A dream about being heavily pregnant and giving birth in difficult conditions giving birth to a baby girl which the birth itself looks quite smooth and the baby girl that came out was very big. She had an umbilical cord wrapped around her neck so I screamed for someone to grab a pair of scissors and they did they were kids scissors that are used for playing and cutting out paper colourful bright scissors and I think it was someone young like a teenager maybe even one of my children who came and cut the umbilical cord that was wrapped around the neck. It was wrapped around three times and I started unwrapping it manually by myself before someone came around to cut it and I was looking at the girls face looked very calm and peaceful then didn’t cry so I started tapping her back to make sure she started breathing and crying
Widoczki: my mum remembered there were no colour tvs between 1960-70s and putting flowers, chocolate wrappers and other colourful elements behind pieces of glass could have served as a way to look for colour and a first simplest version of a colour screen. In 2025 my brothers generation uses special b&w settings on their phones to make them visually less appealing and therefore less tempting to use. My husband and his cousin used to make them at their grandparents garden using bits of broken glass found in the garden. They were most probably bits of window glass, which must have been shattered during the war and survived there until the 1990s
Jung
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Pg.36
me. I could sit on it for hours, fascinated by the puzzle it Thirty years later l again stood on that slope. I was a married man, had children, a house, a place in the world, and a head full of ideas and plans, and suddenly I was again the child who had kindled a fire full of secret significance and sat down on a stone without knowing whether it was I or I was it. I thought suddenly of my life in Zürich, and it seemed alien to me, like news from some remote world and time.
This was frightening, for the world of my childhood in which I had just become absorbed was eternal, and I had been wrenched away from it and had fallen into a time that continued to roll onwards, moving farther and farther away. The pull of that other world was so strong that I had to tear myself violently from the spot in order not to lose hold of my future.
I have never forgotten that moment, for it illuminated in a fash of lightning the quality of eternity in my childhood.
Pg.39
childhood experience. One of them I had reproduced on a larger scale in stone, and this figure now stands in my garden in Küsnacht. Only while I was doing this work did the unconscious supply me with a name. It called the figure Atmavictu — the “breath of life.” It was a further development of that fearful tree of my childhood dream, which was now revealed as the “breath of life,” the creative impulse.
Ultimately, the manikin was a kabir, wrapped in his little cloak, hidden in the kista, and provided with a supply of life-force, the oblong black stone. But these are connections which became clear to me only much later in life. When I was a child I performed the ritual just as I have seen it done by the natives of Africa; they act first and do not know what they are doing. Only long afterwards do they reflect on what they have done.
Pg.59
Later my mother told me that in those days I was often depressed. It was not really that; rather, I was brooding on the secret. At such times it was strangely reassuring and calming to sit on my stone. Somehow it would free me of all my doubts. Whenever I thought that I was the stone, the conflict ceased. “The stone has no uncertainties, no urge to communicate, and is eternally the same for thousands of years,” I would think, “while I am only a passing phenomenon which bursts into all kinds of emotions, like a flame that flares up quickly and then goes out.” I was but the sum of my emotions, and the “Other” in me was the timeless, imperishable stone.
Pg.67
There was an enormous difference between my mother’s two personalities. That was why as a child I often had anxiety dreams about her. By day she was a loving mother, but at night she seemed uncanny. Then she was like one of those seers who is at the same time a strange animal, like a priestess in a bear’s cave. Archaic and ruthless; ruthless as truth and nature. At such moments she was the embodiment of what I have called the “natural mind.”3
3 The “natural mind” is the “mind which says absolurely straight and ruthless chings.” (Seminar on Interpretation of Visions [Zurich, privately printed, 1940), v, 1.) “That is the sort of mind which springs from natural sources, and not from opinions taken from books; it wells up from the earth like a natural spring, and brings with it the peculiar wisdom of nature.” (Ibid., VI, 34.)