Azur said:Joe said:Maybe you haven't been reading enough. :D
Fair comment. I've been hiding in a proverbial cave for too long.
Which can perhaps give you a clue as to the nature of your past/genetics? A tendency to hide.
Azur said:Joe said:Maybe you haven't been reading enough. :D
Fair comment. I've been hiding in a proverbial cave for too long.
RedFox said:Azur said:Joe said:Maybe you haven't been reading enough. :D
Fair comment. I've been hiding in a proverbial cave for too long.
Which can perhaps give you a clue as to the nature of your past/genetics? A tendency to hide.
Oxajil said:I was told that in one of my past lives, the one that was connected in some way to my feelings of emotional abandonment that I've had since childhood (but is not as strong now), was one in which I was part of a group of people who had a certain opinion and who were locked up for life for having that opinion. I was a male in my younger years when I was incarcerated. So, I basically had spent a lifetime alone in my own head so to speak, while feeling misunderstood and abandoned in a way.
If I look at my childhood, I can see that my parents were not quite emotionally available or supportive. So mostly I would keep things inside, or talk to God (when I was younger). I'd often lock myself up in my room and try to deal with my problems on my own, but mostly I'd brush them under a rug. So, in a way, I've learned not to communicate (or in the wrong way), and communication has been difficult for me for a long time. I was told that in my past life, there was something going on in the 'throat chakra', which stands for "accepting your originality, expressing your authentic voice" or basically just communicating with other people, really listening and expressing your thoughts and feelings.
I have noticed that networking, and trying to be a bit more open and writing articles has helped with this, but I do find it to be still difficult. I guess it's a matter of a step at a time.
I can relate to that too. :)Oxajil said:... my feelings of emotional abandonment that I've had since childhood (but is not as strong now), ... So, I basically had spent a lifetime alone in my own head so to speak, while feeling misunderstood and abandoned in a way.
If I look at my childhood, I can see that my parents were not quite emotionally available or supportive. So mostly I would keep things inside, ... and try to deal with my problems on my own, but mostly I'd brush them under a rug. So, in a way, I've learned not to communicate (or in the wrong way), and communication has been difficult for me for a long time. ... "accepting your originality, expressing your authentic voice" or basically just communicating with other people, really listening and expressing your thoughts and feelings.
Chu said:But chillingly, trauma has a second, even more covert mechanism. It can affect children and adults directly, as in primary trauma, or it can function vicariously, make a long, stealthy leap from one person's mind to another person's, across space and time. Secondary trauma, the vicarious sort; is a term used most often by psychotherapists, to refer to the fact that a person (such as a psychotherapist) can begin to show significant symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder merely from hearing repeated stories about the traumatic experiences of other people (such as trauma patients). Secondary trauma quietly and pervasively occurs even in the lives of those who are not psychotherapists and who do not treat trauma patients, for the simple reason that, in a world where too many children have never even slept on a mattress, extreme human misery is not far removed from any of us.
In 1993, the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies stated in World Disaster Report that in the quarter century between 1967 and, 1991, disasters in various places around the world killed seven million people, and directly affected another three billion. In the same report, the Red Cross estimated that, between the end of World War II and 1991, about forty million people were killed in wars and conflicts, our perennial manmade disasters.
Indeed, viewed in cold objectivity, we are shell-shocked as an entire species.
If we travel a little away from the developed world, we find that more than one fifth of the global population still lives in extreme poverty, and life expectancy in some of the least-developed countries is forty-three years. At least one billion people now living on our planet suffer from chronic hunger, and a human child dies from malnutrition every four seconds. The World Health Organization reports that half of humanity still lacks regular access to the treatment of common diseases, and to the most basic medicines.
In terms of both space and time, we are not very far away from similar levels of human suffering, though we seldom reflect upon the fact. If the history of humanity is compared to an hour, the so called developed world is but a few seconds old. Many of our great-grandparents, and even some of our grandparents, spent most of their lives in conditions we would consider unbearable.
Commonplace horror is only two or three generations behind us, and in places, not behind us at all. The Holocaust is a living memory. Other projects of ethnic genocide are being pursued even as these words are written.
