tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130026032024-02-03T04:17:55.795-08:00thoughts about life and other mysteriesJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-17337620823965945062022-03-22T13:59:00.002-07:002022-03-22T14:07:39.366-07:00Mortality Hill<p>Hello! I’m curious who might be reading this as I haven’t posted in a good while.</p><p>I had an experience yesterday and just wanted to put it into words. First, my habit is to avoid “Mortality Hill,” my nickname for a stretch of trail that branches off the main trail at a local park. This elevated arc detour is the place where my mother once lost consciousness, bubbling at the mouth and scaring the shit out of me. We had been walking and, at the top of that hill, had to stop and rest on the park bench. In a panic and mind racing, I wondered how we would make it back to the car. Long story short, we did, and my mother recovered, although she says she’s not been the same since then.</p><p>Now you see why I avoid that particular area. No need to unnecessarily re-traumatize myself. So, yesterday while walking the park I bypassed the treacherous route. As I looked ahead on the trail, I noticed two women walking together. I had seen them twice earlier and, the first time, noticed they were too deep in conversation to acknowledge my presence as I walked by. I said “hello,” perhaps a bit too loudly (although not intentionally), and they both seemed to startle as they returned the greeting and kept going. (Side note: A pet peeve of mine is people on the trail who won’t even make eye contact. Just one more reminder of how unnecessarily isolated we can be from one another.) The second time, there was no mistaking their rudeness as they approached while “forcing” me out of their way by refusing to follow basic trail etiquette of staying to the right, as we do in our vehicles on the road. So, when I saw them in the distance, approaching for the <i>third</i> time, I made a quick decision and abruptly changed direction to follow a branch of the trail that led out of the park and onto the sidewalk of a busy street. Since I didn’t want to leave the park, I ended up trekking up a dirt and rock trail that jutted out from the paved one. Well, guess where that led?</p><p>The dirt trail wound around the woods and spilled right out onto Mortality Hill and the bench I had been avoiding since that awful experience with my mother. Of course, by then I needed to stop and rest. There I sat, feeling like a fool on the hill.</p><p>How did this happen? Not ten minutes earlier, I had intentionally avoided that hill and now I was there, having arrived by a back route after (intentionally) avoiding a couple of women who had annoyed me out of either ignorance or spite, who knows. (Did I really say “hello” too loudly?) So, there I sat, contemplating life, death, and synchronicity. Those oblivious women had successfully – even if inadvertently – redirected me to exactly where I didn’t want to be. After a brief respite, I ambled down the hill and on my way, rattled.</p><p>That’s it. There’s more, but you get the gist. How often do plans go awry? We intend to do one thing and end up doing something totally unexpected.</p><p>Thank you for visiting today.</p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-18297962916106422162020-06-06T14:02:00.002-07:002020-06-07T12:24:47.953-07:00Part 3, ChangeThis will be the final post in the series. I started out enthusiastic but am losing steam. Ventura did such a good job of describing the wisdom of psychotherapy's elders that my attempt to summarize is going to be inadequate, no matter what. Will just quote a few more things and call it a day. My mental health is suffering enough.<br />
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Since I’m not an insider, but not exactly an outsider either, my “voice” might be of limited value. Still, as a person, I deserve to be heard. Pages 5 and 6 of the <a href="https://michaelventura.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/The-Wisdom-of-the-Elders-Mar-Apr-2006.pdf">Elders</a> document are about therapists taking positions on social issues. “The very fact that you’re neutral is a position,” said Hillman. There is nothing neutral about a political act, and taking a stand is political. A therapist’s mission is to awaken a sense of responsibility. How is this done? Erving Polster suggests extending psychotherapy into communities of large therapy groups, available for a lifetime. Therapists would “institutionalize friendship and group connection… and become, in effect, therapeutic community organizers and leaders.” Another elder, Mary Catherine Bateson, said, “All of us are complicit in a world system that maintains poverty and leads to environmental degradation.” To the question of political timidity, she said, “we’re using a lot of our energy to repress and stop thinking about the asymmetries in our relationship to the rest of the world.” Etc. Etc. Etc.<br />
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As mentioned in part 1, I attended the 2009 conference. When it was over, I spent my last night in California at a bed and breakfast in Newport Beach. It was a relief to be out of there, quite frankly. Although the training was superb, ultimately I would walk away from an internship and abandon the idea of becoming a therapist.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-51955574643141562672020-06-03T15:51:00.005-07:002020-06-06T14:11:29.297-07:00Part 2, A Moral ChoiceThe way we deal with our need for power is key, says William Glasser, another one of my personal favorite elders. The question of whether power is treatable is an interesting one. Continuing with Ventura’s article, he describes elder Thomas Szasz as “the longtime gadfly of traditional psychiatry.” An annoyance. Szasz sees pharmacology plus managed care as a deadly combination.<br />
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Yet another elder, Cloe Madanes, sees our violent behavior toward one another as the culprit. Because of this, “relationships are the battlefield of treatment.” Interestingly, in her expansion of the idea, she actually – maybe inadvertently, or not – advocates something that would ultimately lead all potential clients away from psychological services. “We have to organize people to help themselves, and organize them to change their relationships and determine their own future,” she says.</div>
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The gadfly took it further. Since the government controls managed care, Szasz says, therapists would in essence be colluding with “the government-instigated idea of who fits in and who doesn't.” Standing against that would mean risking their livelihoods in pursuit of mental health for all.</div>
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At this point, nobody cheered and nobody booed. Seems the audience was being asked to make “a moral choice that they were unprepared to face.” But a “collective national strike” is what another elder suggested was needed. <a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2020/05/old-enough.html">James Hillman</a> has made numerous appearances in my blog. While the topic of power as a treatable problem had already been raised, here was Hillman suggesting audience members <i>use</i> their power as essential workers to strike. The demand of the mental health care workers would not be monetary. It would be “for justice and compassion toward their patients – strike against bureaucracies, strike against managed care, strike against pharmacological quick fixes that often don't work.”</div>
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Political engagement is reactionary, though. People trained in anger management are by that very training cut off from staging a strike. Hamstrung by professional ethics, therapists typically don’t concern themselves with their clients’ political lives.</div>
