Posted by Sigismund on July 19, 2007, at 15:40:34
In reply to As Days Go By, posted by B2chica on July 19, 2007, at 11:19:25
When I was coming to the end of my interminable therapy, my T volunteered the opinion that (sort of) the main problem with me was my contempt.
I proved her right by vehemently rejecting this suggestion. I shouldn't have been so sensitive.
Now I'd be more inclined to say 'what the hell, f*ck yeah, I don't have to be perfect'.Contempt is still something I have to watch out for.
Sometimes, very rarely, I feel (like Tennyson?) 'why should I ever try to leave the kindly race of men?'But mostly I don't feel that at all, and more like this....
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.Incidentally, I feel quite sure that Eliot was very experienced in depersonalisation.
poster:Sigismund
thread:770539
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20070425/msgs/770587.html