During the past few years I’ve had pneumonia and other such things and so unable to lie down I have sat upright and browsed the internet.I have found a lot of articles on philosophy,art,literature which I could read free of charge.#But when it comes to psychoanalysis,you [without much exception] have to join and pay a hefty fee..
This is interesting like the notion you must pay a big charge for therapy in order to get the full benefit… and I know one friend who has got rich that way.
To me it seems bad.If their articles are good,why not let folk who might benefit read them? Mind you,they are often hard to follow

The archaic image of the dead breast lay under her psyche-soma [ like a bed?]

A narcissistic wound had formed the core of her non integrated identity.[Does it have seeds?]

She was unable to accept her schizoid split off vest

His death instinct had throttled his sexual drive so that he always evaporated before he had sexual congress with his wife or anyone else and he had tried frequently until worn down to a bore.

He had never identified with his mirror or imago and thus could never reflect on his introjects or his extrajects or his microjects either.

So don’t pay.. it not worth it.. keep a diary or a dairy cow instead

Trust the unknown force that grew you,
From the joining of two cells.
Act of love, of self giving,
Thus to grow a newer self.

Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we all do live.
Trust that there is wisdom elsewhere,
To your emptiness to give.

Wait in patience for the time
When inspiration comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,lowness.
Opposition forms the cross.

Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise

And I trust all shall be well.

Shapely tulips catch my eye

Red as cherries

Holly berries

Shape can never lie.

Willow buds as green as glass

Happiness

Happiness

Memories are made of this.

Sunlight slants across the wall

such loved color

my eyes follow

Delight  to me is all

Mauve and grey the evening sky.

Sun descends

Day must end

One last goose flies by.

What  name do we give to an action by another person that hurts is badly and yet they have not broken the law?Like they ring up and say we should have put a comment on their blog when  they know we’ve been very busy at work… then we have not visited their FB page this week… or some other complaint.There is a disparity sometimes between how we are and how others see us.We may be depressed and hardly able to function,they are cross we didn’t phone them for a chat [ie  they moan for 36 minutes whilst we listen..

Maybe it is a sin.Nowadays we don’t use that word.But if we do not use our imagination to understand another person’s life and trials then we are  lacking in some way if this happens a lot.

In psychoanalysis it seems that people do such things because of an identification with an archaic mother image or because they were punished for wetting the bed… there is no personal responsibility..

Some of us go the other way and are over-responsible even in some cases people think they have caused the Gaza conflict or another war when they are actually mentally unwell.They are tormented.

We need to be in the middle… as usua;

Oscar Wilde said,The basis of optimism is sheer terror.

I say,The basis of optimism is sheer error.

I fear he led me up the garden wrath.My father was in the shed.
I really miss my dad  for seeing off villains…laconically smoking a woodbine and wearing a flat cap… or the cat lying flat.
He only wanted my online virginity.He was the first and last cruiser on my blog.Now I have rowing boats or canoes,so much gentler
I guess a tiger would protect me… or eat me.That’s the drawback to weapons of lass destruction.

Leave me a bone tonight.I have to chew things over

before the fall.

A lovely post from Gill McGrath

Paul Tillich gave the spirit proper place
And showed us courage is a place to dwell.
He wrote for us and left us with his grace
Hoping he could reach us and could tell.

So many people imbibed Nazi speech
And lived with minds cut off from human soul.
With pen outstretched in German hand he reached
To touch us as we creep towards the whole.

Expelled from his own country,he wrote on
Continuing during tortuous,war long years
He lived,he loved ,he wrote,he died and then
His books continue to dispatch our fears.

For many men have lived and have destroyed
But Tillich showed us how to face the void

The doctor advised her not to breed in bed without glasses,so she went to bed with 2 glasses of brandy and bred madly for hours.Now she  has beguiled again and again and is leaving her gnome for another..

http://www.fearofstuff.com/humans/fear-of-hands/

I never knew there were so many phobias

I am afraid to touch any man’s bottom
For if my hands are there,someone may spot’em.
So I tousle their hair
Whenever I dare.
Trouble is,there’s such an awful lot of’em.

Whenever a bald man goes by
I try not to glare at his eye.
For I can’t fluff up his hair
As his head is so bare…
Although he might like me to try.

