https://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/health/for-some-psychiatric-troubles-may-begin-with-the-thyroid.html

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/16/magazine/the-mystery-of-the-wasting-house-cats.html

Doctor,I think my husband has something wrong with him.
Thank God,I thought he was dead.
Doctor,I have a pain in my groan.
Oh,do stop moaning.
Doctor,my head feels strange.
Can’t you just laugh it off?
Doctor,why don’t you do give examinations to your patients
They have degrees already.
Doctor,where is the receptionist?
She’s at a reception.
Doctor,you look worn out.
I shall take two aspirin and see myself in the morning.
Doctor,I feel ok today.
I must find out for myself.
Doctor,my husband is in the waiting room.
I’ll feel him later.
Doctor,I told the priest you were the worst doctor in town
Well, how do the others do it?
Doctor,I can’t sit here all day.I have to go to work.
What is it you do?
I train crocodiles to become vegetarian.
How about men?
No,they are very hard to train
Doctor,you look pale.
It’s my white blood.
Doctor,what is my diagnosis?
It’s all Greek to me.

Aa

I’ve found there are terms derived from Art than can be useful in altering our perceptions and maybe making us forget our woes and feel more at one with the world.The most common and underrated one is,

Most people are aware that when we look at a street or a row of trees we see them as differently shaped when we look at them from different positions.But we don’t see it can be used as a metaphor

I can imagine children think they are seeing a totally different place altogether

And furthermore to young children buildings are alive.Windows are eyes, the door is a mouth.So they seem to be looking at us.
When we grow older we invest the world with less of our imagination.So a pavement cracked and marked is fascinating to a child but is ignored, not noticed as we adults rush ahead trying to get things done

I think it is worthwhile to try to regain some childish vision and see more intensively what is near us.And who.

When we are unhappy it is good to get out of our thoughts and put our eyes and ears at the service of what is not ourself.I sometimes watched ants running up tree trunks.I wondered what their life was like.I believe injured ants are carried back to the nest.Perhaps they have a group identity.
See the brave grass growing in a crack in the road.
In a way, the environment IS ourself when we are little and we play outside the front door
.For me, it is the hills of my childhood that evoke a sense of identity, a me-ness in me.
So to be a refugee or a displaced person must be very painful in more ways than we think.
As well as literally moving about to alter our perspective, we can also change our minds by trying to imagine what the lives of other people are like.
I find literature and novels especially are good for this.Great writers know more than psychologists.

So we can develop sympathy or empathy for others by reading.Many of us know a little Shakespeare and can identify with Hamlet or Macbeth, even King Lear.These works provide furniture for the mind.
And what do iPhones provide or texting

Should we be worried that a book written in poorish prose like 50 shades of grey outsells the Bible?
The stories of love, murder, savagery, mysticism are more interesting than these feeble writings read on Kindles as we commute to work.
Sometimes pretending to be a lawyer and making a case out for something you personally disagree with is a way of learning to see more widely
Because that really matters to everyone and not just the troubled or isolated

Let your lips meet gently,

the top one resting against the lower,

touching with tenderness

your own skin to skin.

Forefinger propped on chin,

I let the others dangle,

like leaves on a branch;

how softly gravity tugs them downwards.

Let heart beat quietly,slowly

as the blood circulates

carrying its music,

a river,

following the path of least resistance.

How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,

touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,

helping and being helped.

How the hair on the head

floats

on the breeze,

like tentacles of an octopus

waving goodbye.

Top eyelid loves the lower one;

as we blink they touch

like lovers kissing swiftly

behind a tree.

and how the light comes in

we see a world.

[mine may not be yours,]

but the blink of my eyelid

sends waves through the air,

so we’re all touching and being touched,

lips kissing each other,

kiss all living creatures.

skin to skin.

air to air.

And inside us,the rich darkness

of creative night

transforms,in turn,

these touches

into dreams.