the spine and the inner life

Spring is here. My sense of inner well-being has not passed. The sun shines. The birds sing "cheese-burrr-gur" —unwittingly reminding me of Tyson—and the magnolia trees are in full bloom.

Parsnip and spinach soup for lunch with horseradish hummus on wheat bread. I observe Lent in little ways.

I think about my spine. Up. My neck. Free. The first movements are inner, of my thinking, the outer movements follow: a sense of space between my shoulder blades, my spine inches up. I notice, sitting at my desk at work, that I pivot forward as if to reach the keyboard with my collar bone, my legs grip the floor for balance. I'm not sure yet how to solve this. I notice nonetheless.

I am reading Jung's Memories, Dreams, Reflections. In the prologue he writes:

All memories of travels, people, and surroundings pale beside interior happenings... Recollection of the outward events of my life have largely faded or disappeared. But my encounters with the "other" reality, my bouts with the unconscious, are indelibly engraved upon my memory...

Similarly, certain people are established inalienably in my memory as if their names were entered on the scrolls of my destiny from the beginning, so that encountering them was at the same time a kind of recollection...

Therefore my life has been singularly poor in outward happenings... I can understand myself only in light of inner happenings.