Psychoanalysis

I think my self psychoanalysis, which no doubt would look from the outside a whole lot like self absorbed laziness, is nearly complete.  I had a put-a-feeling-into-words moment today, that helped me understand my tendency towards self importance and entitlement.  I fight it, but not always successfully.  I really am an ugly human being at times.  I really am.  That is simply a statement of fact. I was this week.  My shugyo, of course, it not pulling out yellow bubbles and rainbows of happiness, and over and above that I had a fair amount of concentrated bad luck.  No, inevitable consequences of poor or non-existent planning on my part manifested at the same time.  That is the honest statement.  That they all happened on the same day was God laughing at me and asking me to get my shit together.  And part of getting my shit together was figuring out why I constantly have this feeling the rules don’t apply to me.

What that insight is, I will not share.  That was a journal moment.

This is what I wanted to say: Freud’s work shifted from useful to counterproductive when he transitioned from an effort to elicit FEELINGS, to MEMORIES.  Memories you think, but they do not heal.  ONLY if they elicit feelings do they heal, but that is not the principle focus of historical psychoanalysis, which is more or less founded on lies Freud had to tell about pedophilia in his time and town.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t understand the details, the transference, counter-transference blah blah blah.  I read about them some time ago, but at no point in my life have they made ANY sense.  I do know that psychiatrists have managed to erect and maintain the delusion that they are in some respect emotionally wiser and smarter because of their own in depth psychoanalyses.  Bullshit.  We all know this is bullshit.  And bullshit is a useful metaphor because we all instinctively are repulsed by the smell of shit, and bulls drop more of it.  The analogy is an obvious one.   Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes Freudian psychoanalysis is bullshit.

Here is the thing: I don’t remember most of my childhood. Only bits and pieces here and there.  And it doesn’t matter.  I don’t and can’t live in the past.  What the details are don’t matter.  What matters is what my dominant emotions were.  Those can be found, contacted, embraced, and released.  The rest can be inferred, to the extent I have any need at all to do so for psychological closure.