"I early arrived at the insight that when no answer comes from within to the problems and complexities of life, they ultimately mean very little. Outward circumstances are no substitute for inner experience. Therefore my life has been singularly poor in outward happenings. I cannot tell much about them, for it would strike me as hollow and insubstantial. I can understand myself only in the light of inner happenings. It is these that make up the singularity of my life, and with these my autobiography deal."
- CG Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections
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The "I early arrived..." is a gift of unparalleled proportions; some souls simply know themselves complete and their lives are an expression of that knowledge. But so too the fucked. Are our lives not an expression of our fuckedness, our dithering, wavering self-knowledge, our incompleteness?
Yes. Of Course.
Each life is an expression of its own awareness, what Jung would call its inner happenings. I'd argue that the fucked life is one focused on outward circumstance with little or no attention paid to its inner life. Not that an inert, life-of-the-mind approach is superior, but that in order to move through the changing circumstances of our lives and retain a sense of self, a sense of our identity in the enormity of circumstance, we must know who we are and ACT in accordance with that knowledge.
Anything else takes on the stink of being fucked.
What strikes me today is the distance between where we think we should be and where we are. No one ever has the two line up, even briefly, without fighting against the inertia of emptiness, the inertia of confusion, the inertia of not knowing one's own self.
Overcoming this distance, bridging that gap is the only courageous act man has available to him. For there is no outward reward, no external circumstance to which he can bind himself. All you get to use to unfuck your life are the inner happenings of your soul, your own true self. And that is why it can seem so impossible.