Shock

  

Anorgonia is a reappearance of buried Orgone's inability to express the abuse, validation, and physical neglect of ones early family, often coincides with disease. (Dr. Reich summarizes his cases with anorgonia in The Cancer Biopathy.) To access those early contractions is a tremendous struggle. Anorgonia is horrendous and wipes out Orgone and motivation.. 

No one was their.

I laid their addicted to

The sunshine. I would wait it

Out,.

I went on.

I didn't know there would be a

Late payment

Anorgonia.

Devastating is that me?  It is push and disappear. It is ugly. When telling the truth is frightening than Orgone pushes forward and then back. Going to get hit. Saying I'm here and your going to get hit. The answer from them is devastating, it's cellular.  There is no body, no Orgone, just words by the walking dead. In therapy reliving this tragedy is overwhelming: life missed. It is a hole that I fell into. I disappeared.

What I needed, wanted was flesh closeness. Not getting this life saving closeness causes a flattening, a stilling. Symbolically, and physically it's a no body. As an adult that is a fall. I cannot stand without a body. 

I had to experience my earliest abuse: being not  touched, no loving hands, no soft warm breast. I went into hibernation. I never woke to Orgone. Over time Orgone flow gets buried and I lived with a diminished self. It is a black hole of disappearance. It's there forgotten, furious. That black hole is a dead sun. It is broken. It's real. It is dangerous accessing my earliest neglect. A solid abuse lived in me. Orgone stayed buried in the  past. Initial Orgone would totally fill me and depress me. Now I new the difference. My disappearing Orgone was no mother, no loving contact. When remembered as an adult, it was finally an Emotional Plague. That was what saved me. A held in discomfort. Orgone's Therapies knowledge told me to emote, breathe. A memory that made me move, to emote the neglect and not lay there comatose waiting for mother to come. She didn't come. She was the walking Emotional Plague. She could not give me closeness which would have activated my body.

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You cannot change the past, you can react to the past. Orgone reemerging. That is the struggle, reenergizing as an adult. The parts of you that were needed to hide must be seen. Those first few years needed to be super secure. If not the babies cellular response is contraction, automatic. The key is learning how to breathe, emote and inch by inch experiencing plasma motility in the body. The bodies Orgone will open up constricted plasma. Make sure you have paid attention to opening up the body by reaching to closed parts. The soreness will let you know that your opening buried Orgone.   

Orgone knowledge is essential when you have anorgonia. Those contractions are deep and unconscious. Practicing the Gag reflex that is taught in Orgone Therapy helps to identify the hidden deep cellular stillness. The gag reflex awakens over time Orgone flow. The spontaneity of my new motility has no conscious control. I look forward to the Orgone surprise movement. Orgone movement is alive with its own timing. Orgone is the bigger part of me that I suppressed. Orgone moving outward is pleasure. Orgone is life's expression.

Dr. Reich Video

Captures my experience of Dr. Reich.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKiK5afXYgg

Are You Healthy?

Dr. Reich asked Myron Sharaf on their first meeting.

The question has huge meaning. 

Dr. Reich was immediately evaluating Myron Sharaf's health by verbal and Orgone projection. Having healthy, dedicated colleagues was needed to balance the work. The knowledge that was needed would encompass all aspects of love for your fellow humans. When the Orgone has no restrictions than spontaneity feels honest, wholesome, and integral. Hence are you healthy? 

Dr. Reich was a humanitarian. By the very nature of his work, his empathy for human sickness was paramount. Our western culture is filled with the Emotional Plague. The danger of humans misery and poor choices was Dr. Reichs healing pursuit. 

Grieven

 My mother didn't have much to do with me. I was the third child and my mother only had energy for two. My dad was at work, and was left on my own. My mother cooked for my father. She was old schooled that way. She would perform all her wifely duties, as long as he was  providing. 

 I was the helper when Mom went shopping, Sawdust on the floor that was the butcher shop. Chicken's in the back in cages and the blue flames . An odd smell. Later I realized it was the burnt feathers. Blue flames were always on. No words between me and my Mom. I was there to help. She could have been anyone. I was bored except for the blue dreams.. 

