Carl Jung Novels & Stories

There Carl met his future wife, who was in charge of some of the therapy programs, and slowly started putting the pieces of his life back together. Painting started as therapy to help him express his confused emotions, thoughts and memories. The night terrors that plagued him slowly dissipated as he focused on expressing them through his art. Augustus visited every chance he could. Sometimes his presence was the only thing that comforted Carl, as he occasionally slipped into moments of psychosis where he thought he was back in the jungle.

At night, William the butler knocked on Carl's room. Carl's room was a classical piece. All wooden and too much furniture, it was cozy and warm. There was a piano that Carl played on every night almost. He was quite a good musician given his age. And it seemed music helped him let go of the pain. So his psychiatrist advised him to play every time anxiety, fear or discomfort attacks him. Carl's psychological condition was far from stable. He did his best to hide it from the others and especially Charlotte. But Claude knew his pain and Flora felt it through her high empathy. But since Carl asked for it, Claude promised he would never tell anyone about the horrible trauma Carl was through unles

Grey took a sharp inhalation and angrily released it. “According to Carl Jung–” “Are we diving into philosopher quotes now?” Gold scratched his chin, getting restless. Orange bobbed his head numerous times, placing his finger against his covered lips, wordlessly asking them to shut their mouths. Then, he continued regardless of the protest. “The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens to that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was no conscious EGO and will be soul far beyond what a conscious EGO could ever reach.”

It felt like something was about to burst out, a heat rising from the outside in, as if something inside him was being crushed and pulled apart. Unable to stop himself, Carl unconsciously moved his Adam’s apple. Standing in the shifting light, the movement looked almost too seductive, a rare sight for him. Everyone in New York city knew that Carl was the embodiment of restraint. He was known for his ascetic lifestyle—he didn’t even touch meat, living on a vegetarian diet year-round. His air of noble detachment was something that no one had ever been able to break.