I’ll love you when I be

‘Twas but a reptile passing by.
It flew across the deep blue sky
Why do reptiles fly so high?
I’ll love you till I die

“Twas but a cat under the moon.
Did you have a silver spoon?
Why can’t cats all waul in tune?
I’ll love you very soon

‘Twas but a wooden legged man,
Carrying a large brass saucepan.
Why can’t men do what women can?
I’ll love you better than.

Why are adverbs?
What are nouns?
why do circuses have clowns?
I’ll love you lying down.

Where do dreams go in the day?
What game can we adults play?
Can you or can you not say?
I’ll love you,in my way.

‘Twas but a verse that seemed so free.
It floated over my oak tree.
I have eyes but cannot see.
I’ll love you when I be

A tangled briar

I have no teeth and combless I remain
My hair once silk is now a tangled briar..
Men gaze on me with ruthless cold disdain
My visage will no longer spark their fire.

I have no mind and so I cannot think
I cannot love nor hate now as I tire.
Yet runs my nose and do my eyes not blink?
Where is that man with care and white desire?

I have no heart,or it turns cold and hard.
Yet soul I have and spirit and my sight.
At life’s long game I fling down all my cards.
And ask for nothing but a means of flight.

For beauty withers as my wisdom grows.
And none observe the circling of the crows.

A letter to frame

Dear David Cameron
I am a very intelligent ,brilliant and creative woman. Hence I wonder daily why your face has no expression on it;I must confess since the vote on Syria last year you have looked a bit bothered now and then and no doubt Gaza and Israel have entered your gaze as well as all the other Middle Eastern States

.But blankness seems your favourite look.Watch out or an artist may paint a sign on youi

Danger:Please stalk on the grass

Danger:Trespassers will be parsed and printed.

I am writing to complain.There are many magpies,wood pigeons and other such creatures all living for free in the garden here.And think of the ones in the woods.None of them are taxed,yet they get free board and lodging,And moreover we have hundreds of worms here which could surely be made to work.I know it’s hard to tell them apart but all those civil servants who read Modern Greats at Toxicford must have a few ideas.
I think if worms don’t work we should mince them and make meat pies out of them… and wood pigeons… that makes me salivate.
Those who won’t work shall be turned into food.The Chinese eat dogs… you catch my drift.Hard solutions for hard times, to warm an old cliche.
I do feel that all living creatures should pay rent.Birds who live in a garden with more than one tree must be made to see how unfair this is.I am unsure what language they speak… maybe Hebrew as they were in Eden once.Oh,those lazy days,eating fruit and sunbathing.And sinning without guilt.did you know Adam and Eve were unmarried,by the way!
Well,it’s bad for us to be happy so I’m counting on you topulverize nature in all manifestations.
Why,surely,worms are a total waste of time.Get rid of them.Send them back where they came from.Even as I write worms may be tunnelling under the British Channel from France.We can’t let them dwell in our soil.And in the Spring you must stop birds migrating here.Why some come from the Congo.Surely that’s not morally justifiable
Hoping my ideas will be balm to your ears.And try to get more of an expression on your face.You are like an empty canvas without Jackson Pollock and his tins of Dulux
Yours truly
Dumbella Dodd [ M.A.Oxen]

P.S.What about cats? They sleep 20 hours a day.They could rid us of more vermin.. need I say more?

Precise and moving geometry

What a marvellous day yesterday was for us here in London.
The sunlight was powerful,the sky blue and on the trees and shrubs I imagined I could almost see leaves turning red and gold.By the lake a huge flock of pigeons rose from the trees and circled in precise and moving geometry whilst simultaneously many sea gulls which had been floating on the windblown water arose and formed concentric whirling music in the sky.
We stood still on the grass in the deep silence, absorbing the colours,shapes and murmurings.Just a normal day in the country park but I am sure of one thing:

Birds can see God

Original sin and sex

In Judaism unlike Christianity belief in original sin does not exist.I think the notion original sin is one of the most damaging aspects of Christianity,It was promulgated by St Augustine of Hippo on the grounds that a baby had touched a vagina and therefore was tainted.. this shows the Christian view on women and sexuality,Men would be tainted.This may explain celibacy and child abuse.Presumably touching a penis or anus was not as sinful as touching a vagina or breast.

