Nobody isn’t going there, nobody’s parents aren’t going there—and yet so many of us show up at the threshold surprised and unprepared.

Modernity seems at a loss when it comes to the dying process. Among the oldest evidence of human meaning making are artefacts to mark this passage, but today we often find ourselves without any conceptual frame that dying doesn’t break. It’s outside the event horizon.

Wolfgang Schmidt Ulm Dos Santos is a trained Death Doula. He’s done many other things - men’s fashion, startups - but it is in this work that he now finds joy. We’re old friends, and it was wonderful to hear him speak about this unexpected calling. Not entirely inappropriate in the run-up to Easter perhaps.

To see how an appreciation of mortality is at the root of both the contemplative and the poetic impulse, and maybe all true delight, here’s One Or Two Things by Mary Oliver. In the conversation, we touch briefly on Rilke’s Todeserfahrung.

1

Don’t bother me

I’ve justbeen born.

2

The butterfly’s loping flight

carries it through the country of the leaves

delicately, and well enough to get it

where it wants to go, wherever that is, stopping

here and there to fuzzle the damp throats

of flowers and the black mud; up

and down it swings, frenzied and aimless; and sometimes

for long delicious moments it is perfectly

lazy, riding motionless in the breeze of the soft stalk

of some ordinary flower

3

The god of dirt

came up to me many times and said

so many wise and delectable things; I lay

on the grass listening

to his dog voice,

crow voice,

frog voice; now

he said, and now,

and never once mentioned forever,

4

which has nevertheless always been,

like a sharp iron hoof,

at the center of my mind.

5

One or two things are all you need

to travel over the blue pond, over the deep

roughage of the trees and through the stiff

flowers of lightning --- some deep

memory of pleasure, some cutting

knowledge of pain.

6

But to lift the hoof!

For that you needan idea.

7

For years and years I struggled

just to love my life. And then

the butterfly

rose, weightless, in the wind.“

Don’t love your life

too much,” it said,

and vanished

into the world.”

― Mary Oliver

We continue the conversation with the Odyssey myth. Marzia interprets the story of Odysseus (Ulysses) as Penelope’s dream of individuation.

I enjoyed this archetypally Jungian move. Rather than the story be about the return of the hero protagonist after the Trojan war, the entire thing is dreamed up by his wife, Penelope, known as the faithful spouse who for twenty years awaits his return to Ithaca. In fact, Odysseus is a projection of her “animus” - her masculine aspect - which through encounters with various female characters eventually returns and is reunited with her. In this telling, as Marzia says, “fidelity is not fidelity to a man, it is fidelity to herself.” A thought provoking perspective.

Marzia Santori is a practicing Jungian psychoanalyst in London and Rome, as well as teaching at the CG Jung institute in Zurich. An economist in her previous life, she worked in the finance industry before turning to the Unconscious.

This is Part (iii) of a 3 part mini series. Archetypes Part (i) discusses the concept and its application in analysis in general, Part (iii) is Marzia’s interpretation of the Odyssey with the help of an expansive Penelope archetype.

(With apologies for the suboptimal sound quality this time)

Continuing with the theme of archetypes, Marzia suggested that we talk about the symbol of the snake, working through association and the real example of a snake dream of one of her clients (to which of course that client had consented).

We talk about why Jungian Psychoanalysts pay such close attention to dreams, whether they contain messages from the unconscious mind, and how archetypal dreams can be a bridge to instinct. If you are categorically impatient with other people’s dreams then perhaps this one isn’t for you, if you’re intrigued then maybe it is.

Marzia Santori is a practicing Jungian psychoanalyst in London and Rome, as well as teaching at the CG Jung institute in Zurich. An economist in her previous life, she worked in the finance industry before turning to the Unconscious.

This is Part (ii) of a 3 part mini series. Archetypes Part (i) discusses the concept generally. Part (iii) is Marzia’s interpretation of the Odyssey myth as Penelope’s dream, thereby giving an entirely unexpected flavor to the Penelope archetype.