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I invite you, dear reader, to engage with what I’ve written here. It’s an attempt at summarizing pages 3 and 4 of Ventura’s <a href="https://michaelventura.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/The-Wisdom-of-the-Elders-Mar-Apr-2006.pdf">article</a>. My intention is to write two more posts, covering the remaining four pages.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnqg723SAXCnm5vN4K5YN_2Ebw8Zo6c85nRM9nAfFz7Dd9C3j0vZYbXofapEqUFqmYGPgJPpQ7jJ1C0oe0hVbjjNMtUrOCHXJaRJ49jr22dcTi1f_5YDyuzlL1njFPgSN2OcP/s1600/IMG_0800.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnqg723SAXCnm5vN4K5YN_2Ebw8Zo6c85nRM9nAfFz7Dd9C3j0vZYbXofapEqUFqmYGPgJPpQ7jJ1C0oe0hVbjjNMtUrOCHXJaRJ49jr22dcTi1f_5YDyuzlL1njFPgSN2OcP/s320/IMG_0800.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p1" style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">Dialogue: The Myth of Psychotherapy<br />James Hillman, PhD and Sue Johnson, PhD</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">December 2009, Evolution of Psychotherapy</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">(I snapped this photo from the audience)</p></div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-42309578151242541162020-06-01T09:07:00.013-07:002020-06-01T10:10:35.502-07:00Part 1, A World Gone MadI recently heard that a good way to tell a story is to arrive late and leave early. With that in mind, I’m starting with notes I took yesterday about an <a href="https://michaelventura.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/The-Wisdom-of-the-Elders-Mar-Apr-2006.pdf">article</a> written in 2006, one that I just discovered (maybe around the time I heard the chestnut about approaching writing as if you are going to a party). I now wish I’d seen the article in 2009. “The Wisdom of the Elders: Psychotherapy’s Elders Throw Down the Gauntlet” by Michael Ventura is a commentary on a psychological conference that is held every few years. If I had read it before volunteering at the 2009 conference, I would have walked in with different expectations. At the time, I was completing my coursework for a master’s degree in professional counseling. My practicum supervisor suggested I attend the conference as a volunteer, not only for the experience but to get a significant discount on admission.<br />
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Ventura’s article starts with a description of the conference site. It brought back my memories of staying in a hotel within walking distance. Both hotel and convention center are located directly across the street from Disneyland. While walking to and fro between hotel and conference, the sound of people screaming on the rides was constant. So, imagine my surprise while reading the opening paragraph:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">"The Anaheim Convention Center, site of last December's ‘Evolution of Psychotherapy’ conference [2005], is a monument to the impersonal: antiseptic cavernous halls; inhumanly and impractically high ceilings; enormous, featureless rooms; and escalators almost the length of a city block. Its decor consists of hard and soft grays and whites, relentlessly neutral and acoustically dead. Without a microphone, no one can hear you, even if you scream.”</blockquote>
The screams coming from Disneyland were inaudible inside that “monument to the impersonal,” too.<br />
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I need to take a step back here. This is not a report on the conference, and it’s not just a review of the article. It’s my attempt to step back in time to remember a significant event, that conference. There is so much to tell and I don’t know where to begin. I learned in the article that “Patch Adams” himself was a guest at the 2005 conference. Last night, I watched a <a href="https://youtu.be/CdCrPBqQALc">video</a> of him speaking in 2010. He says this country, the United States, rewards fame rather than intelligence. His clowning has made him famous and on his tours he spreads an impassioned and intelligent message. Perhaps this comment by one of the viewers of the video sums it up: “No price should be placed on well-being, ever.”<br />
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Hunter Doherty “Patch” Adams gave the keynote speech at the 2005 conference. The speech was, according to plan, supposed to address mental illness as a <i>normal</i> response to disaster that requires not medication but a call for action to create healthy contexts. Ventura mused upon why a keynote clown was an appropriate tone-setter for a gathering whose stated theme was <i>a call to social action</i>.<br />
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Thinking about this today, I wonder whether sending in the clowns might be just the thing. Burn the place down and dance on the ashes with Bozo and his compadres. Why not? We’re never going to “all get along,” so let’s just laugh our way through what’s left. Of course, I’m joking! We need a lot more than laughter, and yet maybe we also need <i>more</i> laughter.<br />
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I’m grateful to Ventura for documenting his experience at that conference. I intend to write more about it idays to come. The article, after all, is eight pages long and what I’m covering today doesn’t even include the first two pages. He uses the word “wag” to describe someone he met who characterized the elders as Sinatras. (Frank liked clowns, didn’t he?) Business as usual, the status quo, occupied “much of what was presented,” Ventura writes.<br />
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We are now twenty years into the 21st century, which ends at the strike of midnight on the eve ushering in New Year’s Day 2101. In other words, the century is both 20% over and 80% unlived, yet to be experienced. The conference sessions dealing with the historical impact of therapy during these 100 years were mostly led by “radical visionaries... over 80.” The swan song of the Sinatras seemed to be, “What larger role can psychotherapy play in a world gone mad?”<br />
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Thus ends Part 1.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FdjvOzIBRG-txm49eseres6c3rAsQSQMspZYKR6vfWBTGdd189KpKbhnmHqbhDmTCtrJVJmibUJV2wjvT8r3NTPkvSPBm0e6nKeI4YeyPAZntG8_BdNyFO5M5ZWxkW8xnt9i//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FdjvOzIBRG-txm49eseres6c3rAsQSQMspZYKR6vfWBTGdd189KpKbhnmHqbhDmTCtrJVJmibUJV2wjvT8r3NTPkvSPBm0e6nKeI4YeyPAZntG8_BdNyFO5M5ZWxkW8xnt9i/s320/IMG_0791.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo taken December 2009 in the Anabella Hotel lobby)</div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-91178850055634730912020-05-31T07:34:00.007-07:002020-06-01T10:33:45.252-07:00Old EnoughHow am I only now hearing <a href="https://youtu.be/1qahZ-whM6o" target="_blank">this song</a> for the first time? I plucked it off a friend’s Facebook page. A friend who is currently in “jail,” she told me, for what seems to be a ridiculous reason. I won’t even go into it because it’s too stupid and she didn’t deserve it. Part of the song includes a refrain from another song, <i>Wake Up Little Susie</i>.<br />
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A tune going through my head right now: “Wake up, little story, wake up.” You’d think, after all this time, I’d have a better handle on “my story.” What if there’s no such thing, though. My story might just be a social construct someone else created to make me feel inadequate. (Ha, just kidding. Or am I?) Surely I don’t just have <i>one</i> story. (Stop calling me Shirley, an old friend just said, in my head.) You see, our stories are always connected to other people. My friend in Facebook jail. My old friend who made lame but still funny “Shirley” jokes. What would Karen say? (Kidding, again.) I do have a friend named Karen and we’ve never once discussed <i>that</i> Karen, the one who has ruined things for all the Karens. (Just google news articles about Karen, you'll see.)<br />
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I’m trusting this elusive story will eventually reveal itself. Maybe if I sit here typing for long enough, coaxing it out of its hiding place, it’ll... what, steal the show? Dance out onto the stage? Throw a tantrum? Who knows. I just wanted to post something in this blog today, that’s all. No, it’s more than that. More than a blog entry.<br />
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An older post (maybe a few of them) in the archive has recently come to my attention. I’d like to explore <i>why</i> these ideas are coming back to me now, in a pandemic, in a time of riotous and catastrophic events. I’ve written about James Hillman before: <a href="https://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2006/11/heroism.html">here</a> (2006), <a href="https://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2007/02/it-is-often-said-that-if-end-justifies.html">here</a> (2007), and <a href="https://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2008/09/poor-little-truth.html">here</a> (2008).<br />
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I spoke to him once. To Hillman. In December 2009, I was part of an audience listening to him speak. When we were given the opportunity to ask him questions at the end, mine was concerning the meaning behind something he had written in one of his books. If you click on the link to the 2007 blog post, above, you will see the troubling words I wanted to hear him explain. When I asked my question, however, he seemed defensive and said something to the effect: I meant what I said and said what I meant. In other words, it was my fault I hadn’t grasped the meaning of what he was trying to say. Later, I found out that book in particular was one he found hard to talk about.<br />
