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

The Nose Knows

Dogs have super powers. Smell, their super power is keeping dogs in perpetual Orgone streaming; dogs pleasure is Orgone filling the surface of their body. As long as dogs smell their perfect. A leash no problem: I have my nose in the glorious earth. Smell bypasses armor and denies other experiences.

My dog, Buffalo loved swimming, and anything to do with water. Yet he hated baths and loved mud. They  itch all the time with all that unwashed hair. Love water but a chlorinated bath, hell no. I can smell the chlorine in our drinking water, chlorine doesn't  taste good and smells sour. Imagine what dogs smell or taste when trying to get them in a tub. They hate it and so would you. Rather take a mud bath than humans water.

Stop. Do not wash your dog with house chlorinated water. Dogs have super powers  Super olfactory. How far a dog smells depends on conditions such as wind and type of scent, but they have been reported to smell objects and people over 12 miles away. Dogs' olfactory systems work so well that they can be trained to pick up odors as little as a pictogram which is a trillionth of a gram.

They rather roll in dirt than chlorine. So would everyone.

I  love smells. Smelling bypasses restraint and moves Orgone into pleasure. Dogs are always focused on smelling. Their happiness in cars, head in open window is uncontrollable. Smell is heavenly.

Cancer is easy for a dog to smell and smells bad. Just ask any dog.

Addiction

 Addiction is the center of my writings based on Dr. Wilhelm Reich's Work. A desperate need to change must be accessed to resolve addiction. As important, the chosen therapy must produce immediate results. The patient must leave the session feeling saved, understood, relieved and hopeful that an answer has been found.

Enclosed are some clips from my writings.

Mrs. Wilson worked her fear. We were controlled but our silent acknowledgement led to being covert, and unified. We would pool our money and sneak out to buy candy that we would share. That sugar rush that added to my food addiction. Candy, foods are an important distraction: boredom, controlled deadness could be perverted. A saving evil.

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.

The baby has taken some control of his life at a tremendous cost. Control feels like you can survive and often during your life control is the difference between life and death. Control is a necessary skill that all of us need to wear like a coat . A coat that is up to us to put on or take off. The problem with control is when control starts at an early age and gets reinforced by further trauma than control becomes chronic and becomes a character formation. Control that is chronic stimulates a need for addictive release because it is not removable by the individual except by an outside addictive lifestyle. 

Life is movement. Like an amoeba, human beings' energy can be pulsing. Addiction is the substitution of a shallow pulse for life's satisfying primary pulse.
Children are born with the primary pulse and it is a natural unconscious reflex. As natural as a bird flying. From day one children feel the threat of cessation, of their pulse, as an immediate threat to their survival. Closing down by contracting the muscles allows a feeling of calmness to occur. The price for peacefully fitting in is the loss of flowing Orgone (energetic purpose). Addiction becomes a way of finding some small level of  excitement.  

Work seems to be the addiction of our culture. Work is a slippery slope. Survival built into work can easily be justified by long hours, and excuses that seem reasonable. I have no time for reading; I have heard often enough or I am fine. Actually I have said versions of these myself. I worked 60 hours a week and had little time for  introspection and less time for meaningful connection. A deep rooted fear of losing control of my status and not receiving the attention I needed for survival had driven me to overwork. The culture of the West added to this crowning effect by giving work success all the rewards of a hero returning from battle

Accessing my Orgone, my core allowed me to understand my character; the ways I hold myself, the way I handle emotions, my tension. Being neglected, left out, ignored in the past will lead to addiction. Not achieving acknowledgement from the family, fairness from the culture, leads to seeking pleasure from divergent sources, often addictive substances.

Addictions are an escape from being balanced in your body. Addictions are an escape from yourself. The hidden family abusive memories have been forgotten and addictions keep them buried. Knowing your journey is mapped in your alignment, your posture your restricted breath, gives us a reference point to chart our goals.