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Hi again Boss, how you doing?

Hi Steven, nice to see you too; it's always a pleasure to bump into you.

I think you put it nicely:

there are times that (anger) serves a good purpose, such
as adrenalizing a strident response to injustice that is appropriate.

Hi Sean, thanks for your views. I don't disagree with most of what you said, but: As you know, Alice Miller taught that when children's vital needs for love and protection are not fulfilled, and instead they are punished, manipulated, neglected or abused, they are unable to experience the anger and pain that would have been the normal response to those injuries. During the course of therapy, people can finally experience this blocked pain (it's not necessary to vent it on anyone - perhaps that was the clarification AM made? - other than a punch-bag), and go on to experience much better functioning in life, including far greater equanimity of mind. That is the anger I was talking about supporting, in my last post. Reading what you say, I don't think you would disagree with that, so we are talking at crossed purposes. If you do disagree with that, I'm glad you weren't my therapist!

This is a vast topic. As it seems it will only be you and I Sean in Spain at the unpopular Benicassim festival, we can discuss it at length, as we bake and fry under the merciless sun waiting for Leonard to appear. Being overheated makes me incandescent with rage. Wink.

Love and peace,

Diane

Ode to Anger

I was in the pub last Friday night
With a friend, (from New York)
He introduced me to another guy
Big, strong, athletic
Jockstrap semi-educated smooth
But I had known him for years
Friend of friends sort of situation.

He spoke to me like a snake might
Look and spit
For the second time.
I ignored it last time
Just before Christmas

But this time I didn’t
I barked back
In true poetic fashion:
“you fuckin’ piece of shit
Step out the back and we’ll
Sort this out !”

He re-coiled in shock
And apologized
I slowly accepted
As the reason diffused back into my being.

Lying in bed that night
I felt at ease with myself
There was nothing I wished I had said.
There was nothing I wished I had done.
And Miyamoto Musashi nodded
In my peaceful sleep.

Matj

Hello again Diane

I think we are on the same page and we can discuss that page and others at length on the Mediterranean beach as we wait patiently for peaceful Leonard's presence.

I agree that as little, undeveloped human beings who are deprived of our spontaneous physical, verbal, and mental responses to the mysterious, cruel and abusive adult psychopathic behavior we become confused and incompetent in the realm of understanding and communicating our own mental processes. This leads to bad mental habits. We learn some inappropriate ways to experience and express our existence; they become ingrained like a computer program, and very problematic. Good psychotherapy helps to reveal all of these mistaken unhelpful and inappropriate attitudes, views, understandings, behaviors. We then increase our wisdom and have choices to make. Until that happens we are jailed in a horrible place. Fortunately the bars are illusory and there is no jailer. When we learn this we can walk to freedom.

My main point about modern psychotherapy is that most psychotherapists are as mistaken about how to heal the mind as we were about our own complicated and confused reality. Most of the psychotherapists I watched in action were still 'tapping into' that illusory vat of anger for many years (far too many, creating a new bad habit) thinking that it actually existed (the vat of anger) as an unchanging concrete, discrete phenomenon. It does not exist that way. The 'anger' that they deal in exists only as memories of ancient minds and habitual manifestations of certain current minds. Therein lies the blissful freedom that we are seeking, in the the sky-like truth of the nature of our current mind! That is what should be encouraged by Psychotherapy. Instead many of them they seem to be engaged in a perpetual process of Psychological Archeology.



AGT

Sean

Hello Steven

Thanks for your response too!

You said:

there are times that (anger) serves a good purpose, such
as adrenalizing a strident response to injustice that is appropriate.

I think that this is the type of situation where wrath is warranted and I see this as very different from anger. When the odd hunter walks through my fence with a shotgun, if I see him, I scream as loud as I can and order him off the property. I can do this without any anger in my mind at all. It is a measured, forceful response designed to have a beneficial effect. In the past I would have engaged in the same action, over-amping unnecessarily on the adrenalin. The anger is optional, in my view, unnecessary, and also physically unpleasant. If that hunter ignored me and swore at me and kept walking through my property I believe that I would have to make another choice, to become indignant (early anger), irritated, offended or to practice patience and disallow any negative minds from manifesting. On a good day I would choose the latter. Peace in this world depends on similar choices. We can do something to impact the peace in our reality, in our world, and this is extremely important because it pervades the world, if done in a small way.

