Guns of God.

When I embarked on my heroic quest to take on terrorism as a rosy cheeked eighteen year old,

..all proud and manly with him guns..

I really believed that I was doing so in the name of freedom,

…and him bombs..

To protect my family,

…just gotta shoot other people’s…

And our way of life.

…ratatataaaaaat…

Had I realised that my first nominal paycheck,

…which him didna care abou’ anyway…

was largely funded by deBeers and Anglo-American,

…forty pieces of dollar…

I might have queried my premise.

”Freedom will be the theme of every broadcast and editorial. Meanwhile the ruling Oligarchy and its highly trained soldiers, policemen and mind manipulators will quietly run the show as they see fit.” Aldous Huxley

We do not vote for our leaders. They are already irrevocably in place. We vote for their lackeys, the one’s who have to wear the charcoal grey uniform and go mind the office. We are watching parliament  when we’d be better off staking out St Andrews.

You don’t understand, the enemy is out there!

No matey, the enemy is in here. Its called Rampant Unrelenting Greed, and its armed with stomach juices that can digest whatever you can cram in its maw.

But our God,

loves us… yes, and lets us do whateeeever we like so long as we are muttering his name at the time.

Ever noticed that there is no ‘I’  or ‘me’ in the Lord’s prayer?

No personal responsibility…

Not, ‘forgive me, oh god, for all the dumb, blind, stupid shit I’ve pulled and for the crappy thing I did, specifically x or y or z.

No,

forgive us, collective sheep.

give us bread. breeeead, breeeeead.

Lead us not…..us poor, poor, Baaaah.

Deliver us from all this shit, caused by…

Others!…

those motly bastards with their puny AK47s who,

bastards…

for some evil reason,

bastards…

resent us digging holes in their ancestral lands and want them back!

bastards..!

Lock and load, baaaaby!

”We are now truly a nation of sheep… and sheep are always led to the slaughter.” Milton Cooper.

I was always impressed by the ease with which the corporate rulers, the inheritors of Yahweh’s collusive covenant with earthly power, could simply wind men up like toy soldiers and march them to their deaths. My own troop in the Commandos was so cut to pieces that the unit had to be disbanded, but we were not unnerved! Our god would not let us die!

Perhaps a way to measure whether or not a culture is evolved is to examine the extent to which people are okay with being marched to their deaths for  the material gain of some unknown third parties tackling a tricky putt on the 9th green of an exotic golflinks somewhere foreign..

…you gotta have a million ca-billion just to sit yo ass down on dem barstool.

Oh, and how we wish we were them!

In luxury darling, with servants and maids and garden boys on crutches.

I was in the garden reading. It was one of the final afternoons of the summer holidays. Kimberley’s legs were withered from polio but he had immense upper body strength. He was working over by the chicken coop on his crutches digging a row of beans. He had been at it for an hour or so, swinging the pickaxe with one mighty arm whilst he propped himself up with the other. A slow but steady rhythm. All of a sudden the 5 PM siren sounded. We were governed by the town siren.

No baas, WE were governed by the siron..

Kimberley was in mid-swing with the pick. At the first wail of the siren he put his entire massive strength into preventing the tip of that pick from biting down into the warm earth that he had been working with all day. I watched as his whole upper body fought to prevent the Makiwa from having one second more of his time than he was being paid for.

It was the hate of a fierce and noble pride. The pride of a man who has not given his kingship away.

but it was more than sheer brute strength that was required to single-handedly prevent an already swinging axe from finding its mark, his crutch bending and bowing with force.

And it was more than the profound resentment that Kimberley must have felt for his demeaning situation, his white name, his role as garden ‘boy’.

It was his inner spirit..

that I saw he had more than I.

And I felt ashamed.

luxury, darling!

Give us this day our daily bread.

First line, first thing, first clause in the contract, Give.

Give us our fucking bread you tight fisted bastard.

BRE – AD

BRE – AD

And so the great con of our time, darlings, is that there is a good life out there just for you and that technology will set you free whilst slowly basting the moral fibre of your sorry ass. In fact the meek shall only inherit the earth subject to being priorly engorged by our golfing friend. In fact, why would the wealthy leave anything standing if their favourite sermon contains lines casting some doubt about how inheritance will work.

Go stuff yourselves boys, its the will of God!

Kimberley hadn’t bought Yahweh’s pact with David and his descendants, the implicit right to dominion over others..

and that God would look the other way while we adopted a more hands on approach,,

to loving our neighbour…

The wish for more than we need is rooted in the depersonalisation of others, because others have to be exploited to make those dreams come true.

This greed is rooted in desperate, collective anxiety that Mum has gone and may not come back, the kind of anxiety that can have you reaching for icecream or another fag..

or another lover…

or a shooter…

But the bottomless  pit is nonetheless softened by the notion that we are somehow sanctioned by God and, anyway, have power over others.

I live on de right side of de tracks because I am virtuous and this is my just reward

and suddenly even Rednecks…

or, no, particularly Rednecks, but ah, oh yes, us scientific techno folk suddenly believe in a divine plan with us at the top of the heap.

 

On Paranoia.

I was listening to one of my favourite Zimbabwean musicians, Thomas Mapfumo, who sings revolutionary ‘Chimurenga’ (guerilla) music.

I fought him when I was young. Wanted to kill him and all his gook buddies…

And signed up with Special Forces just as soon as they would have me to do just that.

Until I found the gook in myself one day

and let I have a little chat with me…

So, one of Thomas’ songs, sung in Shona so I don’t get the words, but the tone and the meter is like a kind of ‘whiteman prayer’, like 3 hours into the Ride of the Valkyries, I recall  it from my reactionary childhood, the kind of song that is intoned heroically from the ramparts of your citadel.

perhaps he was takin’ de piss..

And I wondered if Thomas was expressing what Martin Luther King called, ‘the nigger in the black man’s wood pile’, the introjected rascism of the overlord, ingrained with time and defeat’s oppression.

