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

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Search for the Self 69<br />

“You could have fooled me,” said Rachel.<br />

I looked at Arnold.<br />

“He’s either completely mad or a good actor,” said Arnold,<br />

shak-ing his head.<br />

I didn’t think these were mutually exclusive, but I took it to<br />

mean he had some doubts.<br />

“Well, I was impressed,” I said.<br />

“How about a sandwich?” asked Rachel brightly. “Rare roast<br />

beef smattered with peppercorns and horseradish? Sour dill pickle<br />

and white radish on the side?”<br />

I was full up to here, so I left them snacking in the kitchen while<br />

I went out to clear the driveway. What had started some hours ago<br />

as a cheery fall of light flakes had become something close to a<br />

raging blizzard. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and the contractor<br />

I paid would soon be here with his plow. I just felt like some<br />

exercise after sitting for so long.<br />

What a lot to take in, I thought, shoveling first to one side, then<br />

the other, while Sunny ran around in circles, snarfing up snow.<br />

Car-dio-vas-cu-lar, I chanted, to pass the time. It was heavy<br />

work, but quite exhilarating.<br />

Brillig’s monkish background and literary interests; Kraznac,<br />

<strong>Chicken</strong> <strong>Little</strong>, Jung, the Self . . . and alchemy? God, the man must<br />

have a mind of steel to hold onto his sanity.<br />

And then, beating away at a knotty piece of ice, I suddenly saw<br />

how they were all connected. Talk about epiphany. Everything fell<br />

into place. I tossed the shovel aside and leaped for joy.<br />

“So happy to be a tomato!” I hollered.<br />

I threw snowballs at Sunny and she threw them back. Next<br />

week, I thought, I’ll teach her how to make a snowdog.

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