Richie

Mrs. Wilson was stooped when she walked, she wore grey clothes, she seemed pinched: a  grumpy old woman who walked with a cane. She was my fifth grade teacher and I and others who were considered troubled or trouble makers were sent to her class. We heard she would not allow acting out. And I entered Mrs. Wilsons class I looked around, it all seemed pretty similar. Slowly over the year no one got too rowdy. Once, I got caught running up and down the stairs. My mother was only called once to hear about me. It was all pretty quiet. 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, food an important distraction: the boredom, controlled deadness could be perverted. A saving evil.

The good was that most of us were graduated to Mr. Becker's class. The first teacher that took a interest in us after school. Sports particularly helped us. That is when I first saw Richie Brown hit a baseball. I had seem Richie before in Mrs. Wilson's class and in different activities, though we did share winning the color war, a crayon drawing,   But his hitting was a revelation. I was struggling to be coordinated but Richie had no trouble being amazing. He could hit the ball to the deepest outfield, he could have ran the bases twice.

I was in the batters box. Waiting for my turn. Richie Brown was batting third. He could hit. I was so pumped to hit that ball. And then once again Richie  hit that ball to the deepest part of the schoolyard. I had never seem an adult hit it that far. He was eleven . I knew I  would hit the same except I dribbled the ball to the right. I swung as hard as Richie Brown. What made him so great and me so poor. And what effect did this have on me? I would continue to try  throughout my sports career to excel and ultimately I did well in basketball and track. And Richie Brown continued being the great natural athlete he was. But what was the difference between hitting well and not. I would think about this as an adult and knew finally it was hand eye connection. I swung late and didn't evaluate the balls speed and adjust for when the bat would hit the ball. Somehow RB knew this and I didn't. Was it simple as genetics or did someone coach him? I asked RB this question as an adult.

No Richie said, it was just something he was born with.  I believe my over zealousness had something to do with it. I was super anxious to do something. Later I realized it was to get noticed. Nothing except being invisible at home led me to over try and not be aware of timing. Richie Brown knew timing.


It all happened years ago and yet the closeness I felt during my early years stays important. It gave us all the knowledge that instinctively it felt good to be connected. Sports did more. It gave us an outlet to express our frustration with our culture. No we would not reach the top of the pyramid but we would  enjoy each others company and form bonds that would last a lifetime. Friendship was instinctive movement of the Orgone. Understanding  is waiting within.

 

Opening Up

Looking back, I'm eleven, I see myself lying in bed, it is the afternoon and I am bored and that is all. So ultimately I decide to go to the schoolyard, anything is better. I am not hoping just going on. I see now that I am retarded, undeveloped. No one is modeling connection, showing me how to express myself. My brother is somewhere probably eating the last piece of chocolate cake, my sister has never been in contact. My mother waits for me at the door but she is so fat and so hard that I want nothing to do with her. My father the only one making contact is at work. No one.

So how is it that I found writing, how is it that I am alive. Yes there are some hints, some bones: as  a child, of course there is food and some weird puberty. Then some thin red line, some genetic karmic wisdom, in my life brought me to Orgone Therapy.

Even though it is confusing and frustrating not being understood, I desperately need to engage with others, need the interaction that opens up channels that are invisible, that only become conscious when shared.


Depression means compressed Orgone. No longer being spontaneous. Abused one is too thoughtful, memorized "secondary" (see Dr. Reich) consciousness develops and one believes this is what life  is. Addictions becomes a unconscious wish for loss of control; seeking the background pulse that is Orgone, that has been buried by abuse.
Orgone, still the enigma, yet who cares when it is such a wonder.

Work, Love, and Knowledge need focus, need activity  and without there continual insights comes frustration. This in everyday parlance is stress. The cultures simply is ruthless and has little time for these three and in therapeutic terms sublimation develops to deal with anxiety, and desire. Addiction is an extreme form of sublimation and is a dangerous temporary pleasure.

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.

THE KEY

A thousand  keys, I found
In my dead wife's draw.
She was a classic, like her antiques
Preserved, confident, polished.
Each little box would have fifty old fashioned keys.
They were hid in plain sight like the thousand passing days,
Memories of family, old
Lovers. We wonder what are
We praying to find?
What is it we searched for?

Then I wish your dam lucky. Me, I walked right into my
Wise path.
Then I worked like hell and thought of
My wife, her keys, 
The straight jacket, my love,

Her lock.

Orgone Help

Humans will shrink when nature, parents, siblings become unresponsive to ones needs. If one pays attention one becomes conscious that something is wrong. When humans find no connection, no pleasure, and no satisfaction then one relieves the stagnation  through addiction. The buildup up of Orgone is ongoing, like a stiff hose that has the water turned way up, the addiction, the release, becomes  necessary when not living Orgonomically. 

The connection between you and the Therapist is essential. The movement of Orgone can reveal disturbing memories. The therapist during uncomfortable times helps comfort, and reminds that all is not lost by supplying a pleasurable connection. That uncomfortable feeling later can be understood but initially one needs help. Orgonomically the flow of energy initially can be haphazard, and definitely spontaneous. Being with a Therapist will help balance the Orgone movement. 

Orgone Therapy has the knowledge, the understanding to stop perversion, and realign a deeper, releasing connection.

Then amazingly the insight happens and there it is, always there but I had blocked out my true experience. When  I spoke with affect I would be rejected: expanding reminds others that  their character was formed as a defense to control the pain of abuse. Every time I seriously emoted there would be a rejection: being near me was frightening. The movement of Orgone will seem alien to those who have not been in Therapy, a reminder of what is missing, and there response will be defensive, distancing, and denial.

Self examination, even with the help of my great therapist, Dr. Rinn is an ever on going riddle. I have protected myself from seeing my life successfully. I didn't let in the abuse that my family so well provided me with. I was not only invisible but inconsequential. They were busy getting there needs met and my needs were them and I for sure would get none met. 

I never felt, it was like eating without taste. In fact I had eliminated feelings. In that way I could carry on, on a very low level, similar to a  amoeba, just reflexively without conscious meaning, like living in a fugue; easy to be taken advantage of and abused.

Reich quote
… we are biological energy systems, absorbing and producing energy from the environment in the form of air and food. This energy fuels our life process and its movement and expression is experienced as sensation - love, anger, desire fear, longing. Surplus energy is discharged in work, play, thought and particularly sexually. If there are no permanent blocks to discharge we remain healthy, our vital life functions maintain themselves without disturbance. If our primary needs as children have not been satisfied, we form armoring to cut off the awareness of the pain and distress caused by this frustration.

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 find 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.

Loss

Held  Back

Where it all went right and then
Went all wrong.
Two blocks from where I grew up lived Dr. Tischler, he
Was my regular Doctor, he would come to the house.
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 three High Schools.
Later I
Realized they broke championship teams, great friendships.
And Terri gone without a whisper.

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 
A hand, a teacher may 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.