black on black

looking, not seeing then
I saw my phone
sitting on my counter
the cover black
the shelf black
I was it
looking everywhere
forever
nada
seeing myself

remembered

hello

hello hello hello

Decisions

Remember I said to Joel, old friend,
At camp the Psychiatrist said, What
Would you do if a friend
Was in a fantasy, would you
Wake him.

Joel didn't remember.

filled

If your mother placed you on her naked body and fed you, that made you aware of what it is to feel whole, full of life. If one does not experience this behavior one will go on searching for some lost meaning.

Depression begins with the absence of contact with mother. The flattening of Orgone. The experience of yearning to move and feel pleasure and understand how to receive pleasure begins with her. If she is not available then your shit out of luck, unless you can fine an Orgone Therapist and activate the expressions that liberates the original rage that got buried.

The catch is to experience the Orgone movement, and correspondingly ones blocked feeling; one has to learn how to express. This happens in Orgone Therapy, and it takes time to understand. It is in the emoting that one figures ones self out and ones place in the culture.

 I was eating French toast with powdered sugar completely covering the challah bread. It was sweet and strong. For some reason my mother took me downstairs by myself and was feeding me. It happened with cereal and that had to be covered in sugar for me to get it down. Or the egg salad, all fed to me separately. Where had I been. In fact I didn't understand the significance of those moments until I had accessed my Orgone and was reminded of the memory. Then I knew. I was neglected and left in my crib. No one talked to me, no one made contact. OMG I was picked up once in a while but it was so little and not enough to bring me out of  the dull, leaving this world consciousness.

I looked at the white covering. It was  so sweet and the bread soft. I liked the attention. I liked the sweetness, it spread through me;  I was different, better. Later I knew why  I would eat to feel different, special, an addict.
I was different. I was by myself, my brother, sister upstairs. My mother would cutup the pieces and feed me. Looking back I knew I was at least 5 years old as we were living in the house on 23rd street. Later as an adult I confronted my mother. Why was I left? Why was she never there for me? Why did she never once come into my bedroom to say goodnight? She denied all her misconduct. But when I didn't back down she ultimately said she was like everyone else. Like that was a good reason to be negligent. My mother finally realized that little boy was disappearing and she gave the little she understood: food and sweets. And so I spent my childhood eating, and never wondering why everyone in my family did there own thing and left me to find my own way.

The addicted, the armored, will always reject you. Once there needs are satisfied your useless to them. True connection only exists when the Orgone flows, and the person is able to make loving connection. Till then what one learned in Orgone Therapy is to voice your anger, your bodily movement with affect, appropriately. Not getting the sweet milk and the loving contact of your mothers body is confusion.. This is shock. or later depressed without even being aware of being depressed.  Acting good, gets you a reprieve from further possibilities of danger. Then as we grow older we forget that we made that decision.

I was blocked, frozen and hid from showing myself to the people, family, doctors who had no idea that they were torturing me and I was afraid if I showed how much I wanted them gone, murdered, they would finish me off. Experiencing  those feelings comes with the reappearance of Orgone because that is what I stopped. The memories creep back in, and it is uncomfortable. It is also being alive. Once started, remembering Orgone will reappear at its own pace, and if I let it happen without interfering it works to open me to the wonders I had no notion existed.,

I was with Dr. Rinn when finally Orgone movement happened, I was scared silly. Bursting, hurt my left side; it felt like  my arm had taken on a life of its own. It dissipated and would be balanced. Then slowly over years it became filling and sometimes flowing. Now I know when the Orgone moves I feel lucky, aware and pleased.

Never Asked

Friends like Allen Freed


Where it all went right and then
Went all wrong.
There two blocks from where I grew up lived Dr. Tischler, he
Was my regular Doctor, he would come to the house.
His daughter, Diane, was my age. On my way to Junior High school 234,
I would meet my friends and we would walk together.
It was the 7th 8th and 9th grades. We were a great
Bunch of talented kids. We had our heroes, smart and athletic, Our beautiful
Girls way smart and available.
Then came graduation and they separated us into 3 High Schools.
It was done like the 10 commandants. It sucked. Later I
Realized they broke championship teams, great friendships
And lost love. I am still angry.

Caught

At five watching the small tube, my home teacher.
The message was a hand would catch me as I
Flew on a trapeze. It was a commercial and I
Understood without knowing the outcome.
I trusted through the hospital, would
I ever leave, the reliving.
Never knowing how the next step would appear,
No net. At times just fear. No ideas,
Just the buzz of my current. Then the teacher appeared.
Out of the invisible matrix my hand was caught.
Each can be a thousand steps, each one
A hand can be waiting or not. No one knows how 

Being out of time one knows.
A hand, a teacher will appear.

Endings

The Gypsy Moth hunts by looking
For a home, invisible code seeking a new beginning,
Relentlessly. I wonder into my own
Destination. Is it like Don Juan says a period on a page, or at a grocery store as I reach.
Of course the library, or
Smiling at an irony I go down. 

Looking up I remember the biblical figures in the clouds.
The kiss on my cheek by an invisible:
Momentary hope.
Where did my wife go, my great Chessie.
What chrysalis did they become, doubts haunt me.
I live in expectation.

Ode To A Common Bird

Who, Who.
I woke listening to the birds.
Laid there, wishing I sang my victory.
Could surf those invisible waves.
Floating up, and then circling down.