Pushing this idea on the laity created fear/terror of mortal sin and hell.That’s another new creation that did not exist as far as I know in Judaism.Fear of sin can be used to control people.The priests had too much power but now we are more inclined to make up our own minds since the row over whether contraception is ever permissible.The Pope said it was wrong and few people were willing to obey.

Behind the looking glass

Two whole worlds.

One small cut.

One little chink.
Hard to find.
Very,very hard.
One small place
Where a very little cat
Could slip right through
The geometrician ‘s cut.
Cat could slip right through.
Just,slip straight through.
Joining it’s own reflection
On the opposite side.
The mirror’s other side.

And if I caught that tail,
If I caught her little tail,
She could pull me through,
She could pull me through,
So she and I too
We’d be on the other side,
The wrong way round,
On the opposite side.

So when you looked in,
If you looked in,
You would see me there,
Looking out at you,
From the opposite side.
From the opposite side.
And the cat beside
Looking very small,
Very,very small;
But very,very real.
How do you think you’d feel,
If I was looking out,
Staring at you
From the opposite side?

I can’t get back.
I can’t find Riemann’s cat
and without that pussy cat
I can’t find Riemann’s cut.
I think I’m in a trap.
I cannot find that cat.
So she can’t find the cut
To get me back,
She can’t bring me back
To where I was before.

Oh,how queer,
To have two of me in here.
I hope I’ll get on well
With my other self,
Behind the looking glass.
No one looking in,
But two are staring out.
From that other world.

I am looking out,
I’m looking out
To see if you are there.
One of you’s with me
That makes the total three.
Oh,dear me,
I should not have grabbed
Little pussy’s tail.
I didn’t really know
Where she meant to go.

“Wherever have you been?
Where do you think you’ve been
To get so filthy black,
And where’s your pussy cat?”
She never came back.
Never came back
From the opposite side.
Mother thought I’d lied.
I don’t tell lies,
But I can see my cat
Staring out at me.
Staring out at me
From the other side.
From the opposite side
Of my looking glass.
My lovely looking glass
Has trapped my tiny cat
On the opposite side.
On the opposite side
On the other side

Your reflection now

Their eyes drew me,
And their eyes draw me again
Into a pool of winter light
Golden from the low sun.
I swim in it
Like a hawk flows on the wind
Over the depths,
Of life.
Contained by a white china cup,
I’m your reflection now
Drowning in the slanting sunlight
Like a stone in a lake.
Falling deeper until I find
the creative mud
with which I mingle
no longer a stone
but a soft flowing stream of sensations
which meets with joy
the earth’s depths and presence.
And something new will grow

A strange summertime

One of my friends said yesterday that she feels the world right now is in a similar condition to when we had the cuban missile crisis in 1962.I can remember how afraid I was then.Now I have other personal problems that seem to affect equally badly.. so I move from one to the other..The main difference now from 1962 is that we do not seem to have leaders whom we respect.And men seem to enjoy war judging by recent ones and ones still happening.But we still have the world of nature.That helps me

Could Wittgenstein well?

Do you think philosophy’s monotonous?

Prefer an elephant to a hippopotamus?

Do not feel sad

When joy can be had

From seeing which writes are dichotomous

z
Is your speelling faar wurse than myne?
Are your thoughts faar from sublyme?
Could Derrida spell?
Could Wittgenstein well?
Anserring kwestions may take up owr tyme

Why a raven is like a writing desk?

