Once upon a time

That baby has her toe in her mouth; she is so tiny and she can amazingly put her leg behind her head. Well we all could do that once upon a time. We were one totally with our bodies. Life happened automatically that became the problem. We were fluid  and our bodies would respond in all ways to protect ourselves. When the abuse came we were able to lock down the experience by preoccupying our consciousness with contraction. That contraction when reinforced by further abuse led to restriction, stiffness and finally armor.


Ultimately we went on and forgot the experience of moving Orgone. Life has been swallowed, has become a hidden river flowing deep within us: when the river surfaces the flow is palpable.

What happened to those soft muscles that were strong and
flexible like wet sponges? Our original state we felt whole, flowing, and appropriately moving towards pleasure. Risk taking with another would be a daily occurrence, and contact with the wonder that we are.

Difficult Journey

Imagine, as an adult you get a splinter and damn it hurts or a hangnail, it is painful, and if you're unfortunate to have something serious then you will experience true oneness with the universe through pain.

Survival demanded awareness and being sensitive kept us alert. Being abused needed to be hidden and one's sensitivity demanded the abuse to be expressed. Yet being punished for speaking out will keep you silent and stunted.

All of us are sensitive. Emotional abuse is mostly invisible and twists, confuses. Because it is not always physical, it may seem less harmful and easier to be in denial than physical abuse. Emotional abuse causes contractions like physical abuse and armor buries the pain of horrendous childhood, by denying the memories. Understanding and forgiving our parent's is OK, it's OK to forgive, not to forget, not to bury the anger, the fear, the sadness, the years of tears.  It takes being an adult to finally realize what went wrong. That general malaise, that addiction that keeps on returning. That near death catastrophe hopefully takes you to a Therapist preferably an Orgone Therapist.

I was handed a lot of abuse and hid from all of it. I had trouble getting to the core of myself, and because of that expressing myself was never a strong point. I distracted myself and had a lousy memory. Being blind, deaf, to neglect is a formula for survival as a baby; as an adult a formula for miserable addiction or unaware addiction. Since I was left out, neglected, tortured by "well meaning doctors", I had to learn to express my anger, my fear, my tears in an appropriate setting.

Therapy is hard but therapy allowed me to survive.