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I recently came across <a href="https://michaelventura.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/The-Wisdom-of-the-Elders-Mar-Apr-2006.pdf">this article</a>, written in 2006. Here is where I need to get more clear on what to say. It relates to something I wrote in my other blog, <a href="https://write3chairs.wordpress.com/2020/05/28/the-glass/">Three Chairs</a>. Need to start a new post, one that isn’t so full of links.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-25822327249831749142020-02-02T08:43:00.001-08:002020-02-07T12:25:27.771-08:00The Ones Who Walk AwayHave you ever read the short story by Ursula K. Le Guin, <i><a href="http://sites.asiasociety.org/asia21summit/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/3.-Le-Guin-Ursula-The-Ones-Who-Walk-Away-From-Omelas.pdf">The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas</a></i>? It further illustrates the message I was alluding to in yesterday’s post. If you haven’t read it (or if you would like to read it again, as I did), click on the linked title above. It’s a fairly quick read and yet opens a world of thought about demagogues and other beasts.<br />
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I tried my hand at writing a follow-up short-short story. Thanks for indulging me. Comments welcome, as always.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.5px;">What happens to the ones who walk away? Suppose they find each other and start a new community, Salemo. These new citizens scheme and plan how to repair, to make right the city they abandoned. Omelas, the one whose citizens had, for generations, tacitly agreed to torture a single child at all times. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.5px;">Rumor has it that some of the many children who are chosen for the foul basement closet eventually get transferred out. To a special home or institution, a place where the deranged imbeciles can retire when they outgrow childhood. Here they are kept alive somehow, maybe on intravenous drips. Perhaps attendants periodically flip them over in their beds, a feeble attempt to stem infection from the inevitable sores. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.5px;">Further stories suggest the chosen child is typically left to die with no human intervention at all. After the amount of time it would take for the child to starve itself to death, a few obedient citizens of Omelas would come in and dispose of the ruined body. They would then ready the room for the next occupant. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.5px;">The Salemoans had actually completed successful kidnappings of the trapped child. But another unfortunate boy or girl was always in the wings. A replacement offering to the city of conditional joy. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 13.5px;">So, whether by fatal neglect or compassionate ‘rescue,’ the tragic child situation is handled. The terrible room is routinely emptied then quickly filled. A perennial maintenance plan to keep the vibrant city alive. The ones who walk away can never forget what they left behind. The guilt they were never allowed in Omelas hits them full-on in Salemo. </span></blockquote>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-74792314589918117452020-01-31T13:00:00.001-08:002020-01-31T16:02:49.515-08:00Sharing the Joy and Sorrow of Others<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"If you enjoyed this podcast episode, feel free to share it with others, write a review...."</i></div>
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Well, okay. I will. I did enjoy it and will post a link and a brief review.<br />
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I came across this episode earlier in the week when I was looking for a secular meditation to help me calm the fuck down.<br />
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It did just that, even though it wasn't really a meditation. More a teaching. A lesson. I'm going through a tough time, a really difficult situation, and needed to step back from it.<br />
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<a href="https://secularbuddhism.com/120-unconditional-joy/"> Unconditional Joy</a><br />
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(Click on the link above to listen. The episode is a little over 30 minutes long.)<br />
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You can also read along as there is a transcript at the link, too.<br />
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Although the podcast episode was a great thing to listen to while taking a walk, I thought about it again today when I heard someone expressing dismay over her mother's fervent wish that she, the daughter, would <i>regularly</i> attend church. That one lifestyle change, going to church, would apparently make the mother happy; it would bring her joy. The daughter doesn't quite see it that way, though. If she chose to go to church just to make her mother happy but her heart wasn't really in it, what kind of happiness would the mother experience?<br />
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So, that conversation sent me back to the podcast episode again. Which is when I discovered the transcript. A few sentences are relevant here.<br />
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This one:<br />
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<i>"I don’t approve of what you’re rejoicing about."</i></div>
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And:<br />
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<i>"Why do I not find joy in that?"</i></div>
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Then:<br />
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<i>"What conditions have I placed on joy, that prevent me from experiencing such a natural emotion?"</i></div>
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I am compelled now to say I don't find much joy in anything anymore. Nope, not looking for sympathy or pity. It's just a fact. And it's complicated, of course.<br />
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At the risk of simplifying the contents of the episode, I will say I do not believe it can be easily summarized. Please listen to the whole thing. Experience it, and comment here if you are so inclined.<br />
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In conclusion, and only because I don't have energy to say more, the podcaster urges listeners to be honest with ourselves and notice how we are actually feeling about someone else's joy or sorrow. Perhaps ambivalent?<br />
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<i>"Why don’t I feel that? I wonder why? What did it take for this moment to arise? What kind of mental conditioning is preventing me from feeling that sorrow [or joy] that you’re feeling, for what you’re going through."</i></div>
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Thank you for reading. I haven't posted in awhile.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-16207484638896058832018-02-18T14:21:00.000-08:002018-02-18T14:21:48.886-08:00Hello! Long time no see, right? I haven’t blogged here in ages but wanted to write out some “thoughts about life and other mysteries” and remembered an old post, <a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2006/11/heroism.html">Heroism</a>. So, to start, I will share a paragraph from that:<br />
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<i>Returning to Hirsch (2002, The Intermediary chap.), he makes a distinction between duende and what has come to be known as demonic. At the same time, though, he notes they might be unconsciously related. As an example, he points to Martin Luther and the struggle he had with the “theological demon of doubt,” which resulted in him throwing an inkwell at the devil. I use the example of Luther to note the important difference in duende and the demonic. Hirsch states that duende “bypasses the negative Judeo-Christian implications of demon” and that it “side-steps the moral terminology of foul possession.” I also use this example to point out something else common to heroes, their fallibility. Martin Luther’s heroism notwithstanding, his anti-Semitism created many problems. (The history of Martin Luther is beyond the scope of this paper, but a Google search using key words mentioned here will yield good information about it.)</i></blockquote>
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Just to give you a brief recap of the nature of <i>that</i> post, here is a snip from the abstract: “The purpose is to show how heroism emerges in everyday life, and how it is significant in the life of an ordinary person. It covers a variety of aspects of heroism, in particular the heroes who have crossed my path, how their heroism has manifested, how heroism manifests in ordinary people, and some components that are present in a heroic life.” (Why an abstract? Because this is a paper I turned in for a class.)<br />