Another gifted poet here on WordPress

Perspectives on Life, the Universe and Everything

It creaks, It has legs, It is black,
It eats paper, creates litter, lots of slack
frustrates you if you are a sitter
It is very very bitter
It can knock you out
lets you walk about
It is curious to the hilt
Has a very strong built
And it doesn’t wear a kilt
It is not made of plastic
Its finish is fantastic
as I make things up
drinking tea in a cup
with my friend mad hatter
whose question is the matter
he seems quite pleased
riddle’s answer finally released
Raven suddenly flies far
contemplation left ajar

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What is truth?

https://philosophynow.org/issues/86/What_Is_Truth

I found these answers which are good.Of course it’s a huge topic.At a level of daily activity we can usually judge but when we get into politics,philosophy,religion we start to wonder.I used to teach logic and one day I was explained the difference between truth and validity I suddenly wondered,what is truth?Then I realise how little I really knew.

Beloved Palestinian Poet Samih al-Qasim Dies at 75

This is a very interesting post on a good blog

ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY

I don’t like you, death
But I’m not afraid of you
And I know that my body is your bed
And my spirit is your bed cover
I know that your banks are narrow for me
I don’t love you, death
But I’m not afraid of you.

–One of Samih al-Qasim’s final poems

Beloved Palestinian poet Samih al-Qasim died Tuesday after a long battle with cancer, following a worsening of his health this past week. He was 75.

Al-Qasim — whose stature in Palestine ranked alongside Mahmoud Darwish’s — will be widely mourned.

Al-Qasim was born in 1939 in the Jordanian city of az-Zarqa, where his father was working at the time. He hailed from a Druze family from the town of Rameh in the Upper Galilee, and attended school there and in Nazareth, as his family did not flee in 1948.

As Dr. Issa Boullata wrote over at World…

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CRITICISM AND YOUR IMAGE

This is worth reading

Social-Environmental Sustainability For A Better World

In order to make the following discussion as concrete as possible, I shall speak directly to you, the reader. How you personally handle criticism is related to the way in which you perceive yourself and how you want others to perceive you.

The way in which you perceive yourself is your “self-image,” which consists of the beliefs you hold about yourself and the values based on those beliefs. Your self-image—like mine and every one else’s—was bestowed on you by your parents, siblings, and family, as well as your teachers, peers, and friends. If you were fortunate enough to be treated well by these people, you developed positive, healthy self-esteem, which translates into a positive sense of self-worth and a corresponding self-image. Unfortunately, the converse is also true.

The way in which you would like others to perceive you is your “public image” or “persona,” which you, as well as almost…

View original post 1,951 more words

Would you wear a jellied eel instead of a hat?

From wikipedia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minotaur

When you begin to wonder if you are doing ok;
When you want perfection, yet you cannot pray.
Then ask yourself a simple question from my list
Except when you are feeling unusually pissed

Would you teach a fish to climb a tree?
Would you ask advice from a wasp or bee?
I know we’re all different and all the same.
Language is, at most, an ingenious game.

Don’t get lost in puzzles and doubts
Like should you drink brandy or ale and stout…?
Is minus 1 a truly human invention?
Why are our religions full of contention?

Would you teach Su Doku puzzles to your cat?
Would you wear a jellied eel instead of a hat?
Would you buy your clothes from a betting shop?
Would you teach a polar bear how to hop?

The human mind is so strange and wild
We can get entangled and beguiled.
So don’t try to live inside your head
Find a jolly lover then get acquainted in bed.

Algebra is useless for the traumatised..
Abstraction is cute but a tool devised
For creating complex theories to build weapons of war.
What do we think our precious life is for?

If you find you’re lost in a meaningless maze
Hold that little thread and calmly trace your way.
The minotaur’s a fancy,he’s not real.
Fantasy’s an option but how do you feel?

Would you teach a fish to climb a tree
Would you thumb a lift from a honey bee?
Would you boil marmalade on the garden fire?
Would you eat your dinner from a rubber tyre?

Life and ambivalence are a tricky duo.

All of us have thoughts very hard to endure

Are your negative feelings flowing like a sewer?
Leave that comfy sofa and ride your bike.

I won’t buy my groceries from a rat.
I won’t let fleas linger long in my habitat.
I won’t take up running with stilettos on my feet.
But here I come stumbling down your street!

Like minds or hearts?