No need for mortgages, cars that hobble
Weekly. Grind in The A.M.. Family
Disasters in the P.M..
Those waddles, those type A.
No more heartbreak.

Then the melodious voices,
Woke me again. Rather be in a forest primeval,
Singing my own song.
Arms wide I fly.
Now an acrobat of the sky.
Balanced, alive, awake.

Oddly I met John Keats grand nephew in the early seventies. I was working on my Masters on John Keats and realized I would rather write than be a critic, and gave up school. I was working at Real Foods, at the register, when checking the drivers license for a signature, it said John Keats. Having known that John Keats brother went to live in the USA, I asked if he was related. Great Grand Nephew. I wondered what brought me to John Keats. Why write on Keats. After reading his biography I understood. His family died of tuberculosis. other accidents. His mother, his father and his brother are gone. There is a sadness in his works. A yearning for other worlds, happiness. Keats took comfort in creating .A comfort in words. Don't we all.

Remembering

For most of us we never knew we were so screwed up. We went about our little life, living with our parents, our siblings, going to school, and then the secret self began to appear. It was  puberty; nothing was said, nothing was explained: information was passed on the street, in closets, in bathrooms. Slowly, inexorably we found a way, we carried on until our life started going weird.

Perhaps it was an  unsatisfied marriage, or a bad job or a sibling became suicidal. Some of us turned to drugs, some of us found an obsessive activity. I at an early age noticed in the New York Times Magazine, an article on the strange case of Dr. Wilhelm Reich. Then synchronicity in California, went to Dr. Rinn for Orgone Therapy. He was trained by Dr. Duval a student of Dr. Reach's.


It is invisible. It is not the original template but it is my habit that  seemed to save me. It enveloped me as a baby. First I had a mother as she said, she was like everyone else, a cold, unfeeling abused woman. Then in the Jewish custom with out pain killers they circumscribed me. Then no breast feeding and isolation in my crib. A recipe for a new template, invisible depression a repressed Orgone, leading to addiction: habits ingrained and invisible. 

The cup of chocolate almost pulled me away from writing my ideas on depression. In fact many, moments have been passed by. I like to disappear into a state of similar to day dreaming. I learned it well as a baby after the typical abuses I write about. Now as an adult I know it is depression or an outer body reality: disassociation. It came about from abuse, like the amoeba that shrinks when being pricked by a pin, I also contracted. In fact continually contracted my whole childhood, but I survived because there was enough instinct, basic sensory pleasure that motivated me to live. 

I still enjoyed certain aspects of growing up. I liked food. Mom gave me her coffee left  over sugared at the age of seven. When she noticed I was totally withdrawn she fed me sugared French toast, sugared hot cereal. That was the only time I had contact with my Mom. That is the beginning of my food addiction. Eat to wake up. In fact since I have to eat; still experience those affects.

Eating took me away; the sweetness I didn't get. Later as an adult. when I was with a breast feeding women I shared her bounty. It was sweet. I never experienced that sweetness. And soda, and other junk food that I ate in quantity, besides fruit, gave me something that I missed. Now when I have an indulgence and I still do I can feel myself subtly expand. A pleasure that feels good and for me dangerous, as I know it can still be a  momentary escape from dealing with anxiety.

Abuse contracts, depression contracts. Abuse is depressing. Addiction is abusive but expanding and dangerous in its pleasure, and ultimately contracting. I was fortunate and learned how to express myself: unlocked the contract. Orgone Therapy saved my life, and allowed me to experience my first feelings: my original template and understand my profound need for loving connection.

release

   
For the longest time I would hear people saying that everything is made up of energy. Oh I can read energy once in a while. I would see that in a book. Though I never met anyone who could or at least didn't share that info with me. I am hear to tell you I can. As always it starts with knowing yourself. Feeling your own energy moving through you. How energy can fill you up, Open you up like a balloon expanding. Then one day pop I could see Orgone in others. Just lately I could see people with way too much filled energy. Like a balloon it can burst. That means that person is vulnerable to losing control. One that they don't know is going on. They are probably uncomfortable. What will release the "pressure? Often that desire to release can be a precursor to addiction. When you find that something that makes you able to relax because you let off some pressure cooker steam then you can rest. Now finding that ingredient, like food, coffee, booze, sex, can be dangerous. especially if  it's the only avenue you have to understanding how to release the tension. 

Being that I have not met anyone outside of Orgone Therapy that has a clue that feelings actually move within the body. Is it no wonder that I am surrounded by everyone who have zero understanding of the flow of Orgone in them and in nature. Instead they have zeroed in on survival and work and this moves there Orgone unconsciously. Often it takes a complete failure in functioning to lead them into Therapy. 

But for those who never make it to Therapy, they have found some way to find limited pleasure that keeps them going: often it is a an addiction. Over time and maturing peoples need for orgasmic release is so powerful that not having it will augment strange, bizarre behavior. These behaviors release some Orgone and allow us to seem normal and fit into our culture. But they are secretive, they are addictive, and they are becoming the headlines. There are many whose behaviors go to such extreme that they wind up in hospitals, prisons, or dead. 

My addictive habits were a burden, I an thrilled. I understand them. Living among people who have Orgone streaming is isolating. Like ants we are small and need help. Dr. Wilhelm Reich developed Orgone Therapy and for me it was a life savior.