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Love Diary:



By Rodney Compton
A highly intimate account in real-time of a tragic love affair, that
contradicted all the social rules, but was based upon the firmest of
unconscious foundations. The writing is charged and overly romantic
in places, but please take into account the inflation from the
unconscious, and that this is the pivotal relation that freed the writer
from years of inhibition about written expression, through the
inferiority of personally relating to a great writer.

16th June 2006 - after arriving in France...
Impressions and distractions crowd into my thoughts. If there was
ever any chance of wanting to stay here, then that likelihood has been
dispelled by the events preceding my departure. A door that had been
left ajar by Susan has been profoundly and suddenly flung open. If
fate wants to teach me another lesson about loving women, then it has
chosen a lovely and intense young woman called Jane for the purpose.
There is a wonderful and spontaneous mutuality to the relation,
something quite lacking in any of my encounters since Jill. Jane is
Ann all over again,' these words entered consciousness as an
endorsement to what I was experiencing. The lovely brown hair and
brown eyes, a wonderful familiarity, but blended with the love and
excitable sexual chemistry that Ann and I only glimpsed, before being
yoked in marriage and which surfaced again at the end, when it was

obvious to Ann that all was lost.

My mind cannot think of Jane for a second without my body
responding. It seems she has all the most desirable bits of every
woman I have ever loved. But the most important thing, is the way we
affect one another mentally and verbally... She is so wrapped up in
The first text was on the 11/6/06, after having spoken outside her
I sent to her: Dearest, needy, loving child, its chemistry, so dont
doubt it. A door that opened to the boy, now opens again. Redeem the
man and he will show you the secrets of the rainbow.
The mention of the boy, refers to,' the knowing (in biblical terms) of
my ex-wife Ann, before being carried away by my personal
mythology and masculine spirit. I had so much time with Ann, but
with so little understanding and appreciation of her. The need for
'redemption, is of course accorded by my incomplete and now
solitary life.
Jane responded in kind:
a door so unexpectedly opens, oh so intriguing and enchanting.
Belief in fate and love and life is strong, and the desire to shine...
Show me for I would see the rainbow.
Jane is obviously a romantic young woman struggling to cope in a
difficult situation of having to bring up three children without a
supporting husband. She admitted to being a bum trap, by which she
meant that the men she met had no sincere intentions towards her,
which is par for the course in these times, especially for one so needy
as Jane.
11/6/06... There followed a succession of texts: Jane complains about
my text telling her she was in charge, (I was referring to her dominant
material instincts, of which I had yet to make her aware).

It reads: dont put me in charge! I dont want to be in charge! I await

your return from France.
I sent a text saying I would delay my trip till Thursday, (because of
work and wanting to see her), and that I had felt a connection with her
from the word go.
Jane responded, U go on Tuesday! Im free at the w/e! please write
whilst away - 31 ............. Road ................, I live near L..............
I texted to say work had delayed my departure. Jane suggested lunch:
lunch tmw.
Typically and bearing out the archetype that has controlled liaisons
with the opposite sex for such a long period now, I misunderstood
thinking she meant, tomorrow week. I thus sent a text beginning in
Je ne comprend pas... I am away till July.
She responded in full flowing French:
Oui daccord mais je te demande si tu....
I responded, having been completely bowled over by her text, with a
joke about my ignorance and her intelligence. She then sent another
smiling now!
C u tmw, want me 2 come 2 u.
I took this as innuendo and replied:
yes, yes, yes.

She responded with:

smiling broadly now.
The tone of the texts had taken on a wonderfully familiar and
unguarded tone and the next text on the morning of Tuesday the
twelfth, from Jane bore this out, with:
Good morning another beautiful day, what time would you like me?
Typically, I responded with:
right now,
Jane saw the humour, but unswerving, texted back:
Make it 12.30? Ill have to go at three, (sch run) where is yr front
12.6.06, 12.30:
I met Jane for lunch, and that, as they say, was it. We never got
beyond the first course, which consisted of each other. Kiss upon kiss
- heaped upon the mouth and face and neck of a delightfully brown
enchantress, from 12.30 till 3.00 p.m. when she had to go.
I have missed the mutuality of desire in every relation I have had
since Jill. Jane shows neither inhibition in her desire for me, nor in her
ability to compliment me on the things she likes the most about me. It
is quite wonderfully intimate. I am just amazed at how like me she is.
We share a willingness to be frank and open about our feelings. The
whole relation, though having echoes of my past - that provoked the
powerful unconscious statement, it is Ann all over again, has a
unique freshness too. The last wonderful thing I remember of Ann
was a kiss at Easter, just before we tore ourselves away from each
other. She was dressed in her long brown dress and she draped her
long brown hair over me. It is something I shall never forget. Jane
picked up precisely where Ann left off, with who knows how many

years and disasters in between. This, Ann detail, even included Jane
having a period, (as Ann had done on our wedding night), therefore
making us both wait for sex because, 'she did not want the first time
to be messy'.
Jane texts in the afternoon at 15.19 after leaving:
thank u for a wonderful afternoon, being with u feels so good and
kissing u is divine xx.
I am equally affected and realise how special this relation is.
12.6.06 at 20.06 Jane texts:
I have stolen a moment 2 myself, reading poetry, wanting to share,
still smiling xx.
I am aware what a romantic she is and how differently affected I am;
in my photography, love entered in when I created the heavenly daisy
picture with Rachel, but I have never read poetry while in love. The
comparison with Ann, far from being uncomplimentary to Jane, is the
greatest of compliments, but in all the time I was with Ann, except at
the very end, she never demonstrated anything like the certainty and
passionate intensity that Jane has shown, in two, all too short
encounters. I am simply astonished, it is as if Jane has been made for
me and held back until I could properly care and appreciate her. I am
so thankful
13.6.06 18.34. Jane has been busy and texts Wordsworth:
My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky. So was it
when my life began, so is it now I am a man, so be it when I shall
grow old, or let me die! The child is father to the man, and I could
wish my day to be bound each to each by natural piety.
Jane and I had discussed how much the child we still remained inside,
and how the emphasis we have born in childhood determine us as

adults. She linked this to the poem and is amazed at the coincidence.
It gives me an insight into her normal personality, and it makes me
realise how little is understood of synchronicity by people and how
spiritual life is obviated when a person is caught up in a domestic,
material cycle of life. Jane has a superb intellect, but her maternal
instincts have naturally intervened, and, rather than pursuing her love
of language and literature, Jane became a breadwinner and mother,
and has three lovely children to show for it.
Jane and I are due to meet the next day.
14.06.06 Seven days from Janes thirty eighth birthday.
She texts:
Good morning, hope u slept with sweet dreams, so looking 4ward
2being with u xxxx
They were my thoughts entirely. Jane arrived on time and we fell into
each others arms. Again lunch means no food, but sweet kisses. We
spend the next two hours or more embracing, kissing and exploring
each other with that same uninhibited mutuality we showed before.
Jane is embarrassed only momentarily by my frankness of gaze, as I
delight in her semi naked beauty. She is warm and sensual and brown.
Essence permeates her hair, her flesh is smooth and nicely toned. Her
legs, which she girdles around me, are smooth and brown and so very
welcome. Inhibited only from penetration, we kiss and kiss and
delight in each others love - that has quietly crept upon us. I am so
lucky for this gift of affection and intimacy, which I feel needs to be
nurtured like a new born child.
14.06.06 Later Jane texts:
Wow, I feel incredible... Ur incredible, what a feeling xxx.
I concur, it has been a delightful time and whatever happens next, will
be determined by what happened then... I simply love her. I am under
a spell and so is she.

