

"But again and again I note that the individuation process is confused with the coming of the ego into consciousness..." [CW 7, para 266]
Looking for web apps that interpret dreams through analytical psychology
I’ve noticed there are very few dream dictionary apps that actually give interpretations through the lens of analytical psychology. Every dream dictionary I’ve found is an old one, hiding behind Jung’s name without really using his methodology.
This isn’t idle curiosity for me — I’m building an app like this myself, but in a strict analytical framework.
Could you recommend a web app where I could compare its answers to the ones mine gives?
Thanks in advance!
The images never spoke to me. Not once. And that is precisely why I believed in them.
As I looked at the runes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something within them begging to be voiced. Some kind of mystery dwelt within this space and was seeking a way to emerge. Not to be completely laid bare and understood at first glance, but to assert itself as a key to the doors of the unconscious, whilst remaining a tool for self-discovery rather than an answer on paper.
To unlock this tool, to lift it from these depths, I needed another tool. Reflecting on this, I decided that since runes are an image, a glyph, there is nothing better for working with them than the attention-focusing techniques we use in hypnotherapy, and the method of active imagination.
My hypothesis was that the focus of attention can be shifted within the body not only when something hurts, but also when I want to feel a specific part of the body — for example, an arm or the forehead. That is what I did. It is very difficult to feel one’s internal organs. I could only manage to sense my heart, and even then only because of the vibrations and throbbing. A kidney, for example, can only be sensed when it hurts.
I hypothesised that if sensing my arm was possible, sensing an image might be possible too. Logically, this wasn’t a sure thing — it was simply a hunch that I decided to test on myself. This turned out to be the most difficult part of all. Techniques for silencing my inner dialogue helped. And so, in this combination — inner silence and concentration — I began experimenting with runes.
I concentrated on a single rune and followed it within my inner space until it stopped flickering — disappearing and reappearing — and remained still for a while. After that, it would fade away smoothly — either straight forwards and upwards, or downwards first and then upwards.
I followed the rune, but I didn’t just follow it — I shifted my focus of attention along with it. It was as if I were rushing through some kind of layers. When the rune’s movement ended and it came to a halt, I could no longer see either the rune or any other glyphs — it was as if I were in some kind of parallel world, and it was vivid and natural. And I would either see the central image — for example, the Mountain, Salt, the Wolf, the Wall — or I myself was that image or sensation: the Fish, the Raven, the Nest, Flight.
But never — I repeat, never — did these images tell me anything. Only once did I hear, in a dream, someone speaking in a language unknown to me — and even then there wasn’t a single recognisable word, just sound. I didn’t hear the voice from outside, but rather inside my own head, somewhere on the left. But even that merely confirms the point: images do not speak in words.
Images do not speak. They are the language of the subconscious.
In Jung’s own Red Book, Philemon spoke — in detail, meaningfully, like a mentor. As for me, not a single image has ever uttered a single word. Perhaps it’s down to technique. Perhaps it’s the depth of the trance. Perhaps it’s the type of psyche. I don’t know the answer, but the difference is too striking to ignore.
And here’s what I noticed later on: when a person answers questions using the Dilts model of logical levels — and although it originates from a different tradition, it proved to be a useful framework for this — they write or dictate words and phrases themselves, allowing the images to channel the energy of the unconscious at each level. It’s akin to automatic writing. Only this is a new step. A new code, if you like.
Has anyone had a similar experience with active imagination — where the image remained silent, but something changed precisely because of the attempt to put it into words?
How often do you see your Shadow in your reflection?
I've hated seeing myself in mirrors since childhood. Too fat, too stupid, badly dressed. I've got no complaints about my face, but full-length? No thanks. I've just got used to avoiding my reflection. Sometimes I notice it, sometimes I don't, but a week ago I decided I'd had enough.
I decided to work on myself the way I work with clients — with archetypal cards. I don't remember which archetypes came up or what I thought about them; I didn't write anything down the way I do with clients, I was working on myself, thinking I'd get it done quickly. I remember the resource card was Seahorse — an image of slow transformation. Then I started exchanging phrases with the mirror, and in the process I fell into my memories.
Summer. I'm 10 years old. My parents are sending me to the village to stay with my grandmother. And not just sending me away — sending me "with a purpose." I clearly remembered Mum saying to Dad: "We need to send him away for the summer, so we can save a bit of money."
At that moment it hit me. It felt so hurtful, so childishly painful. The boy inside was just an expense. They got rid of him to save money. Was I eating them out of house and home at 10?
The mirror asked:
— Where is that boy now?
— Inside me.
— What is he doing?
— Sitting on the street, staring at one point.
— Stay with him. Don't do anything.
I sat next to him for maybe five or ten minutes. Then I wrote:
— What next?
— Tell him he's worth more than all your savings.
And after those words, it hit me a second time. The boy inside me screamed: "I'm not a thing! I'm worth more than all your sofas and cars!" He covered his ears with his hands and screamed, screaming across all those years, and I was right there going through it with him, until he calmed down. After that I felt physically lighter, but for another fifteen minutes I had this feeling like I was slightly deafened.
