Appendix 6

Balanced Persona Reduces Anxiety
The symbolism of opposing archetypes coexisting in this story.
Blending personas for balance reduces anxiety. Each has their place and role to play. A committee.

Dawn Anima- island girl, names: Anchor and Ungula, walks and lives by the vast unconscious ocean, warm, balmy, trapped, longed for touch of creativity, the foreign stranger, the sleeper, the place where we belong, fresh, new, faith, servant, victim and savior simultaneously, unblemished, pure, shining, sacrificed, newborn, the heart, stifled, positive female opposite of Lamia, not linear time conscious- eternal round or seasonal, imagination, tender, surrendering, the crying girl, sheltered, afraid to play, protected by a wall, endangered, lonely, suffering, homeless, lives in a suitcase, sad, frank, unusual, unconventional, caged, quarantined, mysterious, artistic, charming, genuine, betrayed, unmoving, silenced, invisible, longed-for, undiscovered, suppressed, child-like, fragile, new birth, rejected, immigrant, Gentle Dreamer, creative, hurt, hidden, bitten, stung.

Dusk Anima- Dawn Anima’s lusty and sensual sister, vigorous, strong, sturdy, stout, stirring, arousing, stimulating, sexual, sensuous, pleasing, delightful, loving, erotic.

BENXUS- blessed union, unification, holy joining, wholeness, fulfillment, completeness, integration, autonomy.

The Tree of Life- mandala, self.

Shiloh- The City of Belonging, surrounded by high brick walls, the archetypal home of all these characters. It is claimed to be in bad disrepair. The Dragon is reported to live there. The city is symbolic of self like the tree of life.

The Wise Old Man- true self, subconscious guide.

Zingara- A dusk anima, literally gypsy woman. She is the wise old man’s daughter.

Somer Krest- wise old man’s symbolic name at mid-life

The Phoenix- symbol of creation and destruction, transcendence, combination of 3birds, the Eagle the Swan, and the Parrot.

The Scarab- symbol of creation and destruction, resurrection.

Yew Rue- literally “sorrow”.

The Dragoness (devouring mother)- see Lamia.

Morgan- a Jungian shadow archetype, a man whose dreams have all deserted, not beaten yet, strong, tough, fighter, winner, trapped in circles, longs for revenge, Lamia is his female nemesis, Morgan like her is also a devourer, warrior, macho male cowboy, impatient, lives off creativity also a parasite but he doesn’t kill the mind, unfeeling robot like, angry, linear time conscious, feels Lamia, his mother, controls his life, calculating yet impulsive, imprisoned in the gears of life, thief, miserable, cursed, searching for escape, enigma, trickster, The Navigator, Gun Fighter, somber, male myth- destructive, grieving, alone.

Lamia- Devouring mother, evil, Morgan’s nemesis, paradox, two-faced black widow, a negative anima figure, beautiful, seductive, another negative form of the Dawn Anima archetype, devourer, siren, murderer of creativity, vicious, merciless, killer, witch, transforming element, female myth- uses passion to control, deceptive, untrustworthy, snake, venomous, insatiable, destructive.

The Hideous Damsel- another manifestation of the Dawn Anima but in a negative form, doubt, despair, gloom, dread, the gate keeper, suffering, dying, ugly, repulsive, lonely, tormented, unsightly, waiting, hoping, lives in a suitcase, kept in captivity all her life, awaits the transformation into Ungula when the Dragoness is slain, frozen potential of creativity and happiness.

Ungula- One of the more familiar archetypes is that of the “divine child” which should not be confused with the so-called inner child, which represents the child personality we sacrificed on the altar of adulthood. The inner child often embodies a playful creative side of self that shows up in dreams as a fully formed child who has already acquired the skills of walking, language, and so on. The divine child archetype, by way of contrast, is an embodiment of the transformational power that propels us along the path of personal growth that Jung called the individuation process. It is also a symbol of our total self, as opposed to the limited sense of self that Jung called the Ego or the limited personality of our childhood.

Anchor, a divine child, became the rightful heir to Shiloh the Golden City and the Throne. Ungula means talon or claw of the bird of prey. Ungula is an archetype of the wise young medicine girl. She represents man heeding his sensitive nature. A symbol of trusting and expressing fearlessly hidden feelings. She represents a milestone in the mortal journey. She awakens the sleeper. She is a liberating pilot who gives meaning to life. She symbolizes learning from subconscious emotional experience. There is an internal part of every man which is wise, young, beautiful, and eccentric like Ungula.

