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.