Seeking the slime II

File:Ruin at Ardmenish.jpgThe great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all ‚ÄĒ and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money.
George Orwell, Why I Write

Well, at least at the moment I am not smothered under drudgery. With Jacques Mesrine, I am not being told what to do. This doing nothing is the only way I can see to “live my own life”. I write here, I read a bit, I meditate less than I consciously intend, and I “play” Spider Solitaire. I could practise the piano, and don’t; I have picked up three or four pieces to learn in these two years, and mastered none.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a9/Jura_Beinn_a_Chaolais.JPG/320px-Jura_Beinn_a_Chaolais.JPGIt would be nice, perhaps, to have the heart-impulse to do something more, and then do it. Is it possible?

I resigned because I had been given an ultimatum, a “reasonable” instruction and a final written warning, I had not complied and was going to be sacked. After two years’ unemployment I think it unlikely that I will get a job of the responsibility or interest of which I think I am capable.

During the Hoffman Process I saw clearly for the first time one of my characteristics which I saw as particularly harmful: seeking out stories of why I should be frightened of the World, in order that I should hide from it. This seemed abominable, and I labelled it shit-hoovering.

File:Feolin Ferry, Isle of Jura.jpgLast night I was weeping because my dear friend lost half her capital in a fake investment scam- spent it on moonbeams and rainbows, a false hope of an impossible return. And her emotional reaction to this gets in the way, a year after we found it was a fraud. Someone should have prevented the scam, it was well-known: I tell her the lie is half-way round the world before the truth has got its boots on, and the fraud was set up in order to be difficult to prosecute, and I am not certain she can take that in. Her anger and her knowledge of what should happen gets in the way of seeing what is, and how she might avoid further loss.

You see I know this story, and I know the truth of it, and it miserifies and horrifies me and makes me want to turn my face to the wall. With other stuff. And the world really can be an awful place, and my friend’s pain is real.

Uses of Memory

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/95/Rossetti_girlhood.jpgThe train left the platform, slid into the tunnel, and stopped. The lights went off. There is only the ghostly light of laptop and smartphone screens. Irritating. Philip and I have said all we have to say to each other, or all we can say, and we are silent. As the minutes tick on, I realise I will have to go straight to Kings Cross rather than get out further South and walk the streets. I had wanted to walk through the British Museum, its glass-roofed central court captivated me. Still does.

-Why have we stopped?
-Probably a suicide, jumped in front of a train.
And I feel such resentment. Selfish bitch. What are tall buildings for?

Smart-phones? Surely not, not in a tunnel, though people could be looking at old texts and photos. Oh yes, it was a year or two before they came out. Not smartphones, just lap-tops. And- did we decide suicide was the likely explanation, or hear about it after? And did we make conversation, or have That Conversation which breached our friendship finally, then? I am quite clear that I had wanted to walk through the museum, though from what I understand about memory that could be an addition coming into my mind later. Like in the song.

If I can unconsciously reconstruct a memory, and remember it differently from how it was- spoken testimony is among the least reliable of evidence- then, can I make it different, on purpose? I have met fantasists and liars, creating mythical worlds in their history or other lives, but this would be consciously for the purpose of contemplating reality and myself rather than deceiving anyone.

-I felt such resentment.
-I felt such sympathy, and prayed for her. I am sure she was female, whether or not we realised it was suicide at the time, or heard it later, or indeed there was some other explanation.
-(Oh no, she’s going to say it-) “Probably a bit of both”. Depending on which is most acceptable to hold in consciousness, what is swirling about underneath.

Someone asked about coming of age, and I thought of that Menarche ceremony. Then I thought of how F had worked so hard to prevent me taking part among the adult women that I had gone off and sat by our camp fire. Resentment. And- can I concentrate on other parts of that memory? The Resentment swam into my mind, seemed the most important part of it. I heard of an NLP technique- view an unpleasant memory as a small monochrome image, but good memories full of detail and colour. I have no mind’s eye, but the principle holds- remember other parts, give them prominence. That walk in the sunshine with S, perhaps, or the discussion with the other queers about exclusion- all the acceptance I had-

Can I change my frightened hiding, my rejection of the world, into joyous acceptance? Can I by vibrating see opportunities and possibilities, and grasp them? Or will that happen through healing if I just let it and do not try to force it?