I spent Thursday clearing up the details of the last job, and generally
getting my kit in order for the trip. I needed some credit in my phone
and found that only a trip to the Co-op supermarket at the end of the
street would suffice - as the little shop across the way had a
breakdown on its phone till. This involved walking past the estate
agents and seeing my darling girl. She had warned me that her boss
was in, so I was circumspect, even thinking to pass on the other side
of the road. As soon as Jane saw me she was out of her chair. She
almost dragged me to the side of the shop and proceeded to kiss me.
The last time I had kissed so publicly was a long time ago, but this
loving child saw no reason for restraint. I had unlocked the door to
Janes soul and this was the result. We parted in the poetic agony and
sweet tenderness that only lovers know vowing love, till the distant
morrow, when I should return.
A sample was Janes text:
My eyes r filling with tears again, Dover is far enough. Enjoy the
journey, Im astonishingly overwhelmed xxxxx.
My trip had become a literary drama, and seized by an archetype that
was all too familiar and plain in the texts that the writer Robert Louise
Stephenson had left behind, in his trip to the Cevennes. This, son of
Stephen story however was to become more obvious as the events
unfolded, and if I could dare tell my reader of the mythological link I
share the myth of Stephanas, the protomartyr the secret, not to be
told, then all might be the clearer. For the time being, it is enough to
know, with certainty, that Jane and I are seized by the same fateful
and eternal forces, that also thralled Robert Louise Stephenson, and
his left behind love.
Picking up my camping mattress from Sue in Medway and dropping

off the gallery job at Ashford, I arrived in perfect time at Dover, my

thoughts intent on the task ahead a six hundred mile drive to Les
I am alone with my inner dialogue and subject to the anxiety and
stress of travelling abroad.
I mess up the lanes at Dover and find myself with a nine label, but in
the ten lane. Nine had been the dominant symbol - after the fifty
pence and two twenty pence pieces found on the sofa as Jane was
leaving on Wednesday. This confusion between the tenth archetype of
the apotheosis and the ninth are an extension of the 2005 visit. It is a
symbol that has yet to be understood
Dover crossing;
I left England and the new found mistress of my soul, with texts of
endearment, and of appreciation, and of a looking forward. So far I
could only suspect the intensity of the fire that had been kindled and
which would blaze with such passion through the days that were to
Amien: I left Boulogne behind and headed south in a brilliant evening
of yellow light and lengthening shadows. The quiet auto-route snaked
slowly ahead through the rolling coastal hills. I knew I could make
good time on these empty roads, but to where, I had no clear plan,
except perhaps to drive for a few hours, then look for an hotel.
I hit Amien in the gloom of late twilight as part of a detour to connect
with the Eastern auto-route to bye-pass Paris. It seemed a likely place
from the map, in which to locate a hotel. Amien, though is an
agricultural town, not given to tourist hospitality and certainly not at
nine at night. I began to regret my choices as I searched vainly for a
place to stay. McDonalds loomed on the crossroads ahead, and with
an acceptance of an intuition I had the day before, I stopped and
prepared myself to take on the French language, a la Big Mac. I

knew a veggie burger was out of the question in France, but the
deluxe fries looked good and thoroughly French, so I plumped for
those, with French coffee to perk me up.
Driving away up the deserted and darkened streets I was not quite at
the point of panicking, but nearly so. I was certainly beyond that crisis
point of thinking that I might sleep in the car. Then I saw it: a modern
hotel - Le Marmot.
Formalities over, I settled back in a typically clean modern suite - to
watch, Match of The Day highlights, en France. I saw a few goals
go in to the back of the net before the day overcame me. I slept, but
only for a few hours before I suddenly awoke to my thoughts. The
salutary conclusions were appalling. I was a fantasist - I invented my
life story as I went along and dangerously drew others into a world of
shadows and light. I felt like turning back, and might have, were it not
for the compelling myth that had finely balanced my adventure and
was drawing me on
I sent a text to Jane:
I am a dangerous man. In a world of violence and vice, the (peddler)
of dreams is worst.
Jane would not hear of this and texted back:
Hey u, come back to me, your tired and unsettled, and the monsters
emerge. The sun is shining, let the light embrace. Drive carefully. Xxx
Jane was showing sense and balance where I was not, but my
conclusions remain
Vienne. 16/17th June 2006
Later on, after a long drive. The town of Vienne lies just south of
Lyon, on the banks of Le Rhone. I made the sensible choice of
stopping early, and now, well clear of the complications of the road
network of Lyon, I was pleased that I had. The Mercurial device that

my unconscious had created to spice up my journey - of not having

time to take more cash, and the refusal of my card at the garage for
fuel, was still of major concern...
I found a chamber dhote by the usual methods of looking and asking.
The place was a complex of rooms and terraces built into a hill on the
edge of the old town. The folk were simple, gypsy like. They looked
askance at this solitary Englishman, especially so, the eleven year old
daughter of the house, who gazed in unabashed curiosity, her open
maw studded with an unsightly brace. This grimy angel was
appointed handmaiden to my needs and the room to which I was led
was typically clean and neat. It was a big room with windows to the
street. There was an enormous brown wardrobe and an interesting
double bed, (so much more of interest because of Jane). It was a nice
classic French design with curved padded ends in a mahogany frame.
Outside, the streets, gray and narrow, descended to the waters edge,
reflecting the gray towels that hung in lines in the bathroom.
Walking to the harbour I found a banal pizzeria. I phoned and texted
and ate. I had an enormous pizza, of which I could only manage half.
Jane texted:
Share it with me.
Would that I could. She also reported the crash to her car, the first she
had had. I told her of my registration of the crash, when an impersonal
voice had said in my unconscious the prophetic words that I thought
referred to my journey: a crash. I began to realize how profoundly
linked Jane and I are psychically.
17/06/06 Saturday
I completed the drive here to Vergogenous, via Ales. The journey, as
always on the last stint, a mixture of relief and anxiety - at what one
might find from ones advance booking. On this occasion it was all
the more awkward for not having the requisite cash deposit to hand
over. Like last year at St Martin De Charzon, I met the owner without

