swallow up my sister, and by gods I wasn’t going to let Her do that!!!

But Cheryl was safe, even laughing and smiling.  Jameson gave her “nucks”. Everyone else in the raft cheered for her, commenting on how they were glad it wasn’t them, and then we paddled on.  I was so confused.  What to me felt like a scene out of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” was, in actuality, a scene from “Goonies”. I knew something was wrong with this picture.  And I knew then that the river… had made me Her bitch.

As much as I didn’t want to admit to my secretive experience of defeat, I asked Sean how much longer until the end of the trip.  “Less than 15 minutes, Dara. You ok?” I stared out into Her waters. I knew this was about loss of control. I had the chilling realization that, if life is like this river, then how am I gonna handle surprises, crisis, and other “scary” moments? What will I do when the waves come crashing down around me, so that I don’t end up just sitting there shaken, unsure, beaten?

I have been known to exaggerate the effects something has had on me, being that it makes for better storytelling. And I did that in the days following my date with the river, going on and on about how afraid I was, “for my life even!”, and how I was feeling all in all stunned by the entire experience. But this was one story I really wasn’t embellishing. It was far too embarrassing to be anything but a confession of truth. For the most part people thought I was being silly, and couldn’t believe I didn’t have more fun with Her. But honestly, I really did think that maybe, just maybe… She was gonna to kill me that day.  I knew then that something had to change, because how ridiculous is that shit.

I’m the kind of person who needs to make sense of what happens to me, as if the events of my life are various scenes that make up my own personal story. And, in this case, I was tired of making the river into the character of “the ruthless enemy” — a mean-spirited Medusa who was out to get the Hero that day.  By doing that it meant I would either never raft again and this cowardly act would spill over into other areas of my life, or I would try to get revenge against her, which sounded exhausting and pointless.

So I decided to make Her my mentor, my Yoda. Right when I was feeling cocky and unbeatable, She proved to me I wasn’t really using the Force, causing R2D2 to come crashing down into the swamp. Now she wants me to lift the X-Wing Fighter, to come back to the river next year. I say “I’ll try”.  She says “No. Do, or do not. There is no ‘try’”.

Shifting Her role from my enemy to my mentor helped me remember that I did come up with methods of getting through the trip that didn’t involve me curling up in the fetal position. I realized that if I kept breathing through the rapids, instead of holding onto my breath, my body wouldn’t go into shock from the chilly waters hitting my bare arms.  Breathing also helped everything slow down, as if every stroke I made in the water was the only thing that mattered in that moment. Sometimes I even closed my eyes and paddled, trusting that when I opened them, I’d be okay.  Remember that ball-looking thing that spit out sparks and Luke was able to hit them all with his lightsaber, but not until he closed his eyes and used the Force?

My other not-so-cowardly moment was about halfway through the trip, when I swallowed my pride and asked Eileen if I could use her splashjacket, since it was tied around her waist and she wasn’t using it.  Minutes later I thought to myself, “Well, if I fall out now at least I have a jacket on and won’t die of hypothermia”. Minutes after that, my sister was plunged into the river. Yes, Jedi Master, my perhaps my instincts were sharper than I realized that day. And yes I shall wear the jacket from the start next time.

Because of course now there will be a next time.  Until then, I’ll keep working on listening to and working with my new mentor, so I can be better prepared to meet my Dark Side when we meet again.

Click here to see an edited video of our adventure, courtesy of Riverguide Sean.

A Blog About Not Knowing Why I Blog

This is going to sound very cliché, like something you’ve heard every wanna-be writer list as one of her or his main reasons for wanting to be published.  “I have something to say”.