As I was growing up I found I was attracted to certain minds… nearly all of people no longer living.I could not understand much of what they wrote but I definitely had a strong instinct about who they were.One difficulty was they seem to be mainly men.That’s because it is much harder to find women who had the time and talent to create and become part of the culture.
But how strange is it to feel kinship with someone when you cannot understand much of what they wrote?
I liked

Blaise Pascal

Spinoza.

John Donne

Andrew Marvell

Wm Wordsworth

Wm Blake

Soren Kierkegaard

Rainer Maria Rilke

Ludwig Wittgenstein.

The people who wrote the Psalms.

Montaigne whose diaries are still read.

Paul Klee

Marion Milner.

Leslie Farber.

Stephanie Dowrick.

There are more.

These people seem to have some kind of feelings which resonate with me. were not usually scientists and Pascal attracted me because he was a mystic as well as a mathematician.So it’s something about how to relate to the world….with the heart and soul not the intellect alone
I also read many novels which is/was my favourite activity and I could not discuss that here as I have read thousands and re read thousands.I like the Chekov of suburbia ,Stanley Middleton after whom I named Stan in my stories…… despite his limitations.
I may write many funny pieces but I am a deeply serious person following a trail left by someone unknown…I recognise it when i get the clues.But who leaves them for me?

Here is a passage I like from Rilke

Rainer Maria Rilke
“Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Like minds or hearts?

Blaise Pascal

Spinoza.

John Donne

Andrew Marvell

Wm Wordsworth

Wm Blake

Soren Kierkegaard

Rainer Maria Rilke

Ludwig Wittgenstein.

The people who wrote the Psalms.

Montaigne whose diaries are still read.

Paul Klee

Marion Milner.

Leslie Farber.

Stephanie Dowrick.

There are more.

Here is a passage I like from Rilke

When thinking hurts

My title has two meanings.One is that sometimes we have to think about a painful event or a person who has hurt us.Or even some past events…I recall pain when I was told about Hitler and Stalin

On the other hand some of us use thinking in words as a way of blocking painful emotions.whilst this may work for a time,it may give a lot of trouble when we need to deal with pain.Essentially we do not wish to “know” the truth in the full sense… we deceive ourselves and maybe others too

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/fulfillment-any-age/201110/the-essential-guide-defense-mechanisms

William Blake wrote this poem

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine,

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go.

I’ve been reading Sylvia Plath recently.I see that after her husband left her she went into a frenzy of activity.She had two very young children.was often ill with flu but she wrote all her most famous poems at this time;then she moved toLondon antd socialised a lot to prove she was not just a deserted wife.After this she became more, ill,there was a severe winter….then she crashed into the depths…I feel that her frenzied writing was a way of not admitting her grief… and she got worn out and decided death was better.

Some of us who are quite cerebral are not in touch with our bodies.We don’t feel that knife in the heart,the tears unshed,the anger that threatens… and eventually this cam lead to problems.,sometimes flu sometimes a breakdown,sometimes a broken marriage.

and also the thinking can take on a life of its own so it keeps us awake at night… and the feelings can come out in nightmares.

So thinking can be a curse.We all need defences at times but too much cuts us of from our own lives.

And brooding and ruminating are very damaging to the mind and soul.Thinking is not wisdom

A lovely poem that i am fond of

O sweet spontaneous

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

sweet spontaneous

earth how often have

the

doting

fingers of

prurient philosophers pinched

and

poked

thee

, has the naughty thumb

of science prodded

thy

beauty, how

often have religions taken

thee upon their scraggy knees

squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive

gods

(but

true

to the incomparable

couch of death thy

rhythmic

lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

Book review:The society of timid souls by Polly Morland

The book I am reading now is called”, The Society of Timid Souls” written by Polly Morland.

