Each time I studied Jung's writing, I was staggered by the potency of his insights. Drawn once again to Jung, I used his description of the Introverted Intuitive to explain myself to a companion. The thoughts I shared with her are enclosed in boxes and ideas added with this writing [are enclosed in brackets.] Added emphasis appears in red. (Note 110)

The peculiar nature of introverted intuition, if it gains the ascendency, produces a peculiar type of man: the mystical dreamer and seer on the one hand, the artist and the crank on the other. The artist might be regarded as the normal representative of this type, which tends to confine itself to the perceptive character of intuition. As a rule, the intuitive stops at perception; perception is his main problem; and - in the case of a creative artist - the shaping of his perception. But the crank is content with a visionary idea by which he himself is shaped and determined.

As the "mystical dreamer," I've found that poetry provides an outlet for the "perceptive character of (my) intuition." These visions arise in my mind and become more insistent until I find a way to let them out. I've had some intuitive visionary perceptions about what the abrupt change in our relationship means. I can't get these stirrings off my mind until I get them out and try to discover their meaning.

Naturally the intensification of intuition often results in an extraordinary aloofness of the individual from tangible reality; he may even become a complete enigma to his immediate circle. If he is an artist, he reveals strange, far off things in his art, shimmering in all colours, at once portentous and banal, beautiful and grotesque, sublime and whimsical. If not an artist, he is frequently a misunderstood genius, a great man "gone wrong," a sort of wise simpleton, a figure for "psychological" novels. . . .

After I finally get my poetry out, there is usually no one to share with. When I've tried with friends other than you, I "become a complete enigma to (my) immediate circle." One of the most powerful dimensions of our relationship was that you seemed to understand the stuff that careened around in my psyche.

When you came into my life it was like a new light dawning. I thoroughly enjoyed reading my poetry to you. I was thrilled to death when you asked me to share. I've felt "frequently misunderstood" most of my life especially by other companions. I was concerned that the last two poems I sent would be misunderstood and that someone might consider me a man "gone wrong."

Although the intuitive type has little inclination to make a moral problem of perception, since a strengthening of the judging functions is required for this, only a slight differentiation, of judgment is sufficient to shift intuitive perception from the purely aesthetic into the moral sphere. A variety of this type is thus produced which differs essentially from the aesthetic, although it is none the less characteristic of the introverted intuitive.

[The perceptive dimension of my type emerged with the evolution of my personality from my spiritual search. Previously I was as strong on the judging type as I was now on the perceptive. I was never satisfied with just the perception of my vision. It was important that I relate personal discoveries first to myself and then to the classroom and my career.]

The moral problem arises when the intuitive tries to relate himself to his vision, when he is no longer satisfied with mere perception and its aesthetic configuration and evaluation, when he confronts the questions: What does this mean for me or the world? What emerges from this vision in the way of a duty or a task, for me or the world? The pure intuitive who represses his judgment, or whose judgment is held in thrall by his perceptive faculties, never faces this question squarely; since his only problem is the "know how" of perception. He finds the moral problem unintelligible or even absurd, and as far as possible forbids his thoughts to dwell on the disconcerting vision.

[Writing this Memoir cuts right to the heart of "what does this mean?" Why am I creating this web site? What is the process that brought me to a point in my life where I feel compelled to organize and place my ideas on the internet? My uncertainty about the answer led directly to the Memoir. When the site debuts, I will let the natural course (Tao) of events carry me to the next phase.]

It is different with the morally oriented intuitive. He reflects on the meaning of his vision, and is less concerned with developing its aesthetic possibilities than with the moral effects which emerge from its intrinsic significance. His judgment allows him to discern, though often only darkly, that he, as a man and a whole human being, is somehow involved in his vision, that it is not just an object to be perceived, but wants to participate in the life of the subject. Through this realization he feels bound to transform his vision into his own life.

The outward expression of my inner vision as poems reflected the "meaning of (my) vision" and helped me "transform (my) vision into (my) own life." Since I've "remained uncomprehended" as my "arguments lacked the convincing power of reason," my academic career challenged me to bridge the gap and express ideas in a form acceptable to my colleagues. I took my subjective visions, explained them in rational terms and related them to other ideas with the hope that the academic community would accept them.

But since he tends to rely most predominantly on his vision, his moral efforts become one sided; he makes himself and his life symbolic - adapted, it is true, to the inner and eternal meaning of events, but unadapted to present day reality. He thus deprives himself of any influence upon it because he remains uncomprehended. His language is not the one currently spoken - it has become too subjective. His arguments lack the convincing power of reason. He can only profess or proclaim. His is "the voice of one crying in the wilderness."

[A colleague and I worked two years on an article relating intuition in the large to strategic decision making. We wanted to publish in a journal that was read by business people as well as academics. Our paper was rejected three times. Editors expressed fascination with the subject and our approach but were reluctant to risk an article that "lacked the convincing power of reason." Often I have felt like "one crying in the wilderness."

What the introverted intuitive represses most of all is the sensation of the object, and this colours his whole unconscious. It gives rise to a compensatory extraverted sensation function of an archaic character. The unconscious personality can best be described as an extraverted sensation type of a rather low and primitive order. Instinctuality and intemperance are the hallmarks of this sensation, combined with an extraordinary dependence on sense impressions.

[I was drawn to the expressive extraverted function. The bodywork initiatives focused on connecting with physical sensations with the same vitality that my introverted intuitions expressed themselves in poetry. My former wife and the companion this was addressed to were both stronger extraverts than I was an introvert. Both helped bring that side of my personality to the fore.]

This compensates the rarefied air of the intuitive's conscious attitude, giving it a certain weight, so that complete "sublimation" is prevented. But if, through a forced exaggeration of the conscious attitude, there should be a complete subordination to inner perceptions, the unconscious goes over to the opposition, giving rise to compulsive sensations whose excessive dependence on the object directly contradicts the conscious attitude. The form of neurosis is a compulsion neurosis with hypochondriacal symptoms, hypersensitivity of the sense organs, and compulsive ties to particular persons or objects.

My intuitive archetypes possess me. Once the wellings from the deep take over, they seem to acquire a life of their own. You remember this from when I'd dump a whole bunch of this stuff on you about one of my issues. I have a "compulsion" that I can't shake until this has been lifted from my chest in the form of expression.

If I can learn to separate my shadow from the deeper truths, I believe these outpourings are manifestations of spirit. They are clues to show me the way to unfold. They are a tangible form of my passion. You evoked that passion in my writing, in our being together mentally and physically, and then nurtured it in the outer world where you as extravert encouraged me to experiment in the classroom.

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