Well-known psychoanalysts would certainly have had something to say about this. The Surrealists expressed the workings of their unconscious through their art. In the process we came across several metaphors and symbols for which there is certainly more than one level of interpretation. Jung at an early age and regularly recorded her dreams in a diary.

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For my passions: human beings, their strength, their health, their balance; but also beautiful imbalances and lovely weaknesses. Recognizing myself in them, idealized by a flesh more appealing than my own. And then: everything that gives me a strong impression of something new yet easily assimilated. B — Sleep, dreams, the sea, sunshine, gaiety, sport, books, paintings, silence, contemplation day dreaming.

Protecting and maybe tyrannizing a little. Animals, children. C — Animals, innocent trees, flowers, women who are beautiful, elegant, depraved, supremely indifferent and detached, Nature, Cakya-Mouni and the Art of Poetry. What do you hope for? A — The unknown, an original hope.

The miracle that is yet to come. B — The past. The repetition of the past until death. I expect nothing from the future.

Nothing except ordinariness. Or maybe the atmosphere of dreams, life becoming easy. Or eternal sleep with or without dreams. C — Nirvana. What do you fear? A — The unknown. That I would give up on myself at the same time as my master succeeded in intervening to conceal my emptinesses, my stupid pastimes, my shortcomings from me.

Feeling that I am not attaining my true level, low as it already is. Unbearable physical suffering. C — The past beginning all over again. Happiest moments of your life? A — Dreaming. Imagining myself to be different to how I am. Playing my preferred role. B — Indifference. Or the simple, purely physical life. The most unhappy? A — Physical, emotional and intellectual suffering. B — When other people annoy me. When Aurige is in a bad mood. Worries about the future, indecision, insomnia. C — When I see people who have loved me dying.

Why are you afraid to die right now, out of the blue? A — I abandon my unfinished sentence. How restful! And there, I confess, the cowardice of this body, of this bitch body, terrifies me. B — I am not afraid. C — Certainly not, quite the opposite.

Stupid question! Why do you prefer yourself to all others? She is the nearest thing to me, the implement I have to hand. Because I feel, because I am, because I cannot do otherwise. Aurige is always one step ahead of me. In my mind I judge lots of others to be preferable to us. Prefer myself!

The first gentleman who comes here will give you an appropriate answer. If you love him, leave me. A — How to reply to that? Does it really exist? C — Stay with your master, Aurige, but sleep with me. Since I feel I perfectly capable of sleeping with both of you. May these hours be short! Now it all seems superhuman to me — and so stupid! Continue to make this sweet mistake with me. For our thoughts and deeds are constantly born again to counteract their incessant deaths.

Poet have you thought of this? And the ill-disciplined student can only offer you a little of her madness in exchange, for which you have no more use than she of your reason. Despite my determined friendship, and though I am O! I have endured so many sacrifices in my life! So I will joyfully accept all that you send my way. But — despite the appeal to my beloved Plato — oh you already know the weak spots in my mind and you take advantage of them! This season it runs contrary to my mood.

We went into the unfriendly town today; — it seemed strangely changed to me. Do anything crazy you can think of instead! My Master, so generous with freedom in some circumstances, is suggesting he buys me enough alcohol to get really drunk. No thank you!

You have to comfort yourself in whatever way you can. Oh yes! But you write me things so wonderfully compensatory that you almost reconcile me to myself. Pure stoicism, maybe some pride…In reality I have a huge need for other people. There are sentences that are not made to be understood but felt, rather. I only wish to be able to think it very forcefully, near you, in the silence… There is a being in the world who I do not want to deceive at any price — and that being is you.

I would slander myself rather than try to seduce you with a simulated beauty. So, despite my self-love intermittent pride I assure you , I am aware of my faults, my intellectual defects and my physical flaws. It was out of candour and not to shock you that I came into your room naked yesterday. This morning I got out my red notebook and I tried to reconstruct in great detail every happy, incomplete yet perfect moment that I owe to you — O, my friend! I am utterly alarmed by the poverty, the painful omissions of my corrupted memory ah!

I am truly punished! Even the sequence of these moments escapes me oh! And I am living from this impetus, like a machine which keeps running even though its motor has stopped … I persist more than I exist — at the mercy of your incisive writing or condemned by your resilient silence. I trust you. Excuse this rambling and growl at me, please, my dear. My only desire now is to hear your voice, whatever it has to say to me. Write to me. For centuries it has had no other dwelling. Am I cynical?

No: on the contrary, love has rejuvenated me. Often this love was innocent to the point of.


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