Maybe him just got an inner Episcopalian, like you got an inner gook…

And the meter of Thomas’ song reminded me of a poem I wrote as an entirely indoctrinated boarder at The Last Colonial Fascist Academy for Boys, complete with grenade screens, blast walls, evacuation practice and teachers armed like Rambo.

So this poem got into the school magazine. It was less the rhetoric than the mounting trills of sentiment, an adolescent Blake encountering Brunhilde in a sunlit mountain glade, a khaki ‘tomorrow belongs to me’.

And yet for all that I could never remember the names or the needs of my own neighbours.

One was an old man of nearly one hundred, bent double he was, an original member of the heroic Pioneer Column that forged its way across the Limpopo,

uninvited,

and into the great nation of Matabeleland back in 1885 or thereabouts.

You’d think a budding young fascist poet would want to know the man or at least remember his name..

or ask if he needed anything… .

but the shining hero isn’t always particularly interested in other people, barring the opportunity for a photo shoot. After all, those that are worshipped are also depersonalised. So whilst I would bask in the glow of his reflected glory, the exploits of which were already part legend, it wouldn’t occur to me that I might assist him with the gate or help him carry his shopping.

And this is why the hero myth is sometimes not what it says on the tin and doesn’t  feed the soul for long because it has sacrificed the Principle of Relatedness for the bling of unblemished armour.

Transformation can not ensue. The projected dark brother, and the split this causes in Consciousness, prevents anything fruitful happening between the hero and his virginal prize, even if he does vanquish the terrible dragon.

Which is why even the redemptive image of the harrowing of hell was not sufficient to obviate the need for centuries of papal armies..

and inquisitions..

part with your toenails for God, missus?

The problem with the One System system is that it is bound to give rise to single perspectives, or if you prefer,

one track minds

and one track feelings, or if you prefer,

paranoia.

And well it might, considering that having a single system is like having only one string to your instrument..

and what if some bastard cuts it…

which, poetically enough, is exactly what happened to the first great hero of the single system, Gilgamesh, who was left at the end of the day without his elixir of immortality or the Great Dragon Prize.

It also happened, oh best beloved, to his mighty city Uruk, poetically fed by a single river which one day decided to run a different course…

like you do..

leaving the great city, a great mound, in a great desert of great…silence.

symbolic confirmation of why paranoia is sometimes a good idea.

you can’t just chop down the Great Mother’s sacred grove and float it down the Euphrates without the divine feminine visiting some riteous affliction on you…

sho’ ’nuff.

only She might take a while to get around to you…

enough time for you to struggle with making the connection….

Something Unknown is doing I don’t know what….

a mounting refrain of Life unlived….

When alla those unplucked strings start playin’ and dancin’ by theselves.

 

 

 

 

How Wasted am I?

I’m chewing through Erich Neumann’s ‘ Origins and History of Consciousness’. Hoo boy. I’m sure its just me but its like being invited to a banquet serving 50 shades of salted cracker.

His argument, that consciousness progresses step by step from a ‘primitive’, maternally based polytheism full of projective identification and totemic identity, to an emerging ego-self axis represented by the crucifiction, by triumphing over the Terrible Mother who symbolises the regressive pull of the unconscious is….

still mashing the cracker then…..

and perhaps culminating in Descartes inflated, ”I think therefor I am”.

Nah, I’ve had enough now, you say sorry to Descartes…

Why, he was a terrible philosopher..

No, you just slaggin everyone off…

You didn’t even give Erich a chance to answer and all the sarcasmic cracker stuff. An’ now your havin’ a go at Descartes. Its not right. Play nicely.

But any two bit lawyer will tell you that coming up with the thought that you exist just because it occured to you is verging on criminally dodgy. Its just like insider trading.

And if Being itself can be subject to thought, then the values which derive from such an arrangement are bound to be the Machiavellian variety and ‘the end justifying the means’.

What Descartes proved was that he was veeeery mentally identified, a state which is..

”only too ready to emancipate (it)self…. from the reality and meaning of symbolic life.” CG Jung (paraphrased from the Psychology of the Transference)

in other words from moral and spiritual considerations.

The ‘new consciousness’, heralded by Uncle Neb, Jacob and David, codified by Constantine, and shipped into your hindbrain at birth, is this deification of Mind. Mind becomes synonymous with Spirit, or at least as divorced from knowing how to behave…  as Yahweh was from Sophia/Hokmah before…

you know..

the Beginning.

Consider the implications: If thinking is fundamental to being, whatever I can think is imbued with this primacy, this symbolic equation with Being itself. Whatever else I might be experiencing is real insofar as it is congruent with thought and it’s heavily invested self-construct.

Oh dear oh dear…

stuff like knowing right from wrong….

or having a gut feeling for something

or compassion for someone.

Or hands.

The problem with the philosophical position of such ‘flowering of consciousness’ is that it also fosters a flowering of depersonalisation and colonialism.

And it seems to me that our supposed consciousness is not worth the candle if it is accompanied by globalised exploitation laughingly termed ‘assisted development,’ where the colonisers have pulled out once the infrastructures of exploitation have been set in place, and manipulate from afar with generous loans the subclauses of which say we run your ship.

I mean, they carn’t govern theselves….

Nah, dun ’em a favour.

Thinking is not enough if I will not talk to me. If there is no reflection, then all that fine thinking is going to wind up in the hands of our darker complexes..

which of course don’t exist and you don’t have to think about..

really.

And since thought and being-able-to-rationalise-what-I-please all come neatly wrapped up in the same box we become like kiddies in a cake factory. A world where wishing should make it so…

Whilst praising ourselves for being so evolved.

I was shocked by many things in Solzhenitsyn’s ‘Gulag Archipelago’, which I read over and over during a rough couple of years to remind myself that things weren’t really so bad. But what got me most was when he began to question the Russian people’s relationship with Stalin.

Did the nation need his regime in some way? Did the suffering he imposed on Russia serve the spiritual life of the People? In any case, nations give themselves the leaders they deserve, seems to be the idea. The same is true for great minds. The victors write the Philosophy of a people as well as their History by supporting those thinkers that reinforce the zietgeist of the time.

