I was employed as a swimming coach for two pools in the mud, that hadn't been filled in yet, in a dream two days ago.  One of the pools was filled with water, its boundaries formed, and a very strong young woman arrived there to swim.   A clearly tough teenager, bikini-clad, she began to complain that her father had kicked her to discipline her.   I began to smile at that and said, "Sorry, I shouldn't say this, but it just amuses me because I do kickboxing and  we get kicked all the time."

In the dream, there were no repercussions for insensitivity and everything went, as we say "swimmingly".

It has taken a long time, not far from being the longest time ever for analyses to be made, for stuff to be thunk through.   I've finally managed it, however, an understanding of my natural states, and what makes me think the way I do.

First structural level of difficulty:  the conviction that I'm not nearly sensitive enough, but that I were I to attain a sufficient level of sensitivity, the world would be mine, indeed I would be able to thoroughly redeem it.   Until then, I had to constantly second guess myself and put myself through a program of self-scrutiny.

The successful people, it seemed to me, were those who could convey the flavor and the texture of their moods to those around them, so that others would understand these implicitly and leave those people alone.   The nature of this formulation was that I would achieve sensitivity -- so as to be free of the burden of having to keep trying to attain a greater degree of sensitive awareness.  My aim was not to be a better person, but not to have to worry about fitting in -- that was, to win the right to be insensitive, by proving that I could be very sensitive, if necessary.

This bizarre psychological complex has defined my sense of purpose in relation to what I consider to be "Western culture".   To try to make myself more in tune with it, in order not to have to be in tune with it, has been my stressful, underlying preoccupation for so long.   I didn't realize it was possible to give up this endeavor until now.   

Psychology is stranger than fiction.  We allow ourselves to be programmed with certain notions; ideas that promise us specific results, without even realizing what the program is, or why particular results ought to be logically anticipated and expected.

My father lies stetches out his legs behind this, of course, and as I surmised whilst writing my memoir, this is unrelated to any Oedipus complex (which means, of course, it is -- and suddenly my image has taken on gargantuan modernist proportions).My responsibilities were elsewhere, to redeem my father from the legacy of an insensitive mother.   This was the knot my memoir attempted to undo -- although I didn't have a name for the dilemma at the time, nor was I able to express it by means other than a sketchy outline.   I had to be sensitive for him, so that I would be free to swim, so far as familial responsibilities go. 

It is likely there is no need for someone who has figured out how reality, inclusive of societies, political programs and the like, is structured, to require therapy. Even Freudian analysis, (or Jungian), which Clarissa seems to argue is devoid of a dogmatic agenda, relies on drawing one out on the basis of one’s internal construction of authority.

A question never addressed by such therapy is what if one’s internal construction of authority happens to match the external structure of authority as it presently is? That is, one may fear a certain manifestation of authority because it creates a clear and present danger to one’s well-being.

If this kind of reality did indeed match one’s perceptions of it, there would be every reason to be emotionally distressed. However, psychoanalysis typically maintains that experiencing a distressing emotion means one is unable to grasp reality as it is — that is, in a demonstrably “non-hysterical” manner.

So the very question of authority and how it functions in terms of actual power relationships is effectively scuttled by psychoanalytical treatment.

It may be that one is is need of dealing with the aftermath of relationships that have long died, but psychoanalysis begs this question, rather than addressing it.

Intellectual shamanism differs from this psychoanalytical approach because it addresses the issue of power as a real force in the world.  It may lead you to understand, "Yes, something seems to be attacking you because it is in fact attacking you.  Now, learn to see that clearly.  It may take some time.   Take a deep breath and consider your strategies."

I recently solved all my psychological issues in a snap by accepting that I was never going to "adapt"; that is was impossible for me to adapt ever, and especially now considering my maturity in life.  Ever since then, I've had a much greater amount of energy to spend, I'm thoroughly relaxed within my skin, and I don't over-think anything.  I don't have any sense of residual guilt about anything.  

Sometimes pushing and pushing oneself doesn't work out.   There's no point in it.   You've got to do what you feel natural with; go in the directions that already feel natural.  

As I glide away from previous position, which was an attempt to try to hold onto the peripheries of Western culture, to keep open any future access points for "fitting in", I find my mental state is clearer, my goals easier to establish and fulfill.  I can talk to people without risking offending them, since I am much more at ease with myself.  Everything is working out much better, now that I've accepted I am African at root, and will never be Western and that I don't have to try.

My original quest to be "Western" was not driven from deep inner needs in the first place, but from my father's injunction that I ought to put on a false, happy face and endeavor to praise the Westerner in his existing circumstances in order to win approval and social acceptance.  Given that this was never my project to begin with, but one borne out of duty, it is very easy to give it up.

I do have a natural ease with people who are simply enjoying life and I have never aspired to be anything other than myself, except when bound by duty, so I have everything to gain by simply enjoying life on its own terms.  I enjoy it so much more this way that I have actually forgotten what my original dilemma was about.   I know I was driven into it by financial concerns, since conformity equals financial prosperity.  Apart from this skeletal knowledge, I no longer have access to my previous states.   I just think the world has opened up and it is no longer necessary to be Western anymore.   My job pleases me greatly since it involves work with another culture.  Apart from that, I move around Australia and feel African thoughts; think African ideas.  Nobody knows that I am doing so, and it seems to alleviate a lot of tension.

