Jung mentions some "more powerful, indeed overwhelming images" from his early childhood, of several painful falls and accidents in and outside the house. "The maid caught me just in time--I already had one leg under the railing and was about to slip through" the bridge over teh Rhine Falls.

"These things point to an unconscious suicidal urge or, it may be, to a fatal resistance to life in this world."

That conclusion -- that the kinds of falls and near-disasters that are fairly common for little boys -- seems so Freudian, and I think I have so separated Freud and Jung in my mind that I'm usually surprised when I come across a similarity. Why not conclude, for example, that he was an adventurous boy who wasn't going to let a risk stop him from doing what he wanted?

The way I think of the difference to myself is that Freud's world has low ceilings while the ceilings in Jung's world are at a great, perhaps even unlimited height. When I say that Freud's world has low ceilings, I mean that it seems so circumscribed, so limited, such an oppressive vision of what a human being is and can be.

And an image  comes to mind of a home built by Frank Lloyd Wright in Oak Park, Illinois, I don't remember its name. When you enter the house you stand in a low-ceilinged vestibule, but after a few steps you come into a room with a much higher ceiling, and the effect is emotionally uplifting. During the 20 years in which I was an atheist, my experience of Frank Lloyd Wright's houses was the closest I came to experiences of the sacred, though I didn't think of them that way at the time. At Fallingwater in Pennsylvania, for example, the large flagstone floor lined with low bench seating gave me the first experience I remember of "groundedness" which was striking in its contrast to the towering stone fireplace at the far end of the room.