March was an intense month and I am glad but tired. A lot of what I've been wishing to understand is already in here and although I'll continue working and exploring for I love it, I don't know how exactly that will happen.
Foucault much attracts my attention so I'll continue to study him. He's already given such huge steps in the social question that it would be foolish not to take them into account. One day I'll probably write a book, much of the material I'm collecting has to do with that possibility but what has changed is that I've been realizing that I don't need to write or hold on to this to move on in my life. The effort comes not from believing my self superior, as Ton had suggested but on feeling that I had to prove my self. Part of the damage that one suffers in a cult is that people are neglected and neglect their own self for so long that an aspect of recovery has to do with proving one's self to one's self and others. It's been good hearing my self. All my writing has been a monologue that I don't regret.
It's sad to realize that I no longer feel anger with the cult or even with Ton, who was as negative as them. It is good to be angry with things that hurt people. But if I were to stay angry for ever I would not allow the fact that this is the state of things in our times and that I can carry on without dis-acknowledging that. The cult was as if I'd been ripped off of life and it were gradually filling itself back into place and I were being re-structured with most of the life that was there before but with the consciousness of it, that as a youth I'd taken for granted. I guess this is just a normal process of maturing and I'm so naive that I think it is happening only to me but it happens to all of us because that is what life is about. We ripe differently though or rather, we ripe into different fruits all equally delicious but different. The wonder of individuality is that taste but beyond the taste that the individual themselves are the ones to savour most, is the flavor of Oneness, like a wine that's ripened unto itself.
I would like to look at Agamben more deeply but slowly, without the pressure of having to prove myself to anyone, which Ton exacerbated rather than mellowed down, as a good therapist would have done. If I could dialogue with Ton I would tell him that what he needs to realize about any therapy is that ninety percent of the therapy depends on the presence and consistency but that violence is violence no matter what robe it takes. Fire with fire is fire that burns. Without love, no healing is possible and there is no such a thing as tough love. But I cannot dialogue with Ton. That possibility's been burnt.
The most healing things since I came back have been "home". The essence of the people of the country I belong to permeating my being with their being. The neighborhood in which the children play night and day, scream, fall, fight, cry, laugh, jump, run, smile, give kisses and hugs. Like when we were kids before we moved to well to do neighborhoods with children in the "club". The nonexistent child-life in the cult was deadly. I do love the lack of pretense of the people in this neighborhood. As if money were so rare that there were nothing about it that one could desire and people had to work too hard to think about it or the excesses that come with it. There is considerable suffering but it is carried with tremendous stoicism as if things had always been like that and no one expected them to be different. Nevertheless, the third world is quickly loosing its "essence reality" and that is a great tragedy, a great, great tragedy. People wish to become "civilized" like the first world without knowing that the first world is not at all "civilized" no matter how many great and beautiful things have also been developed in it.
I've been very much on my own since I came back but for my godfather who I visit twice a week. We go out to do little things at the bank or the store or to have a beer. At eighty five, bent and weak, he is still the lightness of light. My parents might have run too far too soon but I have had more love than I could deserve. It's strange that I doubted it for so long.
It's getting late and I've been working hard these days. The glass workshop is gradually gaining space in my time and I need to rest to recover enough for the next day. My back is protesting the effort and my eyes revolting against the amount of text read and written in March. Seeing double makes it all the more difficult and the eyes begin to sting when they are unwilling to cooperate. But I feel so good! Pain has become an old friend and it is not nearly as strong as it has been in other periods but the inner pain is so rare these days that I wonder where it has gone.
I have no idea why you are coming here but you seem very consistent. On the negative side, perhaps you were hoping Ton would "do me in", you're old fofers and bloggers hoping I am finally stopped? On the positive side I don't know of people going anywhere they don't enjoy this often. Whatever your reason, I enjoy the company. Thank you.
So long...
Foucault much attracts my attention so I'll continue to study him. He's already given such huge steps in the social question that it would be foolish not to take them into account. One day I'll probably write a book, much of the material I'm collecting has to do with that possibility but what has changed is that I've been realizing that I don't need to write or hold on to this to move on in my life. The effort comes not from believing my self superior, as Ton had suggested but on feeling that I had to prove my self. Part of the damage that one suffers in a cult is that people are neglected and neglect their own self for so long that an aspect of recovery has to do with proving one's self to one's self and others. It's been good hearing my self. All my writing has been a monologue that I don't regret.
It's sad to realize that I no longer feel anger with the cult or even with Ton, who was as negative as them. It is good to be angry with things that hurt people. But if I were to stay angry for ever I would not allow the fact that this is the state of things in our times and that I can carry on without dis-acknowledging that. The cult was as if I'd been ripped off of life and it were gradually filling itself back into place and I were being re-structured with most of the life that was there before but with the consciousness of it, that as a youth I'd taken for granted. I guess this is just a normal process of maturing and I'm so naive that I think it is happening only to me but it happens to all of us because that is what life is about. We ripe differently though or rather, we ripe into different fruits all equally delicious but different. The wonder of individuality is that taste but beyond the taste that the individual themselves are the ones to savour most, is the flavor of Oneness, like a wine that's ripened unto itself.
I would like to look at Agamben more deeply but slowly, without the pressure of having to prove myself to anyone, which Ton exacerbated rather than mellowed down, as a good therapist would have done. If I could dialogue with Ton I would tell him that what he needs to realize about any therapy is that ninety percent of the therapy depends on the presence and consistency but that violence is violence no matter what robe it takes. Fire with fire is fire that burns. Without love, no healing is possible and there is no such a thing as tough love. But I cannot dialogue with Ton. That possibility's been burnt.
The most healing things since I came back have been "home". The essence of the people of the country I belong to permeating my being with their being. The neighborhood in which the children play night and day, scream, fall, fight, cry, laugh, jump, run, smile, give kisses and hugs. Like when we were kids before we moved to well to do neighborhoods with children in the "club". The nonexistent child-life in the cult was deadly. I do love the lack of pretense of the people in this neighborhood. As if money were so rare that there were nothing about it that one could desire and people had to work too hard to think about it or the excesses that come with it. There is considerable suffering but it is carried with tremendous stoicism as if things had always been like that and no one expected them to be different. Nevertheless, the third world is quickly loosing its "essence reality" and that is a great tragedy, a great, great tragedy. People wish to become "civilized" like the first world without knowing that the first world is not at all "civilized" no matter how many great and beautiful things have also been developed in it.
I've been very much on my own since I came back but for my godfather who I visit twice a week. We go out to do little things at the bank or the store or to have a beer. At eighty five, bent and weak, he is still the lightness of light. My parents might have run too far too soon but I have had more love than I could deserve. It's strange that I doubted it for so long.
It's getting late and I've been working hard these days. The glass workshop is gradually gaining space in my time and I need to rest to recover enough for the next day. My back is protesting the effort and my eyes revolting against the amount of text read and written in March. Seeing double makes it all the more difficult and the eyes begin to sting when they are unwilling to cooperate. But I feel so good! Pain has become an old friend and it is not nearly as strong as it has been in other periods but the inner pain is so rare these days that I wonder where it has gone.
I have no idea why you are coming here but you seem very consistent. On the negative side, perhaps you were hoping Ton would "do me in", you're old fofers and bloggers hoping I am finally stopped? On the positive side I don't know of people going anywhere they don't enjoy this often. Whatever your reason, I enjoy the company. Thank you.
So long...
No comments:
Post a Comment