Day 24 - 24th Jan
CHARGE
The imitation of Christ leads to the madhouse.
The Anabaptists to the bathhouse,
In the madhouse, you can lie still.
Up at the ceiling.
You can lie on your back and just look
Up at the ceiling.
Noises will come in.
From others.
Invasive at first.
An invasive species.
Not yours.
They will annoy you.
The nurses will see you at rest.
The charge nurses.
And they will get mad
At you.
They will busy themselves with you.
Disturb you
You who are no longer disturbed
Are to be disturbed.
Just seethe.
Reprieve will come again
If not already – you will be placed between
Two men.
One who is sorry
One who is not.
One who can’t remember
One who has forgot.
Niall Campbell
Today’s random page opening is the last of the Jung section – and thank Christ for that. Three days of reading Jung in a row is a lot. He is a lot. It’s a punch in the sternum. It wakes you up and winds you at the same time. But it is a great exercise and very fecund ground for doling out new poetry because his work, on every page, is dripping with a type of symbolism of which my work is somewhat derivative, but that’s okay.
It feels like watching a masterclass lesson where Serena Williams teaches you how to hit a forehand. It’s nice to use her tricks and tips on the court, and your forehand will improve, but it’s not exactly going to smash into the court like hers does. You can experience real glee from getting better at things whilst learning from the masters in a way that is not demoarlising. Sometimes it is better to learn from those who are so much better than you because it sort of circumvents your own self-talk about how you “should” be as good as this person. That is ridiculous.
This is one of the gifts of mentorship through reading the canon of great literature, or learning from the best people on the planet via the internet. It can be inspirational and actionable, whereby learning from a mate who is a bit better can be demoralising because you think you should already be as good as them. Of course, this is a double-edged sword, but I think it is good to read and consume art widely – high and low, near and far, good and bad, lofty and profane – because you will find your likes and dislikes, and there is no problem with voicing out some other person’s work, and becoming very aware of that as you read their work and see very clearly their voice in yours. This is a growth stage. Every great artist has likely gone through it and loves their early work, even though it smacks a bit too much of their idols. This is a type of homage. I will only know retrospectively as I move through the gears and keep shipping work who has influenced me, when and by how much.
I randomly read page 338 of Jung’s brilliant, beautiful, bonkers - and at times fairly impenetrable - Red Book. Here is the passage I read.
We have arrived—a large gate, a hall—a friendly bustling
superintendent—and now also two doctors. One of them is a
small fat professor.Pr: “What’s that book you’ve got there?”
“It’s Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ.”
Pr: “So, a form of religious madness, perfectly clear, religious
paranoia. 177 —You see, my dear, nowadays, the imitation of Christ
leads to the madhouse.”“That is hardly to be doubted, professor.”
Pr: “The man has wit—he is obviously somewhat maniacally
aroused. Do you hear voices?”“You bet! Today it was a huge throng of Anabaptists that
swarmed through the kitchen.”Pr: “Now, there we have it. Are the voices following you?”
“Oh no, Heaven forbid, I summoned them.”
Pr: “Ah, this is yet another case that clearly indicates that
hallucinations directly call up voices. This belongs in the case
history. Would you immediately make a note of that, doctor?”“With all due respect, Professor, may I say that it is absolutely
not abnormal, but much rather the intuitive method.”Pr: “Excellent. The fellow also uses neologisms. Well—I
suppose we have an adequately clear diagnosis. Anyway, I wish
you a good recovery, and make sure you stay quiet.”“But professor. I’m not at all sick, I feel perfectly well.”
Pr: “Look, my dear. You don’t have any insight into your
illness yet. The prognosis is naturally pretty bad, with at best
limited recovery.”Superintendent: “Professor, can the man keep the book?”
Pr: “Well, I suppose so, as it seems to be a harmless
prayer book.”Now my clothes are inventoried—then the bath—and now
I’m taken off to the ward. I enter a large sickroom, where I’m
told to get into bed. The person to my left is lying motionless
with a transfixed gaze, while the one to the right appears to
possess a brain whose girth and weight are shrinking. I enjoy
perfect silence. The problem of madness is profound. Divine
madness—a higher form of the irrationality of the life streaming
through us—at any rate a madness that cannot be integrated into
present-day society—but how? What if the form of society were
integrated into madness? At this point things grow dark, and
there is no end in sight.
The poem is from this. I have no idea what it means. As I wrote I was struck by how unacceptable it is to just lie down and stop. It brought up memories of the music video from Radiohead’s “Just,” where a man lies down in the middle of the pavement - and this just can’t happen. So when you get the chance today, in the privacy of your own home, lie down and stop. When things get too much in your head, go to the privacy of your own heart and lie down and stop for a time.
You are not mad. you just need a bath and a lie down.