Monday, May 18, 2015


Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself completely unable to be interested in psychological writing or thinking outside of the therapy hour.  There, it happens.  At home, nothing.  I have not been able to read the state behind this vacuity, this non-energy.  If it is a mood, it is an extremely quiet or subtle one.  If it is, it may say that a kind of futility or failure has settled in.  This, I have no doubt, comes more from the many months I haven’t seen my wife, and less from the fact that a certain state counseling board is reviewing my personal experience and qualities as a mere dot on a slow-flowing flow chart.  I wait and wait.

Quite a few of my posts are about the oceanic nature or “molecular mess” of the psyche.  That’s applicable to me, because I am sensing everything about my life in this moment.  Not failure or futility precisely, but a leaking between real and unreal, a permanent lack of movement, the identity of childhood and near-old age.  Bad things come to mind: Meaning can disappear as suddenly, as distressingly, as a good client terminating without saying goodbye.  This makes sense: I know where I came from.  But one would really like to move on, transcend something.

So for now, I assume this hibernation.  I appreciate those folks who stumble upon my page, and the few loyalists.  I can only ask you to click back occasionally, to see if the ocean has shifted.

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Comments are welcome, but I'd suggest you first read "Feeling-centered therapy" and "Ocean and boat" for a basic introduction to my kind of theory and therapy.