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. Though love never happened with my family, love symbiosis is built directly into Orgone; the fusion is ultimate wisdom.

 

Leonard Cohen knows love is written into our being. 

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