It’s not just enough to write something.  My partner wants to know why.  Isn’t it fulfilling enough to create, to have the experience of doing that?, she asks.  I answer immediately, “Absolutely not”.  I was taken aback by myself, because in a way it didn’t seem like the right answer.  Shouldn’t it be enough to go through the process of writing something and to then say “Ah, that was nice, I shall do that again another time”.  To me, that feels more like a hobby that can indeed be enjoyed solo. And yes, there are some that write as a hobby, and that’s okay. Writing… well, I’m still trying to figure out what it’s role is in my life.  But it’s definitely more than just a hobby.  It’s something that I feel can only be experienced fully with an audience present.

Okay, I’m still needing some reassurance from friends who “get” what I’m saying… How nice that the internet can put me in touch with them so quickly, even if they are dead!

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn’t we? 

~Terri Guillemets

So this is a sweet reminder as to why writing is pleasurable even if no one reads what I have written.  And yet that isn’t completely true either now, is it. Creating something and then no one except for the writer gets to appreciate it’s beauty?  Talent wasted, t’would be a shame…

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium. 

~Norbet Platt

Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am all about thinking deeply about life and regaining equilibrium.  Yes, this is 100% a selfish reason I write!

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. 

~Anaïs Nin

This speaks to me of the courage it takes to be a writer.  A writer who actually lets people read what she has written.  This part cannot take place fully without having an audience.

Readers, after all, are making the world with you. You give them the materials, but it’s the readers who build that world in their own minds.

~ Ursula Le Guin

This has to do with the connection a writer makes with her audience.  It’s very intimate, even if I don’t know how many people I am having this experience with.  That’s why readers end up feeling like they know the author – because reader and writer have just created something together.

I finally arrive at the point of writing this blog entry… Clearly I feel like there is something I am saying that cannot just stay in my journal.  It needs to be put “out there”.  Why? This is an existential question I have been trying to answer for years now. Why is what I have to say worth putting out there? And I have a feeling my uncertain response to this question is what has kept me from writing something and sticking with it.

You know, starting a blog and ditching whatever “theme” I decided to go with that year (i.e. my Late-Blooming-Lesbian blog, my “I’m a mom who only shops from local farmers!” blog…).  Starting a article-writing gig and stopping after writing five of them (i.e. when I wrote for Weird Sisters West).  Having a dozen book or screenplay ideas that sit in notebooks shoved in a trunk in my garage.  You get the tortured artist picture here…

So what’s the deal? I keep saying I don’t know what I’m trying to write about.  That I need more of a focus, a theme.  And then I don’t know if I should write non-fiction or fiction or a screenplay or articles or blogs…

I happened upon a brilliant deduction that I am fond of the Malcolm Gladwell approach, which involves him researching something that interests him, writing about these discoveries, and infusing storytelling into the mix.  I also like the way stories are told on NPR during shows like “This American Life”.  I imagine my writings having background music and sound clips, and my voice reading it outloud so you know that, say, this blog shouldn’t be read with too much seriousness but with more of a Woody Allen sort of tone.  And with mysterious, spa-like music playing in the background.

These insights, I’m sure, will continue to come together into something that will make complete and total sense to me one day.  In the meantime, I’m a little tired of complaining about not knowing what to write.  It’s certainly not getting my writing career anywhere by doing that.  My solution is…

The secret of becoming a writer is to write, write and keep on writing.

— Ken MacLeod

So I will post blogs such as this one, because Look!  I actually starting writing something, and I finished it!  Yes it’s short, and yes it has little to no editing done to it, but I shall let that hold me back no longer.  Starting off with, oh, probably 2 or 3 readers is okay with me too.  I am even trying not to care that this entry is coming to you under the heading of my “Baby Jungian Blog” that I started several months ago, and Jung has yet to be mentioned in it!  How dare I stray far out of the conditions I set forth myself!  Yay, this is fun…

More later.  I promise.

How this Control Freak will handle the Unexpected

I was reading a chapter in Carl Jung’s Modern Man in Search of a Soul called “Archaic Man”, written in 1930. He discusses in this chapter the notion of “primitive man” and how he would assume that Unexpected things would happen in life due to “magic”.  That there was no way to attribute it to anything else.  Whereas today we people tend to use “reason” as a way to explain the Unexpected.  For instance, when someone in your family dies in a car accident, when a tree falls on your house, when your partner tells you he or she is cheating on you, etc.  We have evolved enough to know that it’s not just a “supernatural occurrence” that causes such things to happen.  But is that really accurate now, in 2011?