QUOTE:

What’s the problem? 

 We have in our society an assumption that religion is for the most part benign or good for you. Therapists, like others, expect that if you stop believing, you just quit going to church, putting it in the same category as not believing in Santa Claus. Some people also consider religious beliefs childish, so you just grow out of them, simple as that. Therapists often don’t understand fundamentalism, and they even recommend spiritual practices as part of therapy. In general, people who have not survived an authoritarian fundamentalist indoctrination do not realize what a complete mind-rape it really is.
Religious Trauma Syndrome

More:

http://unsanesafe.blogspot.com.au/2008/08/were-you-born-in-cult.html

Opting to break with civilizing comforts in order to recover my sanity, I decided to sleep in the swag last night. If you don't know what it is, behold the picture posted for you above.

As there was nothing on TV last night, I made my way to my destination rather early, and just before it rained.   It seemed a strange act.   My triceps still hurt from a strain on Monday and my body felt rather stiff and barely recovered from exertion.

I clambered into the tent with resignation.   I couldn't get a clear thought and I just wanted to sleep. That is, I kind of wanted to annihilate the present, grey and in-between reality for the sake of a more hopeful tomorrow.

Then it began to rain.   That would have been okay.  Light drizzle constantly above my head was a new sensation, but one I could get used to.  I drifted off.  I went to sleep -- but it is never advisable for me to sleep in conditions where the air does not circulate effectively.  I get nightmares.  In every instance where the window and the bedroom door were shut, I've suffered from perturbing hallucinations.

I would have thought there was enough air coming in through the back window of the swag, which I had extended to be slightly open.  There was something flapping, though, and in my dream I felt I was in a crib, or in my tomb.  Two hands were reaching in and touching me on either side, but they were just the canvas flapping.  And yet they seemed maliciously intent on reaching:  denying their existence as they vanished and returned again as dream states started to take over.

I woke up fully, and malevolent intent was all around me.  Danger was now close by, with every thudding of the rain in empty buckets in the neighbor's yard, with every way the wind was rearranging the environment.

I went back to sleep, but something was weird.  Part of my spirit was leaping up, and out of the black density of the swag, my coffin.   It leaped with animal frenzy in through the back door of the house with kangaroo feet.  There I barely uttered, "I had to get away from them!" and Mike seeing me there, immediately rushed to console me with his knowledge:  "Yes, I know... I know..."

As it was, I woke up suddenly and reconsidered my options.   I felt for sure that should I break my resolution and unzip the protective fiber, black matte above my head, a dinosaur would certainly reach in and gobble me for dinner.  I'd have to do it very quickly and then get inside -- away from what was lurking -- in the smoothest manner possible.

Reaching up a foot above me, I somehow found the zip -- which was amazing in itself, since primitive minds cannot fathom the existence of modern utilities.  I tore open my container and saw the sky was milky, with pale pastels -- hardly a committed night, but far from day, and something in-between.

I grabbed my bedding and my pillow and fumbled at the door, marveling at the possibility that technology like door handles would ever succumb to dire emotional needs.

I finally got the door to yield and entered, carrying everything I needed for my internal migration away from madness, evil and external sources of panic.

Mike was also hazy with somnambulism on his way to the toilet, and screamed at my approaching silhouette.

Returning to life from death was my pleasure in the next few hours.

People need to start getting my African sense of humour.

Here's an opportunity.

Like anyone else, I can hate myself sometimes -- but this is extremely rare and I see it as a passing storm. I hated myself when I was overtired and preparing for my martial arts exam. I began to think, “Who is this ape going for her martial arts exam!”

Most of the time I am too amused at some new aspect of my experience to dislike myself as such. My inner life is very, very vivid. Lately I have had a dream twice that a hotel I was staying in has been destroyed whilst I still had a room booked permanently there. I think this has to do with my final rejection of postmodernist theorizing and my realization that I had invested so much of my subjectivity in that. It feels weird. The new hotel is more complex, but not for me, and I don’t mind leaving it.

Psychoanalysis Versus Psychiatry at Wash U « Clarissa's Blog

Therapy is certainly one of the hardest route to finding answers to life's questions. Despite this, if the therapy sessions were really open-ended, without any core dogma, people who really wanted to get answers concerning their lives would have the best possible scope for doing so. Even then, they may not succeed, but only move ahead incrementally.

Regrettably, most therapists have a central dogma or moral ax to grind. Wilfred Bion had an excellent idea that the therapist has to enter a state of not knowing or state of infinite possibilities of knowledge, when confronting a client for the first time. This is good in theory, but we can’t really wash away our socially and culturally conditioned expectations.

Very soon, even a good therapist would start to get agitated if the patient/client didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. If the client already has a basic theory of knowledge that differs from that of the therapist, this will not be easily inculcated into the therapist’s paradigm, which is likely to lead to charges of psychological resistance when perhaps the resistance is rather more intellectually and ethically founded.