AGT

Sean

And to Matt, thanks for your input. I have spent too long on this response and will get back to you a little later. Out of curiosity, how would you have felt if you had gone out back and beaten that character silly (more silly)?

Sean

daka wrote:on the Mediterranean beach as we wait patiently for peaceful Leonard's presence

-------------------

A Poison Tree, William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Thank god for google!!

You inspired me, Diane to see what other poems are out there about anger. I never thought of Buddha as a poet but much to my delight I found this link:

http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/ ... dha/anger/

....which offered this poem by Buddha about Anger


Anger

Give up anger; renounce pride;
transcend all worldly attachments.
No sufferings touch the person
who is not attached to name and form,
who calls nothing one's own.
Whoever restrains rising anger like a chariot gone astray,
that one I call a real driver;
others merely hold the reins.

Overcome anger by love; overcome wrong by good;
overcome the miserly by generosity, and the liar by truth.
Speak the truth; do not yield to anger;
give even if asked for a little.
These three steps lead you to the gods.

The wise who hurt no one, who always control their body,
go to the unchangeable place,
where, once they have gone, they suffer no more.
Those who are always aware, who study day and night,
who aspire for nirvana, their passions will come to an end.

This is an old saying, Atula, not just from today:
"They blame the person who is silent;
they blame the person who talks much;
they also blame the person who talks in moderation;
there is no one on earth who is not blamed."
There never was, nor ever will be, nor is there now
anyone who is always blamed or anyone who is always praised.

But the one whom those who discriminate praise
continually day after day as without fault,
wise, rich in knowledge and virtue,
who would dare to blame that person,
who is like a gold coin from the Jambu river?
That one is praised even by the gods, even by Brahma.

Be aware of bodily anger and control your body.
Let go of the body's wrongs
and practice virtue with your body.

Be aware of the tongue's anger and control your tongue.
Let go of the tongue's wrongs
and practice virtue with your tongue.

Be aware of the mind's anger and control your mind.
Let go of the mind's wrongs
and practice virtue with your mind.

The wise who control their body,
who control their tongue,
the wise who control their mind are truly well controlled.

*
Poems by Lord Buddha

Sean

I wrote a little poem about William Blake's poem, Diane:

Equanimity

what a pity!
plain to see
poor old willy's
lack of equanimity

divide in three!
is he a friend
or a stranger
or my enemy

we are free
when we can see
one not three
with equanimity

'till then we are at war
but the teams trade
like they do
in pseudo war sports

Sean

To Mat J

I'm glad he apologized
I'm glad you accepted his apology
I'm glad you slept peacefully

Sean

BREAKTHROUGH
for my son Adam

He changed
his socks
jocks
hat and persona,
wife
sleep patterns
name
religion and cv.
He changed
friends for acquaintances,
the Beatles for Bartok
Spinoza for Sartre
Jeffrey Archer
for Salman Rushdie
paper for plastic cards
and long walks
for bungee-jumping.
And one day
he stood alone
with his mobile phone
and howled,
with the same voice
he was born
with.

- My father, 1998

How fortunate you are to have such a wonderful poem from your father. This is quite touching for me; I will explain why.

My father, in Toronto, is 85. He recites much poetry that he learned in his childhood. He is proud of saying that he is from 'Yeats County" (County Sligo in Ireland). He was very influential in my life, in developing an appreciation for literature, for the English language in general, for music, and for many other reasons. He is well for an 85 year old person, but is on his way out. I have been begging and harassing him for a poem every time we speak. I keep saying "How is my poem coming along?". I keep reminding him it doesn't have to be a good poem, or a long poem, I just want a poem. He has never written any poetry, to my knowledge, although he is certainly capable of doing so. He keeps telling me how he really wants to leave 'something... some kind of inheritance", and I keep saying "All I want is a poem!".

