On living up to Expectations.

If a child is expected to fail it will. Kids always live up to their parents expectations, particularly the less than salubrious.

My brother was expected to fail. Of course nobody said as much, they didn’t need to, he was given euphemistic titles such as ‘the practical one’ in the family, which was code for thick as pig shit and he dutifully rose to the occasion. It took being pegged to the antarctic ice through his clothes, sleeping bag and tent for three days of 200mph winds to knock it out of him.

Expectations are powerful because our survival instincts are tuned to co-operation with our group and serve collective values. We are born assuming others know best and give them due credit for that. If it were otherwise we’d not get far past inventing the wheel.

We’re born respectful.

So when God says to Eve don’t eat of that tree what does she understand of God’s expectations? Had there been an explanation it might have been different, something she could make sense of and.. respect. But He gives her no explanation, no meaning in the injunction, without which she hears only a hidden expectation of betrayal.

His command, without reference to her need for meaning, carries an implicit sense that this communication is only about discipline, authority and power. It is not about love.

You musn’t eat the fruit.


Because I say so.

Who is it for?


Sorry, what is it for?

To see if you would obey.

Not because i might die?


Or because it would give me a tummy ache.


So, just to see if i could be trusted?


So you don’t trust me then?

Not entirely.

But you made me in your image?


So, either you can’t be trusted, or you’re just fucking with my head.


Moab was not Yahweh’s first washpot. The die of sadistic witholding is cast from the Beginning. The interaction with Adam and Eve in a modern setting would have someone calling for a social worker.

The father uses sadomasochistic and manipulative techniques to seduce Eve into behaving as he knows she will with the limited awareness she has prior to gaining  the knowledge derived from the apple. To obey you have to know right from wrong, you have already to have eaten the fruit. He tempts her..

thought the devil did that…?

Well, he finishes the job but its God that puts the idea in her head and makes her curious. His style of communication is actually psychologically damaging. Don’t use the faculty I gave you but do use one I have not.

Eve is trapped, she’s been slipped something under the table and its really ugly, a hefty archetypal gollop of contradiction and bad faith with which she must trip and fall, the sudden condensing focus for God’s ready curses, a toxic parent who gives a child a chore that it cannot perform in order to shame and vent His spleen.

Why is it a trap?

Because she must fail.

The consciousness that God is asking her to exercise is in the apple.

Not in her.

She cannot understand what he means and he knows it.

I watched a man point to a shop sign down in the village and patiently spell the words out letter for letter to his son, teaching him. Problem, the kid was two.

What the hell is he doing? Where is he coming from? What is his purpose?

He feels so good and riteous. He’s fathering….. whilst actively avoiding intimacy and contact. He might have joined the child in his world rather than shoe horning the boy into a narcissistic fantasy of how great a father he is.

The child cannot, with the best will in the world, fulfil what’s being demanded with out abandoning his own reality principle. He looks vacant, trying to make meaning. Daddy expects….something. I don’t know what but he is always right. I cannot understand. I must be stupid….

….which is the unconscious purpose of the exercise.

You will never, never, be as smart as me.

The Green-eyed God

If you’ve ever tried confronting narcissism you know your gonna lose.  Those walls are high and the Great Mother’s bones are built into them. Confrontation immediatly becomes a verbal wrestling match with the Marquis of Queensbury firmly gagged and bound  in a corner. Or, the ground under your feet suddenly disappears and you’re now discussing some completely unrelated issue without knowing how you got there except that you will lose this one as well.

And if what you’re wanting to air is the issue of jealousy, the Marquis will be bundled out in a rolled up carpet while the barometric decompression in your lungs anticipates a variation of the mesmeric deluge, ‘yeah, but no, but’.

It will then either be flatly denied with a hint of, ‘ what’s your problem?’ Or turned back on you, ‘this is obviously  your stuff.’ Or, condescended and humiliated, ‘did you get that out of a lucky packet?’ Or the ante is simply upped with ,’you don’t love me.’ Your role is now reduced to useless reassurance of the one who, moments ago, was trying to scratch your eyes out.

So, what kind of progress do you think might be made trying to confront God over his jealousy?


So, we won’t even try, hey?

no point, mon.

Despite the explicit mention of ‘other Gods’.

Can’t go there, mon.

Despite the injunction, sorry, command not to covet..

..yeh, but no but…

…and whooping his bride down the centuries for all kinds of imagined shenanigins..

mus’ be you done sumfink.

Methinks Yahweh protesteth tooo much..

Him got someone on the side…..himself…?

Or wishes he did. His current bride is clearly not up to the mark which begs the question of who set the bar.



yep, God’s constant paranoia about our unfaithfulness is more than the tacit acknowledgement of an unnameable…….


…….co-respondent, it is a projection of his own desire for she-who-no-one talks-abo…


Him lust for him old flame.

Yep, Yahweh’s ‘leavings’ in the washpot of Moab, are primarily hormonal.


Your neighbourhood.

Is that why the West is preoccupied with sex an’ bling?

Worse, matey, where else could the fulcrum of god’s shadow be brought to bear but on our own souls? Judgement day is small potatoes next to the fact that we are already up to our ears in God mank.

So, we sloshing about in God’s shadow…

No, God’s shadow is sloshing about in us.

Like we was His host.

Tapeworm styley. Him angry.. but need us..to be angry at.. No end to that one, mon.

Yeh its loopy.

Loopy lou.

Interesting word, loopy.. We all know it means,’crazy’, but the crazy is not about what you are doing, but that you are doing it blindly and going round in circles. The problem is the looping and not really a function of the territory through which you might be passing at the time.


So , what’s loopy here begins with having to fail in our endevour, in bending to divine sadism, hoping it will all go unnoticed. God uses us for His washpot so that he comes up all sparkly and restored…

But now we full of …. ‘leavings’ and bits of beard…

Yes, we have attributed to us, and identify with, a piece of divine shadow…

we gon feel bad..

Well, icky, yes, but more to the point, we just can’t do it. It’s all too much. We start going mad in the catch 22 of eternal failure either to contain God’s projection or, trying bravely, but looking like pervy curbcrawlers in the process.

So where is the loop?

I’m coming to that. Carrying god’s shadow is a bit of a buzz. Its like being juiced up on some fantastic high octane fuel, the cheif symptom of which is that we fall into the delusion that we don’t need one another anymore and are separate from Nature.

Loop, make the loop…

So that’s a sin, against ourselves and one another..

loop, loop…

for which we should indeed, feel bad…

guilt can be good..okay..

And gives God a hook to hang his washpot on. We masochistically buy into his game, bewailing the smiting, lack of favour and accusations of infidelity in order to cover up for the fact that we are getting off on the heady cocktail of god’s mank water.

And being special.

And there’s the loop, you are special but failed. You can be sorry all you want. You’re still wrong and bad. For as long as we carry god’s imperfections his jealousy will be justified. But his love for us depends upon us being His Moab. No win.

That ain’t right, mon.

And what happens when a child is put in a no win situation?

Him start trashin’ de place.

Loopy Lou.