Freud too, rose to meteoric success as soon as he revised his theory that parents mess their kids up, (The Aetiology of Hysteria 1896) to mean very nearly the opposite within ten years.

Society like ‘im now.

… give him his job back.

an lotta stuff.

Cocaine and unsupervised access to a massive printing press…..

In his own way, Darwin, too, rode the crest of our collective imagination, with ‘the survival of the fittest’. Though he only used the phrase once in the whole of his ‘Origins of Species’, the social milieu he was in grabbed it with both hands…

poised as they were on the cusp of global colonialisation.

and in need of a slogan.

The neat thing with the survival of the fittest is that it justifies the rules that the fit live by. Our way of being must be right or we wouldn’t be the ones left standing.

This is all on top of the divine sanction placed on thinking.

……….one might just invade India today……..

by Descartes.

This martial, dog eat dog, linear way of looking at evolution is taken up and echoed by Neumann.

but if ontology really does recapitulate phylogony (the evolution of the species follows the pattern of individual development) then you’d expect a more organic regime change from Polytheism. After all children generally grow apart from Mother in their own quiet way.

And she generally doesn’t have her stuff desecrated, or her mates killed off…

by a narcissistically  disordered  demi-urge with psychopathic features……

So Neumann doesn’t do it for me.

Oh, why so angry now..?

Well because… ”if  the emancipation of consciousness from the tyranny of the unconscious has gone far beyond division, and bought about a schism…..giving rise to atomised individualism”…. Neumann.

yeesss..

well that’s not very frikkin evolved is it?

No..

And since when was the Unconscious tyrannical?

Hummm.

 

 

 

 

Sadomasochism and Jealousy

The ‘jealous type’ lays claim to people.

It is not about the wounded heart…

It is about territorial identity.

I am what I have.

Territory.

And running up a flag,

followed by rifle drill,

and razorwire.

The jealous type looks like they are full of feelings, wounded and hard done by.

No, that’s adrenalin. Its different. And its internally derived. Like having your dealer living in your neo-cortex. People just doing their own thing is experienced as something not going according to plan. Things happening in their own time must be a conspiracy and it must be that you’re just trying to piss me off….

The intensity behind the thing that you said or did that was wrong….

or the thing that you didn’t say or do….right,

looks like a feeling….

but its more like the biochemical goop in your limbic system surging at the sound of an intruder in the cave or moose hackles bellowing up the glen.

Jealousybags doesn’t do feelings.

that’s the problem..

though useful in the short term given that JB must actively depersonalise others to constitute going-on-being, which you might not actually want to have feelings about.

JB is not friends with Conscience.

and prefers to cast a blind eye to the projections s/he must resort to in order to justify all this adrenalin production.

No matter how ridiculous.

I just took my dog out. Man in the lane with wife and their own dog. Loads of space, middle of nowhere. The man starts shouting at his dog, yelling and emoting. He barks and barks. The dog is just friendly and curious. ‘He barks,’ explains the barker, barking.

No, he doesn’t you prat…

He really couldn’t see that it was himself making all of the racket. His big beef had nothing to do with the dog. The dog was an accessory required to carry a projection that kept sliding off, so he had to keep barking at the dog about its non-existant barking.

He was all gold and bling an’ wha’ever, carrying his arms out to the side like a bear, all barrelling along and aggrieved he had to share the lane and have an encounter with something unscripted.

No eye contact.

Jaw and near-side shoulder lowered.

Barking and barking.

Narcissisitic jealousy depersonalises in order to creat a semblance of subjectivity, some experience of self, in what is effectively a very rocky inner world.  Because s/he has been maternally deprived in some profound way, ego structure is makeshift at best. Like a raft on the beach all cobbled together with whatever flotsam you can find.

So, what we’ll do is this,  tie you and me together at the hip and then I will feast on your essence.

And all my feelings of not quite being real can become yours. The secret sense of being a third class citizen will be added to your prize as can all the unworthiness of love and affection kept neatly in place by dint of contempt and scorn’s regime.

And so I will deride you, but keep you, so that my hate of you can keep me alive.

JB needs to hate. Hate is the added glue necessary for what Quinodoz calls ‘adhesive attachment’, bonding that didn’t quite do what it said on the tin and needs another trip down to the hardware store for backup.

Without it JB gets twitchy, couple of cracks showing now, mortar crumbling, need that shot of jealous drama to keep things turning…

Hate and adrenalin are great confirmation of who you are in an uncertain, shaky world. And so, irrespective of any belief system that would otherwise be aghast at the moody outburst that’s coming,  it will have its say regardless because the principles of egoic survival, internal co-hesion, are more important than the values of polite society.

Aldous Huxley (Crome Yellow) talks about the rivalries and incipient warring of central American states as a search for national identity in an uncertain world. Tribal identity had been smashed by the Spanish who left a cultural vaccuum when they handed those nations back their independence. They didn’t know who they were. So they went to war to find out.

This way of being is more common than you might think. JP Sartre felt that relationships were inherantly sado-masochistic, which is why..

”Hell is other people.”

And its hell because..

‘’The other is first the being for whom I am an object’’ (Being and Time).

We are depersonalised to the point that it seems intrinsic to being, or at least to Sartre’s being.

He may not be right but he must speak for many or he wouldn’t be so popular.

What he misses is that Jealousybags needs to foment and pace and froth, wondering who the other is with and what they are doing now.

It sticks I to me like mad.

Not to mention the added bonus that all this riteous hard done-by posturing is great for shmeering over the underlying belief that no-one could ever love me.

And your behaviour, as if you had a life, is proof that you don’t love me.

And though I may not actually have a set of thumb screws…

its gonna feel like I have.

watch my mood settle over everything, seep into the furnishings, your clothes, your hair,

silent accusation,

witheld interrogation…

belittling triumph!

Which is why sadomasochism begins and ends with jealousy and that extra bit of glue needed to cement self-construct. Either having or having not, doing to and being done to by – all these are faithful servants of going-on-being with definite roles and parameters.