Usually during the winter I would not be outside. No one was out to play. My mother was cooking. So I stood and watched. It could be chicken soup with eggs that were still in the chicken. Making blintzes was my favorite. She would mix together flour, milk and egg and presto, a blintz. I would get the broken ones. Chopped liver was not a favorite. It had a strong taste. Schmaltz, chicken fat, would be added. Then the secret onion recipe. Onion chopped and slowly cooked till they were dark and brown. Crispy, crunchy, sweet . 

 Every Friday night was the big dinner. It was chicken soup, roast beef  and well done vegetables. There wasn't much gab. My family was a refugee family. Mom had come over from somewhere European. She never told me. My brother had more info. He thinks Poland. My sister was distant.The worst smell was cooked fishes, gefilter. If you ate it with horseradish it was bearable.

Though I miss  my family umbrella's safety, when I look at my Grandparents picture I am awakened to fear. My mother looked like my grandmother, a big round tank, and my Grandfather, thin, tight and held in. I can see the horrendous struggle they endured. I am thankful they survived. I never wanted to be them. and knew I was broken by them.

Grieven is onions cooked long, brown, crispy and sweet. When you're a Jew you have been used, abused, murdered, cooked, turned brown, thin,or huge to forget the abuse. Grief was held in till one way or another till it killed you. I grieve for all who have been abused.

A panacea can be insidious, it can be love. Being included in the family with nickel and dime love is abusive. The family by not allowing feelings to be expressed is depression. Love as control is the foundation of the Emotional Plague character. If control is all you get your release will be addiction. Being fearful to express anger, sadness, fear at not being heard leads to a loss of what it is to be a human animal. As an adult a failure to express yourself leads to dissatisfaction. The lack of Orgone movement and its Orgasm reflex will be buried in addictive confusion. On one's journey to self enlightenment the movement of Orgone often becomes confused with memories of childhood denial of expression. The families memories needs to be dredged up and fear, anger, sadness expressed. In my case I sat down with my mother and told her how I felt and what I experienced.Though she denied everything and wrote me out of her will, I felt I had found my integrity.

The need for loves singular connection arises spontaneously. The hard work has been done and Orgone knows being alive seeks shared flow into another with all the breath, the smells, the glory of completion.

Leonard Cohen knows love is written into our being. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gM7vULqs31Q

Reworking The Body

The closer the future victim is to the Kingdom of God with his knowledge, the surer will he be chosen to be murdered by the pestilent character. All this goes on with no single soul, not even the murderer himself, being aware of what is happening. From The Murder of Christ Dr. Wilhelm Reich.

Having a confused  reality is directly proportionate to your contracted body. In early life I, you, had plenty of Orgone. No problem existing with my own emotional plague, armor. Now as I am older my Orgone has diminished and unlocking bad posture is hard. Muscles have settled in. It is important to get to posture as early as possible. It means understanding why I bent different muscles into difficult alignments 

Releasing the contractions releases Orgone. Orgone is the the intricate connections keeping everything else working. Consciousness is held down by contraction. Only part of my moving forward was moving forward. A huge unknown had split off and was holding down my speaking up. Being numb to my dysfunctional family kept me unconscious, ignorant. Over time the holding molded my posture. Being held in by poor posture leads to low Orgone, and a body that feels solid as a piece of wood. All of this was unknown to me. I had lots of Orgone when I was young. It comes with being a child. But as you age the Orgone begins to diminish.

Sometimes I am crippled by years of neglect. Did my father beat me? Hell yes. Did my brother sneak punch me in my face. Yes. My mother withheld touch, closeness, and inflected inappropriate  revenge on the whole family. She released her anger, her screaming voice, by ignoring me or not allowing me to have a connection that retarded my consciousness. She amazed me by stealing my money. I was in  in shock. But that notorious split occurred. My unconconscious took over and bent my body in different ways to still the Orgone and not react to the dangerous abuse, and my Orgone's given purpose. 

Becoming aware that posture is not stiff, not mechanical, makes walking, a moving balance, enjoyable. Breathing is awareness that your in your body. On the inhale your contracting the diaphragm muscle and taking in Orgone, oxygen. On the exhale your relaxing the diaphragm and Orgone is flowing, Each breath moves the Orgone. It's subtle Orgone., yet overwelming.The movement of Orgone reminds you were once were: flowing Orgone. 

