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Chicken Little: The Inside Story (A Jungian ... - Inner City Books

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<strong>The</strong> Letter 23<br />

could use some spice.” And she made a few suggestions.<br />

I was reluctant at first. Whimsy is one thing, but playing with the<br />

truth is something else. On the other hand, Rachel is, to some extent,<br />

“She-who-must-be-obeyed.” 30 In the end I met her half way,<br />

which is to say I took her advice.<br />

Now I focused on the passage that had apparently prompted<br />

Brillig to write me:<br />

. . . stone tablets discovered in Lower Kraznac. . . . Some tablets are<br />

whole, others are merely fragments. <strong>The</strong>re are huge gaps. <strong>The</strong> first<br />

seems to start in mid-story, and the seventh ends so abruptly that one<br />

cannot help but think that others are still to be found.<br />

God, I thought, where did that come from—“others are still to be<br />

found”? I wracked my brain and came up empty. It was a throwaway<br />

line, surely, just to show I knew my Chickle Schtick.<br />

Now here was the expert, calling my bluff.<br />

I was not happy.<br />

I got Sunny’s leash, stuffed a plastic bag in my pocket—being a<br />

conscientious stoop and scooper—and took her out to the park.<br />

Arnold came at my call. He kicked off his galoshes and threw<br />

his coat on a chair. I showed him Brillig’s letter. He borrowed my<br />

glasses and read it through without comment, then gave me a great<br />

clap on the arm.<br />

“Don’t panic,” he said. “Let’s have a drink.”<br />

Arnold’s a bear of a man. We’re more than close. We shared a<br />

house in Zürich when we were training. Now we practice together<br />

as colleagues. He sees things in ways I don’t, and vice versa. He<br />

designed my garden and taught me to appreciate free verse. I<br />

showed him how to sew and make cookies, read maps, fix lamps.<br />

He taught me that being late, or not showing up at all, wasn’t a<br />

30 This is a phrase Jung lifted from the writer Rider Haggard to describe the authority<br />

of a man’s anima, his inner woman. (See, for instance, Two Essays on Analytical<br />

Psychology, par. 189.) I was amused to see it echoed recently in the popular<br />

PBS television series, “Rumpole of the Bailey,” where Rumpole’s wife, entirely<br />

innocuous to the viewer, is routinely referred to by him as “She-who-must-beobeyed.”<br />

I use it here, of course, somewhat tongue in cheek. Rachel is flesh and<br />

blood, my anima isn’t. I know the difference, only at times, like Rumpole, I’m liable<br />

to forget.

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