It was a rainy afternoon, and Charlie Brown was stretched out on the sofa, watching one of his favourite sports programmes. He wasn’t really paying attention — his team was losing again — but it was a comforting sort of distraction. Just as the commentator began listing another series of mistakes from the match, Sally burst into the room, clutching a battered storybook.

“Charlie Brown, I need you to read me a story! It’s a Greek myth!” she demanded, flopping down beside him.

Charlie groaned. “Sally, I’m in the middle of something.”

Sally crossed her arms. “It’s just the same boring match you always watch! Besides, Lucy says Greek myths are full of wisdom, and Linus reckons they’re deeply spiritual. You like wisdom, don’t you?”

Charlie Brown sighed heavily. He did like wisdom, but he liked not having to move from the sofa even more. “Why don’t you ask Lucy or Linus to read it to you?”

“Because you’re my big brother, and… well, that’s what big brothers are for! Sally said impatiently. “Please, big brother? I’ll even let you skip the difficult words!”

Charlie stared at the screen. His team had just fumbled another opportunity. “Fine,” he said, switching off the telly. “But this had better be good.”

Sally grinned as she shoved the book into his hands.

The Monster with Many Heads

Charlie opened the book and started reading. “The Hydra was a fearsome beast from Greek mythology,” he explained. “It had nine heads, and every time someone cut off one, two more grew back.”

Sally gasped. “That’s horrible! How could anyone win against that?”

“Well,” Charlie continued, “Hercules was given the impossible task of defeating the Hydra. He tried cutting off its heads at first, but it didn’t work. The harder he fought, the worse it got.”

Snoopy, who had been snoozing on top of his kennel, perked up at the mention of Hercules. With a dramatic leap, he landed in the middle of the room, puffed out his chest, and struck a heroic pose.

“What’s he doing now?” Sally asked, giggling.

“Don’t encourage him,” Charlie muttered, but Snoopy was already diving into his role as Hercules, the Hydra-slayer. He grabbed a nearby mop as his “sword” and began swinging it at imaginary heads, spinning with extreme precision.

Lucy strolled in, arms crossed. “Oh, great. Snoopy’s decided he’s the star of the story. Well, at least he has the right spirit,” she said. Then, with a smirk, she added, “The Hydra has a deeper meaning”.

Freud and The Hydra

Freud,” Lucy continued in a snobbish tone, “said that the things we try to suppress — our fears, bad habits, guilt — don’t go away just because we ignore them. They come back even stronger.”

Charlie frowned. “Freud never said anything about the Hydra.”

Lucy gave him a patronising look. “No, Charlie Brown, but he would’ve loved it! Think about it: when you try to push away bad feelings, like anxiety or guilt, they don’t just disappear. They grow and grow, just like the Hydra’s heads!”

“That sounds awful,” Sally said. “So you can’t fight bad feelings at all?”

“Well, Freud believed you had to understand them,” Lucy replied. “The Hydra isn’t just a scary monster. It’s a symbol of how our mind works. The more you fight against your fears without really dealing with them, the worse they get.”

Charlie nodded slowly. “So it’s like when I try to pretend I’m not nervous about striking out in cricket, but that just makes me even more nervous the next time”.

Exactly!” Lucy said triumphantly. “And Jung had this idea about the different parts of who we are — our personality, impulses, even the things we try to ignore. He believed we need to understand these parts and bring them together, instead of trying to fight them.”

Charlie Brown frowned. “I don’t think Jung ever mentioned the Hydra.”

Of course he didn’t, blockhead! But his ideas fit, don’t they? The Hydra could be like all the different pieces of us — some parts we like, others we don’t. If we don’t face them, they cause problems.”

“Like fitting together pieces of a jigsaw puzzle?” asked Sally.

Lucy sighed with a condescending tone: “Yes, Sally, like a jigsaw puzzle.

Linus and the Golden Sword

Snoopy had moved on to a dramatic duel with an invisible Hydra, leaping and spinning across the room.

Just then, Linus entered, dragging his blanket behind him. He lingered in the doorway, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“Actually,” he said, watching Snoopy’s antics, “Jung called that process ‘integration.’ But the real lesson of the Hydra isn’t just about understanding your inner struggles — it’s about going deeper.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Going deeper?”

Linus smiled. “Hercules didn’t win by cutting off its heads. His nephew gave him a golden sword, which some say symbolises awareness. It wasn’t just brute force — it was about understanding, but not the way your Freud and Jung explained it.