Jung himself has talked about us entering into the “Age of Aquarius”, which back in 1930 was probably just entering it’s seedling existence.  We are more fully into this age now, whose focus is more on the development of spirituality as opposed to religion (there are many opinions of what this age is to mean, but that’s the one I resonate with the most, so there you have it).  That’s because we are moving out of the Piscean Age (the symbol of Pisces = fish = Jesus Fish.  Get it?), and a balance needs to be restored.

Okay, so that being said, I think we are more open as a species in the present day to include the “primitive man” idea that the Unexpected could indeed be attributed to “magic”, or at least it’s not just for logical reasons.  Although back then magic was seen more as evil, nowadays magic can be what many call “cosmic intelligence at work”, “the Tao”, “Nature restoring balance”… the list goes on.  It’s almost cliché, in fact, being that so many people want there to be a reason besides “Well, just because, so deal with it” as to why the Unexpected happens.

To me, I think it tells you a lot about a person’s perspective on life when you hear what he or she thinks is the reason the unexpected happens.  Case in point – my Grandma and Grandpa Hoffman lost their 7 year old daughter to cancer sometime around 1957.  I have heard from my dad that after that happened, my grandparents lost their faith in God for the rest of their lives.  It made me wonder then, what was the reason that Grandpa and Grandma believed it happened?  This is all purely conjecture at this point, but I have a feeling that Grandpa believed it happened because “life isn’t fair”.  For Grandma, I don’t think she was able to come up with a reason, so she more or less shut down in many ways.  And even though I only knew them as “Grandpa and Grandma” who would show us a wonderful time whenever we’d visit them on Long Island, I know there is so much about Steffi’s death that colored the way they approached life from that day forward.

I think about this kind of stuff so I can pay more attention to the reasons I attribute to the unexpected happenings of my life.  I will admit to having control issues, and my reactions to “plans changing” are pretty childish at times.  Over the last year, since “Inception” came out, I have been toying with the idea of life being more like a dream, and that the things I react to are all really illusions.  Just that thought alone has helped me readjust my approach to the Unexpected happenings in my life.  It could be that I didn’t expect my cat to die last week, or that I’d have a cold on my birthday, or that my I’d get a crack in my windshield.  I am trying more often to step back and remember my whole dream-analogy-thingee, and it seems to be minimizing my negative reactions a touch.  I am also exploring the Tao, as well as the Pagan “Wheel of Life” as other ways to approach the Unexpected in life.

I want to be prepared as possible (spoken like a true control freak!) to handle the Really Big Unexpected things that I know lie ahead for me.  I want to already have in place my explanation for such happenings, so I don’t end up thinking that it’s just because “life isn’t fair”.  My grandparents grew up in a time where it wasn’t common to have other explanations besides “It’s in God’s plan”, so when they found themselves disagreeing with that, they didn’t know where else to turn.  I hope I can help heal this ancestral pain that they experienced by finding explanations that can bring more peace and acceptance to me, and maybe to them, in the long run.

Mabel Dodge Luhan House – Taos, NM

I have to return to this place!  Lauren and I spent last night at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos, New Mexico and I haven’t had time to write at all.  The reason that is so silly is because this is a place where creative people come for rest and inspiration.  Who was one of those people?  CG Jung!  Other people the brochure and website mentions are DH Lawrence, Georgia O’Keefe, Ansel Adams… Dennis Hopper used to own this place in the 70’s and Bob Dylan would stay here, among other musicians.