 John Lennon took a rocket ship to his truth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMewtlmkV6c

When plasmatic motility happens than one's childhood  flourishes right into present day. Continual Orgone flow means knowing contact, connection within and without is one's true destiny. Even with a twisted body love is a wonder.

Now

Why is being present difficult? When your in the now you don't knock glasses off the table and food doesn't doesn't drip on your shirt. After hundreds of mistakes, over countless years I paid attention. I wanted to feel my Orgone streaming. I wasn't in the now. 

I realized I was moving hands, my feet without first looking. I was somewhere else. I liked not being present. Its a defense I used growing up. I couldn't change their neglect. Left to my own devices was limited. Neglected left me contracted. TV was my view. Consciousness didn't develop. I wound up for many reasons with an over developed mental chatter that as an adult occupied me. especially when stressed. My solution was tied to paying attention with my eyes. First look where I'm  going and then move. The chatter reduced, also that voice that was seeking solutions became evident, evaluating possibilities. Fewer miscues.  

Being in the now was a fantastic surprise. Moving after I looked took me out of a unconscious dream state, like William Blake said "like the doors of perception were cleansed" into a rich three dee present. The now appeared suddenly. It does take effort to change and not always successful. Old habits die hard. 

The now reminds that being in auto pilot means that you're not experiencing full consciousness. It's a defense mechanism to avoid a forgotten abusive past. 

Successful Failure

In the western culture, attention, survival, is dependent on success. Being successful can lead to an arrogant pleasure. Success, at an early age, leads to some Orgone filling and a self righteous attitude that confirms that nothing is wrong. Social species find security and pleasure in attention and success.    Attention moves Orgone and the possibility of deeper pleasure. I am a successful and I make the rules, reassuring the Emotional Plague. People who are addicted to success, never focus on their behavior and have no  idea about armor, addiction. Their successful and that confirms reassures their attitude, their character.

 Addictive choices become a substitute for exploring help. Women are beautiful and are instinctive; men are in comparison homely and doers. Men need to be out seeking sovereignty; it is hard to come by in our economy. Women are attracted to success as it guarantees security, home, a place for children.  After experimental sex both sexes realize their sexual dysfunction and focus on success which hide deep seated disturbances. Sex is a primary drive and can not be a substituted by babies, money or celibacy. 

The sex conundrum began in a restrictive childhood. Adults largeness can frighten spontaneous connections with the baby. Adults stillness is experienced as threatening. The baby's Orgone becomes isolated, or physically or emotionally abused. Not able to experience or know pleasure, the choice is successful work. Addictions becomes a way out that needs to be continually repeated. Work becomes ones success and refuge. Ultimately the relationship failures reminds you that success without satisfaction is failure.

Blue Light

Sunny day. In my small kitchen, while reaching the fridge can almost touch the stove. I turn to go and pop, a loud pop. I turn and see a blue light disappearing. I think its a light bulb or an electrical something and I look thoroughly but nothing. After a while I forget it. 

I am working in a shop selling American flags and a guy says 

he is an ex soldier. I am compelled to tell him blue pop story. Turns out he was a nurse during the Nam war. He relates that a blue light sometimes appeared when a death occurred. The conversation was earie. Never having met him yet we shared a troubling unknown.

Days later it I remembered  my sister had died during the time of the blue pop. Now I connected the two. 

 

I am now connecting that blue with Dr. Reich's descriptions of Orgone as blue. The Earth is the blue planet. Giving off blue Orgone at death makes sense. Remembering the blue pop gives me the chills.

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Before Your Eyes Birds and Trees

Repetitive behavior is hypnotic, its components, actions can cause mistakes by thinking the activity has been done. In a rush to complete an activity the last step can be forgotten. Focus, memory will be smothered by believing success is common.  Anxiety will be the reminder that forgetting to breathe, duh, suggests a problem. Conscious behavior has habitual patterns that hypnotize oneself into ignoring past abuses and addictive dangers.

