Happy Ness and the Infinite Jest

Malaise-stricken midweek, I figured the deep emotional rift that had been gnawing at me for much of the last fortnight had to be stopped. Lackadaisical, all days felt like Sundays. Stale, stifling still-lifes of rotten motifs. Lest I risk ruining a hard-earned, functional routine, I sought some kind of psychological renewal in the evergreen artistry of the unconscious.

To rekindle my creativity, I decided to practise mindful, active listening. I developed that habit in my childhood, when I’d pick an album, put it on to play, and give myself over to the music. It’s got nothing to do with that trending mindfulness codswallop and its pseudo-zen corporate ethics. Quite the opposite. It’s a form of resistance against a fast-paced, criticism-starved, hyperconnected world.

Re-enacting such behaviour from my childhood was a kind of Jungian regression. That is, a dialectical inner work, fuelled by symbols and fantasies, in which to mull over beliefs and experiences to reach a fresher understanding of our reality. Through that art-driven introversion, we adapt our psyches. Such change helps overcome the issues that caused the regression in the first place.

And how did The Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness help! That gargantuan behemoth of a double album runs a tad over two hours. Enough time to lose myself in thought. To catch glimpses of its detailed cover art, a delight for Jungians and whimsigoths alike. To find haven from my insurmountable apathy in its bittersweet melodies, searing guitars, and emotionally loaded lyrics.

But I digress. To quote a Star Wars character, a great leap forward often requires first taking two steps back. Sometimes, such is the case with Jung’s regressions. Especially when this process is driven by rich imagery and symbolism. Then the arts become more than a mere accessory for self-expression, but rather a means to individuation. Everchanging, life-affirming force. I feel anew. I feel again.