The Sob Of The Unconscious. MS/2019/01

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I have dedicated my life, without reserve, to the service center of an individual who is endowed with many emotional resources. I have vowed to live and die serving him. From my wisdom and experience, I know that emotions are treasures that deserve great management and care. So I store all the emotional fall-outs which my master neglect or is afraid to acknowledge. Beyond storing them, I also throw them out in bits from time to time to tell my master the goods in his store and to decongest the unconscious store. But I do all these with the sob of a faithful servant.

A good number of times, however, my devoted service has been misjudged as embarrassing by my master and others. I don’t know why I am so hated for being honest in my service. Even my master whose good I seek doesn’t seem to understand; for he most often feels very jittery hearing that I have a message for him from within. It is really painful seeing my master attempt to ignore and take away my freedom to serve when I have vowed to be his servant all my life. But I will still keep my words to him for I will be happy seeing him intergrate the entirety of his emotional resources and living a fulfilled life.

I would have died of frustration if not for those glorious moments when my master is forced out of the tyrannous palace of the concsious by the demands of nature and circumstance. Of course I have always tried to show my ingenuity at those moments of freedom. I descend to the unconscious part of my Master’s reserve to call up traits, feelings, aspirations, needs, etc that yearn for recognition and appreciation. I allow them to express their theatrical protests and requests by acting on a special stage with my master watching as an incapacitated spectator.

Since my master is usually uncomfortable with my messages, I present them with symbols, all taken from his archive. For instance, I have on a number of times allowed the packed aggression in the inner store to express itself in a fighting scene just to tell my master what is suppressed within. In such glorious moments, therefore, I tell my master who he really is but from a safe distance. I tell my master the truth of himself, though with the sob of a faithful servant.

These glorious moments, for me, are the moments of Truth, but my master calls them dreams, and sometimes illusions. If my master will ever understand, he will wish to befriend me and dream the whole day. If you will ever understand that the master I talk about is “you” and that I am your faithful servant the “unconscious”

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