Here is a very good in depth review of it and a photo of a bull fight

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/may/19/timid-souls-polly-morland-review

She is a good writer,mainly in journalism and also she works making documentaries.The title comes from a Society that existed in New York starting around the time of Pear Harbour.It was for musiciand too timid ti play in public.From that which ended in 1946 she goe on to look at many situations which need courage such as bravery in war,in giving birth,in bull fighting.She is well read and has studied Aristotle,read Beowulf and many other serious books and writings.Yet it is not a very difficult read.[I like hard books because I read them several times so they last longer.]The intriguing part so far is about animals and birds which won awards for bravery.. such as pigeons in WW2 and whether an animal can be brave in the true sense.I have read half this book and strongly recommend it as suitable to a wide range of readers and also because it makes reading Aristotle seem normal,not just for scholars and academics

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aristotelian_ethics

You can get Ethics by Aristotle as a free kindle book

You have to pay a little for Nichomacean Ethics and there is more than one translation so look inside before you buy it.I feel amazed by his thinking and wonder if we’ve gone backwards

2 Comments

Filed under books

Tagged as Aristotle, Author, book review, books,courage, Greeks, history, Philosophy, thinking

2 responses to “Book review:The society of timid souls by Polly Morland”

Mary

August 27, 2014 at 8:46 am Edit

Very interesting

Reply
- Quicksilver
  
  August 27, 2014 at 8:47 am Edit
  
  Thank you
  
  Reply

Where vultures used to roost

She was built like a brick shithouse

Ya,born with a silver spoon in her mouth

Her momma was like an old brown mouse

And her pa was just a slimy stuck up louse.

She was built like an old doghouse

On the top, sharp vultures used to roost

Her brother has gone for a Dead Sea cruise

Her sister wants to let all hell break loose.

She was in for life with those smart spooks

A creepy horror in every nook

Her ma never learned her how to cook

She ain’t never even read a single book.

No aphrodisiac ain’t of much use

When the true Furies are on the loose.

Do what you can to cook thet goose

Ain’t so good to blow your own fuse.

No,those Furies are on the ball

They come looking for us one an’ all.

Keep your face hid and your ego small…

What’s thet dark shadow on your wall?

The past:my old Lancashire way of talking

We always called people in the family,our so and so,our dad, our mam,our Lizzie.

Why did dad die,our mam? Did God need ‘im,mam? What for?
Oh,be quiet our Kath an’ stop blatherin’ an’ ‘arpin’ on at mi like that…Am tired mekkin’ ye dinner an’ tea an’ our Annie’s commin’ too
Will we have petato cakes,mam?
Y’ll have nowt if ye keep on yappin’.
But,mam,I like talkin’. Why don’t you like it,mam?
Curiousity killed the cat.
No,mam it was you,You sent for that man from Vernon Street and ‘ad the cat and its kittens destroyed except fe our Ginger.
Now, stop tellin’ lies and do the washin’ up.
Am not tellin’ lies…A saw it
Ye’r a very naughty girl.. I’ll slap ye if ye don’t shut ye trap now.
Oh,Mam,don’t ‘it me. again..
Well,shurrup then.. do as yer told.. be a good girl.
Awlright,mam.Shall a wash up fe ye?
That’s right,yer a gud girl really.Just be#ave yerself and keep quiet.Ye nearly grown up now.A’ll show ye ‘ow to knit socks soon.. yr 9 now aren’t ye?
That I am,mam.Am a big girl
An’ ye brain’s too big…. go and mop the steps now and put the white stone on… it’ll be the toilet next.Clean it before grandad come

I remember you

This is lovely

johncoyote

My Scottish Beauty.

I remember you

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

Old thoughts and poetry

I remember you

You taught me what love was.
You taught me what tenderness could be my Scotland beauty.
You painted my world to a more beautiful place.
Made my anger and disappointment fade away.
Your taught me. I was going to be okay.

You called me, dear and honey.
You were my old fashion gal in a fast pace world.
I was intoxicated by your beautiful brown eyes and auburn hair.
I knew paradise in your kiss and in your embrace.

I told you once. I wanted you forever, wanted you to be my wife.
We made promises we could not keep.

I wonder how you did my Scotland beauty?
We never said the proper goodbye.
You got away from me and I believe you were…

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Limericks…. must they always be humorous?