Everyone knows what to do.

Phew!

And the big surprise is not that it works like this for so many but that its not more prevelant. For centuries, mothering in the west has been deprived of its numinous container. How can baby not be a little unstuck when mummy has been stripped of her sacred context?

 

The Jealous Type.

Jealousy is not about love.

‘The kernel of all jealousy is lack of love.” CG Jung

it looks like its about lurve,

but it frikkin’ ain’t.

Love is about people. Jealousy is about me.

Dj’am sayin’?

Jealousy is about me not getting what i want when, when, when, that udder fukka, him getting aaaaaalla good stuff.

Bastard.

someone else is getting someone else….

Or, someone else is getting what I want, which is someone else, soon to be something else..

When you feel jealous its a sign your intended has already become ‘stock’, to be bought and sold..

like a bitch.

When you come across a situation marked by jealousy you will nearly always find that its just the latest in a great pattern of events, a mere bead on a long string of….

tales.

Jealousy is not just a feeling.

It’s an attitude to life….

Which is why you get ‘jealous types.’

Jealousy is their ‘modus vivendi’.

Start as you mean to continue…

They see the world in general and people in particular as extensions of themselves, there to serve/nurture/provide. Should the other, reduced now to a mere function, fail to comply…

‘Dere gonna be trouble….’

and wander off…. doing something unscripted..

like,

Talking to someone..

or strollin’ off to the otherside of the supermarket in search of oyster sauce…

or havin’ too much chat with the cashier…

Brian, 67, overweight and balding: a bloke, and a bit whiffy at that…

gonna be trouble, mon.

I have a friend who owns a shop. He works at his trade whilst simultaneously selling his wares and entertaining customers. He is always busy, busy, busy. When I go in we talk while he works….. and sells…. and entertains…

Within minutes his wife storms in hands on hips, quivering with fury… eventually you just have to leave…

It looks like an accusation of loafing, but the man is a font of productive labour… his hands don’t stop….

ever.

The problem is me…

And the fact he’s so delighted to see me.

Now it looks like jealousy..

but it ain’t that neeva.

my presence has caused him to behave as though he were no longer her prosthetic limb…

Ooops.

He’s… acting autonomously..

OMG!

like a leg that just suddenly decided to dance across the room by itself…..!

You are not being what you are supposed to be.

You have breached your existential remit.

To be what I need you to be..

And nothing more.

The narcissist and the jealous type are first cousins..

of the kissing variety.

and, maybe more…

There’s something inevitable about their tryst.

the reason is that the narcissist has identified with their own ideal and therefore has to split off their dark brother, the shadow, to achieve this end.

They reject and project…

the undiscovered self.

And so the other, in quite a real sense, truly is an extension of themselves…

to be fascinated with..

for as long as the projection holds…. the jealousy will remain.

When the other asserts beyond doubt their autonomy, or the projection is withdrawn, jealousy slides into sour grapes..

and everyone goes home.

never really fancied her…

The end of jealousy has to do with renouncing ownership.

of course the ‘jealous type’ would rarely admit that. Their’s is a noble sentiment..

You’ll never guess what she did next…

It’s about love! and feeling.. vulnerable…..

fearing betrayal…

you bastard.

which is why jealousy is so hard to address.

because there’s sooo much ‘poor me’…

whilst panelbeating the shit out of everyone in range with a 4 pound lump hammer.

So, the narcissist actively picks people like you and me, who are such hard work, because there’s endless opportunity to bewail the fact that we are off doing our own thing.

And so what’s so great about being regarded with eternal suspicion?

No, its a real question.

What is the deal with you hanging out with jealous types?

Oh., poor me, I didn’t sign up for this… I was only trying to help…

Bollocks.

Could it just possibly be that ramming someone’s insane, irrational, selfish shit back down their stupid throats is just toooo good an opportunity to pass up?

Ok, you’re the boss.

Enjoy.

 

Polymorphous Perversity

Yes, its a real thing.

‘The ability to find pleasure in any part of the body.’

clearly in need of chemical neutering….

According to Freud, a young child is, by nature, “polymorphously perverse” (Introductory Lecturs 15.209)….

which is to say…..

‘that, before education in the conventions of civilized society, a child will turn to various bodily parts for sexual gratification and will not obey the rules that adults determine……….’

So, a spontaneous and irrepressible delight in the world…..

no, don’t tell me..!.

can it be that bad…?

Some adults retain such polymorphous perversity, according to Freud.

thank fuck for that.

Only now, unfortunately, ensconsed formally into the annals of science and medicine, is the final betrayal of the child whose words, or cries, will now officially not be believed and moreover, whose claim of abuse will itself be considered a symptom of illness……

Because when Freud renounced his Trauma Theory, which said that kids are driven crazy by their parents….

parents didn’t like it.

And parents were society.

So he came to the opposite conclusion as quickly as was decent to do so, without an Edwardian eyebrow being lifted too high….

which they liked better.

namely, that children fuck themselves up.

oh yes, that’s what I meant…

I remember now…

And so for a hundred years or more there has been built into the law of the land, via expert witnesses in autopsy, medicine and psychology, who, true to their training, consider, as a default point of reference that a child making a complaint is both lying and disturbed.

Its not just that Freud regarded his patients in such a poor light…

He came just in time to mark the end of a long process of disenfranchisment of the child. The quality of relatedness that the divine feminine once brought to life is lost along with the Great Mother and increasingly the child is unheld and unsafe.

When my twelve and a half year old son was asked by a court official where he wanted to live and he said with his father, this was taken to mean the opposite of what was said because the child couldn’t possibly know his own mind….

and so he was taken away…

during which time he went from am A grade student to a failing student….

and had to harm himself to get the authorities to sit up and take notice.