I have only barely begun to get settled into the coolness of this place and it’s time to go.  So, instead of being grouchy about it I look forward to my next visit here.  Perhaps with Lauren, perhaps without, depending on my intentions when I do return.  I could see how being here, if I am disciplined enough to not venture from the grounds and  distract myself with the stores, restaurants, and bars in the market, that the silence and solitude could prove to be uncomfortably profound.

Picture to right is Mabel.  We stayed in the Solarium, which they say was “Mabel’s Solarium”, so I decided that is where she is reading in this photo.

Carl Jung with a Blackberry?

It’s getting almost creepy, how much I find myself resonating with what Jung writes.  It’s not just me “agreeing” with what he says.  It’s like I read something he has an opinion about, and it matches mine.  Yet I’m thinking about it in 2011 and he was thinking about it in 1950.

An example of this is what I was reading last night on p. 236 of Memories, Dreams, Reflections:

“…new methods or gadgets are, of course, impressive at first, but in the long run they are dubious and in any case dearly paid for.  They by no means increase the contentment or happiness of people on the whole.  Mostly, they are deceptive sweetenings of existence, like speedier communications which unpleasantly accelerate the tempo of life and leave us with less time than ever before“.

This has always been my concern about the “conveniences” of the internet, cell phones, texting, email, Facebook.  Can you imagine what Jung would say about all of these “methods and gadgets”, being that he wrote those words over 60 years ago?

Clearly I do use the internet, since you are reading this on it.  I use email, cell phones, texting, and Facebook.  I am sure if Jung was alive today he would use the internet, he would use email, and maybe even have a cell phone.

Much like myself I am sure he would feel the allure of these creations, discovering ways they do indeed “simplify” and “enhance” his life.  To balance the effect of this I think he would become as conscious as possible of why he uses these methods of technology, and to take note of how much they begin to adversely affect his life.

Here’s one way I am trying to do this myself: I am paying more attention lately to how quickly I tend to “jump” to responding to to text messages and emails.

"I better send a Tweet out about this new discovery of mine..."

I try to force myself to not read them right away, because usually I am in the middle of something else that deserves my full concentration (driving, journaling, listening to Tyler tell my about her day, planning out our dinner menu with Lauren, enjoying a segment on NPR, etc.).  I know how my brain works, and I sense the anxiety that comes up when I don’t respond right away, because I am afraid I will actually forget to check it, or forget to respond to it.  Texting has created a whole new level of “communication anxiety” that did not exist for me before.  I am revisiting my relationship with texting, because it was truly beginning to become more of a hinderance in my life than a help.

I am going to continue observing and sharing my thoughts around this topic, as a way to pick up where he left off.  I have deep concerns as to what the advent of technology is doing to our ability to have time, space, and energy for contemplation and insight.

Although it sure would be fun to know I could send Jung a message through his “fan page” if he were around today…

A perfect example of the “tension between opposites” within me this morning…

 

The Baby Jungian Tries to Analyze a Dream

I finally had a dream worthy of trying to analyze!

Allow me to explain…

The chapter I am in the middle of in Memories, Dreams, and Reflections by Carl Jung is “Confrontation with the Unconscious”. He’s talking about the visions and dreams he experiences after he and Freud “break up”.  I can’t help but notice how epic his dreams sound.  They involve Biblical characters and beautiful architecture and historic rivers and profound statements made by each person in the dream…

What do I tend to dream about? My dog runs away.  Trying to get ready for school and am about to miss the school bus. Impromptu parties with snacks, booze, and annoying guests. Being lost in an airport, college campus, or mall.

What I find difficult about trying to interpret my dreams lately is that I compare them to Jung’s dreams, and I have to stop doing that.  Did he dream of such cultured settings because of where he lived?  The timeframe during which he was alive?  Maybe.  Except I have clients, and my wife as well, who have dreams like Jung’s.  In fact I too used to have dreams like those. It just seems like now that I am being hyper-vigilant about interpreting my dreams, the dreams are rather… mundane.  Very modern-day, American, shallow dreams.