knowing it. In this case he was a smartly dressed angler, who I passed
on the road. I asked him directions and though he must of known who
this lone Englishman was, he beckoned me back the way he had
come, with just there, you have already arrived. In the event, the
matter of my financial embarrassment and the deposit was not an
issue, and the charming French Madame of Monsieur le pecheur
showed me round and made me welcome, to what was a somewhat
bare and simple apartment, but overlooking a paradise...
Sunday, 18/06/06 father's Day - I started the day texting:
Up since dawn, amazing place - card acc ok, must be the actual
plastic - on enforced diet till Monday. Even with distractions, still
smiling about you and aroused just sending text - standing on a rock
in heaven minus one angel. xx
Later, now with the anxiety (over the money) having subsided:
From heaven to paradise. An important discrimination - one in the
mind and soul, the other on earth. De la roche,
Emphasizing my extreme position of having to stand tip toe on a
rocky promontory, arm aloft and outstretched, just to get a signal to
send the love messages. It is all so laden with the stoning symbolism
of Stephenas - (St Stephen).
Jane awoke with:
Oh, Im happy, enjoying coffee and the papers, love Sunday
mornings, the sun is shining and I just feel so good.
Then later and perhaps intuitively: Happy father's day. Im having a
lonely moment, hope youve heard from Jemima.
It was all so poignant - Jane and I then exchanged several messages
linked to a text Jemima had sent me via Susan's mobile. I had
responded by mentioning Jane to Jemima, and admitting I was
possessed by the same irrational desire to find paradise that in 1994

involved dragging Susan and Jemima across France. I also explained,

that In contrast with my previous years trip, this time, I was wanting
to return home - to Jane of course.
I realised that Jane was caught up with regrets about her fathers
untimely death at forty-four and my inclination was to text some
I sent: you read my mind, she did as you would do - they are not
gone, but present in our present. You are every bit a loved child. What
I lacked was given back and so (it) is with you my lover.
I had ellipse a lot of what I sent, but the whole symbolism and
meaning of Jane losing her father at forty-four and the continual
losses I have experienced, seems to have been transmitted. I had to
send a rider of explanation in case she was too upset, but she
responded that in fact the words were appreciated.
Heartfelt thoughts poured out in her text: No, not 2 much, miss my
dad, 20 years is too long 4 a daddys girl 2 b without. tho i know hes
within and Ive seen his spirit. Its not enough - he should still be
here. Thank u 4 your words xx'.
Later, I am feeling slightly paranoid and aware that I am being set-up
by my unconscious, though after receiving:
Hello u, kids and I r settling down to watch Doctor who - love it. I
want 2 make a difference 2 yr life, not to disrupt it. I wld like 2 work
with u, and look 4ward 2,
I felt that at least Jane had got through a difficult weekend, it being
Fathers Day...
I finished at 20.53 with:
It has been a difficult day for you, I am getting paranoid. I am a fool
for leaving you. If there was no commitment to stay (DR DAVES
ARRIVAL), I would return and buy a new bed, just so I could snuggle

up with you, my enchantress. Send me some prepositions you brain

box - I am sure I just said (in French), I keep my wife UNDER the bed
all day. xxxxxx.
I thought this would really put the smile back on her face after a
difficult day, it certainly did on mine - I love her.
Jane sent a last text at 9.18 pm:
U sense I am low, im tired and lonely and sometimes its all 2 much,
esp after the car being hit 2 this week as well. Prepositions and more
en francais - a, en, donc, assez, dans, alors, entin, jusque, autorefois,
19th June 2006 Vergogenous - Barre De Cevenne Southern France
The day dawned bright it was going to be hot. I awoke at about
eight local time. Today I had decided I would go to Florac and test my
credit card at Le Champion and replenish my food stocks, which by
that time were almost exhausted. I had been concerned that Jane was
suffering the after effects of her emotional time on Fathers Day and
therefore decided to send a comforting text:
Just a quick one - love, love and more love - it will pass and we will
be together again soon - even more love. i started my journal. If you
can get RL Stephenson journey through the Cevenne (on a donkey) - it
is the TV feature were doing (attempting) - remarkable parallels to us
and a good outcome xx love love
I was right - I got her reply she was feeling obviously low:
Hello my turn 4 bad nights sleep - 4 hrs. U r fortunate to have this
opportunity in the Cevennes. cloudy here, demons within, the self
doubt is consuming. So much love in your text, thanks, well be
together soon, i love you and will be patient.

I found her condition upsetting and decided to take a lead with some
practical suggestions:
In charge practical man here: start journal, vitamins c, d, b12, e, low
dose. Ration: one glass red - alch is depressant. Water, walking or
some aerobics. Company: call Elain. Look at nice double bed xxx
Then, after visiting Florac, where everything went fine:
10.57 am
Just bought groceries and petrol so settled now, but worried about my
lover - you are wonderful and I want to hear your voice - when you
read what ive written you will weep - jaitem xx
I had been thinking that Jane might have been worrying about money
and although what money I have is dwindling, I thought some
reassurance might help her:
and dont worry about money ive got tens of thousands on account
Up or down, its all the same in space, ask the doctor xxx
As a reference to Dr Who
thank you you made me smile! Im sorry, i think too much, im not
sleeping or eating and i miss u x x x x x
I drove to the top of the mountain at Barre De Cevenne where there
was a good signal and sent

I need a text from the woman in my life
By which time the message service had caught up and I got a flood of
Jane sent 11.14
tears have stopped, just had long chat with Elain and will c her
later( I always do tea here on mon after sch 4 e and her kids. 2 read
your journal would be a privilege. What's wrong with me, im crying
again, sorry. AMOR VINCIT OMNIA.
And in response to my 13.49 about needing the woman in my life:
that wld be me! Im here, sitting with my book in my garden, watching
my cats (i have 2) i long to b with u xxx
My response to her latin suffix:
19th June 13.57
God the girl knows Latin - what u doing tomorrow? Toast my
absence, when I get back, you wont be able to get shot of me. I so
love the way you write - getting aroused just thinking of you
And slightly later:
19th June 14.19
This is costing a fortune - feel free to comment on my crap spelling
anytime -i keep thinking about your pubes. and your smooth soft
thighs and sensitive aureoles- oh, yes, yes, yes...

The time line had caught up and Jane responded with:

19th June 14.22
And the Kissing...xx (yr spelling mistakes are endearing) The kissing
and sheer intimacy of desire... xx
To which I laughed out load, and sent:
19th June 14.36
I will eat you, every last morsel, literally and metaphorically.
19th June 17.10
After my excesses of early afternoon Jane texts:
Hello my darling fed kids my car has been collected 4 repair and
wine shortly to be opened. My thoughts r constantly with u what r u
doing all the way over there? I am wishing the days away x x x.
19th June 17.15
Taking the question seriously, I reply:
Shooting some stunning footage of damselflies at a stream.
Then slightly later at 17.29
Its what I do apart from think about my intimate and gorgeously
clever girlfriend
19th June. 17.43
The day finished on a high note with a text from Jane, who was
feeling much less low:
So want to be there! So want u, dearest man x x x