(With apologies for the suboptimal sound quality this time)

When are we in contact with an archetype—and when are we merely stereotyping, denying ourselves the insight of a full human archetypal pattern? What if we’re stuck in one aspect of an archetype, with “success” thinkable only along one narrow trajectory, but many ways to fail? Is there such a thing as a flexible hero?

In this episode, we look at these questions through concepts as different as those of God, Chair, Mediterranean Mother and Hero (as told in the Odyssey).

Marzia Santori is a practicing Jungian psychoanalyst in London and Rome, as well as teaching at the CG Jung institute in Zurich. An economist in her previous life, she worked in the finance industry before turning to the Unconscious.

This is Part (i) of a 3 part mini series. Archetypes Part (ii) discusses the snake archetype through dream analysis. Part (iii) is Marzia’s interpretation of the Odyssey through the archetype of Penelope.

(With apologies for the suboptimal sound quality this time)

Not being native to the Rheinland, Rhenish Karneval is a phenomenon that begs explanation.

So I asked a local legal mind to summarise the rules for me. That turns out to be rather difficult: a loosely pro-social subversion of the usual social order is the whole point. Instead of rules, the region is seized by a passionate pre-Lent commitment to the themes of Love, Cologne, and Kölsch. I even did this one in German to try and catch the cultural nuance— but in the end, the thing has to be seen to be believed. Immerse to comprehend.

Gernot Lehr is a prominent German media lawyer. While he’s in the business of upholding boundaries and counselling caution, he’s also a big advocate of adopting a more relaxed posture for a few days a year, to participate in the collective “psychological regeneration” that is Karneval.

What does it mean to innovate within a defined form? In what sense is it important to be true to the vision of the composer—when can we straddle the shoulders of artistic giants and go somewhere new, when does that end up some kind of insensitive appropriation? And what is our cultural responsibility to restore a musical lineage severed by genocide?

Musicians must keep asking themselves these questions, says Elina Ahlbach. Her view is that if Bach had known the e-guitar, he would have used it. Elina is better-placed than most to assert such a thing: she is the founder and artistic director of the chamber music group Continuum, an internationally recognised harpsichordist and Glenn Gould Bach Fellow.

There is something both very soulful and unflinchingly clear about Elina’s music, and in her leadership style as she conducts her ensemble from her instrument. I’ve been meaning to get into some of these questions with her for a while, but being family is not always conducive to that kind of conversation. The pod has been an effective, if somewhat baroque excuse for that.

This is a foray into unfamiliar territory. But it’s almost Christmas, and the Christmas story is perhaps the only part of the Bible that even non-Christians know by heart: a miraculous pregnancy, a humble family’s journey to comply with government diktat. The search for shelter, finally bedding down in a stable, and the divine child born there in the cold.

Hardly a story of domination, points out Donata Lasson. Donata is a lawyer, author, and vocal Christian. We talk about the role of biblical stories in creating shared culture, and the emerging variants of “muscular Christianity” on the Right.

In particular, we discuss a recent podcast by Sam Harris with Douglas Wilson on Christian Nationalism (#443). Sam Harris is a prominent member of the “New Atheists” (among other things), Douglas Wilson is a pastor and proponent of Christian Nationalism, whose ideas have received attention recently because of his connection to US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth. Their conversation is a version of the Atheist vs Believer debate on morality, meaning, and where you think you stood before you chose your epistemology.

What they didn’t tackle clearly enough, in my opinion, was the promise that there is moral certainty and consistency in theocratic government. But this seems to be at the core of what some people find so appealing about that vision: that instead of the messy democratic process of grinding out a compromise that is never finally locked down, we could simply turn to an eternal law revealed in Scripture.

The thing is, reading is ALWAYS interpretation - framing, emphasis, projection, an interaction with prior knowledge - of which the sheer number of denominational categories is surely proof (besides being the bread and butter of all lawyering). If a large and complex compilation of texts is to deliver us any certainty, it is only via placing our trust in the authority of someone’s interpretation of it. And that seems to me the fundamental flaw. Perhaps, for those who are attracted to it, it’s a feature. If that is true, then to move away from secularism is necessarily to court authoritarian rule.