Until last night!  I spent time writing down what happened in the dream, so here’s a summary:

– A Hospital.
– My legs having been burned severely.
– My brother (I think) having flicked something that seemed harmless onto my legs, but it turning out to have  caused the severe burn.
– Not  feeling any pain in my legs, feeling surprised when looking at the screen to see them covered entirely with blisters.
– Like they knew it would be surprising and that it is a big deal, but also that they were confident that I could handle it.  They weren’t overly emotional about it – moreso informative.
– Me not feeling scared, although I did think “I need to have a book with me right now that will inspire and guide me through this. Because that’s what people do when this kind of thing happens to them”.
– A friend of mine’s mom being in the bed next to me.  Me having my arm around her, in a protective and comforting way.
– People coming into the room, me asking them to leave because I was in the middle of hearing about what happened to me.
– They respect my request, except for one woman in the corner, she is older and clearly is not intending on leaving. If I hadn’t woken up then I am guessing I would have confronted her, as it felt very intrusive and disrespectful for her to be staying.
– When I asked my friend’s mom “Who is that lady?” she said “That’s my mom”.

The first thing I did was look up certain aspects of the dream on the internet.  I was reminded, quickly, that although it was of some help, that trying to interpret it literally was not what Jung would advise.

What connected with me was:

Legs = represent the spiritual, emotional, physical or psychological support system of the dreamer. A broken, injured, weak, or deformed leg suggests you’re hesitating (or preparing) to take initiative, you feel emotionally vulnerable, or you are stubbornly refusing to change.

Hospitals = Often hopsitals can be associated with deep examinations of your feelings and your own situation. They refer to moments when you accept a deep probing form of questioning because its aimed at making your life better.

Blisters = To dream that you have a blister, indicates that some minor annoyance or problem is draining your energy and time. To dream that you got the blister from a burn, suggests an emotional or relational problem.

Through a combination of simply writing out my dream and my impressions of it, combined with what I was reading about certain symbolism in it, I was able to come up with something that felt like a step towards understanding what my unconscious is trying to tell me…

It fits perfectly into my desire to begin to explore my unconscious in more depth.  I was reading that chapter just before I fell asleep, and I know I was frustrated in that I didn’t understand how Jung was doing what he was doing (visions, understanding them, etc.). This dream let me know that I’m on the right path, with it taking place in a hospital.

I ended up there by surprise, with clear injuries to my legs, and yet I was not afraid nor devastated.  I was confused and concerned, and also curious.

I have a feeling I want to do this with a fair amount of privacy from “friends and family”, being that I wanted my dream friends to leave the room.  Yet I do want the help of the objective professionals (indication I should start Jungian analysis?).  My wife thinks it is more indicative of me not feeling ready yet to guide my clients through such a process, since I didn’t know who anyone was who came into the room.

Note:  The Jungian analyst I have been in recent contact with said, in her email the day after I had this dream, “Perhaps a dream will help you decide if you should begin analysis at this time”.

Who was the older women in the room who didn’t want to leave?  I think she is a part of myself, perhaps my ego.  Like Mal in “Inception”, her relationship to Cobb.  Stubbornly refusing to step aside to let individuation take place.

And who was I comforting in the bed?  Again, she is a part of me. I don’t even know my friend’s mom that well, but my impressions of her are that she is fragile, scared, almost meek.  Perhaps the “me” in the dream was Consciousness within me (such as the character of Aryana to Cobb).  In the dream she (me) was literally in between my Ego (woman in the corner) and whatever my friend’s mom represents.  I keep going back and forth on this… I’m going to go with her being a part of my Shadow for right now.  I know very well that those characteristics (fragile, scared, meek) are qualities I dread in myself.  Myself as Consciousness was comforting the Shadow, letting her know she was there for her and it was going to be okay.

So this came to me later in the day in a beautiful sort of Socratic way:  My friend’s mom (Shadow) said that the woman who wouldn’t leave (Ego) was her mom.  In other words the Ego gives birth to the Shadow.  Perfection!  This dream analysis stuff is fun.