This all started when I read that Leonard has said that one should collect all the poems that have been written to them in one place. My collection is one poem, but I would be delighted if it were two, and my dad's was one of them.

I chauffered my dad around Ireland a year ago for a month. He was very happy during that trip and so was I. We visited Yeats' grave in Sligo.

My anger issues in this life were very much related to this gentleman. He was a victim of the 'poisonous pedagogy' that Alice Miller writes about so well. He came by the lineage honestly, through the harsh militaristic parenting thread in his ancestry. He of course continued with this style for a while with his own family, and I was the last of the lineage because I did not pass it on to my offspring.

I had a deep hatred for him for many years, an icy cold and bitter anger that I believed was completely justifiable. Fourteen years ago my attitudes began changing, (pre-Buddhism) as a result of being influenced by a few more enlightened conventional Psychotherapists, who encouraged a zero tolerance for anger. Then with the softening influences of Buddhism which also encourages a zero tolerance for anger I made my relationship with him a major priority. It transformed radically when my mind shifted. When my mind was more open, compassionate, warm, accepting, and forgiving HE completely and radically changed within a matter of months. I have seen many remarkable transformations in my life but nothing like this transformation. Day to Night!

Since that time we have become very close friends. We share a level of intimate contact that I treasure, and that he treasures. He appreciates our relationship as do I. I really am delighted that I can be completely irreverent with him and my irreverence amuses and delights him.

The thought of maintaining any anger in my mind towards him (which would have prevented our present relationship from manifesting) is horrifying.

I could go on but I won't. I think I have explained why I really would like a second poem in my collection.

Sean

Boss,

I've more than paid my dues for wrongs that weren't mine.

"I've more than paid my dues for wrongs that weren't mine" - me too!
"To remain angry can't take back what they did" - I agree, mate. But how did the anger go? Mine sort of dissolved into grief/sadness, and then understanding (as well as I could). It took time. I guess I still hold on to some anger.

Shit man, I'm trying to respond to your post. It's difficult on this medium. Point is this: All children get hurt. Life is not perfect - there are cracks in all sorts of things. Growing up is littered with barbs. You have been hurt. You'll notice my father's poem above talks of Salman Rushdie and Jeffrey Archer, Sartre, Spinoza and Bartok. He lived for these 'intelligent, creative' people. He didn't have much time for 'ordinary' folk. I killed myself to get his 'love'. But, oh what a sacrifice I paid. How I lost of my real self. Most importantly, how I was hurt. And how this hurt was camouflaged because I was too tender to assimilate all that was happening. We humans are very good at denying reality, most often we have to.

I'm glad you are aware of the pain your parents caused you. Truly. Many people have no inkling - nothing. I hope you cried as it all unfolded; as you understood. Did anyone help you?

You must have done something right - you're a beautiful soul Steven and I appreciate you very much.

Thank you,
Boss

Steven and Boss,
you have taken me back to this moment again.
As you know, I have posted it before,( viewtopic.php?f=11&t=7463&st=0&sk=t&sd=a&start=90)
but songs can be sung again !



On my unbroken legs (part 2 )

Mum left when I was four
returned when I was five
reluctantly
and for us kids it was never
a happy home again.

At her parents place
that lovely weak man
that selfish old woman
that disenchanting world
full of hostilities
for little boys
...dad dragged me out
down the gravelled path
to the back of the green galvo shed
where he beat my little legs
till they bled.

One leg was grandma
the other was mum

I saw that stick
a knotted and rough
fruit tree pruning
broken and torn at his feet
next to his heart

my crown of thorns.

I hobbled back
along that Gethsemane way
sobbing
Dad sobbed behind the shed
we were both bruised and bleeding

And somehow I understood

Again I knew;
adults are not wise...
...and my unbroken legs
would take me to sunshine.