Ego and impulse

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/19/El_Greco_006.jpgHow can I distinguish ego-motivation (bad) from Heart/Spirit/God motivation (good) except by thinking about it?

Different parts of the brain say different things. There are impulses and drives, and so often the drive is self-destructive: should I do another Spider Solitaire at 1.50am? Probably not, and yet several times later than that I have done. And yet that breakfast: people thought my impulse would be to pig myself on a cooked breakfast, and I needed moral self-restraint (good) to resist that impulse, whereas actually I looked at it and my impulse was to eat muesli. I watched C eat cereal by itself, without milk, and thought that is him asserting Control in the only way he can- no-one could actually like it like that- because he is still living with his parents.

If I label my year of unemployment with just three job applications my Great Sulk, that seems bad, and if I label it my Retreat for Self-Healing, it seems good. Possibly it is a bit of both.

On Facebook I read that procrastination can be a good thing, allowing onesself to mature into doing something rather than forcing onesself. I scrolled through just now and can’t find it, but I did find this from Abraham Hicks: Worthiness, in very simple terms, means I have found a way to let the Energy reach me, the Energy that is natural, reach me. Worthiness, or unworthiness, is something that is pronounced upon you by you. You are the only one that can deem yourself worthy or unworthy. You are the only one who can love yourself into a state of allowing, or hate yourself in a state of disallowing. There is not something wrong with you, nor is there something wrong with one who is not loving you. You are all just, in the moment, practicing the art of not allowing, or the art of resisting. Oops, the Hickses are talking sense again. The loving or hating onesself is generally unconscious, my feelings of unworthiness are very deep: how may I change from one to the other? Can I use my ego/mind/conscious thought and analysis to shift into self-love and respect? If not, how might I so shift?

It seems to me that I learned young that I am Worthless. This promptly went unconscious. I then realised I felt that way very deep down, by ratiocination- (Oh My God the Monkey mind Ego Bad Bad Bad) but also by a guided way into my Unconscious- it is my Hoffman name. (Mystic!! Good!!). If I kneel in my ritual space and say, portentously, “I am worthy of Respect” or try to Think Through reasons why I am worthy of respect- either simply by being human, or by characteristics- can I in that way move from that hate to self-love?

I have faith that the human being heals, and I seem wiser and more self-accepting than before (if my ego is perceiving correctly). I was all knotted up. Can I help myself unknot, by thinking about it, or by practising willing my own good?  What do you think?

Or, going back to Being Human, if I can see bits of myself in the shero Alex even if she is not the most well-drawn human being, is it better to spend time watching that rather than reading Proust and seeing myself in the pitiable Marcel?

The Chicago Code

Is the risk worth taking?

The Chicago Code is a cop drama which made¬† thirteen episodes in 2010, now being shown on Pick TV, the Murdoch channel freely available in the UK. Misnamed Pick is filled with worthless, ¬£1000 an hour “reality TV” but is worth checking occasionally, for things like “Spartacus” (Thud! Splat! Phwoar! Ew!) and the surpisingly watchable Stargate Universe, which made two full seasons in 2010.

The Chicago Code is Feelgood. The good guys win, always at the end of the episode, and repeatedly, but with the slight edge that the bad guys win sometimes too, for example the successful jury nobbling in episode 10. There is an ongoing story and some soapish elements around certain characters, but each episode has one or two stories which can be followed without previous knowledge of the show, and here the undercover cop is shown early, talking to bad guys and his handler, so that new viewers get the idea.

It goes dark. Darkest moment today, a man is shot in the head, and blood spatters undercover cop’s face.

Fortune moves like the wind, and we see the pretty cop chasing the bad guy. But he is staying ahead, and the shot changes: from a shot in sunlight to one in shade. Will he turn on her? Whoosh, in comes a car with more cops. Snap, snap, snap, new shot, new idea.

