I returned to Woldek’s apartment and Argnor staggered in a few minutes later. “Come on,” he grumbled impatiently, “we could be in an unchartered area of the universe. If w…
It was the last year of my teen village education when a strange affliction began to affect members of the Federation of PLanets, so we were lead to believe. After haemorrhaging internally from a weakening of their veins and arteries, followed by total cellular breakdown, they were usually dead within five days, according to the Federation accounts. They also assured us the latest medical advancements had been employed, but to no avail.
It was the last year of my teen village education when a strange affliction began to affect members of the Federation of Planets, so we were lead to believe. After haemorrhaging internally from a weakening of their veins and arteries, followed by total cellular breakdown, they were usually dead within five days, according to the Federation accounts. They also assured us the latest medical advancements had been employed, but to no avail.
What endears us to a character?
Centuries of literature from all across the globe have shown us kings, highwaymen, samurai, wisemen, star-crossed lovers, and wizards––many so common that they have become archetypes in our consciousness. According to Carl Jung, there are twelve in all, set into three different categories of Ego, Soul, and Self.
In addition to these archetypes, which each have their own motivations, mottos, and shadows, are the Anima, Animus, and Persona.
Archetypes work as an appealing framework for the characters that fill our myths, legends, fairytales, and literature. They exist in all sorts of cultures (sometimes under different names, such as the Sage being also the Wiseman, Shaman, or Taoist Monk).
What follows is a mini-series devoted to the explanation of Jung’s twelve archetypes, through examples in film*, literature, and video games, and close looks at the elements that separate them…
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With the combined evidence from Danny’s farm and a number of other farms and businesses that had been hit by Murdock Creighton the second, they had enough evidence to put him and his friends away for seven years. Danny at last could relax.
He bought a new range rover to replace his old jeep and began to plan the introduction of livestock. After building movable mini chalets, he bought six pullets and two pairs of ducks. Frank, who sometimes had a beer with him at the pub, offered him a pair of goslings he’d hatched in and old frypan he used as a makeshift incubator.
Danny named the goslings Aida and Elsie after two old characters from a radio play his grandmother used to faithfully listen to.
The reforestation program had increased over the years to the point where he had enough excess tree stock to supply a few customers. Almost by accident, he’d established a native tree nursery where the local farmers began to buy his trees. He put his latent artistic ability to good use by placing seats beneath the canopy of trees beside Dimby Creek ford, which gave access to the highest paddock on his property. People from miles around learned of this lovely place where trees could be purchased while having a picnic and letting their children feed the chooks, ducks, and geese. It was an oasis in a harsh land.
“Good day, sir,” said the older policeman. “Seems you have had a bit of trouble.”
“Yair, you could call it that,” said Danny noncommittally.
“The firm at Mackay thought we should be informed about the vandalism to your barn. We would like your co-operation, as we believe you are not the only one on the Creighton vendetta list. Old may Creighton died last year and his son has taken over with a vengeance.”
“I figured the old bastard was jealous of me, but it doesn’t make sense for his son to attack. I don’t even know him.”
“It doesn’t need to make sense when you’re are dealing with that turn of mind. Can we come inside and check for evidence? We might be lucky and get a decent finger print from whatever missiles were used.”
He lead the two policemen into his dark and smelly barn and lit a hurricane lamp so they could see. “I’ll leave you to it,” said Danny agitatedly. “I’ve got to get these windows in before the storm hits.”
“Yes, yes, of course, we’ve finished outside now.”
“Got an excellent footprint cast,” offered the younger policeman.
“Help Mr Bronson put the windows in. Coming off a farm yourself, I’m sure you know what to so.”
As it happened, he did. Shortly, Senior Constable Bartrum also helped. Within an hour, they were finished and the policemen left Danny to clean up. The storm had blown out to sea on this occasion, missing his property.
Olga hadn’t followed. Their was little relief in that knowledge, Serena realised. She would head along the beach to make her mischief.
The long haul up the hill, on the metalled road, was heavy and slow, requiring many stops to catch her breath. Tears rolled down her face as the dread inside her mounted. She passed a couple known locally as the telegraph. They would add their version to Olga’s story, no doubt. There was going to be trouble, she knew. Carefully she avoided their scrutiny and trudged resolutely past, hauling the great perambulator and screaming child behind her until she reached the safety of her property.
Her heart sank as she looked up to see Adrian, arms akimbo and a face like thunder. “Shut that bloody child up!” he yelled. “Where have you been? Not even a cup of tea——-”
“You shut up!” she cried as she hauled a screaming Daniel out of the pram and headed to the nursery, the torrent of abuse from Adrian fading as she finally settled Daniel to her breast.
“The friggin child’s asleep, you useless woman.” Adrian’s angry voice shocked her out of a deep sleep. “Aren’t I even going to get a cup of tea?”
(Has Olga got to him already? I’ve never known him to this angry,) she thought as she quickly settled Daniel in his cot and headed to the kitchen. She stoked the chip heater with newspaper and dry twigs and lit it. While she waited for the water to boil, she took several tins of cakes and buns from the pantry.
In Return of the Kachinas I have written about the need for negative to balance positive, for us to recognize how too much of either can be evil.
On a conscious level, I understand Earth is a school, and therefore we need lessons to educate us. These lessons can be minor irritations to major losses that leave us devastated.
Some say we chose the degree of our lesson before we incarnated. I don’t remember.
War is part of these lessons we have forgotten we chose. I am no different. I still sob at the loss of human life and the innocent children maimed or killed.
We have forgotten this is not the end. We have forgotten the Universal Spirit is in everything, therefore in our enemies as well as us.
All the pain and suffering will only end when we have learned our lessons and moved to a greater and more wonderful education, far beyond what we can now comprehend.
Jesus said, “I am with you always even unto the end.” He knew the Universal Spirit and he were one and therefore he could talk as God, or as I prefer to name Universal Spirit. But what Jesus said applies to all of us, if we could just remember.
We cry for the loss of loved ones, but it is only their body that dies. We have simply forgotten this.