It seemed there was sensible Clare and flighty Clare.
-Do they talk to each other?
No. They talk past each other. Or they issue orders to each other: flighty me says No, definitely, like a toddler, or “This interests me now”, to deny the pleadings of the other. The apparently sensible part tells me what I should do, and I don’t.
I feel they fit Steve Peters’ human and chimp better than Richard Rohr’s egoic identity and Beloved of God, but perhaps that is because flighty Clare has not experienced enough Love. Possibly neither is either, but they seem to be the parts of me most conscious and most debating.
-Is the part that feels distress the same as the part that feels joy?
Fascinating question. Sometimes it seems yes, sometimes it seems no. What feels joy? I have just been out, and taken my new header photo, of two ducks. I am pleased with it. What part feels joy in that? I could say I feel satisfaction at doing something I wanted to do, taking a photograph I can value. This is my winter header, the snow was lying on the riverbank. I have boosted the colour and brightness a little. Possibly flighty Abigail feels joy, sensible Abigail rebukes that this is a hobby which will not make money but indulges the other in her play.
Both want the good of the other, but disagree about how to achieve it.
-Which do you prefer?
I laugh bitterly. I hate both. Oh fuck.
Then I cry.
-There’s the pain. Why?
-Neither makes me happy. Neither gives me peace, or gets what I want. They do not agree.
-What is this self which is distressed?
Possibly it is the self I access in Mindful presence. There is distress, it is me feeling it. But mindfulness theory tells me that distress is just a passing mood, not the real underneath.
Say I feel I ought to have a shower. What good does showering do me? The only answer I get, the only motivation, comes from the sensible bit. One has to do certain things to keep alive, and while ideally those things would include working, bringing up children, getting a house and pension, at least my list includes showering.
I always shower eventually. Sometimes I enjoy it, the feeling of water on my skin, sometimes I nag myself to get on with it- apply soap, wash it off, turn off water, dry self
sometimes I just stand under the water, my mind blank.
There is love and concern here. I love myself. I want my good. And perplexity, I don’t know how to achieve it, which in part concerns self-motivation.
She observes that I practise tone and emotionality. Sometimes it is spontaneous, sometimes it is thought out. I am sad at that. Yes, I want to communicate my feeling, but what I am actually feeling, not some part of my feeling which I want to get across to appear in a certain way. I don’t want to see myself as manipulative, but as authentic.
I have started reading again. I have been depressed for months, not reading books, but now I am reading Joan Didion’s non-fiction. I love her way of turning a sentence, and her-
all I can say is her Joan-ness, her self-ness. I could call her liberal or conservative, world-weary, realistic or cynical, regretful- there is a person there, a small woman with a large intellect who sees others and finds them interesting.
Anyway. I am glad I am reading again.
Clare Flourish 