Is the risk worth taking? Handler’s brother was an undercover cop, shot by the bad guys. Now, undercover cop is close to the head of the mob. Should he be pulled out? Is the handler’s opinion affected by the death of his brother, years ago? Undercover cop is to be searched, in case he has a “wire”. He has. In this programme, he could not actually die but that is not always obvious.

They take the risk, and it pays off, very well. The story is not over: it is time to move in on the big fish. The episode is over, though. How do I feel now? I have had a strong vicarious emotional workout- elation, amusement, dread, shock flickering around my limbic system rapidly in succession. Back to real life. My retreat to my living room is stressful: my thigh muscle has started to twitch, near the knee. This is better than the facial tics I have had in the past. Ah. I am stressed. Notice that. And now, at the end of the episode, I feel- a downer. I want another.

I believe my retreat is useful, that I am gaining self-acceptance and self-awareness, and recovering from internalised self-hatred and past hurts. I pass the time, not just with Contemplation. I know my addiction to Solitaire is harmful: 1300 “games” since August, and I do not go to bed, just “playing” again, and I have twice got wired on it, hyper, reacting quickly and not necessarily well, and it makes me sleep poorly. So I have removed the shortcuts to it. I could find it again, but that would take digging, I am not quite sure how.

I am passing the time, as well as healing and contemplating. This telly is addictive, an escape from reality. I need to retreat: that job interview in Bedford last week really upset me, and I did not get the job. I can retreat, I have a little more money to disperse. I think the telly is probably OK: have an experience, react to it, see the reaction, learn- and also pass some time.

Rather than watching another recording, I kneel in my ritual space, and contemplate for a bit. Then I start thinking of blogging it.

Cultural expressions

File:Femminiello.jpgPeople must be Normal. But if you cannot manage that, there are tolerated paths of abnormality. These are not as good as proper Normal, but at least they are our Weird. The Femminielli of Naples are accepted as part of the culture, with roles in ritual and seen as good luck where “transsexuals” may be driven out. (Thanks to Lexi for introducing me to the concept.) The Galli were eunuch priests of Cybele.

So, my path is that of the trans woman. I saw a psychiatrist, and got a diagnosis. Then I “transition”- I change my name, have my facial hair permanently removed, get my genitals adjusted. Now I express myself female, making my voice higher, dressing female, using feminine body-language. I have undertaken to so express myself life long, and have had this confirmed by a psychiatrist and my GP, and so am rewarded with my gender recognition certificate and protected under the Equality Act 2010. Also in my culture are drag queens, female impersonators and transvestites- all of whom do their thing in particular locations, and not full time.

God, I want to fit in. So I am not certain whether I want to use a higher voice because I want it, or because that is the way to be a normal trans woman. That path was made for androphilic M-Fs, and lesbian M-Fs had The Script- “I knew there was something wrong aged 3, and I knew I was a girl aged 5, no I have never masturbated to fantasies of being female, no sir, not never not nohow” etc. We needed the script because we needed to tell the psychiatrist what he needed to hear before he could give us what we wanted. I think it is not quite so bad now. On the forums, we policed ourselves: the wrath awaiting those who were “Non-op” or thought they might be “autogynephiliac” was severe.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c9/Sacrifice_to_Cybele_-_Ostia_Antica.JPGThis concerns how I see myself, how I feel, how I respond, unconsciously and consciously. It concerns where I am conflicted, dragged in two ways- my No, making me hide in my living room.

A Gallus could not be a Roman citizen, because Romans could not castrate themselves. There would be ways round it- use a different accent, blind eyes turned, no-one actually inspects you- and someone would be safe unless someone with a grudge dobbed her in, perhaps. The Rules, the Normal, never lets you survive, it only pretends to; you have to break the rules to survive.

The hermeneutic of suspicion works. The Bible is not this good thing given by God for our good, it is imperfect and written by men in patriarchy. Similarly, I must be suspicious of everything I have absorbed. Nothing can be trusted, each perception needs questioned.

I ministered on this, and the enforcement of conformity: the Legal Services Commission deciding that all files should be fastened in date order with a treasury tag or similar, and marking down on the Audit if they were not, and the Broad and Narrow Way, and after Liz said to me that a phrase should be translated

I am IS the way, the truth and the life

and that makes a huge difference to it.