Von Franz is pointing at something Jung left deliberately incomplete. The *coniunctio solis et lunae* — the wedding of sun and moon, the alchemists' central image for what happens when opposites have exhausted their war with each other — was, by her account, still exceeding Jung's articulation even at the end of his life. He gestured at it orally, in conversation, because the concept resisted the page. That restraint is itself diagnostic: the soul's deepest movements tend to outrun the language built to capture them.

What she traces is a single impulse operating at different depths of the same person. At the surface it looks like personal development, the ordinary desire to understand oneself better or to feel less divided. Descend, and the same impulse manifests as the charged, confused, almost unbearable field of transference — the patient falling into the analyst, the analyst drawn in ways they cannot entirely account for. Descend further, and alchemy is waiting: the image of two principles so genuinely other to each other that their union is not synthesis but transmutation. Von Franz is insisting these are not three separate things. The most ordinary therapeutic encounter and the most rarefied symbol are continuous. The question the passage puts silently is whether you are willing to let the symbol be as large as it actually is.