I am studying poetic form.I am describing a few ideas of my interest in the next paragraph.
By choosing a limerick form I am being playful because normally I’d not choose a limerick to refer to anxiety and such emotions.And the playing itself can be therapeutic.It indicates I am like an actor on a stage having a joke with the audience.And the placement of “sure” in the last limerick is an acknowledgement that I have Celtic blood.I have kissed the Blarney stone.The Irish speak lovely English.

Do we pick a form first or the content first?

http://www.criticalreading.com/poetry.html

In general the limerick is a humorous form.That i s,both historically and by the shape and brevity.Yet I am trying to write some miserable limericks.I am finding it harder than I expected.The first one certainly has come out with more than a hint of fun

AS BROAD AS IT’S WIDE

I once had therapeutic depression

The counsellor wept through my session

So I gave my advice

As broad as it’s wise.

Depression sure beats going fishin’

OR depressed deadbeats sure love fishing

[sure here is USA]

ANXIOUS

I feel very anxious today

Would I do better to worry or to pray?

I’ll trust in the dark

in the big bush by the park.

Till a man comes along feeling gay.

I see the very nature of the form almost makes it compulsory to be funny.It’s lines 4 and 5 I think
This limerick is very naughty as “trust the darkness” is a mystical/spiritual expression… it is not related to hiding in the dark to watch for a man to come by.Even if the agent in the poem is feeling blue,the author is joking thereby.

NEW FRIEND

I hate my new friend already

I thought he would make me more steady

But I feel giddy and wild

When he charms with such guile.

Sure,doesn’t love make one feel somewhat heady

Poetry from WW1 which was not published..see it and find out why

My little dry home in the wet

I’ve a little wet home in a trench

And the rainstorms continually drench

There’s the sky overhead, clay or mud for a bed

And stone we use as a bench

Bully beef and hard biscuits we chew

It seems years since we tasted a stew

Shells crackle and scare, yet no place can compare

With my little wet home in the trench

I saw my girl coming down the road

How I came to write this:I was reading an article about how to dress better and saw this expression,sheer pantyhose which amused me so I began to write.

I saw my girl coming down the road,
In real high heels,but how she strode
She was wearing those sheer pantyhose
And the raindrops bounced right off her nose.
Her hair curled up and looked real neat
As did her unbare narrow feet.

She always likes to be covered up
Except in bed ,as tea she sups..
She never wears a dressing gown
Unless she’s going into town.
Those sheer, sheer pantyhose
Give me a tickle in my nose..

Her hair is long and golden brown,
And when she thinks she has no frown.
She’s so slim but has a bust
and has a bottom as one must.
Her hipbones stick up when she lies.
They’ve pricked me, more than once or twice.

She hates to leave her legs quite bare
Even when the sun is there..
So she shopped for sheerer pantyhose
She shopped ,should she wear other clothes?
Shall we shout the old refrain:
Sheer pantyhose are such a pain.

For when I take her in a wood,
They’re torn by brambles,splashed by mud.
But as old Freudian research shows
What women want no man knows.
But if you like me are short of money
Leave those pantyhose off, honey.

All I need are long bare legs,
As from her lips she dangles fags.
She snorts with laughter like a horse
But now this verse is far too coarse.
Her strange blue eyes glance back at me,
As I chase her round the maple tree.

Oh,my girl,you baffle me
Reading Wittgentein , as he
Seems real tough to grasp…
Like trying to digest a wasp.
Come my dear to sing and play
because it’s now a summer’s day.
We’re only here for a little blink!
Wow, she has just sent me a wink!
I think and think and so I am
A really happy,lucky man.

Amen

Beguin

.Try a new poet

Fugitive Fragments

The way your freckles danced and winked
at my droll teenage wit
and how your yellow hair ensnared
one eyebrow raised to quiz
Remember how your tingling spine
synced to a Hendrix riff
you played me Chopin’s Polonaise
with graceful flicking wrist
Those warm pink silly earmuffs
gave winter walks a hue
bikini blue was cheeky you
though you blushed de rigueur
Your warm palm always on my knee
when driving Dad’s old car
soft leather seats whose creases kept
our secrets after dark
Now time has made it safe for me
to resurrect your ghost
to once again see yellow strands
across your bright eyes float
and watch those freckles flashing their
old Morse code of young hope

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Can Self Help Help?

