Therefore the spirit of the depths forced me to speak to my soul, to call upon her as a living and self-existing being.
C. G. Jung, The Red Book
This is a story of my life between the ages of 14 and 18, an intense period that happened during the 1960’s in Wales and Ireland. It is an odd story, filled with twists and turns—but it is real, or at least as real as my memory and my Self allows.  I wrote most of the narrative years ago, but something was missing, incomplete. Read more
Chapter 1: An Encounter with Death
Wales 1966 – 1967
Summer 1966, age 14
The world reassembled as my eyes opened. I was looking up at a plain white ceiling, smooth with no cracks. It was not my bedroom ceiling. My gangly 14-year-old body was lying on a bed covered by a sheet and thin blanket, dressed in baggy blue-striped pajamas—definitely not my pajamas. The room had a faint disinfectant smell and it was empty except for the bed and a bedside table. Like the room, my head was empty—blank. Read more
Chapter 2: The Unconscious Family
Summer 1966, age 14
We sat in the back of the rattling ambulance on our way back to Cardiff from the hospital—a journey of ten miles. The nurse had hustled us off, dressed in borrowed pajamas, dressing gowns and cheap slippers.
Across from me, Toody clung close to Dad, quiet and subdued. He looked smaller than usual in his drooping pajamas as though shrunk in the wash. Not quite 13, he was still a child: round baby face, big sad green eyes and shrill voice. We shared a bedroom but since the move to Cardiff 18 months ago, we’d grown apart—or maybe I’d stopped caring. His chirpy manner got on my nerves, so I tuned him out, like other things that bothered me. A lot of things bothered me. Read more
Chapter 3: Dancing with the Shadow
Late summer, 1966, age 14
I lugged the clothes in two overstuffed duffle bags out of the launderette and up the street. We had no washing machine at home; it was my turn to sit with the rumbling tumble-dryers, nursing my mortification, fearful of being seen. On the walk home I was on edge: What if I meet someone from school? What do I say?
At our front door, I yelled through the letterbox for someone to open up. I had no key and the doorbell was broken. Instead of Dilly muttering irritably, the door jerked open and my brother John stood smiling up at me, a mop of blond hair hanging over one eye, his short compact body radiating impatience. Read more