When I was 15 I was given a chance to learn the cello free as there was only one girl in the orchestra.I was already fairly proficient on the piano where mysteriously I was also being given free lessons because of my musical talent.. so I knew how to read music.
The cello strings are tuned to the same notes as the viola but one octave lower.Sometimes in cello music the tenor clef is used as well as the bass and treble.
I reached Grade 8 after a year but then the teacher left and was not replaced.And my A levels loomed so although the Northern college of music would have given me lessons the head would not allow it.
I’d strongly recommend letting a child learn the cello or viola.There is something quite wonderful about playing in a string quartet and the viola being in the middle is possibly the loveliest in tone and in how it speaks to the heart.
I have had several versions of the Bach cello suites played by Casals,Tortelier, and others.But now I have been won over by Rostropovich.He was a very loving man…and it comes over.His Dvorak cello concerto is luminous…
I find a Kindle Fire is very handy for playing music as I move around the house as it’s so portable.I admit I’ve always liked Russian musicians… maybe seeing Dr Zhivago helped me.The music of the Orthodox Church is such that I’d convert instantly just to sit in one of their churches.They unlike the Catholic Church have not modernised their rituals and I believe that is very fortunate….

They lay down in awe and fear,
Of what their love was bringing near.
They gazed into each other’s eyes
And so did rhapsodise.

They lay down to gaze into
the eyes and soul and heart so true.
They gazed until,when overcome,
They were united into one.

Their souls and bodies were conjoined,
And thus their hearts were well entwined;
As honeysuckle on the walls,
In joy’s sweet arbours does grow tall.

Their loving lips and eyes and hands
Gave pause to time’s soft flowing sands;
And while they touched and gazed so long,
The birds sang out in glorious songs.

The eyes are mirrors to the soul,
and love will make us grow more whole.
Gaze lovingly on humankind..
And hold care in your mind.

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2225/the-art-of-criticism-no-1-harold-bloom

In the middle of the magic wood near the rocky seashore

And the rushing tides and pools of light
We sat on an old  wooden bench..and heard the  birds singing.
A robin came onto the arm of the seat,
And to town children this seemed a miracle

we didn’t know they were accustomed to being fed there.
So we breathed very lightly
lest our noise should frighten away this tiny being..
Now,if I am tense,if I am wise,
I want to remember the wood and imagine the bird
And the peace will come back..
The joy of that Silence.
How did we ever leave it and for what?
What else has value
except the touch of your hand
and our eyes meeting softly
and the peace of the deep green shade

And the  enchanting song of the high in the wildwood tree tops   birds

He had such a good session,it was enough to make a even a Freudian skip.
Her sudden marriage was a complete wombshell to us all… except the babe.
Have you never said something you meant?
He hit the dog with his Freudian whip..
She’s having a hip replacement… so Freud might wonder, what about her penis envy? Why stop at a hip when you can go the whole flog?
You may   leperously need to be analysed when you have had dreams of whorey ghosts knitting…
Do they smoke and say,”Spook, no hands?”

• When yet another lover flees my bed
  and leaves me cold and lonely in the night,
  I wonder if it’s unkind words I’ve said,
  Or is it that my eyes have lost their light?

  I lure them in with all my female arts.
  They feel I’m like a spider with a trap.
  to lure ,devour,digest my foolish guests,
  They think there should be warnings on the map,

  But some who find me feel they have been blessed.
  I give them my attention and desire
  I give them gentle care and sing sweet songs.
  I give them comfort like a winter fire

  Oh,come back ,sweet one,don’t desert me yet,
  The clothes I washed for you are still quite wet.

I came home and told my mother I had done well in the end of term reports

Top class in obstinacy.
An alpha double plus in sulking.
And a prize for being the most introverted pupil since records began in 1066

So she said You’d better be a writer.Telling lies like that will be an asset…
I said,they are not lies,mother.They are judgments.
So she said,how about doing law?
Law,I said,I need creativity…
So she said,chance would be a fine thing.BTW How did you do in maths?
I’m not doing maths,mother.
She said,so why are you reading,Algebraic Topology for Dummies.
I said,Is that maths?
So she said,you tell me..what else could it be?
Poetry,I cried…
So she said,Well you could have fooled me…..where are the rhymes,the meter and the verses..
I told her,poetry is an attitude of mind…..
And she said she did mind and made me cook the tea..I never knew before that you didn’t just brew it.. so we had tea sandwiches and lice cream and then read Hobson’s Voice.What fun it was being an adolescent.Why if I’d known suicide existed I’d have plunged right in,if you see what I keen

Waxy flowers poking through
Snow so white
Flowers bright.
Made me think of you.

I see once more your dark red hair,
Soft as snow,
On pillow.
Now my bed is bleak and bare

,
Face alight,flower to sun,
I loved you.
Love so  true.
Fear by love,overcome.

Cyclamen in  the snow,
Pink and red,
Now frozen,dead.
Love was,oh,so long ago.

But never gone from in my mind.
Thoughts so deep,
Upwards seep.
Love was gentle,love was kind,


Always in my mind

“You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching,

Love like you’ll never be hurt,

Sing like there’s nobody listening,

And live like it’s heaven on earth.”

― William W. Purkey