When I was twelve years old, my father took me by one hand. In his other hand, he held a telescope. He led me to our backyard, where he had set up a tripod. As he positioned my eye to the scope, he asked, “Can you imagine what life on other planets might be like?” He was teaching me to wonder as much as he was teaching me astronomy. Telescopes allow us to see the unseen in stars and planets. Imagination is also a telescope for the unseen. My father pointed out the shape of the Little Dipper with its handle ending in the North Star. Once you know north, you can navigate the globe. Thinking back to that moment, he was showing me how to zoom out to infinity, how to zoom out to the possibilities imagination brings, and how to zoom in to the clue that is always available—how to find north. You can be lost in the wonder of infinity and still find your place on Earth. I followed his prompts to zoom out, to practice seeing things from above. When I was in high school, Sputnik went up. This Russian satellite was the first to enter space. It kicked off a space age, a scientific race, and a new worldview—seeing Earth from above. At that moment, I knew immediately what I wanted to be. It was not an astronaut. I wanted to be a “space lawyer”. I wanted to invent the terms that would bring agreement to the biosphere, as admiralty law did for the oceans. I imagined space law as the next iteration of the United Nations. I did not become a space lawyer, but I still practiced zooming out. I joined NBC Network News in Washington, D.C., and made documentaries in Liberia, Abu Dhabi, Israel, Northern Ireland, Cuba, and other countries in tension and transition. Filming foreign cultures was another way to see the unseen, to experience the wild variety of ways to live in this world. Just as the Big and Little Dipper use shape to key us to the stars, I started to think of shape as a way to understand human history. I remembered that when I filmed in tribal cultures, their shelters, social systems, and sacred sites were all circular, from round thatched huts to Stonehenge. When I filmed in cities, it seemed a ladder dominated their worldview, from pyramids to skyscrapers. Today, the network model masters our global lives, from technology to the map of our brain. These thoughts led to my book, The Telling Image: Shapes of Changing Times . Throughout my life in Houston, I came to The Jung Center as the place to understand the shapes and patterns in human history and in my own life story. I took courses in mythology and fairy tales, studied my night dreams and daydreams, researched symbols and wrote poetry, and took courses in the history of human ideas. The Jung Center is a place of learning, though not a school. It is a center that addresses spirit and mystery, though not a house of worship. It is a place of creative arts, though not a museum. The Jung Center offers us ways to see the unseen, to zoom out to the universe, and to zoom into ourselves.

Friends, Circles represent symbolic wholeness. At moments of great crisis and disequilibrium, Jung understood that circles may appear in our dreams, as ways of reflecting the greater order that underlies our experiences of chaos. In early November, a group of wary Houstonians gathered for a tough conversation around a set of round tables in a large hall at Interfaith Ministries of Greater Houston. They came from across the political spectrum to discuss complex issues with people who disagreed with them. Depending on the table, participants discussed either freedom of speech or immigration, in a set of structured dialogues led -- but not controlled -- by moderators at each table. The founders of this dialogue were unlikely allies: Republican City Councilmember Julian Ramirez and his chief of staff, Democrat Leah Wolfthal, who met while they were both running for the same council seat. Councilmember Sallie Alcorn has joined them as a host. A third is planned for January 14. I’ll be there. The movement is growing. The round tables of the Bringing Houston Together initiative do not promise cheap or easy wholeness. They tell us that the work of coming together across deep rifts is risky and uncomfortable. And the bulk of the work is internal, as we open ourselves to honestly host the reality of those whose differences from us seem -- or may even be -- threatening to our most fundamentally-held values. Listening closely, not persuading or being persuaded, is the work our community has forgotten. It may be the hardest, most necessary work we have right now. Personal wholeness does not come cheap or easy, either. It's a life's work – or, rather, the way of a life lived with integrity. It involves walking toward what we fear, toward what disgusts us, toward those things we are sure that we are not -- except for that aching suspicion that, deep down, we are those things. It involves rejecting fantasies of purity to accept what is real. How do we accept what seems unacceptable about us? How do we live with it -- and not just live with it, but find what we've been missing, perhaps what we most need? You may have noticed that circles have become a bigger part of our public offerings. These are not classes, but opportunities to sit across from each other and practice listening deeply to the mystery revealed through each of us. When our staff collects for in-person meetings, we gather in a circle. Our circle is growing. This fall, we hosted 20% more students in our public programs than we did last fall. That growth has come from the skill of our instructors, from the tightening of the weave among our committed, deeply caring staff. And from you, and your willingness to be transformed by holding our great, difficult questions together in community. Thank you for being a part of this circle. Please consider helping us expand the circle in 2026 with a meaningful gift to our annual fund. You can do that right now, by clicking here. And if you have already given, we are grateful. Warmly, Sean Fitzpatrick Executive Director