The Infinite and the Bi-Polar

There was something about being in my old law firm and hiding that article that I ghost penned in the Journal of Humanistic Psychiatry about a Jungian Interpretation of an Ayahuasca adventure.  But this was at 2 am, and at this point the dream imagery was mostly feeling as opposed to symbols or meaning.

After awakening, I indulged in a little Random Rab, urinated outside, checked out a wondering possum, had a few squirts of Mulugu bark, and took in the some of the aromas of Mugwort while I performed the lesser banishing and invoking rituals.  Then I was back to the races.  I took me a bit to get back in, but then...

I was running and running.  There was a criminal running.  He was running and breaking the law with  abandon in all sorts of ways that I don't really remember.   He was in prison strung up to the wall with his hands outstretched like a cross.  He was taken down by my old high school friend Chuck Abrahamson.  Then he escaped as was back to running.  Along the way, he/I started talking to a woman.  We saw a dead body on the ground, a blonde female.  She looked familiar, and the woman who was with us told me that we had killed her.  I didn't remember doing that but I'm sure it happened.  I became sick.  Then we were joined by a man.  And he and the woman joined voices inside my head.  The woman in my head told me I was bipolar.  Then the male told me that I must learn to work with it because I was infinite.

Then the scene transformed.  I was with the criminal again, but he was in a a summer sport coat.  With a beautiful woman.  Come to think of it, he was always surrounded by women.  And the man looked different.  Like something out of a GQ magazine.  And he and the woman were going to some sporting even.  And I was left with the impression that he was worldly and successful.