The compartment fell quiet.
The Conductor Squirrel looked down at the acorn in his paws. Missy glanced from him to Freud, waiting to see what the adjustment of those spectacles might mean.
She did not have to wait long.
“I think the squirrel has an unhealthy attachment to the acorn.”
The squirrel immediately hid the acorn behind his back.
“I do not.”
“You named an entire philosophy after it.”
“That was in her dream,” the squirrel said. “And even if I did, it proves nothing.”
Freud nodded knowingly.
“It proves quite a lot.”
“What do you think that acorn represents, Herr Freud?”
Freud folded his hands.
“I suspect it represents a deeply rooted childhood conflict.”
Jung immediately interrupted.
“Let me guess.”
Freud sighed.
“Please don’t.”
“His mother?”
Missy burst out laughing.
The squirrel looked horrified.
“My mother was not an acorn.”
“You can’t know that for certain,” said Jung.
“I absolutely can.”
Missy laughed even harder.
Then she turned to Jung.
“What do you think, Carl?”
Jung studied the acorn thoughtfully.
For a very long time.
Then he nodded.
“The acorn is clearly an archetype.”
The squirrel looked relieved.
“Thank you.”
“The Archetypal Acorn.”
The squirrel looked less relieved.
“The Cosmic Seed.”
The squirrel looked worried.
“The Eternal Potential Hidden Within Being.”
The squirrel looked extremely worried.
“The Self seeking realization through symbolic growth toward psychic wholeness.”
The squirrel blinked.
“What does that mean?”
Jung smiled.
“It means acorns become oak trees.”
The squirrel stared.
“So after all that…”
“Yes?”
“You agree with me?”
Jung nodded.
“Entirely.”
The squirrel smiled proudly.
Freud groaned.
Missy laughed.
“He thinks it’s his mother.”
“I did not say that.”
“Close enough,” said Jung.
The squirrel hugged the acorn.
“Finally. A serious scholar.”
Jung smiled.
“Thank you.”
Freud looked mildly offended by Missy’s laughter.
“You, my dear lady, seem insufficiently repressed.”
Missy tilted her head.
“Which means?”
Freud folded his hands.
“It means you laugh too easily.”
“Oh.”
“You ask too many questions.”
“I do?”
Missy thought about this.
“That sounds pleasant.”
“It is not intended as a compliment. Civilization requires restraint.”
Missy nodded.
“Fair enough.”
“Without repression,” continued Freud, “society would descend into chaos.”
The squirrel looked up from his acorn.
“We spent the afternoon arguing with a fish, a basket, a mountain, and the sun.”
Freud paused.
“That is not helping my argument.”
Missy smiled.
“So you’re saying I should be more serious?”
“A little.”
Missy considered this.
“Carl, what do you think?”
Outside, the golden outline of the Library of Alexandria had begun drifting past the train.
Jung looked toward it.
“I think Freud worries too much.”
Freud looked scandalized.
“I do not.”
“You invented an entire theory about it.”
“In my defense,” said the squirrel, holding up the acorn, “I was inspired by your work.”
Freud adjusted his spectacles.
“My work?”
“Yes.”
“How exactly?”
The squirrel pointed at the acorn.
“You taught me that everything means something.”
Freud considered this.
“That is not entirely inaccurate.”
The squirrel turned to Jung.
“And you taught me that everything is secretly connected to everything else.”
Jung nodded.
“That is also not entirely inaccurate.”
The squirrel smiled proudly.
“So naturally I combined your ideas and arrived at the Acorn Principle.”
Missy smiled.
“I knew it. It was you in my dream.”
“How much of the Acorn Principle is actually yours?”
The squirrel thought for a moment.
“Approximately the title.”
Freud nodded.
“Honest.”
Jung nodded.
“Remarkably honest.”
The squirrel held up the acorn.
“Besides, I never claimed to invent wisdom.”
“What did you invent?” asked Missy.
The squirrel looked at the notebook.
“The branding.”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Even Freud smiled.
Outside the train window, the Library of Alexandria drifted past in the golden afternoon light.
Thousands of scrolls.
Thousands of books.
Thousands of ideas borrowed, shared, forgotten, rediscovered, renamed, translated, and passed from one generation to another.
Leave a comment