Thinking emotionally IV

-What do you think about those, then?
-It’s not what I think about them, it’s what I feel about them.

I stand still, eyes closed, seeking access to my feelings. What could distance me from them? It is like being in the dentist: there, I relax and calm myself to be less flustered by the unpleasant sensations. Here, I seek feelings about the sandals I am wearing, rather than the interaction with the shop assistant or feelings about the crowded, cluttered shop or the need to choose-

I thought of writing, our society values thinking far more, and it is feeling which matters. I said something like that to her. No, it is me- not even “I was brought up to” value thinking more, but “I do, now”.

The other pair was prettier and cheaper but my heel can slip off the side of them, so I chose these. They are quite pretty, and also practical for walking in. I want to walk a mile in my own shoes.

And I was distracted and stressed by the situation from the choice itself. I am happy enough with my choice. And happy with the new sandals, or I would not return to them here.

Liz found early on that she could have shoes which were comfortable on her broad, GG fitting, feet, or which did not look dreadful, but not both. There are conflicting feelings.

Here is Ben Wood, claiming for Quakers the God of Pascal, whom one can know and trust, rather than the God of Descartes, a hypothesis to reason about. The hypothesis seems increasingly silly, and never reassuring- like the baby monkey alone in a cage, preferring a mannequin mother covered in fur to a mannequin mother of wire mesh with a teat for milk-

Oh! Who thought of such torture!

Harry Harlow.

Onywye. Feeling, there, distracting from exploring this for myself or explaining it to you. Here am I blogging. I will stick to this powerful simile for want of a better. Use, perhaps, rather than torture: crippling baby monkeys, as a way of finding how best to care for human children. The experiments have lasting value.

Thinking rationally, I can create ordered paragraphs, moving from point to point and taking you with me. I can write, and be understood on the other side of the world. Feeling, I produce single words rather than sentences- beautiful, seemly, pure, lovely- perhaps distilled to “yuck” and “yum”, or communicating wordlessly with body language and facial expression.

Poets can communicate emotion.

I might do it now: I seek to persuade, rather than convince. And I am not sure the word “convince” means entirely to persuade rationally and not emotionally.

Thinking rationally seems easier to me because I have practised it consciously. Sensing feelings, they bubble up from unconsciousness. And every time I “think rationally” feeling is part of it.

Merry christmas!

I am delighted to see the christmas gifts in my local Boots. Under red and gold stars, little bottles of smellies nestle in huge cardboard and cellophane packages. I am pleased, because among my hobbies are whingeing and pedantry, and I can get out my “bloody Christmas” whinge and my “It’s Advent, not ‘the Runup to Christmas,’ and it does not start until 27 November” pedantry. I have been happily moaning, and indulging my shock, since 1989 when I first saw Christmas displays in October, in Woolworth’s.

Actually, it reminds me of wandering out for dinner down Republic St in Valletta in November, under tasteful and lovely decorations, in a T shirt. Desperate to drum up trade, a shop has its midwinter festival stock out while there are blackberries and butterflies in the hedges, and I do not need the heating on because my living room is 20°C.

I am glad that I can enjoy my pedantry, rather than getting worked up about it as I used to. The problems of life are not for solving, they are for working on, said Carl Jung.

I was away on Sunday morning, but scheduled my post in advance, telling WordPress when to publish it. There was no need to claim to have been abducted by the security services.

Update: from 18 October, the Christmas lights are up in the streets.