Even though a young girl, Ungula seems older. Men enjoy talking to her. Her choices and reactions are predictable because they come from inside man himself. Her natural intuition and inbred instincts are the same as man’s sensitive self. She is like exploring a genetic mirror. She is the part sleeping for so long. She represents the sleeper inside. By setting her free, man frees himself. She is a healing re-energizing spark.

Ungula is the antithesis of the Hideous Damsel. The Hideous Damsel when freed from captivity is transformed into Ungula. The Hideous Damsel is the dozing sleeper or repressed emotion. Ungula is expressed emotion. Ungula is an anima figure representing freedom of creative expression.

The word ungula is not far distant in sound from the word unglue. Unglue meaning no longer stuck. Stuck meaning abandoned. Ungula means, therefore, no longer abandoned. The Hideous Damsel has been imprisoned, forgotten, and abandoned for a long time. Ungula means no more isolation.

The Sleeper- The Sleeper is repressed emotion in the unconscious mind. The Sleeper also represents depressive heavy tiredness and it’s source. It represents the struggle for expression and contact. The Sleeper awakens when the Hideous Damsel is transformed to Ungula when the Dragoness dies.

Letter 1

Undelivered: Yearning War Messages
MoonDay 25, Season 6, Letter 1

Dear Anchor-

Last night was the most interesting experience . Maybe a singular experience. Because it was emotional, it’s difficult to put in word-symbols. Something will surely be lost in translation. But here’s my attempt:

While talking last night, as you spoke I was analyzing you. As I looked into your eyes, I suddenly felt you were wide open. The mask you usually wear was set aside. The windows in your eyes were flung open. I could see straight to your heart. I abruptly switched off. I was afraid. I’d felt something unspeakable. Horrible yet wonderful; at the same moment. I felt an overwhelming vulnerability about us. We were treading on tender fragile emotion. I fought to get myself back under control. I was ashamed. I felt I’d gone too far. I felt an intimacy which I’d never experienced. I quickly analyzed. Was this physical attraction? No. Intellectual attraction? Yes, somewhat, but more. Spiritual? Yes, but still more. The thought came, “I love this woman.” That was really upsetting. I don’t love someone I previously felt nothing towards. Why did I feel nothing before? Because you never showed the real you. Plus love for me meant something different than what I was feeling. This was new, an oddity.

How did I love you? Like a sister. That was when I interrupted you and asked, “If you could think of one word describing me what would it be?” You said, “Spirit.” “For me the word is sister, about you,” I said. You responded with the word, “Kinship.” I then said, “I knew you before.” I think you know what I mean. As I lay awake in the dark night, I knew more clearly, I discerned you in a special way. I felt as if we fought in the trenches together. Shoulder-to-shoulder, side-by-side. Assigned to the same unit. The SCARAB commandos, if you will. And we suffered and shared and wept over the casualties. We felt loneliness in those dreary moments. We made a pact, someday in the journey of life, when we felt all alone and could bear no more, we would find each other and lift each other.

I am no longer alone. I can’t explain how much you mean to me.

Now, I felt more the instant I looked into your soul. It was horrible and I repressed it. I didn’t want to feel it. I didn’t want you to show me. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to cry. Yet, I did want it. I did. But I was afraid. Afraid to care that much. Yet I wanted to care that much. I love you but the pain was too much. I couldn’t bear it. I hope you’ll forgive me for not sharing your burden. But it was so abhorrent and despicable. Your childhood pain and hurt stabbed through me to my most delicate senses. Why you, Anchor? Why you? Why did it have to happen to you? You so fragile and innocent. Why? You who so many loved. The victim of horror.

I understand so much more about myself from having talked with you. I’ll never be the same probably. At least, I hope not.

It was so liberating to talk with you. To be us and not afraid of being smarty pants or an egghead or a goody-two shoes, or some other negative label like weirdo or strange.

I’ve seen the real you, Anchor, and I like you. In fact, I love you. No one understands me like you do.

Thanks for finding me.

Love- Driver

[Note: Driver never sent this letter.]

Letter 2

Undelivered: Yearning War Messages
SaturnDay 15.2, Cold Season,

19:40 dark, Letter 2

Dear Anchor

Well, we’ve never spoken since. It hurts. It hurts because I feel empty. Like an infatuated schoolboy, I suppose, in love with his school teacher, sort of pining for her to recognize him. Touch down deep. I am so restless and yearn for that soul-to-soul, mind-to-mind communion. But you are afraid, just as I am. Can it be controlled? How much radioactive mind matter can be lumped together before critical-mass explosiveness powders the whole?

