Metaphorical truth

“The delusional patient simultaneously communicates to us a literal falsity and a metaphorical truth.”
~ Mark L. Ruffalo, psychotherapist

Most of us do the same thing, but usually not to a delusional extent. Literal truth tends to evade us, providing only brief and partial glimpses of it, especially in this age of misinformation. Metaphorical truth more consistently mirrors whatever is going on inside of us and in the world, even if not fact based.

Two in One

Sometimes our lives split in two, like traversing a fork in the road, where the two parts diverge and move in different directions. One part continues to circle around an old trauma or deficit, including whatever is associated with the age of occurrence; and another part evolves outside of the pain, but attempts to manage or contain it at the same time, often without complete success, as the pain spills over into one’s relationships and dealings with the world.

Personally, I recognize both a wounded 12 year old—inner child—and old wise man—inner parent—residing within my body/psyche; the youngster still clinging to life, and the elder being the support and voice of hope and reason. Yet, I’ve discovered that acknowledging and attempting to soothe a painful past does not necessarily resolve it; the traumas and deficits being so entrenched within every fiber of my being, that they remain as a chronic condition, following me into old age—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Sublimation through ruminative daydreams and writing seem to be my most effective means of dealing with whatever still hurts or remains in deficit.

Lost pieces

Pieces of yourself remain attached to the things, people, events, and times that had great value to you, but were lost upon their exit from your life. The fear or reality of losing those pieces forever, may be the most painful feeling of all, leaving you diminished or less than before; one of many deaths that you will perpetually experience over a lifetime, as you mourn the lost pieces of your former self, until they’re recovered in weakened form, or finally discarded and put to rest.

In the end, the many pieces of you will be scattered by the proverbial winds of time and consequence, leaving them here, there, and everywhere, still attached to their hosts, but nowhere to be found as what was once the wholeness of YOU.

Recurring dream

Note: The following is my comment regarding a recurring dream described by a social media user. The dream had persisted for more than 25 years, following his breakup with the woman depicted in the dream. The dreamer had not been in contact with her in real life since their breakup 25 years ago; however, up until recently, his old feelings and desires for her resurfaced during each recurring instance of the dream.

This is a very long duration for the recurrence of a dream, and he was wondering if something remained unresolved regarding this past relationship, and if it could be finally resolved.

My comment: The first and most difficult step, is to determine what her dream character symbolizes for you. Keep in mind that after 25 years, the real person behind the dream character doesn’t exist anymore, not in the way you knew her 25 years ago. People and circumstances change over time. What remains is the unresolved or unconscious part of you that surfaced during the actual relationship and continues to haunt you, so to speak.

Her dream character is like a shadow or ghost that wants you to recognize “something” catalyzed by your past involvement with the “once” real woman—good or bad—or that symbolizes a wound or need that goes far deeper and older than the relationship itself, but resonates with your memory of it.

I recommend exploring this symbolic ghost through whatever means works for you—art, music, introspection, dream journaling, etc.—to understand what the dream may be depicting or asking of you.

Dystopia #3: Street justice

A well known horror film actress—The Queen of the Scream—whose real name I should not mention here, is dead at 75. She died last week. And now the terror of lawlessness has arrived in my nightmares, played by her, screaming nightly since her demise, merging with my own screams.

My streetwalker pal shakes me at the scream’s climax and says, “Isaac, WAKE UP, it’s almost time for the movie,” and then soothes me without solicitation; a morning affair in exchange for chips and a 6 year old expired med. She tells me, “You can’t afford my fee, not now, Isaac. Chips and the sugar pill are good enough, and I’ll share.”

Continue reading “Dystopia #3: Street justice” →