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I had shared the paper with a friend and he ended up pointing me to this article, <a href="https://newrepublic.com/article/145925/luther-legend">The Luther Legend</a>. The article is long and somewhat tedious but I made it through. Not sure what to think of it, actually, but it seemed significant enough to put out there into the blogosphere. Maybe I will return to it later.<br />
<br />
My beliefs have changed so much over the past decade or so. As a secular-minded person, I don’t subscribe to belief in a God or gods. But all this religious history is significant, regardless.<br />
<br />
That’s all for now. Thanks, as always, for reading.<br />
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-59399115895692684062017-03-31T04:07:00.002-07:002017-03-31T04:07:50.277-07:00National Poetry MonthI came back to this long neglected blog, searching for poetry I can share with some friends at a writers' meeting on Saturday, which is also day one of National Poetry Month.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I will start blogging here again. Has been interesting reading through the archived posts, remembering past events and circumstances. Life was <a href="http://lowres.cartoonstock.com/animals-cat-boardroom-meetings-hairball-coughs-dre0102_low.jpg">strange</a> then, even stranger now.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-87563155601719789782010-09-24T15:53:00.001-07:002010-09-24T15:53:44.500-07:00please visit my new blog<a href="http://write3chairs.wordpress.com">three chairs</a>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-10567338705668790722010-06-04T10:19:00.001-07:002010-06-04T12:04:44.848-07:00Vitameatavegamin<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">So, a perky woman sold me some vitamins yesterday. I opened my first packet a few minutes ago, swallowed the contents (six pills), and I'm sitting here waiting for them to kick in. I tricked myself into swallowing them two at a time by doing what the saleswoman suggested, which is to put two on your tongue, making sure one of them is slippery, then swallowing them together. I did that, and it worked. Just like a cool hat trick a magician might pull.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Swallowing large pills, bitter or otherwise, is difficult and unpleasant for me and this is one of the reasons I have never really developed the habit of taking vitamins regularly. The typical vitamin is huge. And I typically choke on them. Seriously, I have memories of painful episodes where I ended up throwing away some damn pill that had been in my mouth too long, melting into my tongue. One unsuccessful attempt after another, trying to force the foul-tasting thing down.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Another reason I have avoided vitamins is that I've long been of the opinion that food and drink ought to provide all the nutrients we need. And that may well be true, especially if one is careful to plan nutritious and healthy meals. But now that I'm taking vitamins, and I do plan to continue (I think), maybe I can slack a little on nutrition. After all, with each little packet I open, I'm getting all those vitamins and other nutrients! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I can eat anything I want now. Bring on the Twinkies, the cheeseburgers and greasy fries. Give me an extra helping of ice cream, too, because it's all I'm having for dinner tonight and that big bowl I intend to down is not going to hold me for very long.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Yikes. I hope you know I am kidding. But really, the tempting thought of how easy it would be now to really slack as far as nutrition goes, using the excuse that I'm all charged up on super-vitamins, is entertaining. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The real reason, however, that I am now taking vitamins is twofold. One, I am seeking my daughter's approval. She's been bugging me about this for a long time now. Two, I have reached the half-century mark in age and realize my body is in decline.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">As I stood there in the health and nutrition store, listening to (and especially watching) the saleswoman rave about how great those pills make her feel, I could almost feel myself perking up, even though I had yet to down a single pill. Just think, I could come to feel as good as she </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">seems</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> to feel. And wouldn't </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> be great. I'd get so much more done, would stop feeling so lethargic and depressed, my crankiness would be all but gone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I might not even recognize myself! Hey, maybe I'll become a whole new person with this sudden burst of new energy. We'll see. In any event, it sounds like a good idea so I'll give it a try.</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-3643404438131249132010-06-02T09:45:00.000-07:002010-06-04T11:26:14.242-07:00The Ghosts That Haunt Me, Part III<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Think I'll wrap this one up today. I started this series of posts as a writing exercise, suggested by one of the writers in my little bard club, to explore the territory covered in "Superman's Song," by the Crash Test Dummies. I had never heard of the song when it was suggested, and actually wasn't too familiar with the band either. My daughter thinks they "suck" but I am willing to give almost any band a chance, not being much of a music snob. This is not to suggest that my daughter is a snob when it comes to music. She is a musician and rather discerning about her likes and dislikes. This morning, I had the pleasure of sitting on her bedroom floor and listening to her pick away on her </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oud"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">oud</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. Quite lovely, soothing.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Anyway, here is the subversive bit of controversial nonsense I came up with this morning:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Supe's Dead</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, the headline reads. Superman represents the ideal arbiter of truth and justice. Real men aren't supermen, though.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The city is its own jungle. Real men adapt to their environments. If criminals are the "norm," men conform to that norm. If they refuse, they fight a losing battle. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It's not fair that people are taxed for things they don't use or care about, but just try to avoid paying taxes. We adapt to cultural norms, all the while railing against them.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Marriage and monogamy, disgusting. But just try breaking free of a family unit and see what happens. No thanks. I've seen it at a distance and I'll keep the monotony. Triangle of M: Marriage, Monogamy, Monotony. The holy trinity of cultural strangulation, choking the life out of many of us who choose, yes </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">choose</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, to live this way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Where's Superman when you need him? He's an ideal; he's not real. He provides a kind of service for the comic book characters with whom he shares the stage (frame). Supercop, defeating super-badguys. In real life, even the supposedly good guys are badguys. Gotta be a criminal in society to be a contributing member of it, propping up "the system" with our monetary obligations.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Don't take me there. I'm pissed off enough as it is, without consciously thinking about the war machine, such as it may be. This beast, created by mankind, for the purpose of defending liberty and democracy. Yeah, right. Like I said, don't get me started.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Of course we need Superman! How could we live without an ideal figure representing truth, justice, and the American Way? Oh, ha ha ha ha. An American writer created him, remember? Let's not get started on </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> theme! America the superpower. Now there's the root of all our problems: American power. Sick, twisted, perverted "justice" that allows criminals to keep running things and the goodguys to suffer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Oh wait, who are they? The good guys. I keep forgetting. We need memorials erected to keep them in our minds and hearts. War heroes? No, those are the standard Army-issue variety. Let's come up with some real heroes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">This takes me back to a blog I wrote awhile back, </span><a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2006/11/heroism.