Matj

Hello Mat

Your remarkable poetry
may be a crack
in your dad's cruelty

Sean

That's a really wonderful story about your Dad, Sean. I hope you get that poem. I suspect you might.

I do remember you posting that before, Mat.

It's very moving, to read this thread this morning.

I often think that "our generation" is very fortunate in that we have had access to the knowledge, and the 'better ways' which have enabled us to stop passing this cruelty on.

Love to you all,

Diane

The Uses of Sorrow, Mary Oliver

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

Hello Diane

Thanks for your comments. I would feel more fortunate if I received that poem than I feel after getting great seats for Leonard in Dublin this morning. Too bad dad isn't hooked up to the internet like Ticketmaster.

A while back you offered an opinion on anger which I still need to try to address. You said:

During the course of therapy, people can finally experience this blocked pain (it's not necessary to vent it on anyone - perhaps that was the clarification AM made?

This is only a 'technicality' but a very important one, in my view. One is not able to experience the anger that one experienced in the past; it is remembered; the actual term that applies, I believe is that it is a 're-cognizer' or put more simply, a memory. of the anger. Now that memory can ignite new anger and this, I think, is what Alice Miller was getting at. Of course it is good to remember the past, including the anger, and it is not good to hide or suppress it. What she and I take issue with is the generation of new anger in response to those memories. This is what she regrets encouraging in her first edition of the book, the cultivation of new anger as an appropriate response to abuse.

My last point would be that one needs to ask oneself how many times (for how many years) does one remember or tune in to that old memory, intentionally, and what is the advantage. Personally, I hardly ever remember it, and when I do the effect is compassion in my mind for the perpetrators and for all those who have suffered from abuse.

My father entered psychotherapy (Immediately when I changed my attitudes toward him) at the age of 72. He is a macho typical Irishman for his generation, though an intellectual. Unfortunately he has not completely recovered from his misogyny (questionable attitudes towards females).. I add this because the dictionary definition is so bizarre that it does not seem to include this common meaning for the word. I was completely shocked when I heard that he was in therapy, as he was the last person on this planet who I would have predicted as a voluntary candidate. Before long he was attending two psychiatrists, both highly qualified, one of whom shared a similar history of boarding school bullshit. He was also attending two psychotherapy groups a week, one men's group, and one mixed. This is what I referred to earlier as part of the dramatic transformation in this fellow. He telephoned me one day saying that he wanted me to join him either in one of his groups or at his private therapy session. I knew what he was up to; he was preparing to confront his cruelty with me directly, face to face, which I thought was very brave of him. I attended his session with his psychiatrist and he immediately began with something like: Sean, I want you to tell me exactly what it was like to live as a child with me as your alcoholic parent. I said to him that I had no interest whatsoever in doing so, but I did have an interest in telling him about the transformation in my mind with respect to him, and I proceeded to describe how my mind changed. I told him that first I put a picture of him on my wall and allowed his presence in my daily reality. I stopped being angry with him. I started contemplating the suffering that he had experienced in his life (I knew some but of course not all). His picture really helped because after 70 years the face tells the tale. I explained to him that all of the old anger and resentment dissolved and that we didn't have to re-visit it because for me I had no unfinished business with him.

Upon hearing this news, after expecting and bracing himself for a deep and extended flagellation, he bounded out of his chair (he simply could not sit for the longest time) and almost levitated around the room, with that huge load lifted off his shoulders. I have never made anyone so happy in my life as my dad on this day. This was a 'liberation' for him.

I should add that after I changed my mind toward my dad and after he entered psychotherapy I was shocked to hear that he was having lunch once a week with my brother, who is also a psychotherapist, and who had not spoken to my father for five years. So my whole family was impacted when my anger got sorted.

Enough computer for now

AGT

Sean

Hi Boss,

The hurters missed alot too, you know. And whether they recognized it or not,
they paid a price and forfeited priceless experiences. What pains must they
have carried to have made the choices they did? (Not looking for a reply on this.)
Seems, Boss, that those who do such things do so out of a pathology
of mind or spirit; probably both.