19th June 20.22

I went to the rock in the car after the French dog had snarled and spat
when I tried to pass in the drive. This was all much to the woman
owners consternation at the bad dogs dislike at this lovely
Englishman. Being in the car gave me the opportunity to listen to
Bach, which I did parked up looking East across the mountains. The
choughs were making their night calls and I felt at peace for the first
time in days, and pleased that Jane had regained her equilibrium.
I sent a comforting text:
This is a night-night text. Text me in the morning. Try the vitamins
and some aloe vera - it has done wonders for me. How can anyone
take a bad speller seriously... what a change to my outlook you make treasure and care for we are both romantics, what chance do we have
without each other xxx.
Jane responded with a text that ended: what chance indeed
20th June
Awoke about seven o'clock local time to a cloudy sky, examined the
wall lamp and saw a tussock moth and other geometers, but decided
against borrowing the ladder without asking, instead I got my
binoculars from the car and a piece of wood - in case I needed to ward
off the french dog downstairs.
I had a quite strong dream on waking.
There was a TV terrorist drama unfolding in a city block setting. It
seemed to have both a dramatic and real quality. A group of cyclists
came by on an outing and had to find there way around the incident.
One cyclist was going in the wrong direction I was told, and I barred
her way - with the admonition: stop Rachel. She was slim and dark

haired in a tied back style, typical of the girl cyclists of my youth. I

used my cycle across her path to form a T. I then found myself
following the group through a detour around the incident by off road
mud and across a junction, which I negotiated with a tune - against
the flow of traffic.
This dream was left hanging in the air, but bears reflection.
My thoughts turned to Jane and her plight. We had the advantage of
making friends by text, but I wondered what passion might be left
under the weight of responsibility I now bore, with her life to manage,
as well as my own. I set to write my journal looking out on the cloudy
sky and scenery chorused by the stone rattling cries of the black
redstart outside my window.
I decided to do a text:
Mon amore, cherie, I hope you had a better night and dreams? And in
the dawn comes new light and understanding of the days we spent in
darkness... Your lover xxx
I had not mentioned it to her, but I was half seriously thinking of
getting the plane back for her birthday. I negotiated the snarling dog
and set off to get a signal to send my text, which I duly did.
What I got back was:
you lied about your age, why did you send a good night text at eight,
you will lie again, all men are liars.
I was stunned and physically overwhelmed, but I regained my
composure. My age at sixty two had become a non issue for me,
something I had discounted in my thoughts about readjusting my
lifestyle to cope with Jane and her family I had not lied, I simply did
not look or act my age.
So this is how it is supposed to end

But I know that life is balanced and that if I lost Jane and had to
return to my masculine life, then it would still involve substantial
challenges - just as I knew that being part of Janes life would also
present challenges. I decided to make at least some response to
apologise and to present my standpoint, which I did with:
10.21, So all is lost my love. My physical and mental age are
measured well below my contemporaries and I will remain fit and
well long after younger men have ceased to be. I sent a text at eight
because it is nine here and I wanted to absorb our day into the
journal. Its a shock, but on reflection there was only love and no lies
in it (that). It was as much of a shock for me to contemplate such a
change in life from one of masculine creativity. X
Then at 10.29:
Jane, I honestly discounted the matter of my age by the time I had left
(England), please believe and forgive - I love you, but you must feel
awful - i am physically sick, and deserve to be, but it has been
wonderful xxx
Jane responded
Then I sent another text at 11.30
Jane responded at 11.32
I dont know what that means. I dont know anything, Im so lost.
Jane at 12.34
I have nothing to say, im empty now, the tears and anger have all
subsided. u lied easily, ull lie again, as all men do. forget it, enjoy yr
time in france, well talk on you return

Mine at 13.29
So i don't have to come back then, I hate flying... you have aroused
such passion-i never knew of poetry before. My love and care
remain... there are simple lies and much more terrible truths, terrible
Can we talk when u get back. Im distressed and crying again. We
have something, u and i and i need to see u xxx
Mine 14.39
We do, i love your passionate intensity, you affect me like no other xxx
i want you so much and more because of our dialogue
Jane at 14.47
ive fallen 4 u, ur my fathers age and u knew what effect that would
have on me so u lied. Tell me what to do. if it doesn't matter, y does it?
My father committed suicide, rod. I love you, im lost xxx
For the second time in the day I was overwhelmed, but now with
sorrow for this poor child, who I had so recently come to love. I felt
bereft and unable to do anything to help.
I texted straight back
You poor soul... I love you so much I am so moved with sadness
Jane at 14.57
Still crying with the sch run to do now. Want to talk with you, im still

so fucked up really, and yet i know im strong and i have so much

within xxx
Mine 15.01
You are wonderful.
Jane at 15.03
In slightly better mood: where r the kisses
Mine 15.16
I adore you for your courage
We arrange for Jane to telephone, which she duly did, with myself
standing in the centre of Le Pompidou after spending some time
talking with Pierre and Jean. The conversation was me apologising
and Jane accepting my apology, all done with love and tenderness.
And Jane had told me her darkest secret the poor lamb.
I decided to make another excursion to Florac to get a telephone card
and some fuel and on the way I was inspired by her:
I love yr voice... xxx
To which I replied:
I love your aureoles
Feeling physically aroused simply by texting the words.

21.6.06, Jane's thirty eighth Birthday
Everything tells me I should have gone back apart from having to
play out this elaborate mythic game. I could have got the plane and
made the grand gesture, but I am a coward and hate flying. I also
knew Jane that would be busy throughout the day and I thought it
would be enough. I will have to make it up to her in future and be
ready when another opportunity arises.
8.45 am
I was following the Stephenson trail from Casagnes, a small town
with narrow streets, just off the main auto-route. I was on my way to
St Jean de Calbert to make a call to Jane. The roads were wet and in
the typical manner of my unconscious, I had made myself late to call
her, or so I thought. I was thus making a mad dash on the narrow and
slippery mountain roads. With the benefit of my intuition, I
anticipated the possibility of crashing three times - the first of the
three was the worst with a car coming straight at me from the
opposite direction. My modern day Modestine (Suzuki jeep) lurched
and screeched under the heavy braking, as I slid sideways into the
bend. Whirling the steering on opposite lock I escaped to fight another
day. I was looking for a cabin, as it is called in France, from which
to make my call and I would not be deterred by a few wet roads the
mad lovesick fool that I am (repeats jumping the red lights on the A20
for Susan). I passed a hamlet where the cabin had been de-phoned just a backboard and gaping hole was left. My luck, I thought, but it
was all adding to that necessary masochistic edge by which my fate is
recognised. I drove on and found myself approaching the lovely sight
of the village of St Jean de Calbert which sits at the top of a
mountain road. There I saw my goal: a working cabin. By this time
the sun was shining and the air was heavy with the recent humidity
and filled with swifts and martins chasing the sudden surge of insect