Apparently, at this, our pinnacle of evolution, kids don’t know what they want, don’t speak the truth and haven’t got their own minds. They are considered to be so stupid that you can’t open a window in the classroom on a hot summer’s day, in case one of them absent mindedly falls out…

…or maybe a whole clutch of them would suddenly make a mad dash for the window, and launch themselves at it…

…spilling

and falling

like Lemmings onto the concrete playground below..

stupid children.

So stupid, bottle tops come with instructions, ‘Twist’! Salt comes with a serving suggestion, a packet of peanuts warns of the possibility that the packet may contain nuts and that Harry Potter broomstick in the toy shop bears the legend,..

..”does not actually fly”.

That’s not evolved. That’s a deeply regressed, collectively depressed state with all common sense and faith in the other wrung out of it.

And so Narcisissim and OCD are not just defences, but consequences…

because ‘polymorphous perversity,’ is actually required for artistic and creative expression. Its containing of the chaotic processes that creativity and artistic expression involve. If you can take equal pleasure in whatever the world/mother has to offer, then you mind it’s inclement weather a little less and can play with what’s at hand.

But if you don’t get comfy and taste everything, then that unlived life becomes cold and vengeful, like a spurned lover.

”Unlived life does not sit idly on the shelf, it will turn around and bite you.” M L von Franz.

And so if our kids aren’t given the basic credit of being able to top a strawberry without supervision then how are they to get comfy and experimental and curious about everything?

And if we then don’t live life out to the last drop, challenging all kinds of sacred cows in doing so en route, we actually invite not just boredom and apathy on ourselves but fully fledged neuroses.

Give me the polywossname any day.

 

 

Shame and the lost Goddess.

Guilt is for what you did.

Shame is for what you are, or what some discovery has ‘revealed’ you to be. Shame can seem ineradicable, like some base line of identity.

in yo’ bones.

Darlene Lancer bought out a new Utube video on shame and co-dependent relations.

http://www.whatiscodependency.com/

She draws our attention to what a wrecker shame is in relationships.

Shame is generally about failing, being-a-failure.

But life is full of failing.

Actually,

” If youre not failing you’re not trying.” Chris Bonnington.

The impulse to grow and change impels us into situations which are difficult by necessity. There has to be a chance of not making it for it to be worth striving for in the first place.

So, as well as being, ‘thrust into multiplicity,’ (Hillman) we can fold in the face of it and be thrown back.

And people’s lives in respect of their private endevours are full of failing..

-or ought to be –

let alone their lives together.

And if we can’t fail without excessive shaming of ourselves, or allowing ourselves to be shamed by others, then we are unlikely to try very hard in the first place.

Don’t try, can’t fail, no shaming.

Of course, there is also the teensy issue that the whole of Western Civilisation has as its cornerstone a story of shame and being cast out. Right from the start, ‘Thou Shalt not Fail’.

or be conscious..

Our dominant culture is rooted in shame. And so we can’t learn how to fail, or find the value of confusion, the magic of not-knowing, or of having to.

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”. T.A. Edison

Many of our more philosophical enquires are likewise rooted in shame-avoidance and fear of failing. Even the question, ‘what is the meaning of life?’ is itself run through with the assumption that whatever it is, it is something I have to grasp or attain.

Something to be understood by the mind,

a quest which must fail…

With the erosion of the divine feminine from the collective imagination we must, perforce, sacrifice the Principle of Relatedness as part of the deal. This means that compassion for and accepting the inevitability of failure, something a mother might convey to her child with a simple look, becomes increasingly lost to us.

We have to know who we are, where we are going and have all kinds of definite  beliefs.

To demonstrate our maturity.

And no-where, in any of that, is their any reference to Mystery.

Unless its to surmount it…

No encounter with the Ground-of-Being.

And loss of the internal relatedness wherein I might get to coach me…..

……as me crashes and burns.

There’s a couple of square miles in the Chiltern hills I know so well that I can walk around them for hours at night without a light. Badgers don’t like torches.

Sometimes I do get lost. But I learned from my feet that the part of me which felt lost and didn’t like it, wasn’t as big as the part of me that was lost and didn’t mind, that was ok with pressing on regardless, perhaps in the faith that some landmark would eventually emerge from the dark.

Failing to know where I was from one moment to the next became less important than the encounter with forest.  And because I was ok with being lost I was never lost for long.

You might say that there has had to be this sacrifice of belonging, once intrinsic to our ancient polytheistic selves, in order for consciousness to evolve, but in fact what it seems to have given rise to is co-dependency rather than individuality. To individualism, a cult of persona, rather than actually standing apart from the crowd.

On your own two feet.

What divine kingship knows, whispered perhaps down the backstairs of Yahweh’s Chambers to those early kings; epoch spawning kings… Jacob, David and ‘ol Neb’…..

way back….

is that its greatest strength lay not in the fealty of the people but their being seductively offered the path of least resistance, having to acheive nothing  provided they are loyal….

ashamed of failing and therefore easily led…

If we can’t fail we can’t learn, and wind up with ‘a cult of ignorance.’ Isaac Asimov…

We lose the capacity to compromise and therefor must come adrift in our relationships.

If the psyche is self balancing then you wonder, what the deal could possibly be for the ordinary, cheering person, who will likely be shamefully squeezed in perpetuity by the very monarch he’s praising, or sent to die in wars that having nothing to do with the fighting men involved.

Could it be that this era of divinely appointed monarchs, supposedly a necessary adjunct to the evolution of consciousness, is simply the collective implimentation of Yahweh’s original promise to us all of an easy life – by acting out the coniunctio, the sacred marriage, and doing it ‘on behalf of the people’… so that the people don’t have to do it for themselves. Which is why they cheer so loud…

an’ take so much shit.

The shame is worth not having to do anything about it.

The Tar Baby.

Brer Fox hated brer Rabbit.

Hated him real bad.

Hated him so much that aaaal he could think about was how to nail ‘ol brer Rabbit.

So he came up with a plan. He would build a baby made of tar, knowing that when brer Rabbit came along his curiosity would get the better of him and he’d stick himself fast.

‘An it would be all over for brer Rabbit.

So he built the baby of tar and turpentine and set him up beside the road waiting for brer Rabbit to come along.

