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At 5:30 A.M., I awoke to this joyous dream:

It is night. My god-daughter invited me to her home for a celebration. Not sure of the occasion, I went, having experienced many festivities with her family, her extended family and friends from her community. The usual warm glow, tables filled with sumptuous fare, children of all ages with their toys, and scintillating conversations fill the rooms. No one is excluded. But this occasion is different. My god-daughter is different. Usually a spirited woman, her buoyant laughter is more resonant than ever before. Her presence affords a charisma that everyone notices.

Night, again, speaks to the end of life. Time is of the essence, and unresolved issues must be settled. Each moment contains a cue for action toward even deeper acceptance of reality and humility and the elimination of denial and idealization.

Home suggests an enclosure in which I’ve interacted with countless people in my life, not always happily. True, forgiveness has balmed relationships, but the harsh judge, within—especially toward myself—still spews nastiness whenever triggered.

In Jungian terms, my god-daughter represents aspects of my positive animus: the innocent, the scholar, the caregiver, the beloved, and the explorer, in various stages of development.

Her vibrant energy empowers me to continue my end-time work and not lose heart. I’m grateful.

At 4:30 A.M., I awoke with this comforting dream:

It is mid-afternoon. I’m, alone, seated in the study of an Anglican rectory in Great Britain, poring over travel brochures describing sites in the European Union that I’d like to visit. I’m wearing an ivory lace bridal dress and veil. I hear footsteps in the hall. It’s the Rector and his golden retriever. Quickly, I collect my stuff and go to another room, not without seeing the dog bound after him.

Unlike other dreams, mid-afternoon suggests more time/space to continue my psychic work for my transition. Each twenty-four hours is a gift, as also the ivory lace bridal dress that brings to mind the parable of the wedding garment in the gospel of Matthew. Mine is exquisite with long sleeves and skirts. In the dream, the veil enhances my naturally curly brunette hair; my face glows. I feel blessed.

In Jungian analytical psychology, the Rector represents the Positive Animus of the woman’s masculine side as uncovered in the collective unconscious through dreams. That I’m unwilling to fully engage with the Rector, despite his invitation to work in his rectory, suggests an area of growth still to be achieved. I’m still on the periphery of my masculinity.

The travel brochures and the bounding dog recall the joyful discovery of having been an analysand of Ellen Shire for decades. In line with our work, she plied me with information of Jungian tours to pre-historic sites in foreign lands and urged me to participate. And her dogs, Toby, and later Max, squealed with joy in her company.

In retrospect, Ellen Sheire carried the Sacred during our hours until I could learn to access it for myself.

I’m grateful and still teachable.

How formulate words around the life of Elie Wiesel (1928 – 2016) who, in dialog with his God, fully individuated himself within the warp and woof of his global community? Left a legacy of printed words that still fire imaginations and challenge the moral fiber of his readers?

Such is the task I set myself after completing Elie Wiesel’s second memoir,And The Sea is Never Full, 1969 -1999.

His lifelong study of the Torah and the Talmud imbued his witness, his writing, and his teaching in lecture halls and international venues. Like Jeremiah of the Old Testament, he was passionate, fully sensitive to the worlds within and around him. Words, written and later spoken, became his métier. Yet silence obliterated any foray into his death camp experiences: they remained inexpressible: referred to as “it.” Yet, paradoxically, “it” fueled his rich imagination with stories and assuaged his psychic wound. Those privy to his spiritual depths relished his unique vision: living with unanswered questions before the silence of God.

In his memoir, Wiesel also reproduced parts of significant dialogs and lectures that reveal the breath of his wisdom and his attunement to his listeners. Dreams of his deceased family, in italics, also showed his respect for his unconscious, ever guiding him toward wholeness. He was also not without wry humor in his admission of foibles. So beneath this world citizen lived a simple man of passion who loved being husband to Marion and father to Elisha.

Yet Elie Wiesel’s witness to hatred, under the guise of anti-Semitism, racism, xenophobia, and fanaticism, still flourishes—but not to worry. He has passed the baton on to us, with its imperative to root out such vestiges within our psyches. There is hope.




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