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In 1989 I had planned to attend the IAAP congress in Paris. On the way I visited two Jungian friends in Zurich. While suffering with nobility a serious and unremitting illness, one was eagerly looking forward to interpreting a lost alchemical text that had just been discovered. The other played a fife, practising for Fastnacht, as we walked beside a mountain stream and unburdened the tangles of our lives. From Zurich I went to England, visiting two friends who have moved to a remote mountain in Wales, a place whose name if full of ys and is (to me) unpronounceable. They were withdrawing from the madding crowd, following their own vision of meaning in life. All were deeply immersed in their own lives, their own processes of individuation.
The morning when I was due to fly from London to Paris, the example of these friends came to my mind. They were living the Jungian way, while I was going to a large international meeting simply to talk about it. I left messages for friends in Paris that I would not be at the Congress and persuaded American Airlines to let me return that very afternoon, without additional charge, to Texas. I wished to spend the Congress week trying to live my path, which seems to be in the pine trees and cattle trails of Texas. The friends I had visited were an inspiration towards individuation, the real fruit of the Jungian vision.
June Singer is one of those inspiring people.
Singer is a template of what it is like to follow one's own path, unfolding one's own uniqueness on the fields of time. For me that is the deep value of her new book—the intimate glimpses of Singer herself as she trains in Zurich, has a premonitory