Then I listened to the resonance sound to ground the work, wrote it all down in my journal, walked the dog, caught my reflection in shop windows and saw a man in shorts and a shirt with a dog — and inside him, the boy had finally gone quiet.
That's the story. No clean arc. In it, the child stopped crying — the one who put on weight during two months at his grandmother's and refused to lose it out of spite. The one who wouldn't listen to anyone and kept repeating to himself: "I'm not a thing! I'm not a thing!"
And then there was the Shadow. It had been standing there the whole time, in the mirror, keeping the boy in his suffering. And it was me.
Are there any “family connections” between archetypes?
(Hag-runa, Mother of Runes, form generator)
Have any of you ever wondered whether ‘kinship ties’ exist among the archetypes? Not a hierarchy, but something deeper and more practical—perhaps even mystical or mythological?
Every morning, Jung would draw a mandala, look at it, and say that it reflected his inner state. In these circles with a centre at their heart, he saw an image of the ‘self’ – that wholeness towards which the psyche moves. He did not explain why this particular image. It was an experience, not a system.
In my previous posts, I described the nightmares I had, which lasted for 21 nights. This was linked to my experience with runes. Along with the nightmares came understanding and knowledge. It feels as though it isn’t mine. Someone is still whispering secrets into my ear. In a whisper.
For me, the ‘hag-rune’ has become a mandala, a matrix, a generator of forms from which all or almost all the runes of the Elder Futhark emerge.
Look at this rune. Some see a centre and six triangles in it. Some see a crystal. Personally, I see a cube, a three-dimensional shape. But that’s not important. It’s a matter of taste. What’s far more interesting is that all the runes of the Elder Futhark are generated from this mandala, from this matrix. With the exception of the rune ‘Jera’, but more on that later.
I work with a reconstructed futhark; I’ll write about that later too—how I came to the idea of reconstructing such a ‘sacred cow’ comprising 24 runes or glyphs.
In my system, following the reconstruction of the Elder Futhark, there are now 42 runes plus 18 single ones. But! I had a geometric matrix from which the system was born, whereas Jung had an experience. He moved towards the self through the mandala and active imagination. I moved from the ‘hag-rune’ mandala towards the realisation that it is a generator of forms, and that forms possess strict geometry; furthermore, once they have emerged from the general matrix, they are not static but can produce other forms through methods of ‘rotation’ or, if you will, ‘reflection’. There is another method of obtaining a new form—the addition of oblique lines—but this is a human invention, not the nature inherent in archetypes.
(the principle of \"mirroring\" or \"spinning\")
After reconstructing and supplementing the Elder Futhark, I applied the method of active imagination to each rune. Within the triads I obtained, I identified the mother runes—those that fit directly into the ‘hag-rune’—and the daughter runes, derived through the method of ‘rotation and mirroring’. Using the active imagination method, I found images for each rune – stable and vivid, like other worlds or pictures at an exhibition. They did not change from one session to the next. Thus, I came to the conclusion that these are the true meanings of the runes.
(the principle of adding slashes)
(the principle of adding slashes)
The connections within the triads turned out to be very strange. For example, the mother rune Bison ‘gives rise to’ two other runes – ‘Flower’ and ‘Hammer’; the rune ‘Mountain’ – the images of ‘Wall’ and ‘All-Seeing Eye’; the rune ‘Freya’ – gives rise to the images of ‘Fish’ and ‘Paradise’, and so on.
All these archetypes have been described by Jung and post-Jungians. However, I have never come across a classification or description of how they are interconnected, apart from the fact that all archetypes drive a person from the self.
In my system, there are several centres through which forces interact with a person, and this does not imply a transition to the self, but rather implies that the self influences the forces with which a person interacts. In my system, the self exists from the outset and, thanks to the person, manifests itself through forces, archetypes, or, if you like, runes, outwards into objective reality.
So, I'm wondering: have any researchers or scholars identified such connections between archetypes?
And I'm addressing this question to you, as I haven't encountered such an interpretation in the scientific literature.
Are there "family ties" between archetypes?
(translated using Google Translate)
The cards I wrote in 2014 terrified me. Until last week.
I created a system of 60 archetypal cards in 2014.
Three of them scared me.
Punishment. The concept of being punished — by someone, for something, or for no reason at all — made me feel helpless. Like the verdict was already written.
Destruction. Something collapsing by some incomprehensible law. Dreams, hope, the ordinary fabric of life. Just… gone. I dreaded pulling this card.
The Hare. A force that immobilizes. You’re alive — but frozen. Like something bound you without asking permission.
I’m a psychologist and hypnotherapist. I built this system. I knew every word.
And I was still afraid of my own cards.
Something shifted after working with these archetypes seriously — not as a creator, but as a user. I pulled Punishment last week. Same words I wrote eleven years ago.
No fear.
Not because the cards changed. Because I did.
Punishment, Destruction, The Hare — they stopped being fatal predictions. They became part of a process. Something that can be looked at from the outside, understood, worked with.
It’s a strange thing to be surprised by your own system.
Has anyone here experienced something like this — where the symbol that once felt like a verdict became something you could actually work with?