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

48 Chicken Little: The Inside Story
in the Catskills. The name does not matter, you will not have heard
of it. It was heretical, to say the least, with roots in the Gnostic tradition.
The way of life suited me, for I was seeking surcease from
the materialistic world—the avarice, the joyless pursuit of pleasure
by waves of unthinking people who, in Nietzsche’s words, ‘register
their existence with a dull astonishment.’ ”
I looked at Brillig, for I had used that very line myself in one of
my books.
“Eh? You like that?” he smiled. “But perhaps you prefer parson
Kierkegaard’s bizarre query—‘Which is harder: to be executed, or
to suffer that prolonged agony which consists in being trampled to
death by geese?’ ”
I laughed, recalling it from Brillig’s thesis.
“In the monastery,” he continued, “I found release from all that.
I loved everything about the cloistered life—strict discipline and
holy matins; solitude, chanting, regular chores and simple food.
“After acquitting myself as an acolyte I applied for, and was
granted, a foreign posting. Along with several others I was sent
across the sea, to Carpathia.”
I started. “Kraznac? Chicken Little?”
“The same general area, yes, but rather closer to the Hungarian
border. I was there several months before I became aware of her,
except, as you will appreciate, by implication: it was the late thirties,
storm clouds were forming; the end of the world—well, as we
knew it—was in the air. Which is to say, the archetype of Armageddon
was constellated. I had several apocalyptic visions similar
to those Jung had before the First World War, but of course I
didn’t know that then. 53
“It was in Upper Kraznac that I first heard of Ms. Little by
name. Upper Kraznac was a bustling market town. Several Brothers—drawn
by lot, for it was a privilege to be released from daily
chores—journeyed there weekly for provisions. On mules it was
53 See Memories, Dreams, Reflections, p. 175: “I saw a monstrous flood covering
all the northern and low-lying lands between the North Sea and the Alps. . . . I
realized that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow
waves, the floating rubble of civilization, and the drowned bodies of uncounted
thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood.”