by admin | Dec 27, 2024 | AA
Mr. William G. Wilson
Alcoholics Anonymous
Box 459 Grand Central Station
New York 17, N.Y.
Dear Mr. Wilson,
Your letter has been very welcome indeed.
I had no news from Roland H. anymore and often wondered what has been his fate. Our conversation which he had adequately reported to you had an aspect of which he did not know. The reason, that I could not tell him everything, was that those days I had to be exceedingly careful of what I said. I had found out that I was misunderstood in every possible way. Thus I was very careful when I talked to Roland H. But what I really thought about, was the result of many experiences with men of his kind.
His craving for alcohol was the equivalent on a low level of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, expressed in medieval language: the union with God.
How could one formulate such an insight in a language that is not misunderstood in our days?
The only right and legitimate way to such an experience is, that it happens to you in reality and it can only happen to you when you walk on a path, which leads you to a higher understanding. You might be led to that goal by an act of grace or through a personal and honest contact with friends, or through a higher education of the mind beyond the confines of mere rationalism. I see from your letter that Roland H. has chosen the second way, which was, under the circumstances, obviously the best one.
I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world, leads the unrecognized spiritual need into perdition, if it is not counteracted either by a real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community. An ordinary man, not protected by an action from above and isolated in society cannot resist the power of evil, which is called very aptly the Devil. But the use of such words arouse so many mistakes that one can only keep aloof from them as much as possible.
These are the reasons why I could not give a full and sufficient explanation to Roland H. but I am risking it with you because I conclude from your very decent and honest letter, that you have acquired a point of view above the misleading platitudes, one usually hears about alcoholism.
You see, Alcohol in Latin is “spiritus” and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison. The helpful formula therefore is: spiritus contra spiritum.
Thanking you again for your kind letter.
I remain yours sincerely,
C.G. Jung
by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Holism
I truly enjoyed reading this, and it resonates so well. I may not require, expect, measure, opinionate, or judge. But the moment I question something, even what I believe can be good, I am starting to put myself in the way. Me needs to be out. And so, this is the beginning of letters. A project I’m beginning soon. With love…
It hit me during a quiet morning last week. The sun was barely up, painting the sky in those gentle colors that make everything look softer, more forgiving. I was thinking about my recent interactions—with you, my colleagues, even my neice—when that thought surfaced: how much of my responses to them were genuinely about them, and how much were just echoes of my own preconceptions, fears, and desires?
You see, I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener, an empathetic friend, a caring partner. But lately, I’ve begun to notice something unsettling. In conversations, while others are speaking, I’m often not really hearing them—I’m hearing my interpretation of them. I’m hearing the story I’ve already written about who they are, what they think, what they need.
“Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.”
The phrase came to me like a gentle awakening. It made me realize how often I fill spaces that should be reserved for understanding others with my own narratives, assumptions, and projections. When my friend tells me about their struggles, how quickly do I jump to comparing it to my own experiences? When my partner shares their dreams, how soon do I start reshaping them to fit into my vision of our future?
It’s not that sharing our own experiences or having personal reactions is wrong—it’s human, natural even. But there’s a difference between relating to someone and overwriting their reality with our own. It’s like I’ve been painting over other people’s canvases with my own colors, all while believing I was appreciating their art.
The most challenging part? Recognizing that this isn’t just about my relationships with others—it’s about my relationship with myself too. How much of who I think I am is actually me, and how much is a collection of responses to what I think others expect me to be? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve filled myself so completely with performances of who I should be that I’ve left little room for who I am.
This morning, I tried something different. When my neighbor stopped to chat about their garden, instead of immediately sharing my own gardening stories or offering advice, I just… listened. Really listened. Tried to understand their experience as uniquely theirs, not as a reflection or extension of my own. It felt strange at first, like learning to use a muscle I didn’t know I had. But in that space—that conscious, intentional space of truly hearing another person—something shifted.
The irony doesn’t escape me: that in trying to put more of others where there was only me, I might actually be discovering more of my authentic self. Because maybe the real me isn’t the collection of stories, reactions, and preconceptions I’ve built up over the years. Maybe the real me is the awareness that can observe all of that and choose, moment by moment, to make space for something new.
It’s a practice now, this gentle reminder: “Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.” In conversations, in relationships, in quiet moments alone. It’s about creating space—in my mind, in my heart, in my understanding of both myself and others. It’s about recognizing that every interaction is an opportunity to either reinforce the walls of my existing perspective or to open a window to something new.