You talk about understanding and awareness, but you believe the Great Pumpkin is coming?” said Lucy, mocking.

Sally ignored Lucy’s comment and asked: “So the Hydra wasn’t just a scary monster — it was a lesson?”

Snoopy froze mid-leap, holding the mop aloft as though it were the golden sword. He gave Linus a knowing nod, then resumed his heroic pose.

“Exactly,” Linus said. “Fighting fears or bad habits head-on doesn’t always work. Sometimes, you need to step back and understand where they come from.”

“I know a girl,” said Charlie Brown, looking thoughtful, who has this desire for control and recognition. She bosses others around, constantly runs her psychiatric booth, and tries to ‘fix’ everyone else. She even puts the ball down for someone to kick and then pulls it away at the last second.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sounds like a very smart girl to me.”

“And she even tries really hard to get Schroeder’s attention,” Charlie continued, “by physically invading his space at the piano.”

Lucy gasped in outrage “Well, how dare she? Nobody should get close to Schroeder!”

Charlie sighed. “But don’t you see? Those compulsive behaviours — bossing people around, invading Schroeder’s space — those are like the Hydra’s heads. They keep growing because she’s afraid of rejection and has this deep need to be seen.”

Linus nodded. “Precisely. Those behaviours are her way of coping with the fear, but they don’t solve the problem. The harder she pushes, the more frustrated and rejected she feels. It’s like fighting the Hydra — cutting off the heads only makes things worse.”

“So, what’s beyond the Hydra in Lucy — ? Pardon, I meant in this girl,” said Sally.

Linus smiled. “What’s beyond the Hydra is paying attention to the Hydra itself. Instead of fighting or denying her fear of rejection, she could acknowledge it. The need to control others and to gain recognition wouldn’t disappear completely, but it might soften if she could see where it comes from.”

Lucy crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, great. You’re saying this girl has to admit to herself that she’s scared? I don’t think so.”

But Linus continued, undisturbed. “Think of it this way: Lacan talked about how our desires come from a sense of ‘lack’ — a feeling that something is always missing. That girl might feel like she’s missing love or approval, so she tries to fill that gap by controlling others or demanding attention. But the lack doesn’t go away, does it? The Hydra’s heads keep growing back because the root is still there.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sally. “So you’re saying the Hydra is just the things we do to hide what we really feel?”

“Precisely” Linus replied. “The Hydra’s immortal head — the one that can’t be destroyed — is that ‘lack.’ It’s the part of us that always feels like something is missing. But Lacan said we don’t have to get rid of it. We can’t. Instead, we can recognise it and stop trying so hard to fill it.”

Charlie Brown nodded slowly. “So, instead of trying to get rid of rejection or fear, this girl — whoever she is — should just acknowledge the void or sense of emptiness within herself and, most importantly, stop trying to fill it with external things — like achievements, possessions, or relationships — which would be the equivalent of choking heads. Is the void simply part of the human experience?

“Yes,” Linus said. “When we stop fighting the Hydra and start seeing it for what it is, we can find peace. We don’t have to keep swinging our swords at every problem. We can learn to live with the lack.”

Lucy huffed. “Well, I still say this girl sounds fabulous, but she’d better stay away from Schroeder!”

Beyond the Hydra

“But what happens after the Hydra is gone? Does the story end there?”said Sally.

Linus shook his head. “Not quite. The Hydra teaches us something bigger. It’s not just about solving problems — it’s about seeing past the idea that we’re separate from everything else. The Hydra divides the world into good and bad, yes and no, right and wrong. But when we go beyond that, we see that everything is connected.”

“That sounds confusing,” Sally said.

“It is,” Charlie admitted. “But maybe it means we’re more than just our struggles. Maybe we’re already fine, even when it doesn’t always feel like it.”

The Wisdom of Snoopy

Lucy sighed. “Leave it to Linus to make it all mystical. Snoopy’s approach is simpler: just keep swinging until something works.”

But Snoopy, now perched regally atop the sofa, wagged a paw to disagree. With a theatrical flourish, he gestured at the “golden sword” (still the mop) and then at his heart, as if to say:

Go beyond the mind (The Hydra), and you’ll find the real victory.

As Snoopy struck a final heroic pose, the rain continued to patter against the windows. The Peanuts gang sat quietly, each pondering the lessons of the Hydra — and perhaps feeling just a little freer from their own inner monsters.