metonymy4u

Helpful thought for the day: “Just because he doesn’t value your skills and intellect, does not mean they have suddenly disappeared. And does not mean you have to stop using them. Disrespect doesn’t magically change who you truly are.”

There is a very disturbing trend within the world of clinical psychology, involving censorship and thought control, that seems to me to be contrary to the principles of a free and scientific community. Often, words viewed a deviant or unpopular are met with censorship, ad hominem attacks, or outright exile. Highly ironic considering the degree to which the community espouses flexibility and “love” as heart felt values. Beyond that, it seems to me quite fearsome to contemplate the degree to which the instruments of fascism continue to linger on in our cultural basements ready, like one of Tolkien’s balrogs, at a moment’s notice. One would have thought that the lessons of the early 20th century were better learned than this. I should have hoped we’d been better schooled in the banality of evil. My antidote to this has been to write a poem about a clinical encounter that engendered strong emotions. It was censored and I reposted it because I believe we all have a duty to oppose the abuses of power with such simple truths as these.

The events that cause our emotions often get us to think in a strange way—as if when faced with some horrible thing, time will stop there and we will be stuck for all eternity. We forget that time keeps going, to the other side. Who will we be, when that happens? And it will happen.

While I was out skiing today, I thought about the upcoming memorial service for G, a friend of mine who died recently. I found myself worrying that I might run into J my ex girlfriend who also knew G (I met both of them in the same salsa dance troupe and we all performed together on many occasions). Seeing her again, I believe, would be quite painful, as I was ridiculously in love with her once, and asked her to marry me. (She said no, obviously –but that’s not the point here). I found myself worrying about how painful it would be for me to see her again, especially if she shows up with a new boyfriend or (god forbid) husband. Then the thought occurred to me “but what if, by some miracle, in that moment you find the strength to weather the emotional storm, and find that at some later point, beyond the point of the seeing of J, you have developed or honed some skill that improves your life in some way, brings you closer to a heart felt goal, or saves a life?” I traced this thought to something a FB friend said to me recently “pain is just weakness leaving the body.” Will it indeed change my life? Who knows. One way or the other though, both J and G already have.

Imagine you want to be a school teacher. You build a school and invite students from the surrounding towns. They arrive; you teach; they learn. One day a student shows up who doesn’t learn. You ask them to stay after class one day and say to them “Your lack of learning in my class is unacceptable to me. I’m not going to tell you how it is, nor am I going to tell you what I want you to learn. I am going to ask you to leave my class and not return until you have hired your own teacher to teach you the things I want you to learn. Please leave now.”

This metaphor occurred to me this morning as symbolic of many features of human cultural habit. Countless examples of inquisition and apostate exile can be identified throughout the history of human gathering and, it seems to me, continue to this day (e.g. our so called criminal justice system). In our effort to guard public hope against private irony, I suspect we have very nearly killed our own capacity for awareness, courage, and creativity Has the attempt been successful?

Today I learned that for me the statement “you have a problem” is a severely punishing discriminative stimulus, and the statement “we have a problem” is a very powerfully rewarding discriminative stimulus. In other words, tell me it’s my problem and watch me walk away, tell me it’s our problem and watch me get more interested in working together.

It is a great shock to wake up one morning and realize that one has been in an abusive relationship. That while clinging, to some personal treasure or lifelong dream, one has been willing to tolerate, even participate, in one’s own abuse. “For the children” one might think, or “for this or that benefit.” One might even believe it when he says “I really do care about you” or truly hope that “things will get better.” Just hold on a little longer. It will be worth it in the end. You can do it. And yes, perhaps one can do it. For a time. But on the other side of that inconsistent, vain hope generating schedule of reward and punishment, on the other side of the “it’s not as bad as you think” poisons that defenders of his felonies so sweetly make, what makes one sit up and suddenly take note is that one insult which literally or metaphorically slaps one in the face: that final instant of abuse which transforms (and reveals) the truth of all the other moments. Quite suddenly you see them no longer as passing tokens of excusability, rather as they are: crimes of cruelty, of sadism, truly–of evil. And then one knows, “Through no fault of my own, I have married myself to someone who takes pleasure in other people’s pain.” And at long last: you are done.