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Heroism</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. Actually, it didn't start out as a blog entry. This was an academic paper I turned in to one of my professors, in the fall of 2006, when I first went back to school to get my master's degree.</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-67329059868069386552010-05-25T16:38:00.000-07:002010-06-02T10:10:36.268-07:00The Ghosts That Haunt Me, Part II<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I killed a bunny today. It darted out under my vehicle as I was driving along a road that is surrounded by natural plants and wildflowers. I should have known, or at least thought about the possibility of something alive passing by in front of us.<br /><br />My daughter and mother-in-law were passengers and thus witnessed the sickening event. We all felt the impact, the ugly thud of a tire passing over a small body. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the still and furry lump in the road, a being that only moments before had been animated with bunny life.<br /><br />Goddamn it. I did that! Ended a poor rabbit's life because it didn't know any better and ran into the path of an oncoming death machine. Stupid rabbit!<br /><br />It's too late to do anything about it now, though. I felt the need to validate myself afterward and questioned my daughter, who was sitting in the backseat. Could I have avoided the accident? At first, she was just upset about the bunny being killed and it seemed like she wanted to blame me; but later she blamed the rabbit for its destiny as roadkill.<br /><br />It's a grim reality we sometimes must face. Things happen that are mostly out of our control and the consequences bring pain into our lives. All three of us experienced the death of the rabbit, but the "smoking gun" was mine because I was driving the vehicle that ran over the unfortunate creature.<br /><br />What is also unfortunate is referring to this animal as "it" when, in fact, he or she has a gender. That is unfair, and yet who knows whether a boy bunny or a girl bunny died? Will another bunny come along and discover the corpse? Will some other bunny miss the dead bunny, or will the death have no impact on anybody but him or her and the humans who witnessed the death, who were somehow responsible for it?<br /><br />How does a person process something like this? If I had been on the lookout for an animal in the road, I might have seen it and been able to avoid hitting it. But the thought did not cross my mind and I wonder who is at fault for this failure to recognize the possibility of something like this happening. Despite the nature of the area we were passing through, I was not thinking about a sudden need to swerve, slow down, or come to a stop.<br /><br />Poor bunny rabbit. I regret hitting him or her, but there is nothing I can do now. RIP. I ended the life of a living creature, a little sweetheart. Somehow, this became my destiny and it makes me sad.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-64947874493982267972010-05-21T12:48:00.000-07:002010-05-21T13:14:01.982-07:00The Ghosts That Haunt Me<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The thing about Superman is he is a myth to begin with. And with this in mind, it exists in people's minds as a concept and not as a real person. The point of a "super man" is that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">if</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> such a person </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">did</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> exist, how might our lives be different?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Well, that is a point I think about. My preferences in life tend toward reality, and yet mythology is reality, too. Superman is a fun concept, I reckon. The realm of imagination, of what can be imagined, is itself a mythological reality. Carl Jung touched on the idea with his "collective unconscious" storyline.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Each one of us is capable of imagining Superman. And since he exists </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">only</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> in our imaginations, we each see "him" differently. Some might imagine him as being close to (but not quite) all-wise and all-powerful, semi-godlike. In any case, he is magical with his "super" powers, extraordinary abilities, things nobody living on earth is capable of doing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Now Clark Kent, that's a guy who seems real. And this is the part of the Superman storyline that draws us into the idea of Superman as just an ordinary guy in disguise. Speaking of "the thing is," the other (or just another) thing is, when a person imagines that another person could come to possess superhuman powers, the realization dawns that people actually </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">do</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> come to possess "superhuman" powers under some conditions, and this has been demonstrated many times in real life situations: saving a trapped child by lifting weight that, under normal conditions, a person could not possibly lift, for example.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I would attribute this to a positive use of the power generated by fear. In this example, the fear is for the child's life, which the rescuer wants to see continued. In other words, in life-or-death situations, fear can instill supernatural power in a motivated person. But Superman's powers go way beyond that which a normal human being is capable.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But wouldn't any properly (or appropriately) motivated "normal" person be capable of developing powers similar to those extraordinary powers displayed when faced with danger? In other words, can fear be transformed to strength in situations that aren't quite as dire as life-or-death situations?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Yes, of course, for this is a basic tool of even the beginning artist.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">(Inspired by: </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihUIPlLw2ZE"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Superman's Song - Crash Test Dummies</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">)</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-57261324494093484592010-05-03T10:42:00.000-07:002010-05-03T13:48:31.258-07:00A Charmed Life<p class="meanings-body"><span style="font-size:130%;">From Shakespeare's tragedy <em>Macbeth</em>, 1605. Act V, Scene 8.<br /></span> </p><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;">... I bear a charmed life, which must not yield, To one of woman born.</span></blockquote><p class="meanings-body"><span style="font-size:130%;">My brother breezed into town last week for a couple of days. We only got to spend a few hours together, but my time with him always leaves me very thoughtful because of the various places we go in conversation. One of the things he said to me this time is that he views our childhood as charmed. "You know, we lived a charmed life," he told me with astonishing authority.</span></p><p class="meanings-body"><span style="font-size:130%;">Hey wait. I was there, too. Our lives were far from "charmed." Indeed. He pointed to the fact that we never really lived in any way that could be considered impoverished, in a financial sense. And this part may be true, but I wonder what either one of our parents would say to this "charmed life" theory of his. Our father is no longer living. He was disabled for many years and we lived on my mother's salary as well as on whatever disability payments came in as a result of Dad's illness. Quite frankly, I have many depressing memories of those days. But I kind of get his point, that we never really lacked any material thing we needed. But charmed?</span></p><p class="meanings-body"><span style="font-size:130%;">Something about that idea really sticks in my craw. I think of a charmed life as being one in which things have been more or less handed to you, with very little of your own effort involved. A silver spoon kind of existence. Is that a charmed life?</span></p><p class="meanings-body"><span style="font-size:130%;">What do you think. What exactly </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;">is</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> a charmed life?