Pessimistic therapy laws (possibly final)

Why have I lost interest in writing blog articles? I don't know. But within a few minutes I will have figured it out, because the answer is a feeling and I can read feelings for their meaning. My interest in psychology has faded mostly. It has now reduced to the moment with the client. The moment is a spark of human intimate contact, which rushes me to life, deep life. I see that at age seventy, I have lost ninety-five percent of my illusory meaning, which has gone through probably a hundred incarnations since college. I see clients with false meaning all the time. We discuss that sometimes, but just as part of their therapy. For me -- I am at a place of finally relaxing without identity energy, no longer working or pushing my wishful thinking to be. I find I don't need to know all of the latest psychology, or even to know enough. I rest on my laurels as they slip away, gradually, from under me.

People need meaning. But I'm questioning that. I'm not the powerful breadwinner anymore. Psychological determinism is not acceptable to the great majority, who live in their head and positive delusions. I finally look old. There's an odd Twilight Zone symbolism going on: When I look in the office restroom mirror, my face is smooth and aesthetic, my neck is firm. But when I am doing teletherapy and flip the camera to see myself, I look old and unattractive and have neck wattle. There are two different people: the image I like of myself, and the me that others see.

Children's meaning fades when their feelings are buried within them, their fire is lost because of lack of empathy from their parents. This begins the travels of false meanings: career power, career prestige, narcissism, looks, talent, dependency, music, intellect, good provider, good husband or wife, parent. If we finally drop them we are left with a body and with eyes that see all of our time in every moment, not our time colored by our identity. We're aware of very little of all of this, but it's there. Now we're susceptible to, victims of, whatever is stirred and no longer stirred within us. I don't tell myself, anymore, that I have this or that feeling. I don't say how I feel about life. I don't have to say (to myself) I love my wife. It's always more complicated, more unknowable than that.

I no longer feel I have anyone to write to, and hardly a new problem to write about. Ideas of radical depth psychology are a fusion of poignant and fulsome. They are nothing one would write on a banner and lift high on a crusade, on the adventure of life. The magic that people believe is always preferable.