This ABC Wednesday, "J" is for...

When I sat down to consider what I might contribute for this week's ABC Wednesday, the first word that came to mind was jubilant. I am not feeling particularly jubilant today, however, so I gave that one a pass. By way of explanation there, I have been fighting some fatigue lately. I work a swingshift, and every few weeks, it catches up with me and all I want to do is sleep. So... not jubilant. More somnambulant, really. But, times like these, it's especially good to have some stimulation of the sort that this hop provides, so... I press on.

The second "J"which came to mind today was "Juicy Fruit." You know, the gum? I thought of the seminal scene from One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest when the enormous Native American whom Jack Nicholson's character calls Chief first speaks. Jack gives him a couple of pieces of Juicy Fruit, and Chief says, "Yeah. Juicy Fruit." Jack goes nuts. I thought of embedding that scene, but when I found it on YouTube, I realized that it entails some language which may not be appropriate for the hop here. Certainly don't want to offend anyone...

So here I am, wracking my brain for "J" number three. Oh, I know. Carl Jung. I devoted some time to the study of Jung some years back, and was fascinated to find that he had his own break with reality at one point. I wrote a poem about it. Here 'tis.

My Friend Showed Me His Painting
The eminent psychologist Carl Gustav Jung
When he was thirty-eight years of age
Went bananas
Just temporarily
He talked to himself -- ranting and raving
And played in his garden like a little boy

During the three years or so that he was bonkers
Dr. Jung wrote a weird little book
He said was dictated to him by
A wise, winged old man in his head
The book was about emptiness and fullness
About the devil and God and being human

Like I say, it's a weird little book
But there's this one part of it I'll mention
Because it fits well in my mind with
A painting my friend made and showed me
The painting, which is called 'Molt', is of an owl that died --
all whirring white & purple, drooping brown & blue

So the passage from Carl Jung's crazy book
Goes, "The daemon of spirituality
descendeth into our soul as the white bird...
The white bird... bideth with the mother"
The word 'daemon' sounds bad, but can mean
'divine power' or 'guardian spirit' too

Looking at this wild painting 'Molt' -- which is
What birds do to make room for a new growth
Of feathers, I'm thinking of Jung, who went on
to famously influence our science of the mind
It's as though he had to go good and mad himself
To get to where he could help us all stay sane