Survive? Never. Let’s Dance!

Survive? Never. Let’s Dance!

*Photo: Tania Sen, taken 5 years ago from Philly Streets*

The shadow! That little rascal hiding in our psychic attic, all our forbidden impulses and shameful desires basically, the part of you that eats the last slice of cake at midnight and pretends it’s not you. Jung tells us it’s unconscious, lurking beneath the superego’s shiny moral ideals, and like a bad comedian, it projects itself onto everyone else: “Look at them! Not me, never me!”

Now cue the mob, the glorious, emotional, anonymous mob! Le Bon would have a field day. Once we bunch together, we lose ourselves, rationality flies out the window, and suddenly everyone’s a participant in a moral flash mob choreographed by peer pressure, conformity, and the collective itch to do something… terrible. Ordinary humans, doing extraordinary horrors. Nazi officers, everyday citizens, modern power-hungry politicians dancing in perfect synchrony to the tune of their shadowy impulses.

And here comes the comedic absurdity: personal aggrandizement on parade. Trump lusts for the Peace Prize while plotting to annex Greenland and “mobilize ice” cue the imaginary marching band. Meanwhile, Russia tiptoes across Ukraine, snatching lithium, coal, and rare earths like a child raiding the cookie jar. The mob applauds; the shadows waltz; the ego takes a selfie. Oh, humanity, you melodramatic genius! Hitler’s mustache too small for the tragedy it wrought… and Trump’s hair, the final coughed-up result of some very judgmental feline, flapping in the wind like a confused flag. For after-all,

“If presidents can’t do it to their wives they do it to their country” in the words of. Mel Brooks.

But — and here’s the punchline: there’s hope. Jung whispers that naming the shadow, facing it, and integrating it is the first step toward sanity. Humor disarms it. Mel Brooks would say: “Look at how ridiculous this all is!” the Arctic melting under grandiose plans, mobs performing horrors while thinking they’re unique. Awareness breaks the spell.

And in the grand, cosmic finale, the Wall‑E moment, the collective sighs, paused on the brink of annihilation, and someone, somewhere, channels the Captain: “I don’t want to survive… I want to live!” That is the glimmer, the defiant spark. Not mere existence, not just following the mob or feeding the shadow, truly living, with consciousness, humor, and humanity intact. Perhaps, just perhaps, we can step off the dance floor of our worst instincts, look around, and choose to tango with life instead.

Inspired by Mel Brooks co-created with Chat GPT