I’ve so many questions. Why are you being so selfish and withholding your light? By understanding you, sister, I understand myself. Do you fear what others will think and judge? You said you fear, commitment, I know you really fear intimacy . Yet you couldn’t use that word. It was too intimate itself. Do you fear an obsession? I acknowledge the dangers of our friendship, but all great things involve a degree of risk. We must use caution. It has been 20 days since first contact. I’m being patient waiting for you to give a signal. I push towards you and you back away. One magnet has reversed polarity. Overcautious? Safety? You tremble with indecision. Anxiousness, where there should be peace.

For some reason, I’ve discussed these feelings more freely with others than with you. I know the day will come when your fear will ebb away and we can play like children on the beach.

A few more thoughts; I, too, fear our relationship will turn corrupt as happened to you several times before. I understand your reluctance. And, I even understand why you opened up the first time. You took an awful big risk with reckless abandon. It was an experiment. You made contact with a spirit, intelligence; sympathetic, non-judgmental, unconditional. “Ah, yes,” you thought, “What if I blast him with the naked self? Will he turn and run as others have? Or will he accept me? Can I reel him in? Attracted or repelled?

That is why, later on, you said, “Well, I guess I really opened a can of worms, huh?” Ho, ho. A can of worms for you, dear sister.

For you, not for me. That you hadn’t planned on. My mind can synchronize with yours and amplify. The experience was as draining on you as it was on me. What is unfortunate is I’ve told others about my experience and you have bottled it up. You debate, “Will this strengthen me or weaken me? Have I opened Pandora’s Box?” All this commotion is inside you. For me, I shared the commotion with others, asking them what they think and what they would do. I know what you’re thinking, “How could he!? I trusted him with my innards, has he no sense of propriety? Doesn’t he know not to spread around something sacred? Are my fragile fabrics so trivial to him?”

The answer is I only spoke to them of how I felt and didn’t reveal anything to them that’d harm you. In fact, I spoke of my respect and admiration for you, now I know who you really are. I never liked the fake you. You are a good actress. But then you started at a very young age.

You are wondering “He said he wants more of my honey? How can he be so vulgar? What does he really mean?” Okay, I’ll answer. Maybe nourishment would be a better word. But, none the less, you are sweet to me. I began to accept myself more as I accepted you. The more I learn and accept, the stronger, more confident I become.

Mind-blood transfusion. Shared strength. You’ll never know how much it means to find someone with the same handicaps, characteristics, mindset, and yearnings. That’s what I mean by honey. Now, I know the intimacy (yes, I know you don’t want me to use that word, but accept it.) Anyway, intimacy we shared on Day 25 will probably never be as powerful again. I’m not disappointed.

[Note: Driver sent letter #2. It never arrived.]

Love- Driver

Letter 3

Undelivered: Yearning War Messages
EarthDay 20, New Season 1,

Letter 3

Dear Anchor-

Finally, we talked last night while you worked. I feel a change happening inside. Something I’ve wanted; to see beyond the externals of women, beyond physical beauty and instinct, to empathize, to be friends. Oneness without sexuality.

My fear you now ask. Several fears, I suppose. One that as the initial fire fades, will you snuff out the glowing ember? Or will you fan it and put a little tinder to it? I fear you will say, “Oh, that was interesting. Did you see that little flash and sparkle?” then move on to some other diversion. I agonize at the thought of such a temporary, momentary fling. It makes it all mind perversion to me. Mere toys bumping into each other before their springs spin loose. I sense a danger.

Fear #2: Seeing the dangers and risks, you panic and run. Our friendship calls for courage, trust, patience. Things neither of us are strong on. We’ve been beat up too many times by the world. We instead are fearful, skeptical, and impatient. If you run or withdraw, I’m afraid of the loss I’ll feel, blaming myself and my foolishness. Too much, too fast.

Fear #3: It’ll go sour eventually. A disagreement over a petty issue and off we go sulking with our glass jaws broken. You know we’re vulnerable to even marshmallow punches if delivered at the right spot. Can I over look the hurt when it comes?

Fear #4: I’m imagining these things to justify some subliminal instinctive animal attraction. No, please don’t let it be so putrid! The feelings and emotions were so tender. Oh wicked devils, don’t drag it through the mire. Don’t pour filth on jewels that shine. Let her be my sister, not a mind mistress. Not a play thing, an evil pleasure.

Questions Where does this lead — happiness or sorrow? or both sweet and sour. Do I reach out and pull the plug on life support and let the patient struggle to breath unfiltered reality? Purer or dead? Should I never see my sister for fear of harming her accidentally?

Love- Driver

[Note: Driver destroyed letter #3 before sending it.]