My legs, being my spiritual and psychological support system, were covered in blisters, as if the burns had begun to heal already. This indicates to me that even though a lot of work has been done, there is still more.

In the dream I was experiencing the resistance I feel about doing this, especially if it may be “unbeknowst” to a part of myself, the curious and calm part of me, and the nervousness of the Shadow in this process as well.

If you have other interpretations on what this dream may have meant feel free to comment. This will be one of those dreams that I will continuously revisit, and more than likely will understand it’s meaning more later.

What I listen to while I write…

Woman Writing at Desk - Henry Clive

I can’t remember where I read this (if you can find the quote let me know!), but Jung once said that when he works he cannot listen to any music except for jazz.  He said that is because all other music has too much emotion in it, which distracts and disrupts him from what he is trying to express.  In other words the mood of the creator of the music infects what he is trying to write about his own mood at the time.

I loved reading what he said about that because I am very conscious of what I listen to while I am working. I agree with Jung in certain aspects of this, but not all.

Firstly, I cannot stand working in silence.  Analyze that if you will, but it is what it is.

So, when I am writing, it must be classical music.  And, usually only classical piano, classical guitar, or a combination of piano and one other instrument (violin, clarinet, I’m flexible).  Oh, and not too quick and not too slow.  Or intense.

I agree with what Jung was more than likely insinuating, in that music “with words in it” is far too distracting.  I have tried all different types of music in which there is singing, even opera, and it is like I am a schizophrenic trying to find my own voice in the mix.

Let me back up a second. I have a lot of issues with the speed our technology has been advancing over the last few years, but one thing I’m selfishly gleeful over is how easy it is to access whatever music you want nowadays.  And for free.  So, I use AccuRadio, Pandora, or radio stations I find through iTunes to find what music selections I need to keep me company during whatever I’m working on.  It’s as easy as a “thumbs down” or a click on the next subchannel to find something else.

Great timing to demonstrate my point – I have been listening to the AccuClassical station for the last 20 minutes and a lady just started singing opera. Buh bye.  Let’s see what’s on the Classical Masterpieces channel.  Ah, Sonata for Harpsichord and Flute in F Major.  We’re back in business…

It’s curious to me that Jung said he can listen to jazz while working.  Jazz works for me at times, but it either a) gets too improvisational and “crazy” and brings up anxiety in me, or b) the genius of the artist results in a song that sounds so much like someone telling a story, even if it’s instrumental, that it interupts my own creative flow.

I know that classical music is created in the same way – the composer is telling a story through the piece.  But, for some reason if there are only one or two instruments involved and if they aren’t getting too opinionated or intense, the piece is a lovely companion to have on my journey.

Something else to mention is that I am highly sensitive to whatever music is playing around me any time I am in a state of mind during which I want to be in control of how I am feeling.  Trust me, as a therapist I know that sounds terrible, let me explain!

I was getting a massage last year, and instead of having on the Spa Channel from Sirius/XM, she had classical music playing. That was the most troublesome massage I have ever had.  I was taken through an emotional roller coaster, all dependent upon what piece was playing and what feeling the composer wanted to convey.  The worst was when Adagio for Strings came on.  Whenever I hear that piece it immediate reminds me of the scene in “Platoon” when a solider is dying as he topples across a barbed wire fence in slow motion.  And even though it was over 20 years ago when I saw this scene it evoked such intense sadness in me that, upon hearing the first note of it during my massage, I wanted to leap off the table and run to safety.

I have no real conclusion here, since I have changed the AccuRadio channel four times since beginning this post in search of the “right” music to accompany me as I wrote.  I find that perfect actually, and I’m sure Jung would as well.

Came across this blog after I wrote mine.  Gave me something to think about, when it comes to my desire to avoid “intense” music while I write… Sounds like I am avoiding something, ehhhhh…

The Best Music to Listen to While Writing (from Hub Pages)