Judging by the fact that Waterstone’s told me they have so few computer books because Self Help sells better,it made me think.With Self Help the implication is that some knowledge we lack can be imparted to us and that we can use it to cure our anxiety attacks etc,

On the other hand, no serious reading person who lives in the era since Freud made his “discoveries” can be totally ignorant of the fact that Freud believed we may only know a small amount about ourselves either because we repress or deny or because our minds can only be conscious of a few things… and must forget a lot to cope.. or for much deeper reasons as in traumatic events,war,etc
I think self help can have some effect as in learning to relax the muscles all over the body; as in learning it’s ok to have bad feelings ; that bad feelings will not harm us and will dissipate after a while… but if we want to know more about ourselves others may see in us emotions,dispositions,deeds we are unaware of.As I wrote recently,if we are brave we can discuss our problem with a friend.. see how they view it.
I feel if somebody has no friends they are going to find life very hard.I found last week a few familiar voices on the phone helped me to get through the recent hard days…Though some folk are more introverted than others… and we need peace and quiet…
If it’s true our neuroses have hidden causes then self help might not work.Judging by the numerous books it seems perhaps it doesn’t!If it does,why so many more books every month
I like these books

Intimacy and Solitude by Stephanie Dowrick.[ and her later writings]
Any book that teaches simple relaxation.
How to meditate by Lawrence Leshan.
Phantasy in every day life by Julia Segal.

I do not like books which use positive affirmations, positive thinking,dwelling in cloud cuckoo land,raising your self esteem, religious tracts disguised as help,and especially books promising that you only have to pray and you will get all your desires fulfilled; after all Jesus prayed before being crucified… prayer may be a very good thing but people must find their own way into it.. and the consequences may be different from when a child asks for a certain toy for Christmas.We are not children and if God is there it’s not to make me rich or give you sexual magnetism and confidence and make you boss of Google.

And cerebral people like myself need reminding that knowing something is not enough.. we must experience our emotions around the issues like we do in grieving a loss

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Reading List

Very interesting

Bearing the Lightness of Being

Let me recite what history teaches. History teaches.
– A Completed Portrait of Picasso (1924)

I read several chapters from Edrita Fried’s book Artistic Productivity and Mental Health, and I must say it was illuminating. Since the fall of 2007, I’ve been fascinated and exploring the link between creativity, madness, genius et al. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this knowledge, but it is cheaper than therapy. At any rate,

In 1964 Edrita Fried and a number of collaborators published [the book]. The study was based on the therapeutic results with six artists; a sculptor, three painters, one actor-singer and a writer. […] In an introduction the well-known sculptor Chaim Gross expressed some interesting opnions. He felt that the artist has to be happy in his personal life and have peace of mind so that he can create. “I feel that if you havea good…

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To find a home for love without.

When first I saw your soulful face,
Then wished I most to you embrace.
I wished as well to clothe you in
The sacred images within.

To find a home for love without;
To fold my dreams all round about
Your loving body and your face
Were covered in such joy and grace.

But now my dreams are cast aside
The world of meaning denied life.
What seemed most precious now is fled…
And I lie sleepless in my bed.

What is the world when unadorned
With all that in my heart I’ve formed?
There is no meaning I can trace.
As in a mother’s empty face.

On these grey rocks my path is hard.
From paradise, my self is barred.
To struggle or to grief succumb
When this dark day of mourning’s done?

Into His dazzling darkness dart
My dreams and love like dying sparks.
Into His Mystery so fair
I’ll cast both hope and my despair.

Thus my dreams will be transformed
To show themselves in other forms.
What feels a loss may foretell growth.
On my hope,I’ll take an oath

That nothing in my life is waste,
That I have not for phantasms chased.
And you are human,as am I.
Let’s live again until we die