By and by brer Rabbit strolls down the track.

”Morning”.

I said, ”Morning…”

”You deaf or jus’ rude?”

Brer Rabbit gets easily riled you see and within a moment he’s steaming at the silent tar baby.

Only a matter of time before he clouts the tar baby and gets his paw caught .

Then he hits him again and, you guessed it, soon he’s completly stuck fast.

Brer Fox rolls out of the bushes killing himself laughing.

”Got you this time brer Rabbit!”

But while he’s rolling about brer Rabbit is thinking fast…

”Oh please, brer Fox, do with me what you will but don’ throw me in the Briar patch!”

”I’m gonna cut you up and boil you for breakfast!”

”Oh, anything, so long as you don’ throw me in the Briar patch!”

”I’m gonna skin you and wear your pelt for a hat!”

”Mercy, just so long as you don’ throw me in the Briar patch.”

”Gonna make your bones into porridge!”

”Anything but the Briar patch!”

Then brer Fox hesitates and muses a bit..

”Tell you what,” he announces triumphantly, ”it’s the Briar patch for you!” an tosses brer Rabbit right in.

Brer Rabbit uses the briars to unstick himself and races off laughing loudly.

”I was born and bred in the Briar patch brer Fox! born and bred!”

Narcissistic Brer Fox also suffers from an obsessive compulsive disorder. His whole meaning-construct is about tormenting brer Rabbit into carrying his inferiority.

Not catching, outwitting and humiliating.

Outwitting brer Rabbit is all he thinks about. His den is a mess, he’s thin and mangy and there’s no sissy Fox on the horizon.

He lies awake at night fantasizing about how he, clever brer Fox, will one day be the talk of the woods. He’s what Nassim Nicholas Talebe would call ‘fragile’, he only has one string to his bow.

And therefore only one way of doing things.

And because he has idealised himself and is unconsciously identified with one aspect of life he is compelled to operate from a highly restricted perspective.

So he reacts rather than responds…

… according to the sole injunction, ‘do whatever hurts brer Rabbit most’, rather than, ‘do what suits me best.’

His compulsive need to enviously attack brer Rabbit robs him of his breakfast.

And because his one and only sacred task is to revenge himself on his dark brother he is unable to self-reflect. There is no inner dialogue whereby I might say to me,

‘hang on a minute, what’s going on here?’

‘Why is brer Rabbit so insistent?’

‘ What is the deal with Rabbits and Briar patches?’

And of course, he unconsciously knows what will happen but is compelled to let it happen because if he finally ate brer Rabbit who would there be to carry all his shit?

Brer Rabbit’s different, he is what Talebe calls ‘anti-fragile’. And that doesn’t just mean he’s tough. It means he has options and thrives on complexity. Brer Rabbit can talk to himself. He’s able to have an inner discussion about the pickle he’s in because he’s not overly identified with just one corner of the psyche.

And so he can play adversity to his advantage.

He’s gained his inner flexibility by having a confrontative encounter with his own shadow symbolised by the tar baby, the dark brother. Its deflating. He has been caught with his pants down after all. But the encounter enriches him by opening up internal channels of communication between I and me.

An’ so he can get outtada pickle.

Brer Fox has less inner dialogue. Being is lodged in this one thing in his life. He is bound to be resistant to change.  By and large, the goal of many helping professions, particularly at the behavioural end of the spectrum, is to ‘relieve’ him of his symptom.

But that’s all he has….

So he hangs on like grim death.

It would be much better, instead of trying to cut the only string he has to his bow, to help him realise that his obsession has to do with the poverty of his inner world. It is about not being fed in some way. He then might let himself be depressed about the limited options this eventuates and see his idealised self-construct as compensation for the restricted way in which he has thus far lived.

And of course if his culture had not been so foolish as to cut itself off from the nourishment of the divine feminine responsible for relatedness then one thin, gloriously idealised slice of life’s pie, will be all you’ll get….

excep’ you not him therapist.

He might then realise that his envy of brer Rabbit is justified. Brer Rabbit really does have greater internal flexibility than brer Fox and actually represents brer Fox’s own potential.

When envy can be named and allowed, it is free to grow into admiration for the other that can then be emulated and alchemicaly transformed into inner possibility.

Brer Fox’s negative transference on Brer rabbit might then be resolved.

‘An so him can find pleasure in tidying him den….spruce him fur…   an’ follow on de trail of sissy Fox.

Booyakasha!

Freud’s Ratman.

Freud’s thought can be divided into two utterly distinct phases. The transition from  one to the other has impacted our culture in ways which have been profoundly underestimated. Up until 1896 Freud believed that psychological disturbance was created by childhood abuse and the repression of the associated memories. His views were rejected.  He subsequently renounced this profound insight and substituted it for what he then called ‘Drive Conflict Theory’. This revised theory asserted the opposite, that children became disturbed because of their own inability to handle real life.

Freud dubbed one of his most famous patients ‘The Ratman’, commonly studied in many psychotherapy trainings. It’s a psychoanalytical room 101. The bizarre nature of the case is bound to titillate the voyeur in us all. In brief, the poor Ratman was terrified of rats. His particular fear was of rats being strapped to his behind in a cage and left to gnaw their way out through his anus. His fear stemmed from childhood after a nanny had ‘encouraged’ him to view her genitals.

Freud’s view was that the Ratman’s ‘eroticized’ phobia was a symbolic expression of castration anxiety should his father find out ‘what he had done’ and what Freud felt he wished to do again, a desire which resulted in him suffering from ‘the vicissitudes of sexual curiosity’ (Freud 1991). Students invariably swallow whole the cleverness of modern psychology’s father/king without blurting out the obvious; the Ratboy had been sexually abused.

Imagine the public outrage if someone stood up in a modern court claiming they had ‘allowed’ a prepubescent child to view their genitals? Imagine it then being given as expert opinion that if the child had a bad reaction to this exposure it was simply because the complicit child was afraid of being caught and punished. The court would erupt. Yet this is what Freud suggested. How is this possible? This poor child was betrayed by a carer in ‘loco parentis’. How had the reality of his abuse been denied?

