To Bollingen’s Alchemist, Thanks

Read time: 2 min.

Continuing with the speaker from “Shadowboxing.“

“Philemonis Sacrum – Fausti Poenitentia”
– C. G. Jung’s inscription on a gate at Bollingen Tower

He let us in through the mirror, my shadow and I, the old magician to whom we’d come nigh.

Said he to me, “Before we begin, here, have some tea. But take off that mask. It’s you true face that I’m needing to see.”

My shadow obliged. A black cloth he dislodged, and showed the face of my father. I wondered if life was worth all the bother.

Placed the magician a marble rock in my hand. Silver it was, with gold in its bands.

“Offer that to your shadow. Let him pull it away, but do not let it go.”

So I clinged to the stone while my shadow took hold. We pulled towards ourselves and away from each other. At length the rock split apart. Or rather the gold ran out with a spark. We each heard a splash and fell back with a crash. Now we both had a part of a cheap work of art. Mine was smooth ivory; the shadow’s a ball of St. Elmo’s fire.

The Magician allowed us to burn off our ire, then told us to roll our two haves together, They crackled and fizzed, and dissolved in a mist.

And when the mist cleared, I held a gold cricket. It leapt up to my lips and squirmed down by gullet. My shadow climbed into my mouth attempting to catch it. He scratched at my tongue and kicked loose my teeth. He slid all through my body to stick in my spleen.

I coughed up black vinegar. Two small, pointy icicles came out with the bile.

When I stopped wrenching, I found I felt something, or maybe like something.

Or better, someone.