Imagine being a
person whose perception of reality is replaced by his needs and feelings. For
him, facts and truth first form in the crucible of survival, the survival of a
pretense ego, a prosthetic self, and then are superimposed on the real world.
In the case of someone with wealth and power and fame, this may seem just a severe
quirk. But in truth it's a prison of delusion he cannot escape. It is a
terrible way to exist. It is one of the high ironies of humankind that we can’t
feel pity for someone like this – someone so glorious about his delusions – or could, only if we step back in the most disinterested wisdom and see the tragedy of a man who can never rip the skin of sleep* from his eyes, the small dream the size of himself.
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* The established poetic metaphor is the “skein of sleep.” No poetry here.
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* The established poetic metaphor is the “skein of sleep.” No poetry here.
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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.