Sexual abuse of children is deeply psychologically damaging. It can destroy the quality of a person’s life. It has a catastrophic impact on a child’s self-esteem, ability to relate and express feelings. It also profoundly affects the capacity to make emotional commitments in later life.

Rewind.

On 21st April 1896 a young Sigmund Freud stood up before the collective might of the Society for Psychiatry and Neurology in Vienna and read his paper, ’The Aetiology of Hysteria’, a clear formulation of the part parental abuse plays in the disturbance of childhood.. It was met with total silence. In the days that followed Freud wrote to his friend Wilhelm Flies, ‘the word has been given out to abandon me and a void is forming around me.’(Masson1992). What had happened? Why had his paper met with such hostility?

What Freud had so bravely done was to confront polite society with its own shadow. He argued that childhood abuse was at the root of later neuroses. The Society were appalled. Madness was caused by parents. By them.

It did not take long for Freud to realize what he had provoked. ‘I am as isolated as you could wish me to be,’ (ibid) he complained to Flies. In private and among his remaining colleagues he began to recant. By 1905 he made a public retraction. This, despite an intervening period as an intern at the Paris morgue where he saw evidence at first hand of the brutal rape and murder of children, ‘of which’, he says in private letters, ‘science prefers to take no notice.’ Soon, Freud himself was turning a blind eye until by 1925 he was able to say, ‘I was at last obliged to recognize these scenes of seduction had never taken place. They were only fantasies..’(ibid)

Neuroses were now due to an individual’s inability to resolve inner conflicts. Freud capitalized on children’s tendency to blame themselves for the ills that befall them.

Freud turned his theory around entirely. Any charges of abuse now reflected the child’s failure and were themselves construed as neurotic symptoms. The symbol and pedigree of this utterly revised theory of neurosis was the ‘Oedipal Complex’. The story is twisted to imply Oedipus wanting to sexually possess his mother, the Ratman to sexually possess his childminder and the battered corpses in the Paris morgue to possess their murderers.

Freud stumbled on the threshold of midlife, failing to stand by his convictions and endure the censure of his peers. He succumbed to the self-preservation that would ensure his social standing, his professional career and his income but sacrificed his earlier theoretical framework which supported the reality of child sexual abuse.

Fast forward.

I think what happened was that the Ratman had no-one to mirror back to him the truth of the abuse he had suffered. ‘And so’, to paraphrase Alice Miller (ibid), ‘he lost sight of it himself’. His experiences of intrusion were repressed. They became symbolized in the dramatic set of images characterizing his case. They were split off and relegated to a future possibility, preferable to his past reality but still gnawing at him from behind.

We are used to dreams containing symbols representing and poetically expressing the issues with which we struggle. Sometimes these spill over into frightening fantasies, waking dreams which give us clues about the origins of suffering. But why sexually violent rats? Why not locusts or fire ants? There are all kinds of tortures the Ratboy could have fixed upon. Freud doesn’t explore the meaning of the symbol.

The trick with symbols is not to be too clever or to assume, with Freud, that they are intent on concealment. Symbols are a language with a purpose like any other, to communicate as clearly as possible. They are problematic because they occur when consciousness is turning a deaf ear. Both the Ratman and Freud shared the same problem. Neither of them could face how the patient had been sexually molested, aggressively intruded upon by a plump, furry thing that awed and frightened him.

When Freud renounced the theory which had made him so unpopular with the Viennese and substituted one they liked a lot better, he effectively excluded adult influence from the causes of psychological disturbance. The roots of madness were then intra-psychic rather than inter-personal. Issues of madness and sanity were no longer about Relatedness. Parental impact on childhood was reduced to the workings of the ‘super-ego’, which, throughout his writing, always seem beyond reproach. It is ‘’ what is highest in the human mind’’ (Freud 2001). He uses the term interchangeably with ‘ego ideal’. If there is a problem regarding ego formation this is put down to the unruly child.

The Ratboy was doubly betrayed, first by his nanny and then by his analyst who, because he had renounced his Trauma theory, couldn’t validate the reality of the boy’s subjective experience or help him through it. His new and much more popular theory suggested if children haven’t wholly imagined the abuse then they must have at least been a party to it. This meant that the adult in the equation could be vindicated whilst the wicked child was left in unacknowledged anguish not unlike poor Oedipus whose father had tortured and abandoned him.

Victorian values.

The Victorian age could be characterized by the denial of sexuality. It was an era when ladies fainted at the sight of a chair leg. This denial was at the level of ordinary, healthy, ‘’normal’’ sexuality. What then of sexuality which strayed from this norm? Male homosexuality was a criminal offense at the time. Female homosexuality in England was not criminalized but only because Queen Victoria refused to believe that there was any such thing as a lesbian. If homosexuality ‘dared not speak its name’, or simply didn’t exist, what of sexuality which was clearly deviant?

Husbands were allowed to rape their wives as their ‘conjugal right’ and could beat them too without fear of prosecution or conscience. Child rape was rarely if ever prosecuted successfully. In Austria at the time it was punishable by one to three months imprisonment. What were the chances of speaking openly and candidly about the abuse of children? Society simply refused to do so, denial reflected in the fact that the age of consent was as low as twelve for many years.

Freud’s wildly successful contribution to science was paradoxical. His ideas were so challenging and revolutionary in daring to talk about sex at all, yet permitted society to continue denying their worst secrets. He made it acceptable for society to talk openly about sex, which must have been a relief; yet denied truths a grateful public could not face, which must also have been a relief.

Freud’s theory is the West’s neurotic solution to its own alienation from the body, its erosion of the Continuum. It opened up sexuality for discussion but only by sexualizing children. He managed to dovetail his theories with the otherwise insurmountable contradictions of an age determined to adopt both an attitude of unquestionable moral superiority and a set of thoroughly dehumanizing attitudes to children.

