A Latin phrase perfectly expresses the secret relationship each person must maintain with is own Genius: indulge genio. One must abandon oneself to him, one must grant him everything he asks for, for his exigencies are our exigencies, his happiness our happiness.
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Man is not only ego and an individual consciousness but rather that from birth to death he is accompanied by an impersonal, pre-individual element. Man is thus a single being with two phases: he is a being that results from the complex dialectic between a part that has yet to be individuated and lived and another part that is marked by fate and individual experience....Genius´youthful face and long, fluttering wings signify that he does not know time, that we feel him quivering as closely within us as we did when we were children, breathing and beating in our feverish temples like an immemorialpresent.
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But Genius is not merely spirituality and is not just concerned with the things that we customarily regard as higher and more noble. Everything in us that is impersonal is genial. The force that pushes the blood through our veins or that plunges us into sleep, the unknown power in our body that gently regulates and distributes its warmth or that relaxes or contracts the fibers of our muscles... Living with Genius means, in this sense, living in the intimacy of a strange being, remaining constantly in relation to a zone of non-consciusness... Genius is our life insofar as it does not belong to us.

We must therefore consider the subject as a force field of tensions whose antithetical poles are Genius and Ego.... The two forces coexist, intersect, separate, but can neither emancipate themselves completely from each other nor identify with each other perfectly... One writes in order to become impersonal, to become genial, and yet, in writing, we individuate ourselves as authors of this or that work, we move away from genius who can never have the form of an ego, much less that from an author.
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The life that maintains the tension between the personal and the impersonal, between Ego and Genius, is called poetic... What is rejected as impersonal, then can appear in the form of symptoms and tics that are even more impersonal.
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To the point of almost disappearing.... For the poet celebrates his triumph in nonrecognition, just like a child discovers the genius loci of his hiding place with trepidation.
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Witnessing the pleasure and the passion of others is the supreme emotion and the first politics because we seek in the other the relationship with genius which we are incapable of grasping on our own; our secret delight and our proud and lofty agony.
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What changes is not Genius but our relationship to him, turning from luminous and clear to shadowy and opaque... hidden outlaw who follows our every move like a shadow and secretly conspires against us.
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transformed with our every gesture, word, and thought.
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That's why when we love someone we actually love neither his genius nor his character (and even less their ego) but his special manner of evading both of these poles, his rapid back and forth between genius and character.