Muscles become contracted to stop feeling, it's automatic and freezes emotions like a possum. Feelings is Orgone movement. Aha words, describing anger appears after the expression. Ones character is Orgone moving through contracted muscles.The emotions need to be expressed through the movement of Orgone. Aborted pleasure signify restricted understanding, restricted breathing. Orgone has intelligence. Its wordless experience.  

Without the love of mother for the child the culture of  greed blooms and self destruction unconsciously ends a betrayed consciousness. If one is genital, enlightened, than a fully released Orgone is pursued through mutual orgasm. Orgasm releases the excess Orgone into waves of understanding pleasure. Orgasm is the star of the universe. Humans have the template to be like the cosmos. Truth be told and its clear, superimposition is the template of the universe.

Looking for a super hero. 

Our culture derived a brutal reminder from Roman times. Conquer or die. "You servants of the state". No one wants this happening to them. For two thousand years the Kings have been working us.Their sitting by the pool, or playing golf, feeding their addictions: ignoring their ignorance. 

Super heroes is the fantasy of our times. Super heroes is a dream that would end all this ignorance. Right now super heroes in comics have increased dramatically. Fantasy is prevalent. The hard work to change society is not even understood. All of us are still in survival mode. Perhaps if we had one super hero there would be change. Otherwise its a nickel and dime world where the geniuses are martyred.  People  have always wished to fly. In dreams we fly, it's miraculous. If you could fly like a bird you would be a super hero. What would you choose? Fly off into space in a small rocket ship probably to a barren planet. Your humanity needs so much more. Wouldn't you rather choose a birds life. Living within the majestic. 

 Take a look.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtqnTP4ucnY

Trees 

I came to Bristol, R.I. because visiting I was impressed by trees, the majestic  greenery. Being here for 13 years I have felt the rooted trees, spreading their intelligent balance, strength.Speed up time you would see trees are dancers.Their expressions are portrayed in their branches, balancing their rise to the sky. Some wait for the leaves of winter to soften their art others pirouette.

There are moments when I stand next to one of my favorite trees, wide, bumps, immeasurably tall that I begin to stand taller. Looking up I see the life force balancing the branches, the thousands of leaves swaying. Trees communicate with each other underground. Its been proven that tress share carbon through their roots with neighboring trees. 

I begin to feel my toes reaching for the earth, my arms moving against the wind and I breathe in harmony. I give you carbon and returned oxygen. Trees have their roots sucking up mother earth. Orgone, reaching for the stars. Peaceful, communicators with other trees underground. If we could grow as big and strong and be as beautifully decorated we would be a super hero. 

Geese, dogs, and cats.

Animals can have super abilities.

Geese fly in formation, great distances and assign lookouts when eating. Once I saw hundreds of geese line up on the ground in a straight line. Dogs have super smell. Cats are great parents. 

Humans without Orgone abilities are purveyors of nonsense. 

My Uncle Aaron And Aunt Rose

I was maybe seven.  My mother was speaking Yiddish on the phone. I wasn't sure why? It annoyed me. I wanted to understand. Soon the family was off to Aunt Rose and uncle Aaron's. Once in awhile my Dad drove us in one of his milk trucks. Sitting on a milk case, in the back as we rattled along. The trip seemed to go on but it was about thirty five minutes through Brooklyn streets to Aunt Rose and Uncle  Aaron's whose house where Passover celebration was being held. Passover was my usual full speed ahead, a lot of food and Uncle Aaron's basement.

Old Smoky was the name of the car, a 1950's Dodge, that My Uncle Aaron let me press the starter button.  

Aunt Rose's stocking's were rolled down. There was a kind seriousness in her presence. I could feel her; she was alert to my little self. I was given the run of their home. I tore through the living room, through Cousin Frankie's ophthalmologist's office and into Brooklyn streets.  I was the youngest and my mother, a difficult refugee from the old European country got her way through a strong will, and the threat of my  lurking, powerful father. She was a large woman. She paid little attention to me. As an adult I asked her why? "Your fathers job to take care of you." Thankfully my father was born here and had some good qualities. He would, every night, say good night and scratch our backs which felt so good.

Passover was a big table with Uncle Aaron holding court. He was not loud, it was just his good will that reigned. At other times when my mother was in the hospital he took my brother and me to synagogue. 

