I was a tiny little guy and after expressing my unhappiness at the dinner table that my brother was being picked on by my fat, unhappy mother, she told me to leave the table. I rushed upstairs and proceeded to throw off all the covers of all the beds. I knew this was anathema to my mother who made the beds each morning. To protect myself I locked myself in the bathroom. Hiding under the sink I would watch the drip of the faucet. The tear drop would fill and then burst. Over and over the shiny faucet would express the enlargement. It held my attention. The swelling, movement of our life can be stopped. It is the bursting of the tear shaped expansion like the drip of the faucet, death. The pulse was not my life. I tried to expand and expression of hot life was a shock for my dead mother. She hated feeling. She had too much abuse in her life. Her need was to control the outburst by bursting my bubble.
Of late I have taken a late night boat ride skimming the bay at a high speed into the oncoming dark, fast moving current. The deep impenetrable, reflection, like a mirror of the universe. The power that moved the seas has no equal. Yet my fear was large, but only a small reflection of that immensity. I breathed in wonder and pleasure and fear at this unknown Orgone that was reflected in every life.
Addiction is a perverted course to some pleasure. Addiction is a detour, a bypass of the knowledge that one has shut down, the initial primal pulse, the swell, the expansion.
When one freezes the flow, the excitement of moving outward, settling for a controlled existence, than the beginning of depression and the continual need for artificial, less satisfying experiences will occur.
