Night is a palace of memories, with the beams lashed to the roof and corded with fragments of childhood, vanished links of how we grew up, and faint traces of our mother caressing our hair and sending us up to bed after a rambling story about ghosts and goblins.
we wriggled and followed
the path upstream,
coigned in its armbends, whinsill, lime,
humped heather, deer grass
There was just one hope, Jung said: occasionally alcoholics could recover after experiencing some type of religious conversion. However, he cautioned, recoveries due to a life-changing ‘vital spiritual experience’ were relatively rare.