My favorite uncle was Uncle Aaron. He was big. he was a plumber. He smoked, he drank and he ate big. He was religious. He took me to Schule and never had to say a word except there was a a peaceful satisfaction that I could relate to even at 5 maybe seven,. He let me hang with him in his basement where all the tools were, and the big pipes, and barrels of pickles and fermenting cherries that we would share. Though I never became a plumber I wished I had. My uncle died carrying a bathtub by himself up till the sixth floor. His presence and faith inhabit me.

Reminisces Passover With My Family

Passover as a child was a happy break from my usual life with my family. We would take the ride to Aunt Rose and Uncle Aaron's house. Once in awhile my Dad drove us in one of his milk trucks. Sitting on a milk case, in the back as we rattled along. The trip seemed to go on but it was about 35 minutes through Brooklyn streets. Aunt Rose's kitchen was bustling with my mother and my cousins slipping in and out. 

I am small. Everyone is busy. I remember the door and I descend the stairs into the basement. It is hard to see. There is dusty smell. At the bottom there are large pipes and different tools. A vice in one corner. A small window in the bathroom. A container on the sink. It's open. It is gritty. LAVA SOAP.

A big barrel by the stairs as I hear the voices and the their steps. Upstairs Lenny, my two year older brother is running through with Paul our fun cousin.  Aunt Rose comes to me. She has a chicken sandwich. Its rye bread with an extra piece of fat. It is so good. I tear through living room, people everywhere  My cousin Stevie and I play outside. 

We're hushed inside for dinner. It is a  long table. All is quiet. My brother begins reading the Passover four questions. Uncle Aaron has hidden the symbolic matzoh. The silver dollar reward whoever finds the matzoh. I spot the bulge in the tablecloth. I want the reward. I hear laughter as I  disrupt the table.

After dinner my brother, my partner and I tackle Uncle Aaron. He is our compatriot. Lucky for me I had Uncle Aaron. In his dark basement I would continually explore. The mystery of pipes, his tools, and his casks of fermenting pickles and wine. A particular favorite was his brandy soaked cherries. I was five and Uncle Aaron paid attention to me. 

Uncle Aaron would call us to play. Can you remove the silver dollar between his fingers? Lenny and I would try to wrench it free. We crawled over our foe. Two hands were not enough. Even with my brother holding on, no luck. He was big Uncle Aaron, a plumber. The struggle went on. Wrenching our bodies over his body, twisting everyway.  Uncle Aaron just composed and finally he would let go. 

Can you tell how much I loved my Uncle Aaron. A man who held me in his arms without saying a word.

.All seems normal. Beneath the activity of family lies many secrets that are forgotten in the rush of togetherness. Afterwards we all go back to our typical patterns. I would continue to be ignored. I would find myself alone after school,  and then in my bed. Boredom would overtake me and I would force myself to go out and play. My friends filled in for my missing family. 

Puberty was fun with a few rubs with girls. The secrets, isolation, misconceptions with everyone leads to wondering, addictions and if lucky Orgone Therapy. 

"When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the spirit laughs at what has gained."- Sufi aphorism

Tai chi chih

The early martial artists became aware of Chi (that Dr. Reich called Orgone), in their practice: focused movement moves Orgone streaming. I began my partial study of Tai Chi in the mid seventies; then  as a massage student in 1991 I learned Tai Chi Chih a form that focuses on simpler movements. I have since incorporated Orgonomic breathing techniques developed by Dr. Wilhelm Reich and some movements taught by Carlos Castaneda called Tensegrity, and Qi Gong and  African foot rocking.

 I have found my new combinations loosening my musculature. The movements unlocks  Orgone  streaming. I call  my form Cattto. C for Qi Gong, A for Africa, T for Tai Chi Chih, T for Tensegrity, and O for Orgonomitic breathing.

Chi is Orgone flow..Catto awakens streaming, opening our consciousness to our original template. The practice reminds consciousness of the pleasure of grace. The effort changes bodily perception into having more presence, into artful movement. Experience Orgone flow moving from depressed towards the bodies surface and base your activity, the spontaneous surprise on its movement.

The following you tube is a child expressing Orgone though his body. Singular movement.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bB8b45pabAk