Jung experienced a state during his illness where he felt completely free, whole, and unbound as he had never felt before—a freedom that transcended his ordinary sense of self.

Jung's illness proved to be valuable because it gave him a rare glimpse behind the veil of ordinary existence, suggesting near-death experience can offer insight into deeper realities beyond the mundane world.

After the collapse of his initial vision, Jung slept for three weeks and experienced the complete vision nightly while awake in the universe, participating in the Hierosgamos (mystical union), a silent invisible festival permeated by incomparable eternal bliss beyond human imagination.

Within Jung's vision, there was a big solitary rock containing a temple with entrance illuminated by a thousand small flames of coconut oil, which he recognized as a destination he was meant to enter where he would reach full knowledge.

Throughout his illness, Jung experienced something carrying him, providing assurance that his feet were not standing on air, and he had proof that he had reached a safe ground—suggesting spiritual or psychological support during his ordeal.

At the moment Jung was about to enter the temple and achieve full knowledge, a messenger from the earthly world arrived saying he was not allowed to depart; the entire vision then collapsed, and Jung was pulled back to embodied existence.

Embodied existence is characterized by subjection to the laws of gravity and cohesion, imprisonment in a three-dimensional system, and being whirled along with other bodies in the turbulent stream of time—constraints absent in the transcendent state.

When one can relinquish the crazy will to live and surrender into seeming bottomless mist, then the truly real life begins—a life with everything one was meant to be but never reached in embodied existence.

During the first month after his initial vision, Jung suffered black depressions because his recovery meant returning to embodied existence, which he experienced as a kind of dying—the diminishment from the transcendent state back to fragmentary, restricted, narrow, almost mechanical life.

Jung suffered a serious illness (described as an 'arrow' attack on all sides) that nearly succeeded in wiping him off the slate, from which he recovered very slowly; his head remained unharmed, allowing him to continue scientific work.

Jung advises his friend to be patient and regard terminal illness as another difficult task—the last one—to be undertaken with the same sincerity and commitment one would bring to other life challenges.

Jung perceived himself located 15,000 kilometers from the earth, observing it as an immense globe resplendent in inexpressibly beautiful blue light, positioned above the southern end of India, which shone in a bluish-silvery light with Ceylon appearing like a shimmering opal in the deep blue sea.

Jung notes that his friend's letter, though dated November 27, 1944, arrived to him much later, and he replies hoping his response will reach his friend despite the communication difficulties caused by wartime separation.

The primary difficulty in the transition toward death is getting rid of the body and becoming naked and void of the world and the ego-will—the necessary shedding of physical attachment and personal will.

Jung describes death as the hardest thing to approach from outside of it, but once inside the experience, one tastes completeness, peace, and fulfillment so profound that one does not want to return to embodied life.

Whatever one does sincerely will eventually become a bridge to wholeness and a good ship that carries one through the darkness of one's second birth, which appears as death to external observers.

Jung states he will not last much longer, indicating he is marked (by illness/death), but also asserts that life has become provisional—a transitory prejudice and working hypothesis rather than existence itself.

Healing may be called a religious problem; in the treatment of neurosis, the modern man must learn to reconcile himself with his own nature—how to love the enemy in his own heart and call the wolf his brother—rather than focusing on guilt and sin.

A man who has never experienced the sense that he lives in a mysterious world where the unexpected and incredible belong has missed something important; only then is life whole.

The difference between Jung and most people is that for him the 'dividing walls' between conscious and unconscious are transparent, meaning he perceives processes in the background that give him inner certainty, whereas people who see nothing have no certainties and can draw no conclusions.