I phoned once, and then again. My darling girl was obviously

transporting her young darlings to school. I left a message, which
included a wonderfully flat bass version, in two lines, of happy
birthday, then retired to the car for ten minutes, till I could phone
again. This time I was in luck and my little intellectual was on the
line. Buzzing like a schoolgirl, she recounted, the cards, the texts, the
loving kisses of her children, and oh, the flowers that had arrived at
eight a.m. Endearments were exchanged in the manner, where the
sound and tone of voice are all important, and perhaps the details less
so. I was relieved to know Jane had a full day and long-standing plans
for a family tea. She had also organised an extemporary garden-centre
trip with her dear neighbour, Chris, who shares her birthday. I shall
pass over my reactions to this event, but suffice it say, it might have
been missed had I been there, and that would have been an omission
for Jane and Chris.
Jane texts later at midday:
Where r u, you should be with me xxx
I was in fact out of the car trying to get my rodsight on a young
raptor, which had been calling continuously from the wonderful
camouflage of a grove of conifers where it had flown. The very dark
shape had been hard enough to distinguish when it had been right
under my nose, now it was impossible. Then the mother bird flew in
and the two birds arose from the cover of the young birds retreat and I
got some fleeting footage.
I replied to Janes text:
Its now blazing and I am trying to get my lens on a raptor that has
been calling nearby love you xx
Jane is a child at this point and in an intense moment texts back:
Show me, show me what you see. Im impatient to see your pics and
journal, show me xx

Jane's texts are so sensual and poetic, I find they arouse me, whether I
am aware or not and my response is:
Patience wonderful woman child, patience. In the morrow thy master
returns and would know his mistress.
She is more than equal to this master when it comes to poetry and
words and responds with the breathtaking:
Thy mistress awaits,patient or no, thy mistress awaits
I realize I have more than met my match with words and respond:
Oh, your good, very, very good
She responds:
my darling, u r wonderful, and its my birthday, and I love you and
miss you and I want you. I love the way u c me, oh, the romance, and
the ache 2 b with u xxx,
I thought after this endearment that I should be a fool not to call as
soon as I could. I was in the mountains someway short of St Jean Du
Gard and on arriving I found a cabin and phoned. Janes mother was
due to arrive and they had planned a joint trip to pick up the children
from school. The conversation was wonderfully light and loving, and
friendly; yes friendly, in the sense that only intimate confidants know.
I had been forgiven for lying about my age, Jane had disclosed her
darkest secret, and we had both emerged into the sunshine of a new
day. I love her, thats all I can say I love her
St Jena Du Gard - The town is clean and hot and of course stands on
the course of the Gard river. In the dazzling reflected light of river bed
rocks an egret and a heron are fishing. It is just under the parapet of
the bridge ten meters below. I got my long lens stills camera, but it
was too late, they had been disturbed, but the sight summed it all up.
This was not about conservation, this was no reserve, the birds were

simply part of the town environment, as crows and sparrows are in

I drove back in the heat of the afternoon feeling tired and very hot. I
was stopped by some road works on the mountain road back from St
Jean Du Gard, where, after rock falls, scarcely a road remained that an
ordinary car could traverse. Dust and boulders, massive earth moving
plant, and French workers, all so informal nothing like the fuss we
get at home on our stupidly overcrowded island.
I slept and lay reflecting for an hour, then decided on the course of
Art. Art will redeem all, and my love affair with Jane will become a
work of art

My Return

My long awaited return was brought forward by a few days, as my

working partner was sympathetically aware that being separated from
Jane was having a detrimental effect on our expedition. Equally, Jane
was feeling neglected by the fact that I was preoccupied with my
filming and although I was making frequent calls and texts, she still
felt excluded. This was no more apparent than when on returning,
Doc Dave and I were stuck in Boulogne for several lunchtime hours
awaiting the resumption of cross channel services. Jane's reactions
were paranoid about the delay, her overwhelming thoughts and fears
of being betrayed and abandoned coming to the surface once again.
This terrible lesion in her personality was to make itself felt time and
again in the following weeks and months
Initially, my welcome back had been wonderful and the closeness
Jane and I shared was all that was expected, but by seeing Jane in her
home surroundings and in her day to day life, it had become clear to
me that Jane was verging on drink dependence. I also realised that her
hormonal clock was ticking furiously and although the idea of another
child was miles from her conscious mind, nevertheless her instincts
were demanding a fulfillment. Jane and I had both fallen into the trap
of marrying after an unplanned pregnancy and that had led us both
into a bad marriage. It was a mistake I did not want to repeat.
It must have been a slowly dawning awareness from Janes intuition
that I was not normal. She had witnessed my insecurity once or twice,
but it must have been very uncomfortable for her when trying to fit
me into her life to realize that I was in the process of living my myth,
as Jung would put it. She also realized how straight I was and simple
in the way I lived, compared with her lifestyle. She also felt the
weight of the judgement I could not avoid making about her drinking,
which then placed Jane in two minds, vacillating between love and
the security of her clique. I think this forced her to revert to the
dependent friendships that had sustained her in her life as a single
mother. In the simplest terms, when I showed a resistance to her need
for late motherhood, she lost faith in me, and her instincts caught up
with her. I wanted Jane as an equal, someone with whom I could share

my intellectual and emotional life. Jane also wanted this closeness,

but her instincts would not be complete without another child.
Too late, I realized, how immeasurably deep Jane's insecurity ran after
the terrible rupture in the relations between Jane and myself that
followed a second of two parties. Jane got very drunk and I was
forced to speak my mind in admonition of a vulgar provocation from
Elaine. It was the confirmation Jane was looking for that I would not
fit in to her circle and that I was no different in that respect from her
estate agent. It was a typical unconscious set-up, based around Janes
deepest needs, which were security. Elaine's unconscious complicity
was obvious, and it was clear that they had cooked something up for
me. What I saw of Jane that evening filled me with horror. As a clear
rejection of the loving and sensitive manner that Jane and I had
related to each other, under the influence of drink, Jane's shadow
appeared to be spawning a lewd lesbian fantasy.
Jane had long transferred her emotional dependence from her mother
(who had also abandoned Jane by remarrying soon after Jane's father
killed himself, and was in any case generally critical of Jane), to her
closest friend and ally, Elaine. Elaine was far below Jane in intellect,
but she had shown Jane the dependability and affection that Jane
needed. They also shared the goal of single motherhood. These
woman had struggled together against what they perceived was a
world of worthless and unfulfilling men, and it was Elaine that Jane
now danced with. As the night wore on and the drink flowed, I sat
stone cold sober and watched my beloved behaving like a lesbian
prostitute. Whether or not Jane and Elaine could have substantiated
their filial bond, in anything other than a drunken state, is a matter for
conjecture, but I doubt it, though it might answer a residual question
that still hangs unanswered (and is featured in the conclusion to this
piece and to my relations with Jane as a whole). The behaviour of the
two women was obviously designed for an unconscious purpose and
it demonstrated, not least, the state of gender inversion, so prevalent
in modern sexualised society.
Love Diary, conclusion...