As soon as he ‘discovered’ infantile sexuality Freud was immediately and heartily endorsed by fellow physicians. They too were clever enough to see the Emperor’s new clothes. Believing in things because we want to, rather than because they are there, is something rather common. We do this out of the fear of chaos inherent in any change, especially wholesale paradigm shifts and so we resist change accordingly.

People believed the earth was flat for a long time after it was circumnavigated. The belief that the sun revolved around the earth persisted for generations after Galileo proved otherwise and the need to believe in witches lasted for centuries backed up by all kinds of incontrovertible ‘evidence’.

We have all experienced presenting someone with undeniable evidence of something which is rejected when it is at odds with a treasured belief. A Jehovah’s Witness once tried to convert me with promises of an assured place among the 144,000 chosen in Heaven. I pointed out there were more than that number of Witnesses already and therefore my conversion was no guarantee of a reserved place. He simply wouldn’t accept the logic. He accepted the facts but refused to put them together.

What Freud offered us, persuasive enough to have lasted for over a century, is the opportunity to maintain the belief in our own psychological sophistication whilst being relieved of the burden-some facts of childhood vulnerability. We lapped up his paradigm as eagerly as our ancestors believed in dragons and ice giants. To let his theory go means to raise once more the specter of child abuse.

Ironically, Freud himself shed light on this negation of childhood suffering in a paper that he wrote 30 years after his ‘discovery’ of infantile sexuality. Occasionally the reality of the inner world bursts through the mask of the false self in the most unlikely and unusual ways.  And so we find Freud himself produced a succinct little four page article entitled ‘Negation’ (1925), in which he states, “In our interpretation, we take the liberty of disregarding the negation ….. To negate something in a judgement is at bottom to say ‘this is something which I should prefer to repress’. A negative judgement is the intellectual substitute for repression, its ‘no’ is the hallmark of repression ….. Thus, originally, the mere existence of a presentation was a guarantee of the reality of what was represented.”

Freud could have applied these thoughts directly to his own negation of the reality of childhood suffering and its consequences for adult life. This seems not to have crossed his mind. Perhaps this belated paper was as close as he could get to admitting what he had done. Perhaps the fact that it has taken so long to come to light is as close as we can get to acknowledging our complicity.

The One Ring.

The genius of Tolkein was not simply that he told a ripping story but that he managed to tap into a rich vein of collective meaning for our time.

A divided, dangerous world in which Power has momentarily eclipsed Love….

Even our spiritual journey can wind up being about ‘gaining’, possessing, wanting the knowledge, rather than the humble journey to return that which is not ours to wield and to make our peace with mystery.

The inheritance of Western Civilisation is an anthology of inflation. We are collectively narcissistic. We crave power and wealth. More than that our society identifies with its God to such an extent that we can impose our freedom on others at the point of a gun without contradiction and subjugate them for their own good.

Doin’ them a favour, innit?

Well, they carn’t govern their frikkin selves, hey?

Moreover we oppress the inner voice of soul because it will not come to heel and refuses to be relegated to the status of an artifact.

And so our aloneness is complete.

The other is ‘nothing but’…

“All modern people feel alone in the world of the psyche because they assume that there is nothing there that they have not made up. This is the very best demonstration of our God-almighty-ness, which simply comes from the fact that we think we have invented everything – that nothing would be done if we did not do it; for that is our basic idea and it is an extraordinary assumption.” CG Jung.

I knew someone who had a terrible rash on her chest and neck that looked like a great burn mark. She scratched at the torment of it endlessly. By and by she spoke of a dragon she dreamt of over and again, some ‘part of her’ she had to ’embrace’. My comment was that trying to integrate a dragon that actually had its own life in the depth of her Psyche would likely result in all kinds of rashes and burns.

Her task was not to ‘integrate’ but to say hello from a safe distance.

The rash improved and she got more humble.

an’ had an inna other….

When a person imagines that the psyche is whatever they know of it and that the Unconscious is ‘nothing but’, then narcissistic strutting and all kinds of symptoms are not far away.

And for as long as the Ring is fought over, for as long as the Unconscious is something we just want to own like jewelery, then love and relatedness suffer. The artery through which love flows will be constricted and the streams of Psyche’s internal dialogue will become clogged.

Despite such cholesterol of the soul we think of ourselves as evolved….

….on the basis that evolution is somehow linear. And so..

we must be the finest and best.

job done.

Darwin and Freud had this in common, they both told Victorian society exactly what it wanted to hear. Not only are people not responsible for messing up their kids, our very existence/survival is proof positive of the right to dominate and exploit.

The price we pay for this delusion is a narrowing of our capacity for relatedness. Either I wear the ring and am narcissistically identified with ‘the power’ and thus pre-occupied and unavailable, or you wear the ring and I become your thrall, romantically enslaved to the other.

This bastardisation of the Principle of Relatedness is very different from the subtle nuances of human affection known, for example, to the ancient Greeks who differentiated almost as many different types of love as the Eskimos have words for snow. Ludus, philia, agape, eros, pragma, philautia…

In our time the predominant models of romantic love and narcissistic love seem to culminate in the culture of ‘Bling’, where persons are both idealised as demi gods and then worshipped from afar. They, ‘have it all’, whilst our preoccupation with what is essentially a projection leaves us depleted and feeling worthless by comparison.

Imagine the folk of ancient times trying to grasp our fascination with bards and mummers!

The Ring and its relationship with Mt Doom is a mystery. Returning it as bearer rather than as owner is a real piece of psychological maturity.  Mainly, Western Civilisation has been about the revelation of mystery, uncovering it for all to see. The last book of the Bible even goes by that name as if to give additional emphasis to its contents. Its not enough to serve a higher principle. Above all we want to know and be shown.

We cannot know.

”Unpalatable as it may be… the idea of mystery forces itself on the mind of the enquirer, not as a cloak for ignorance, but as an admission of.. the inability to translate what s/he knows into the speech of the intellect” CG Jung.

But, we may press on to where Nature refuses to be surmounted by our own efforts.