I’m reluctant to call myself old. As common perceptions go, I feel at least 20 years younger, being curious and interested in everything. I just got a bit slow with manual tasks, procrastinating in executing them when my superego demands action. I’ve never been at easy terms with my superego; love/hating my hilarious authority complex.
Among parents, siblings, children, writers, artists, philosophers, teachers, the circle of minds that influenced and still influence me and in some cases vice versa seems vast. Despite being a hermit at heart, circumstances led me to engage with a rich variety of people, groups, colleagues, communes, film teams, social projects, journeys, clients. Like in a well-lived-in home with accumulated treasures, our countless interconnections with others settle and live on in us. Some memories are only partly woven into the fabric of our lives, with loose threads keen to be integrated.
A bonus of old age for me, are vivid dreams. The characters playing are usually people, dead or alive, I related to over time. In these dreams I experience undercurrents of feelings, rarely expressed but also informing the relationships. I catch my subtle projections onto people and their projections onto me. Like I tend to be guarded of controlling people, but like to be in charge myself J
These messages are quite confusing to absorb, and I ponder whether the awareness of such subconscious narratives changes the memory in my psyche, and has any subliminal effect on the characters involved, dead or alive – based on my belief that the psyche is a timeless phenomenon. Insights can arrive during daydreams. It could be a slight lift of the spirit or a feeling of unease, like a cloud swirling round the head.
Do we sense when people think of us? My paternal grandmother considered this happens when my nose itches. She also advised me to pull unpleasant thoughts from my nose via a downward stroke with my fingers, and then flick the thoughts away.
Her quirky tips were what a modern day influencer might employ.
I’m sometimes embarrassed about my ignorance – that is – not seeing where people might be coming from, be it the motivation for their interactions, secrets withheld, questions not asked, missed resonances, words meant in kindness, or in sudden spite or error, all the subtle hurts we inflict on each other, all of which just as well applies to me.
There seem to be polarized opinions regarding narratives … if it ends badly so be it. Attempts to make things well are soppy. Resolved and happy endings, though desired by some, can come over as insincere or boring to others. My preferences vary, according to the mood of the day, maybe yours too.
Our media is dominated by bad news, often too weird to be real, feeding a hunger for sensation, an entrenched feature of human nature that may be based on a masochistic and self-destructive mechanism in response to grief, rejection, resentment, disillusionment or lack of gratification.
All is Well … All is Bad, and a labyrinth between them for getting lost.
Clearly, we seek acknowledgement for our existence, be it through love or hate, but at least a nod for having some function in this game of living. Some players cause mayhem and are reviled or heralded; others are envied or applauded for personal or social achievements, sharing a life’s work, or for nourishing friendships.
Attention is never guaranteed, one moment we are valued by some, scorned by others, and next we are forgotten. Some of us get too much attention, some too little, some the wrong kind, some none at all.
It’s the way of life.
I conceive of the concept of soul families, whose members meet again and again, in different times and environments, with different roles … psychological constellations that provide a precious testing ground for becoming human. I don’t think it is farfetched. It chimes with some eastern traditions, like Karma.
What annoys us in others often pinches at a trait we have ourselves, sobering when revealed. C. G. Jung put a bright beam on the unconscious complexes and shadow aspects of personhood. It should make us marvel at the intricate dynamic intelligence by which the psyche adjusts our perspectives in unseen energetic ways, sometimes surfacing during odd moments in relationships, and, quite regularly in dreams – for this I’m grateful.
Nature works in such mysterious ways we can’t possibly out-think it.
To fill in the distorted or simply incomplete gestalt gathered from early caregivers, we find ourselves during our lifetime in families of various constellations … in groupings of friends, educational settings, teams working towards a project, callings, interest groups, animal care, subcultures, political, vocational and spiritual clusters. In these groups we slot into roles we project, or are projected onto us with qualities others are drawn to engage with, for whatever reason, often to explore a hidden part inside, mother, father, sister, brother, child, lover, hidden in the light or hidden in the dark. Much of this search now happens virtually, through screens, though it can’t replace the actual physical resonance a gestalt needs.
Family can also mean a collection of symbolically meaningful objects, toys, letters, books, art, tools, stones. I collect stones and endow them with memories. My ex-husband extended his loving father role to string instruments. (I wrote about his loss in my previous post.)
At stages in our life we fit, or are fitted, into a network of psychological potential. These are intense phases. Yet irrespective of time gone since people parted ways, families dispersed, places were lost … when a former close friend dies, insight descends, rises, arrives from the past, from the future and from spheres unknown. Memories will shift their meaning. Slowly our sense of self is re-aligned. We capture a condensation of what was symbolically exchanged, essence is revealed.
Our selfless neighbours left an indelible impression on my son. They made him a valued and loved part of a small community. Our farmer friend, Hope, was hungry for knowledge, though never realised her dream of travelling as a journalist. She had however the most vivid visions of Tibet; a place neither of us had visited but felt strong emotional connection with. Not the first time, I had a shock of appreciation for the unremembered sparking instant rapport slipping through time.
I was thirty then, had travelled much and been involved with innumerable internationally composed groupings, circles upon circles – this was to continue for decades to come. Among the groups were people who felt strangely familiar, like Hope. We would guard out solitude, cry together, or laugh hilariously about silly things. Equally there were those wary of me, often for reasons unknown to themselves, which made me wary of them. You may know this treading-on-eggshells feeling.
Course of Mirrors 