Things became unbearable from then on and I felt that I was in a

hinterland of sanity. It was then after so many years, that I was
advised and became determined to go back into Jungian analysis, and
go back to god.
How could something so good, go so wrong
Jane distanced herself almost completely during the period after the
ill-fated party, which more or less coincided with the school holidays,
during which I was left to hang. This sort of manipulation by the
shadow is typical something Jane could not do to me consciously,
but which her instincts demanded. She was placed in an impossibly
ambivalent position by her love for me and by the conflicting love for
her children and closest domestic circle.
Last week in August to September
I started the day with a text that I had thought long and hard over:
Frankness, honesty, affection and concern is my best definition of
friendship; as much or as little. Think first, do you want this, or a
tragic silence. I admire you as a parent, but isolation is endemic and
will touch everything if not mediated, it has already started. Solaris is
real fiction, you and him you and me. Jane, you are a frightening
reality to me, but please reflect and dont isolate yourself further.
There must be a balance to all of this.
In, it had already started, I am referring to her son Robert, who Jane
was isolating herself from. This was because of the feelings Robert
was expressing to do with his fathers desire to get the family back
together. Jane carries the full weight of responsibility (and guilt) because Sean cannot admit to his role in the marriage breakdown.
The broadcast of the Solaris film was so apposite to the situation and

relates with the process of internalization - of her father by Jane, and

my internalisation of Jane. I think it was too obscure for Jane in her
current state.
Jane responded by expressing fear over my obsessive texting, and by
implication, my underlying mental health. The text was sincere and
longer, not perfunctory. It ended with:
I dont know how 2 be with you.
In the text Jane is expressing her perfectly natural fear of me, but also
something of a probing - for direction. I want to be with you, but
dont know how.
Later and unexpectedly I got another text, which ran:
I miss u being u, I want you to be u wordy and wise.
Then: Xits all okX
I rather broke the spell by phoning, but she signed of with see you
Her daughter had been involved as Jane was texting and it might have
been that there was an agreement relating to the childrens acceptance.
First day back at school and I missed the point completely. Left a flag
out and she did not go to work, but texted: that I should shut up
because she was crying her eyes out at the loss of her kids back to
school. I apologized, but commented that I liked the fact that she was
expressing anger at last. We reconciled later with some nice texts, but
it is clear her drinking depresses her in the morning, making her
volatile and moody.

I Went to Dungeness to look at the site for photography and film. I
spoke at length with Dr Dave about Jane and his suggestion is that she
wants my attention, but not the commitment.
On returning I saw Jane. I parked right outside her office, she then
went to post letters and I walked with her. She kissed and hugged me
and we walked hand in hand, arm in arm and spoke about her distress
of the day before over Dan going to big school and being at home
alone with Robert for a couple of hours. We declared our love and
walked back to my car, which she had completely overlooked.
She sent a nice text in the evening saying that things were ok and
wishing me a good nights sleep.
I went out early with Dave and cameras and never really got into the
day. Two messages to Jane, both serious.
I awoke early, about five or six with an erection that I could not
suppress or satisfy. No sentiment, merely objects - Jane mostly, Addi a
bit. It became uncomfortable, my colon was aching as well and I felt I
needed to defecate. Finally I turned to some word thoughts and the
pressure began to subside. I thought I should write a commentary on
the text relation that I have with Jane and settled for a text message,
which encapsulated my current position and recapitulated the past.

Text Saturday 9.9.06

Poetry - He had abandoned everything and everyone for this sex

object. This sleeping, lightly breathing, loving, thinking, chthonic

creature that lay beside him. He had no notion of her human
complexity, but with romantic love, he was carefully suppressing the
knowledge that this real woman could destroy him and his illusions.
Desire me without sentiment Rod, love me as I am, she dreamed to
him - a worthy gift of reality.
I was trying to analyse Janes mind functions in light of some
comments she had made: its all ok, etc, and I suddenly realised that
I had overlooked the most important thing; that she was an intuitive.
This put a whole new light on her behaviour and sudden changes of
mood and mind. It was an optimistic rationalization of a basically
irrational state, not helped by my own state of mind, which is one
where I am always trying to compensate a deficit. This deficit was
established in the first romantic triangle I ever encountered and
involved, Ann, myself, and David. The fact that Jane was so smart
immediately places her within the range of my unconscious desire to
have a higher and lower relation with the same person I can identify
her with David, as my most dominant relations, but with whom I
cannot express my lower instincts. In normal terms, as I have seen
numerous times with brides and grooms this often passes muster. The
fact that this complex is stimulated by Davids numinous personality
makes it an impossible ask of any normal human of whatever gender
and of whatever intelligence.
I texted:
I always overlooked your intuition. You are turned on by poetry and
speech and off by analysis. You know its ok, because you just know.
What has happened was all part of us, and you are benignly willed to
only destroy in me what marrs my objectivity. And this, despite your
wounds from god and men, that cry out for a souls revenge. From a
lie, to this redemption.

After Sunday - when Marcie, her colleague at the estate agents had
dropped that Jane was dieting, and when Jane had made the remark
that she came from a normal family, I was confounded. The extension
of this by Jane was that she should have made a stable wife. Who
was she kidding! It was completely overlooking recent events, but
also the tragic death of her father. This more than anything made me
realise the duality in Janes personality, but also, how she was
projecting her own instability on to me. One the one hand we have a
mother figure - determined to give her kids a normal life by hook or
by crook, and then there is this brooding, reductive, governed by a
powerful, unresolvable father complex.
Monday. I awoke thinking about Jane and her insistence on being an
ordinary person looking after her children, and in particular her
concerns about Robert who was now becoming a handful again after
the start of school term.
A internal voice from the right side said let him go.
Good morning sweet hemlock, what frustration. He does not care
whether I diet - wrong, of course I care, but not enough to put my
desires before your feelings. It has always been your health and
happiness that came first. The more I know, the more I dont know
about you. I am a twitching corpse. If YOU are so ordinary, why do I
care so much - be with me, so I can break the spell And Robert,
there is an answer
I went out for a long bike ride over the Leaves Green track to Biggin
Hill, chasing a hare down a steep downhill track in the process an
amazing experience.
I texted:

Hi, ho, Im full of physic once again, up the hills and far away, but
you were with me and I was careful. My thoughts ranged far, as the
chalky tracks crunched under my rolling tyres - of what makes me,
me, and you, you of strengths and vulnerability. I am quite horrid
really, and I cant spell for tofu, but we all need affection, for god
knows, no man or woman is an island. Xxx - tomorrow then.
Jane replied in terse fashion: stop worrying,
I shall see you tomorrow at ten.
I sent back.
Jane always so sensible, you are a student really. I had some
amazing thoughts today and I chased a hare down a remote farm
track on my bike extract, more tofu? My anchor, you should try
endorphins, the closest natural thing to morphine.
Tuesday, I was on complete tenterhooks anticipating Janes visit. In
the event it was wonderful, just sitting together in the gallery, having
coffee and talking in the most natural and wonderful way. I felt mildly
and wonderfully aroused most of the time and I could sense by her
breathing that she did too.
I sent a text:
Boo! I didn't wake till ten and Ive just spent an hour with Patrick
talking about his novel in the park. The entity that inspired us as
romantic lovers has taken over his manuscript and he now realises
the story has a life of its own. Perhaps it was always meant for that
purpose. I resist, and prefer, desire me without sentiment. Love me

for who I am Rod, but even this author cannot but show some regret
for the death of a beautiful dream xxx
Jane responded positively about the beauty of my sentiment,
complaining about the chores, but I responded in darker tone.
Thanks for saying so, but I might have written, it was the murder of a
wonderful reality, in which case, it would be a more somber me. But
yes, in knowing, I like you now, as well as loving, but it is no mistake
Eros carries arrows, they fing hurt. Dont overdo the domestics,
there are things yet and the idea of you alone just stirs my darker
senses of pure desire. Xxxx
I slept well again on Janes side of the bed and I felt her in me as
another human presence.
I texted: 9.15
Out of bed, but I slept on your side to gain comfort and to feel you. I
loved your flowing hair and upturned mouth. I felt your body as if it
were mine its alien rotundity and smooth softness. Then I felt an
unbearable self-consciousness. Why! No,who, had inflicted so much
so deeply on this soul. This loving person that could freeme from my
shadows with a single appreciative word - and know me through and
through. Xxx
Jane sent a lovely text of appreciation.
I sent:
In Petts Wood again. Thank you, the biggest step is going beyond my
own reality and having you profoundly, fluidly in my mind, and
sharing with you my thoughts once again. Having your vocalisation is
a sheer health necessity.