This journey feels both unsettling and liberating. Unsettling because it means acknowledging how much of my perception of others has been filtered through my own needs and fears. Liberating because in making space for others to be truly themselves, I’m also making space for myself to be more authentic, more present, more real.
So here’s to the practice of making space. To catching ourselves in those moments when we’re about to fill the silence with our own noise. To the courage it takes to let others be fully themselves, even when—especially when—their truth doesn’t match our expectations. To putting a little bit more of you, where there has been only me.
by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Lifestyle & Work
Have you ever noticed how some days seem to sparkle with possibility, while others feel like they’re wrapped in gray cellophane? The fascinating truth is that inspiration isn’t just about those rare lightning bolt moments—it’s about learning to spot the quiet invitations that life extends to us every single day, even when they’re wearing a convincing disguise as obstacles.
Think about your morning commute. Maybe there’s that one intersection where you always get stuck at the red light. Frustrating, right? But what if that red light is actually offering you a moment? A pause where you might notice the way morning light plays on the buildings, or how the person in the car next to you is singing their heart out to some unheard melody. These tiny moments of observation can spark creativity, curiosity, or simply a smile that changes the entire texture of your day.
The real magic happens when we start treating challenges as creative prompts rather than roadblocks. That difficult colleague who seems to push all your buttons? They might be unknowingly offering you an opportunity to practice patience in ways that will serve you in every relationship moving forward. The printer that jams right before an important meeting? Perhaps it’s an invitation to practice problem-solving under pressure, or better yet, to question whether that document really needed to be printed at all.
But here’s the key that many of us miss: we need to give these moments room to breathe. When we immediately react to challenges with frustration or resistance, we squeeze out all the space where inspiration could potentially bloom. It’s like trying to force a flower to grow by pulling on its stem—all we do is damage the very thing we’re trying to nurture.
Instead, try this: when you encounter something that feels like an obstacle, pause. Take three breaths. Ask yourself: “What might this moment be offering me?” Sometimes the answer will surprise you. That rainy day that cancelled your outdoor plans might lead you to discover a new hobby indoors. The delayed flight might connect you with a stranger whose story changes your perspective on something important.
The beautiful thing about this approach is that it turns every day into a treasure hunt. Suddenly, you’re not just going through your routine—you’re exploring, discovering, allowing yourself to be surprised by the ordinary. Each challenge becomes a potential doorway to something unexpected and wonderful.
Here’s a simple practice to get started: commit to finding one thing each day that sparks your curiosity or creativity. It doesn’t have to be grand or life-changing. Maybe it’s the way your coffee swirls in your cup, creating patterns that remind you of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Perhaps it’s the sound of leaves rustling that inspires you to write a haiku. Or it could be a problem at work that pushes you to think in entirely new ways.
The key is to remain open and curious. When we approach life with gentle attention rather than rigid expectations, we create space for inspiration to find us. It’s about developing a kind of soft focus that allows us to see both the challenge and the opportunity it might be concealing.
Remember, inspiration often speaks in whispers, not shouts. It shows up in the spaces between our planned moments, in the gaps of our expectations, in the quiet corners of our daily routines. By learning to listen more carefully, to look more closely, and to remain open to the unexpected, we transform ordinary moments into extraordinary opportunities for growth and creativity.
So tomorrow morning, when you start your day, ask yourself: “What invitation might life be extending to me today?” Then watch as the ordinary begins to reveal its extraordinary potential, one small moment at a time.
by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Well-being
Let’s talk about something we do countless times every day, yet rarely pause to understand: making choices. From the mundane “What should I eat?” to life-altering “Should I take this job?”, our brains are constantly engaged in an intricate dance of decision-making. But what’s really happening under the hood?
It starts before we’re even aware of it. Our brain begins processing a decision the moment we encounter a choice point, drawing on a vast network of past experiences, emotions, and learned patterns. Think about the last time you walked into a coffee shop. Before you consciously started weighing options, your brain was already busy processing smells, memories of past coffee experiences, your current energy levels, and even subtle social cues from other customers.
The fascinating part? Most of this happens in our subconscious. Scientists estimate that our unconscious mind processes information about 11 milliseconds before our conscious mind catches up. We’re literally making decisions before we know we’re making them.
Then comes the conscious phase – the part we’re familiar with. This is where we start actively weighing options, but it’s far messier than we imagine. While we like to think we’re rational beings carefully analyzing pros and cons, our emotions are actually in the driver’s seat. That gut feeling you get? It’s not just a saying. Our body literally sends signals through our vagus nerve to our brain, influencing our decisions based on physical sensations and emotional responses.
