confessions of an arachnophobe reformed…

Saturday, October 9th, 2010
spiderdog © remco van straten...

spiderdog © remco van straten...

My friend Rem modified this photo I took of my dog, Ninja (a name given her by her previous owners) – having caught a rat, but that’s another story – as part of a discussion on facebook… The effect is pretty horrible and there was talk about how much people loathed insects (and arachnids) in general.

I used to share these feelings – so much so that, for a long time, I was unable to eat prawns because I had begun to see them as ‘insects of the sea’. Then I moved into the country and, gradually, with constant exposure to the critters, I have almost entirely got over my prejudice.

At one point I imagined how I would feel about insects if they were tiny little dogs or cats. Horrors would suddenly be transformed into Disney cuteness. Of course all I was doing was applying mammaliocentric criteria to the poor beasts.

I had already (like so many people) promoted bees to be ‘honorary mammals’ – like flying teddybears. I also made exceptions for butterflies… and ants… it isn’t all that difficult to stretch the ‘honorary franchise’ to wasps and moths and beetles… Before you know it, they all start looking friendly – and you begin to see just how exquisite they are… like jewels, or knights in enamelled armour. What’s an extra pair of legs between friends?

But I am being somewhat dishonest, for I have not quite extended the franchise to spiders. And it’s not just that they’ve taken the extra legs thing just a bit too far… It’s their faces… Most creepy-crawlies have the decency to have ‘faces’ we can get on with – you know: two eyes, a mouth (though perhaps not quite one you could put lipstick on) – but spiders make no concessions to the ‘face’… It’s those clusters of eyes that I find unnerving, and that have had me wondering what they think about what they see with all those eyes… and what they’re thinking about… because, though you can imagine ants are singing ‘hi, ho, hi, ho, it’s off to work we go…’, and bees are just humming something quietly to themselves… spiders are watching and waiting and plotting and thinking… and I don’t really like to think about what they may be thinking as they watch me from a corner of my livingroom through their many eyes…

So, in my house, spiders haven’t yet been given the vote – not that I bother them in any way. When I find three of them – three enormous bruisers – having some kind of conference in my bath – I drape some toilet paper over the edge as a ladder – just in case they’re having difficulty getting out…

After all my brave talk, I have to confess that it may be a while before I’m happy to have one crawling around on my hand…

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firing the pot…

Tuesday, October 5th, 2010

It seems to me that putting thoughts into words can be like firing a pot. Clay that could previously take any shape is fixed in one form for ever…

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psychic origins…

Tuesday, June 1st, 2010
twisted trunk...

twisted trunk...

Been somewhat busy of late engaging with a massive restructuring of my garden – involving the moving of many tonnes of earth and the building (by stone masons) of some rather lovely retaining walls of local stone… but that’s for a future blog – when I shall attempt to express my delight in natural materials and the skill and craft of human hands…

Now I would like to share what I believe about an aspect of the origins of the individual psyche… This goes to the roots of what I understand about my own psyche.

It could be the case that a psyche is like soup – to which experience is added as ingredients that constantly change its flavour. By this reckoning, it should be possible, by adding a little pinch of this, a little pinch of that, to sweeten the soup if it is to bitter; to add a dash of bitterness if it is too sickly – and thus to transform the psyche to a perfect balance…

Alas, my experience of therapy suggests to me that this is not possible. Instead it seems to me that the psyche is like a seedling that grows into a tree. At any point in its life, the form this tree takes is the sum of all its experiences: the sunlight of love that has fallen on it, the nurture that it has been able to draw up through its roots from the soil in which its seed fell, the storms it has endured. But it is clearly the case that the further back to the seed we go, the more fundamental are the influences on its future form. In its adult form, the psychic tree will need a gale to tear off one of its branches. By contrast, as a seedling, a glancing blow might be enough to take that branch off in its embryonic form…

No form of healing can hope to replace a branch lost in ‘seedlinghood’. What therapy can do is to bring awareness of how small that injury was – though it came to have such massive and lasting consequence – and thus a psyche can come to understand, accept and value the shape it has, without regret, as the natural consequence of its life experiences…

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humpty dumpty…

Friday, March 5th, 2010
ricardo sitting on a wall... © remco van straten

ricardo sitting on a wall... © remco van straten

This is a picture that my friend Rem sent to me to celebrate the launch of The Third God yesterday… I thought I’d share it with you since it not only amused me, but also intrigued me… I had some notions what it might mean – especially gazing at the pile of rather unfortunate looking corpses on the ground – I thought that it was all the king’s horses and all the king’s men that were supposed to put humpty together again… but here they seem to be the ones that are ‘broken’… Anyway, this is what Rem said:

it’s about the interview… Not letting people be too
comfortable behind their walls; you sitting on the wall, seeing the horror outside. Sartlar, perhaps, WW1, Rwanda… And there’s the ‘healing’ aspect of it too, so hence also the Humpty Dumpty (‘putting Humpty Dumpty together again’) reference. There’s some wee hairline cracks, because the healing may not be complete…

so there you have it… these are the kind of friends I have…… *grin*

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who wants to live for ever…?

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

Damien Hirst skull

Damien Hirst skull

I used to passionately desire immortality. I would argue its benefits: the ability to experience so much more, to achieve so much more, to produce so much more artistic work. I wanted this so much that I remember getting quite manic reading Raymond Kurzweil who believes that we’re on the verge of being capable of halting ageing – and that, once this is achieved, it would only be a matter of time before rejuvenation became technologically available – and youthful immortality would become a reality. He is pursuing this dream so hard that, each day, he consumes a smörgåsbord of pills: vitamins, anti-oxidants, etc…

When I emerged from 5 years of gestalt therapy, I no longer desired immortality. Why should that be? Well, it seems to me that the reason is because I had ‘slain my demons’ – or at least come to an accommodation with them. I am now pretty certain that the pressure for immortality came from a realization that I had these demons to deal with; had been on the planet for 40 years and, in that time, I had made no progress whatsoever with them. On this basis, projecting forward, it was obvious – to my unconscious – that it was going to take an infinitely long time to deal with them. Thus the need for immortality.

The quest for immortality now seems to me not only hubristic, but another example of how out of touch with reality we have become. Here we are on a planet that is not really capable of supporting our population as it is, and that will soon have to support 2 billion more – and Mr Kurzweil is proposing that people (no doubt the rich) should stop dying… It is utterly, utterly insane!

And then I read an interview with Kurzweil in which he was bemoaning that he had never got over his father dying and that he wants to bring him back to life. I am with Jung on this… beyond midlife, the purpose of living becomes to accept loss – and in that loss to find individual fulfilment. To everything there is a season. Without death, I believe that life becomes essentially pointless – a ship at sea with no course or destination…

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