I phoned Jane late and Jane could hardly speak because her mother
had phoned in a critical mood. I realised that her mother probably
drinks as well and when she does she lets loose on Jane, perhaps
providing the model for Jane, that I have experienced so dramatically.
I spent several minutes talking Jane round and when we said farewell,
Jane blew a kiss. It made me feel complete again in a way that had not
happened for many, many weeks and I was able to look at my film
work for the first time since before France.
Friday 15.9.06
I texted in the morning: 9.15,
I hope you slept well darling one. Assumption is the mother of too
many misunderstandings. There are some real issues no doubt but
they are obscured by overlays of misunderstanding. I suspect that all
your mother really wants is peace of mind about you, but is
emotionally disabled - while much to do with your dad blocks the way
for her to feel. Confrontation will cause guilt, reconciliation is much
harder, and bound to the idea of let him go - an evolution in you.
Jane texted, that she was feeling very low and had broken her diet.
I responded: I suspected you might, we need to talk and I know you
are busy, so it will have to be later. If it helps, I have done lots of
thinking about you and her. Text me when you can, I care a great deal
about you on all levels, and you are an exception, even though you
are struggling now.
I dashed in to see Jane in an abortive visit at the shop and gave her a
big cuddle and kiss, but it was all to brief.
After some short re-assuring texts, I sent another in the evening
Jane, you are right about your mother. I remember exactly the same
pattern emerging with my sister Daphne and my niece Amanda.

Daphne particularised Amandas faults, but it was totally arbitrary. It

is a case of parental favouritism (with her son, and your mother with
your brother) and I hate how it affects you. If her (your mothers)
calls are unexpected, you could have a list of topics handy (to
discuss), but insert the idea that she might favour your brother and
(question) how that came to be.
Saturday 16th Sept
I saw Jane going into work and she looked a lot better. I was going to
get my teenage daughter Jemima and decided they should finally
meet, something that might have saved the day if I had done it earlier.
Jane was happy once again realising her mother, if not favouring her,
was very much in love with Janes kids.
While Jemima was with me, she texted to Jane a few lines of chat and
ended with my message about the massive (matrimonial) dream
featured below, and the fact there was no letter yet, (from the C G
Jung Institute)
Matrimony Big Dream 39 years ending in some filthy work
16.9.06 (the day I married my first wife Ann in 1967 exactly 39
years before)
I was involved in two days hard removal work, which culminated in
the removal and clearance of photographic wall fittings in a building
that was like Cowper Road. This final phase was filthy work, and
since the building was due to be demolished, we left some of the
conduit and pipe fittings in situ.
I was due to be paid 360 for the job - 2x180 per day by Neville, who
would not, pay citing some spurious Co-op insurance. I confronted
him with recrimination at his dreadful deception. I held a dining chair
of pale wood and padded seat (50/60s home environment) as if he
were a lion. He squared up and threw some ineffectual punches,

which I parried. The matter concluded in a standoff, with Neville and

his attractive female accomplice laughing at the dreadful, awful
deception, which I thought tenuously might gain the attention of the
court. They were standing together in a brick archway, like those
under the railway at Ludgate Circus*. (film set)
I had a piece of four by four deal timber and some rough and ragged
rubric emery that I was using to smooth down the timber.
Saturday. a.m. 16.9.06
In the event, Jemima and I dropped in to see Jane at her office, so she
and Jemima finally met - on the 39th anniversary of my wedding to
Ann. So there they were, the two most important females in my life,
together for the first time - just wonderful. Outside the office, as I bid
farewell to Jane, both she and Jemima were unconsciously picking
bits off my face - Jane from my left cheek and Jemima from my right
- a symbol of competitive ownership?
Jane texted, saying how gorgeous she thought both Jemima and I
I responded with:
She thinks you are equally wonderful, attractive and delightfully
curvy - so, mutual admiration between the two most important
people. What more. Xxxxx
Then to cap it all after shopping, we (Jemima and I) intercepted Jane
with a bunch of flowers and fond looks and blown kisses -on her way
to pick up the children from her mother.
Jemima and I went back to Sevenoaks and had a pizza, and were
talking in a positive fashion about Jemimas school work, especially
her love of English and the play she was working on at school. This

play was A View From The Bridge by Arthur Miller. My mood was
good after having seen Jane and we texted an extract to Jane of the
Alfieri - the modern equivalent of a Greek chorus. Now we settle for
half and I like it better. Even as I know he was wrong, something
perversely pure calls to me from his memory. For he alone allowed
himself to be wholly known.
Text to Jane
Jane, yesterday was special, so no regret for expressing my loving
feelings in two texts. My dream sums it up. The Devil in matrimony
has denied me what I have earned another full cycle and I am now
in a standoff position. Therefore, we, in the form of Jemima and I,
dined till late last evening, while the, so attractive you looked after
the darlings. We talked harmoniously of relations and literature, and
absent, present loves xxx
I sent this text at tennis while I was with Sue. The weather was good
and Sue and I did some really great drill together, raising me in her
estimation. Sue and I went back to her place and I went to sleep after
a lovely lunch that she cooked me.
I texted to Jane in the afternoon the second text:
16.9.97-16.9.06 39 years of matrimony precipitated a massive
dream in which the devil I know refused to pay me 360 for two lots
of its dirtiest work. Ann to Susan, 2x180 =360 a full cycle. Now, is a
soul mate with money for Jemima viable the money in the equation
is surely the same as in the root of all evil, and what in heavens
explains a 100 cheque you will not bank? I am not poor and have
not wanted for money Darling soul mate? Xxx

I am quoting a glib remark from Jane on Saturday about Jemima

finding a man. Janes ideal is obviously one with more money than I
have. This is the second out of place remark she made while at the
shop and must relate to her time with Peter, the estate agent who she
went out with. Money and position, that is what her father sought and
it is ingrained in her despite all.
Monday 18.9.06
I went into town to see the GK Real manager, but had wanted to text
Jane all day about Tuesday, which I had a feeling she would put off. I
was consternated to say the least and on tender-hooks. In the event I
made a late phone call in which she was very defensive, citing
playground duty at her daughter school and complaining about the
late call.
Tuesday 19.9.06
Jane texted on Tuesday morning apologising and saying she was
doing her duty at school. I was upset and did not reply, instead I called
Gemma, a girl I had worked with on a wedding. We went out for a
ride to Westerham and had lunch. I had already decided to close the
door on Jane, and so I had a lovely day in the sunshine with an
attractive vegetarian girl who cycled and did photography.
Wednesday 20.9.06
I worked at Westerham, going the wrong way I think!
Thursday 21.9.06
I did not respond to the second apologetic text Jane sent and kept my
peace until Thursday when she called from the office saying she was
on her own. She was upbeat, but I recognised an unusual tone, which
was uncharacteristic and forced almost a re-run of Davids
enthusiastic call. Her other phone was going, so I suggested she
answer it.