And all of this said, I did find something about Douglas Wilson’s overall conversational posture resonating with me. Trying to figure out what that was, it is perhaps best described as a refreshing friendliness— while the entire discussion was respectful, it felt like Sam Harris was having to hold his nose. His version of winning would have been to persuade decisively, and then walk away asap. Whereas the pastor was ultimately concerned with Sam’s redemption, and there was a sense he’d have invited us all back for dinner and a prayer, however far he got with it. I can see why that offer might be attractive in these fearful, atomised times.

Donata says there is a word for that, it’s called proselytizing, and it comes with spiritual arrogance and manipulative intent. I can’t argue with that view. But to me it seems that all other things equal, even such good will is better than none. It may be ultimately conditional on conversion, but Douglas Wilson confirms that deathbed conversions count, so that should secure us his benevolence in our lifetimes.

This conversation left me thinking about what a secular Liberal version of such benevolence looks like. Even if we all gather and part ways again with irreconcilable visions of Paradise, if we fundamentally want others to join us there, the experience of talking about it would be way more enjoyable this Christmas season.

What makes a voice listenable? Are we looking to be soothed? How do the idioms of techno and jazz differently show up the nature of time? Does silence even exist?

This is a pretty whimsical conversation about the nature of sound. Professionally, I’ve dealt a lot in writing and comparatively little in voice, but I’m interested in its different characteristics - in the extemporaneous nature of spoken conversation, and the way paying attention to sound forces the listener into the present moment. You can’t skim listen to music. You pretty much have to trust that the people on the podcast will eventually get to a point that was worth hanging on for (or you don’t, and you’ll never know).

Michael is a percussionist and sound designer based in Berlin who lives and breathes this medium. Even so, at some point he had to resort to Bill Evans channeling God. Perhaps we can’t truly admit sound without experiencing something esoteric.

Recommend Michael for all your sound design needs - a versatile composer and overall joy to work with.

Peer group circles are an extremely powerful format for reflection, supportive camaraderie, and building strength. It’s not like coaching, though similar insights can emerge. It’s not like friendship as we usually understand that, with its layers of intertwinement, loyalties and expectations, although a well-run circle can lead to mutual well-wishing that, as Toby says, borders on love. It is under-utilised social design in my opinion.

Toby Sawday runs a programme of peer group retreats for CEOs he calls “Campfire Circles”. I poke him a bit on the male-only requirement - not because I think mixed is always best, but because I am curious where it is that he thinks men can and need to go with other men, that they can’t when there are women in the room.

This was a fun conversation with an old friend, and I bet #Campfire is amazing, to the point I feel completely confident recommending it to anyone who is male, middle-aged (I think that requirement might be softened in the face of sufficient inner maturity :), and an acute or recovering CEO.

Caryl Emerson is Emerita Professor of Slavic Languages and Literatures at Princeton. She is also my dearly beloved, indefatigable octogenarian aunt.

Caryl’s fascination with Russian culture dates back to when she was a teenager in the 1950s, a time when most people in the West were even more wary of all things Russian than they are today (or rather, the opposite political camps were). This young girl fell in love: a literature full of “heroic” narratives, artists so severely constrained by totalitarian government that their work could emerge only with startling creativity and courage… a world away from the American entertainment industry, or the British bourgeois novel’s marriage plot.

I’m interested in that story, but the bigger theme I’m chewing on here is why it is so important to engage in deep, immersive reading. In one’s native language or any other. Because it’s hard, and quite different to the interruptible skimming of short-form, mixed audio-visual content that dominates our feeds. If you happen to observe children working to acquire literacy, you remember what a feat that cultural technology really is. Mastering it at all, and then developing it to a level that can sustain the inner universe of a novel.

My actually literary friends may smirk at my naive questions (what even is a novel?), but I really enjoyed this conversation, and I’m glad I captured it. Somewhat to my surprise, Caryl is optimistic about “young” people’s reading habits. She did not give me a short answer to the question of why children should spend their precious time studying foreign languages, or develop the concentration span to read War and Peace. But I am perhaps a little closer to distilling my own, which is the sign of a great teacher at work.