Last week I had one of those days – one where everything seemed to go wrong. I got up late, later than usual. Contrary to what I usually do, I sauntered downstairs in dressing gown and slippers, made myself a cup of tea, and rustled through the paper. I knew I had to be somewhere that day, so checked to see when I would be expected. Had I done everything the way I usually do, I would have been ready. I would have been wide awake and showered, I would have been dressed and breakfast would have been cleared away into the bin and dishwasher – whatever may apply. Things being as they were, I was not.

I called to say I would be late, did all of the above in record time and jumped into the car. I would have to drive about 90 Km, and there was enough petrol in the tank for 120 Km. I decided to risk it and left.

I came away from the meeting muddled, and slightly off key. Although I had managed to get to the meeting, I didn’t get the feeling of having landed, and felt disconnected. When it was time to go home I got back in the car and drove off. The red light in the car was persistent in its message: I needed to get petrol. I was confident there would be a petrol station along the way. I would be traveling along the busiest road of the best motorway network in Europe – it stood to reason I would find some in time.

The kilometers flew by, and no petrol station in sight. I took mental note of how far I had travelled, and how much fuel I might still have. I slowed down into the slow lane. That way I would use less fuel, and if the engine stopped I would not endanger other drivers, so I reasoned. More kilometers flew by. That little red light continued to shine persistently.

When I estimated I had no more than 10 kilometers in the tank, I decided to do something about it. I ticked the screen of the satnav on the fuel pump icon which showed up off the motorway at the next exit. 1.5 kilometers to go. I could make it. I took the next ramp off, and headed towards the bright lights of the petrol station, following the instructions given in staccato tones and with bad pronunciation.

Relieved I filled the tank with enough to get home. The price was higher than advertised at the entrance, but hey, the upside was that I was now out of the danger zone. I heaved a sigh of relief when I got back into the car, that little red light finally appeased, and drove back to the motorway.

I had driven no more than a couple of kilometers when a road sign informed me that the next petrol station was 1500 meters ahead. I laughed out loud.

Moral of this story:

1. sometimes we leave the road on which we are travelling to find what is on our path anyway, and would have come to us without effort
2. sometimes we pay too high a price for that excursion
3. unexpected things happen when you are unprepared from them
4. red lights are signals only

Wu wei again. I have come full circle.

I’m reading Marie Louise von Franz, and her book The Interpretation of Fairy Tales. If you have ever felt confused about the psychological functions, this might help:

… you can interpret a myth or fairy tale with any of the four functions of consciousness. The thinking type will point out the structure and the way in which all the motives connect. The feeling type will put them in a value order (a hierarchy of values), which is completely rational. With the feeling function a good and complete fairy tale interpretation can be made. The sensation type will just look at the symbols and amplify them. The intuitive will see the whole package in its oneness, so to speak; he will be most gifted in showing that the whole fairy tale is not a discursive story but is really one message, split  up into many facets.

Marie Louise von Franz hits it on the nail, as always.  ”Lectures on Jung’s Typology” is a little gem, with contributions from Von Franz and James Hillman.