Here’s what makes it even more complex: we’re not just choosing between options – we’re choosing between possible future selves. When you’re deciding whether to speak up in a meeting, you’re not just choosing between speaking and silence. You’re choosing between different versions of yourself: the bold contributor, the careful observer, the team player, the independent thinker.
And then there’s the social context. Our brains are constantly running background calculations about how our choices might affect our relationships, our status, our belonging. That’s why deciding what to wear to an important event can feel so overwhelming – we’re not just picking clothes, we’re navigating complex social signals and identity statements.
The most intriguing part? The moment of choice itself. That final commitment when we move from contemplation to action. Research shows that this moment often comes with a brief “blackout” in our consciousness – a microscopic pause where our brain transitions from deliberation to action. It’s like our neural circuits need a moment to switch gears.
But here’s what rarely gets talked about: the aftermath. Every choice we make reshapes our neural pathways, making similar decisions either easier or harder in the future. When you choose to wake up early to exercise, you’re not just making a decision for that morning – you’re literally rewiring your brain’s response to future early morning decisions.
And the choices we don’t make? They leave their mark too. Psychologists call it “choice closure” – our ability to make peace with the paths not taken. Some of us are better at this than others, which partly explains why decision-making can feel more overwhelming for some people.
Understanding this process doesn’t make our choices easier, but it does make them more interesting. It reminds us that decision-making isn’t just about the outcome – it’s a complex, beautiful process that reflects both who we are and who we’re becoming. Next time you’re faced with a choice, maybe take a moment to appreciate the incredible machinery at work inside your mind. After all, you’re not just making a decision – you’re participating in one of the most sophisticated processes in the known universe.
by admin | Dec 24, 2024 | Holism
There’s a profound wisdom in observing how life moves when we’re not constantly pushing, prodding, and manipulating its delicate rhythms. Nature doesn’t strategize, doesn’t force, doesn’t create elaborate plans to become something other than what it inherently is. A tree doesn’t wake up wondering how to be a better tree; it simply grows, responds, adapts—existing in a state of pure, unencumbered being.
Human intervention is often a violent interruption to this natural flow. We arrive with our agendas, our desperate need to control, to reshape, to bend circumstances and people to our will. We mistake this forceful pushing for progress, for change, when in reality, it’s nothing more than noise—a temporary disturbance that creates ripples of resistance rather than genuine transformation.
Consider how we approach personal relationships, societal structures, even our own inner landscapes. We deploy strategies, we argue, we manipulate, we pressure. We believe that by applying enough external force, we can fundamentally alter the essence of something or someone. But look closely: what actually emerges is not change, but conflict. Not harmony, but friction.
Natural law operates on entirely different principles. Water doesn’t fight to flow; it simply finds its path. Seasons transition without argument. Ecosystems balance themselves through intricate, almost imperceptible interactions. There’s an intelligence in this approach that our human minds, so obsessed with control, frequently miss.
When we stop trying to force outcomes, something remarkable happens. Space emerges. Potential unfolds. Change begins to occur not through our aggressive pushing, but through a kind of gentle allowing. It’s less about making things happen and more about creating conditions where natural movement becomes possible.
This isn’t passive acceptance. It’s a profound active receptivity—a willingness to listen, to observe, to understand the inherent intelligence of systems and beings. It requires tremendous courage to step back, to trust that life has its own momentum, its own wisdom that doesn’t require our constant intervention.
Our attempts to control are often rooted in fear. Fear of uncertainty, of letting go, of trusting that something larger than our limited perception might be unfolding. We clutch, we grip, we strategize—all while missing the gentle, powerful currents of natural progression that are always moving around and through us.
Sustainable change doesn’t look like conflict. It doesn’t announce itself dramatically. It’s quiet, almost invisible—like roots growing beneath the surface, like subtle shifts in ecosystem balance, like the gradual opening of a flower. It happens when we create space, when we remove obstacles, when we stop being the primary actors and become curious witnesses.
This approach requires a radical reimagining of our role. We are not masters directing life’s symphony, but participants—sometimes conductors, sometimes listeners, always part of a larger, more intelligent movement. Our most powerful act might be learning to recognize when to act and when to simply allow.
Transformation isn’t something we do. It’s something we permit—by being present, by being responsive, by understanding that true change flows not from force, but from profound respect for the natural intelligence that surrounds and inhabits us.
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