<br /></span></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-90171041483035462792009-12-21T08:17:00.000-08:002010-05-03T10:59:11.910-07:00Going to California<div><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">This is my favorite photo of the ones I took recently in California. The view out the window is of Newport Beach.</span><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VZvwVat6GdS8FJxPqlvc0dVBg3kOBHlfq8WKx0eZh3NKQQN5nDnIpFX4RyjAV5LoKnhhSbemaOk2nfXUAonhS5eTb0ohBw2oRKNrD8QFJB6QmxSTzFfPmIltmAdIBiQWyz4l/s1600-h/IMG_0840.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VZvwVat6GdS8FJxPqlvc0dVBg3kOBHlfq8WKx0eZh3NKQQN5nDnIpFX4RyjAV5LoKnhhSbemaOk2nfXUAonhS5eTb0ohBw2oRKNrD8QFJB6QmxSTzFfPmIltmAdIBiQWyz4l/s400/IMG_0840.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417725265689691362" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-7587444333981260152009-11-30T12:28:00.000-08:002009-11-30T13:48:10.724-08:00more thoughts about cognitive dissonance<span style="font-size:130%;">So, as I mentioned earlier, my daughter and I have had this ongoing dialogue about cognitive dissonance. She brought it up and I have kept it going since we have had some difficult moments with it. Mainly, the difficulty was me not really understanding it completely. And I admit I probably still don't get it, not quite. The idea intrigues me because it seems to explain some of the more perplexing mysteries of life. Like how people can see things so differently from each other and yet not be "wrong" in their perception.<br /><br />For example, consider this conversation we had the other night. I had proposed the idea to her that cognitive dissonance is not like when life gives you lemons you make lemonade but rather: when life gives you lemons, look at what bad decision you made that brought them into your life. She replied that it is more like this (paraphrased and somewhat embellished): You spend a bunch of money on lemons, thinking they will be delicious. But to your chagrin, you discover they taste terrible. Rather than having to face the awful reality that you truly made a Bad Decision, you lie to yourself and pretend that all is peachy. Or lemony. That is cognitive dissonance.<br /><br />That little bit was influenced by something she had shown me, from </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance"><span style="font-size:130%;">Wikipedia</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">:<br /><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;">A powerful cause of dissonance is an idea in conflict with a fundamental element of the self-concept, such as "I am a good person" or "I made the right decision." The anxiety that comes with the possibility of having made a bad decision can lead to rationalization, the tendency to create additional reasons or justifications to support one's choices. A person who just spent too much money on a new car might decide that the new vehicle is much less likely to break down than his or her old car. This belief may or may not be true, but it would likely reduce dissonance and make the person feel better. Dissonance can also lead to confirmation bias, the denial of disconfirming evidence, and other ego defense mechanisms.</span></blockquote><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">All of this has me thinking about the nature of bad decisions. Who judges decisions and on what are those judgments based? What goes into the making of a decision judged as being a bad one? These questions, of course, cannot be <em>specifically</em> answered except in the context of specific situations and decisions.<br /><br />One thing that seems significant here is belief, what a person believes to be true about a situation. Beliefs are built on other beliefs. And decisions, good or bad, seem to be irreversible in that they are final at the time they are made. This being true, those decisions are effective until they are replaced with new decisions that change the outcome or maybe just the perception of the previous decision. Again, this is generally speaking and not referring specifically to any particular situation.<br /><br />Applying it to the situation described above (the Wikipedia excerpt), let's say I am that person who paid too much for the car and in order to make myself feel better about it, I focus on how the new car is in better mechanical condition than the old car. I cannot <em>undo</em> the purchase of the car (the bad decision), will never get that money back. But not only can I appreciate that I feel safer in this new car, I can also focus on the real value of that money. So I "wasted" it; money is money and I can get more. Maybe I will have to spend a little less in some other areas for awhile, maybe even for a long while since I am now making those high monthly car payments. But rather than resent or berate myself for the decision to buy the car, I could instead focus on the enjoyment of that car, despite the cost of it. Or, if it bugs me that much, I could sell it and buy something I believed to be of a value appropriate to the amount of money spent.<br /><br />But I am getting out of my element here, for money is something that I am not comfortable talking about. Maybe this is because of the way I fear money's influence on the decisions that I make, some of them very personal and others quite ordinary. One of my mother's favorite expressions was always: <em>money isn't important unless you don't have any.</em> I guess this holds true for me as well. Very true, in fact.<br /><br />My financial situation right now is that I am not bringing in <em>any</em> money at all while my husband is carrying the full weight of our financial burden. This will not be the case for much longer, I hope, because my intention is to find a paid internship, now that I have my degree and am preparing to take the state licensing test.<br /><br />Meanwhile, back to cognitive dissonance, I am experiencing a lot of it lately, which I suppose is a good reason to want to explore it further. Here is another quote from the same source I referenced above:<br /><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;">The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors, or by justifying or rationalizing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors.</span></blockquote><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Yes, I'd say reducing the "uncomfortable feeling" resulting from a situation where "one idea implies the opposite of another" is something I would definitely like to see happen in my life. This being true, I am making the decision to be grateful for the decisions I have made that have brought truly <em>good</em> things into my life. Some of these decisions were not easy to make; I knew people I cared about would object to them (or at least feel uncomfortable with them); but they turned out to be the "right" thing for me to do after all.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-6103694903829758352009-11-27T13:17:00.000-08:002009-11-27T14:13:26.555-08:00Blog Time<span style="font-size:130%;">It seems about time for a blog entry. Today is supposedly "Black Friday," and I have no idea who came up with that term. But it certainly seems appropriate, for the idea of rushing out and </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >shopping</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> after one day, a single solitary day, of stores being closed for a national holiday, just seems ... well, let me put it this way: sadly American. We spend Thanksgiving Day feasting, gorging ourselves with food glorious food, and yet go on a "fast" from shopping that same day. Hardly anything is open on Thanksgiving, but <a href="http://images.google.com/images?q=black+friday&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi">the day after....</a><br /><br />Okay, enough about that. I started this month with the intention to write a novel in thirty days. Yes, I laughed as I wrote that last sentence. It is embarrassing. But I did succeed at doing just that two years ago: <a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-did-it.html">NaNoWriMo 2007 Winner</a><br /><br />Please forgive me, I needed that pat on the back. I feel sort of redeemed by this past success but still slightly embarrassed by what I did this year, which is start the project knowing it was the month I would also be faced with finishing my master's degree. If I had put my efforts into the novel this year, perhaps I wouldn't even have graduated. As it stands now, I am <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/207672">40,546</a> words away from the 50,000 word finish line! The project ends in a few days and, needless to say, I am one of those people <a href="http://www.fmwriters.com/Visionback/Issue18/Interview.htm">Chris Baty</a> classifies as being in...<br /><br /><strong></strong></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Group Three: <span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1259357647_0">The Go</span> On Without Me's.