Later, I sent her a series of texts I had written and saved. In retrospect
the first had better been sent on Monday.
Monday London Bridge station again and now Sevenoaks and my
other saviour. Met the band manager of G.K.Real, and agreed to the
documentary, but he also wants a DVD of a charity launch. I dropped
in to Patrick and found a toy serpent hanging on his gate!
Your smile has hung around in my head all day wonder and
mischief and so much responsibility. I need a kind word to drug this
Tuesday I am almost lost for words for once. I had a lovely
untortured day thinking that by closing the door on you, I could
relieve the tension I generally feel when I dont see you, or am not
sure if I will see you, or of your reactions too early, too late, too
And you hiding, without the why or where, guilt, punishment,
uncertainty, unaware that you are confusing me with your internal
process and little chance to talk it through
Jane responded with a breathtaking:
Dear Rodney, If only things were different.
I had, had enough and responded with another three texts:
Wednesday. Sorry Jane not good enough. I have been cheated out of
what I have earned. My dream makes that absolutely clear. The dirty
end to 39 years of matrimony starting with the girl next door (no39)
has ended any hopes I have of marriage. What is worse is that I
married in sin. You evoked: he had given up everything and
everybody, a sentiment of pure poetry, yet the Devil still won.

Jane, I committed and did not pull back when my intuition told me.
you will regret this for the rest of your life, or when I kissed you and
did not fear death, and all of the marvelous and downright dreadful
things that happened, which I have tried to make sense of. You want
attention and I dont doubt your love, but is it enough. You need to
deal with your guilt and express your anger while sober. You can be
so much more
Then after an abject:
The weekend went by in a whirl of photography and girls at the
fashion show and it was not until Monday night that I was inclined to
write a text which I thought Jane would at least appreciate from the
poetic point of view, even though the sentiment might not please her,
It was all a bit forced the wheels had come off the bus
Instinctiveness washes a late tide on the muddy sinking quagmire of
tired thoughts. Heavy heart down arterial routes transmits its slowly
measured pulse. Disaster bound, this beat directs and marks in time a
needless sacrifice, and all the nascent love that was, is shed in
obstinate termination, by my bloody mind.
Thursday 28th September
I sent some flowers on Thursday saying: I cant bear not being
friends, to which a cool but sensitive reply was given.
Thank you for the flowers, but you comments were unwarranted
and nasty. I truly wish you well.
I slept on it after a pizza meal with Jemima in which both of us were
glum. I was awoken by 'the chinese thumping on the wall with a
hammer at 6.30 a.m. I yelled back that it was the middle of the night!
I went downstairs to the study bed, but slowly got my head around a
reply to Janes text. I started out of bed with the realisation that as a

symbol Jane, being born on the 21st June, was the cusp between my
39 years of matrimonial life and Anima orientation and a redeemed
life of service to The Wise Old Man through analysis.
Friday 29th September
I texted: Sintered shards of a shattered self flung out in twisted
frustration at the seeming object of demise and desire. You are the
cusp in my being Jane. The pivotal point on which everything turns,
as much a symbol of my awful past as of my redemption and future. I
am to have my first consultation on the 10.10.06. I have a feeling I
shall find the same maternal sensitivity and acute intelligence that
hitherto I have only found in you, xx
But far from it - what I found was not Jungian in the least...

June 2007 Aftershocks

The conclusion to the matter was laden with the all too familiar

symmetry I have come to recognise as the Tiger archetype's brand

mark. It was the following June and I was trying my hardest to put
Jane to the back of my mind. I felt that by my obsessive analysis, I
had got to the bottom of the matter and that it was a closed book, but
then I had an out of the blue telephone call. It was Jane, she was
inviting me to a party. It was a birthday party - symbolically, the one
that was missed from the year before and the one for which, I should
have come home from France to attend. I had little hesitation in
accepting the invitation, even though it seemed astonishing. Had Jane
had a change of heart? Was I to be welcomed back - the idea of sex
was inviting at the very least. I bought champagne and two bunches of
flowers, spiffed myself up and set off. I was indeed welcomed back
with open arms and hugs and kisses, but as I drew Jane into a really
loving embrace, she whispered, 'I am spoken for'. It was like being
stung by a bee and although every part of me wanted to simply walk
out, the year between had given me just enough detachment to survive
- and I was curious to understand the mad situation I had once again
found myself in. Sometime later in the evening, where every normal
standpoint seemed to have been stood on its head, I got a text from
Jemima. It was all I needed and I made my excuses and left.
On the way home I sent a text that quietly closed the door on Jane and
her life. I realised that despite all my work and the power of the
transference, in which I had taken on her father's suicide, Jane had no
real notion of how serious her neurosis had been - and that by
projecting it on to me, she had managed to escape the implications that it was she that needed to seek treatment.
More reflection followed and it became clear that Jane's other life, her
secret life, her buried life, was that of a teenager, bereft and
impossibly ambivalent from the abandonment by her father through
his suicide, while her real life was close to a drunken and squalid
disaster. Her other - pristine childhood self had become eternally
suspended on the point at which the loss of her father had decimated
her emotions. This other self, saw romance and heroes - like the
classical literature she was so immersed in during her upbringing, and
which her father had been so strong to encourage. Jane idealised her

father, but by his suicide, and despite her sparkling intelligence, she
had been dragged down into a terrible quagmire of neurotic,
unreconciled emotion. She loved me with the love she could no
longer show him, but in his place, I also stood to be punished for the
unforgivable sin of abandonment - and so it was, measure upon
I assume that I was some sort of stand in at the party. Elains
suggestion, and a substitute for he that could not attend - probably the
snooty estate agent.
As a footnote: I met Jane in the summer of 2009, she was shocked to
see how much younger and fitter I looked (through gaining weight
and losing stress). She was still in trouble, but relieved that I showed
no reproach. I saw her again in 2010. She seemed better and treated
me like a normal acquaintance, circumscribing the two sides of this
complex young woman.
It seems that I should have taken more seriously her continual
protestations that she was not worthy of me, though of course I
thought she was... It was probably a case of drunken infidelity with
her old flame at the estate agent that provoked her supplication,
though I could not be sure. I heard with shock (or wish fulfillment) he
died soon after.
Maybe Jane felt I was too far above her analytically, not realising that
I was enacting my shadow just as she, but with a little more insight.
It always seems a waste that so much is lost, but I have for an
example of success, Rachel who came back to me after twenty years
of marriage and declared her love, transformed into a vegetarian and a

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