</strong> </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >For you, November turned out to be a very bad month to try and write a novel. Life went completely crazycakes, and you faced a never-ending series of demanding work or school projects, health emergencies, social obligations, and/or tech meltdowns. You managed to get a few good ideas down on paper, but never quite found your novel's rhythm. You're thinking of bowing out, and planning on giving it a try next year.</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />That's me. That's the group I'm in: Go On Without Me. But I got something I </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >know</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> you didn't get: a watch. That's right. The president of the school I graduated from handed me a nifty watch after I walked across the stage to signify my achievement. It's a pretty watch, too. I am wearing it now. We all got watches. That was my prize whereas the NaNoWriMos won whatever they won this year. I don't care. (Oh, okay. Yes I do care. I hope they won cool stuff this year, too.)<br /><br />But this isn't what I came here to talk about. No. The topic on my mind since early morning ... actually, since last night when my daughter and I were talking about it, is cognitive dissonance. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Cognitive dissonance. Say it out loud. Go ahead. See how it feels to say ... </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >cognitive dissonance</span><span style="font-size:130%;">. (Ha.) It means "the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, esp. as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change."<br /><br />Is that ever </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >me</span><span style="font-size:130%;">! As much as I truly want to change particular attitudes and behaviors, the reality remains: I am what I am, and this is pretty much the person I have always been. The one who still gets stuck in the same behavioral patterns, putting myself into situations where I don't belong, where I need to remain neutral in order be effective. But who can be neutral? I mean really. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Come on.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Neutrality is for people without feelings or opinions. So, inevitably I insert myself wherever I go.<br /><br />But this isn't what I really wanted to talk about here either. I want to cover the ground between the time I stopped working on the ill-fated month-long novel and now. I knew it was going downhill when I wrote these final words:<br /><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;">"Officially, as of now [sometime on November 12th], this project is HISTORY. I don't have the will to finish. NaNoFiniTo. It is a sense of RELIEF. Now I can look at all these characters (me) and see who 'they' really are: a bunch of psychopathic losers; now I can see where this is going and it isn't a pretty place. 'Nobody loves me and nobody cares,' Gloria whined to her dad. 'That's right, kiddo.' Brad looked at Gloria with a homicidal glint in his eye, pulled out ... a piece of paper and wrote ... THE END."</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />And that is how my story died. After that happened, I just started writing whatever was on my mind, putting it all </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >out there</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> in the notebook I bought expressly for the novel wrtiting project. Life on life's terms. It seems to exist in a place of perpetual cognitive dissonance.<br /><br />I'll come back and write more later, I hope.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-79873429860284527982009-11-22T12:30:00.000-08:002010-01-04T13:58:17.725-08:00Graduation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPObLFT2-ubCpe0dKzCF8t3fQ8Hc3ogq0Kv0aI5vgGVeMKMXP1ovgmzDVbe2kUhORkB6ONy4i3tdmsuJyYmz6W-msw_ItKvZYz-3GgOu2W4XUYWg74W7t9PQ8tzUWCV503tE0/s1600-h/jengrad09.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPObLFT2-ubCpe0dKzCF8t3fQ8Hc3ogq0Kv0aI5vgGVeMKMXP1ovgmzDVbe2kUhORkB6ONy4i3tdmsuJyYmz6W-msw_ItKvZYz-3GgOu2W4XUYWg74W7t9PQ8tzUWCV503tE0/s400/jengrad09.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423007309396448546" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" text-decoration: underline;font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">It has been awhile since I updated this blog. But since my "status" has changed (I am no longer a student), I figured what the heck. Here is a photo from my graduation ceremony on November 20th.<br /></span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-91060371312329700152009-05-15T09:58:00.000-07:002009-05-15T10:09:43.815-07:00The Compassionate Caregiver<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKY68liKcDSPd57_XDeIqtNNPfOs7CrONDzY6DF5uef0uSUNwaxVIYkzIEjAsfUwjQyTk3STRyaQB5n3NOwHiyPtpNcANZqfdFKDyJbUQ39g4vWRahq22oZKFebpcQs-Bk5zW/s1600-h/screwedup.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKY68liKcDSPd57_XDeIqtNNPfOs7CrONDzY6DF5uef0uSUNwaxVIYkzIEjAsfUwjQyTk3STRyaQB5n3NOwHiyPtpNcANZqfdFKDyJbUQ39g4vWRahq22oZKFebpcQs-Bk5zW/s400/screwedup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336096269140483090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">People go see shrinks because they can no longer go on in their lives without help. They have either come to realize this on their own, or their circumstances have forced them to this decision. It is also true that the matter might have been decided for them, in a courtroom or even in a living room. Whatever the reason, though, the fact remains that people do end up in therapy, in a room with themselves and another person: a counselor or therapist. Me. I am going to be that person.<br /><br />Why did I choose to become a counselor? I actually am not one yet but am on the verge of starting my first practicum (or internship) at a drug and alcohol recovery center. It is a sobering thought.<br /><br />My daughter and I saw the image above on a refrigerator magnet a few years ago and both found it quite amusing. This was actually before I made the decision to become a counselor. I am thinking about displaying it in my office to help crack the ice with my clients but am not sure whether the humor would be appreciated by everyone. Humor is "funny" that way, you know.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-26226799539573016042009-05-01T13:31:00.000-07:002009-05-15T10:11:36.433-07:00Farewell to Eigenvectör<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhn_99yYOG-RT7022YN186zLAUih46PzyaEBMySsiopCkckn0wRFgTu9SL3ug7pMWtdk6lwIM7sSNerFT0r3YRshPtQVSaBzfEbG6ADjde82rWjM6Y5jCFWResZlEAIH9F_cih/s1600-h/may1playlist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhn_99yYOG-RT7022YN186zLAUih46PzyaEBMySsiopCkckn0wRFgTu9SL3ug7pMWtdk6lwIM7sSNerFT0r3YRshPtQVSaBzfEbG6ADjde82rWjM6Y5jCFWResZlEAIH9F_cih/s400/may1playlist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331663418943474258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">(Their final playlist.)</span><br /></span><div><br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-15316785840501892042009-02-25T14:17:00.000-08:002009-02-26T14:52:06.443-08:00Two reasons to listen to Eigenvectör this week<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7PC3-0kzHks03kWgYX89rSEPQWIM47z0jdWcGmSSNnRqeqc_Xs_QCTk9V4c0Zo2cMjs3oH0v_vNFH6YP39FyKO1jxQ7wcTgDH0dzovrmeyPl8t795SggMLnNDqpCyNa22dIT/s1600-h/n23932778_38145191_3510.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7PC3-0kzHks03kWgYX89rSEPQWIM47z0jdWcGmSSNnRqeqc_Xs_QCTk9V4c0Zo2cMjs3oH0v_vNFH6YP39FyKO1jxQ7wcTgDH0dzovrmeyPl8t795SggMLnNDqpCyNa22dIT/s400/n23932778_38145191_3510.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306864242358840258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Miriam and Harrison<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://radio.utdallas.edu/programs/?id=1834">Eigenvectör</a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Friday</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">4 to 6 p.m. CST </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">5 to 7 p.m. EST<br />3 to 5 p.m. MST<br />2 to 4 p.m. PST<br />10 p.m. to midnight BST<br />11 p.m. to 1 a.m. CET<br />midnight to 2 a.m. EET</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-74523804128067967912009-02-25T11:38:00.000-08:002009-02-25T12:07:28.057-08:00Hope?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Did someone say ... wait a minute. I think </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hope</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> could be a good thing, if only we'd agree on what it means. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I have no hope whatsoever that politicians in general will ever really be nonpartisan, nor do I have hope that they will </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">not</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> be cynical. The ones who are so sure that President Obama represents everything they deplore will (and do) seek to discredit him however they can. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">He promises that our economy will recover. Well, that would be </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">nice</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, but what is the reality of this country's economic strength? The smirks on people's faces last night, ones in the audience of the president's congressional address, reveal their contempt; they also reveal that they are just </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">waiting</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and not really listening to the president. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I have serious doubts that people who don't really support the president, for whatever reason, can swallow their pride and work with him or </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">trust</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> him to lead our country. Their arrogance will prevent it. But I only believe this because I sympathize with him and would probably be sitting and smirking with the cynics had the "other" candidate won. So,....</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">That is the tragedy of our American system of governance. Each one of us is a partisan. How many Republicans (besides the ones who voted for Obama) are </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">glad</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> to see him in office? For the most part, they are either opposing him or reluctantly supporting him; but they are not happy about it. These people are now being forced by circumstance to work with him; and they are likely looking at his supporters as smug and elitist because "their" candidate </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">won</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> the election. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Let's face it: pride is something each one of us has to face. I find myself in a somewhat smug position, of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">liking</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and supporting the president. What I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">don't</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> like, though, is knowing that there are people out there who truly want him to fail, so they can say, "told ya," and (if he does fail) gloat about how "right" they were. In no way are these people going to go along with an agenda that includes actions that fall outside of their philosophical and political belief system, whether that be capitalism, republicanism, or any other ism. Universal educational access to all children? Job assurance for adults? Ha. Fat chance this can happen without the country turning socialist or communist. Right?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">People stick to their isms. If only they (we) didn't, maybe we'd </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">really</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> have hope of creating a country we can all live peaceably within.</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-89157638562706358212009-02-13T15:52:00.000-08:002009-02-25T12:07:13.990-08:00Immediate Peace<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"Better indeed is knowledge than mechanical practice. Better than knowledge is meditation. But better still is surrender of attachment to results, because there follows immediate peace."<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Bhagavad Gita</span></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13002603.post-42948304013010635442009-02-12T09:33:00.000-08:002009-02-12T11:21:55.395-08:00Tears of a Clown<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I just finished reading an </span><a href="http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1G1-90679560.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">article</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> on the dynamics of scapegoating in group counseling and how group leaders might intervene. It was a painful article to read because it reminded me of perhaps every time I've ever been a scapegoat.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I kept thinking about people who project their own weaknesses onto others as a means of coping, but at the expense of the scapegoat's comfort. There is an amusing saying that goes, "Comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." I like it because of the image it conjures, of shaking the status quo, of rattling people's cages, of refusing to accept things as they are.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I imagine a sad clown, a person hiding in plain sight behind a painted-on sad face, who needs a mirror image of himself in order to make sense of the sadness. So, he finds another sad person and attacks, says things designed to wound and make him feel even more sad. Before long, everyone in the room is sad. Then the door opens and another clown walks in, this one with a happy face painted on and a genuine smile behind it. "Why so sad, my clown friends? What happened, did someone die?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Can you picture that scene? A room full of clowns. How could anybody be sad there? Well, maybe someone with coulrophobia (fear of clowns), but the so-called </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">normal</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> person would probably be cheered up sitting in a clown-filled room. I might not know the first thing about being normal, but I would certainly enjoy the company of those clowns!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This is just imagery, though. In a real group counseling situation, scapegoating can be a serious problem. It can make a bad situation worse; if a person was already feeling insecure and unsure of being really open and vulnerable with the group and then gets "shot down" with words by someone else in the group who is hurting, a new wound opens up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am now thinking back to what I wrote a few weeks ago, a blog post about </span><a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2009/01/not-so-innocent-bystander.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">a not so innocent bystander</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. I sort of ganged up on that guy, didn't I? It wasn't really intentional; it just turned out that way. By pointing out something that I noticed, his role in creating the situation he described, the picture emerged of a person being manipulative and even malevolent. And I played a role in creating that picture, describing the image so you would see it, too.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In this article (the one I linked to in the first paragraph) is a statement about how particular qualities of a scapegoated member can trigger an attack and that the target is hardly an innocent bystander. The example is given of a child bobbing his head and making bird sounds who becomes upset when other group members criticize his behavior.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Almost every time we open our mouths, we risk making ourselves targets of scorn and derision. It almost makes me want to take a vow of silence. This being impossible, however, I will keep communicating, even knowing it's a losing game sometimes. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I wrote a </span><a href="http://roseblogs.blogspot.com/2006/05/definitive-diagnosis-imaginary-session.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">short vignette</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> a few years ago that now comes to mind. (The watercolor collage that illustrates it is mine, too.) There is a line in there about the Smokey Robinson song, </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2kxlZDOHeQ"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Tears of a Clown</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, which I love. It comes right before a moment of clarity between two men who have suddenly become equals in that they both recognize their capacity for pain and acknowledge that tears can be healing. The next thing that happens is the therapist asks the client how he might be of help. I wonder whether that is perhaps the most important question we can ask.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">How can I help?</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12038302753116331635noreply@blogger.com0