And most of us have heard the stories, usually while we were children, and usually from people we cared about. For some, the accounts were only of the walking-to-school-five-miles-through-the-snow variety. But for others, the stories were about surviving daily hunger, or a war, or a death camp.
One of the most poignant examples of secondary trauma that I have ever known involved a woman who had seen various therapists because of a vivid nightmare. This nightmare wrecked her sleep every night, leaving her chronically sleep-deprived and exhausted. Forty-four-year-old Magda was the granddaughter of a Polish physician, whose daughter, Magda's mother, had emigrated to the United States just after World War II. When she left Europe, Magda's mother was the only surviving member of a large family that had been decimated in the camps.
Magda's father was an American physician, whom her mother had met soon after her arrival here, while he was still a student. On account of her father, Magda's own childhood and adolescence, spent in an idyllic setting in western Massachusetts, had been financially privileged; and because of her mother, she had been a gently treated and obsessively watched-over child.
“Salon appointments were always the big thing. She always had my hair done, even when I was quite little."
As an adult, Magda kept her brown hair very long, and wore it invariably in an elaborate French braid.
When I asked Magda whether she had ever been traumatized, she replied, in wholly unaccented English, "No, of course not. Nothing like that." But somehow, even given her considerable intelligence and her distinguished forebears, Magda had not lived up to her family's ambitions for her. As a child, she had wanted to be a doctor, like her father and her legendary grandfather. Instead, he had dropped out of Harvard University in her junior year, and had spent more than two decades being haunted by her nightmare, suffering intermittently from major depression, and barely getting by as a nurse's aide.
"It's the story my mother told me," she explained, sallow-faced and sad, "except it's not my mother. It's me."
"It's you? You mean it's you in the dream?"
"Yes. It's what happened to my mother, only it's happening to me. Over and over again, every night."
"Your mother told you a story about what happened to her in the war?"
"Oh yes, many times. Always the same story, about the camp."
"How old were you when she first told you this story?"
"I don't know, really. I don't remember a time when I didn't know it. I must have been really little."
"And your dream is always the same?"
"Always the same. Always just as bad. I'm with a lot of people, in some kind of a long line. I'm naked, and I'm really, really cold. Someone shoves me down to the ground, and I see that they're taking away my mother and my father. I scream "Mother!' but someone kicks me hard. I wake up screaming. I wake up screaming every night."
"Is this exactly what your mother told you about what happened to her?"
"Yes, exactly. . . except, well, except that she was not a tiny child, and in my dream, I'm a tiny child."
"That's so terrifying. "When you wake up screaming from the dream, what do you do?"
"I get up and walk around my apartment. I turn on all the lights, and I touch things. I touch my big couch and the soft draperies. I touch the numbers on my kitchen phone, all like that. I need things to bring me back to the here and now, or something. The dream is so real. And after I've done that for a while, I think I start to get really numb. Not frightened by the dream anymore-instead I get, well, kind of feeling-less. I wake up on the couch a lot in the mornings."
Magda was tormented by this dream every night of her life, and our progress in therapy was extremely slow.
While she was still quite young, she had made a vow never to become a mother herself. During one session, when I asked her why, she answered without hesitation that the world was just too dangerous for children.
"But you live in New England," I said, "and World War II was so long ago."
"You're right, of course," she replied. But then she looked away, and stared in silence at an empty chair across the room.
Data said:Fascinating story. I mentioned elsewhere that I think that for a certain period of time, I 'channeled' part of the WWII trauma of my great-grandfather. This was a series of rather gory dreams in first-person experience, which were confirmed by my grandmother AFTER I had them, without me revealing anything about my dreams. The most compelling indication of that was: I saw 'stitching' of wounds without anaesthesia, shouting "I don't want to go back!", and passing out. Grandma then told me that her father was a Samaritan during WWII and also passed out due to what he saw. Not a definitive proof, but still...
Once I saw a connection, I told my great-grandfather in my mind: "I acknowledge the pain you had to go through, and I am very thankful that you enabled me to have my life. However, this pain is not mine. I am just the great-grandchild." The dreams stopped, and never returned.
Although it seems strange, I have not tried my father and other relatives for their mistakes, if one has the capacity to see the faults in others must also be able to understand them.
We should not judge harshly to our parents or relatives, they also must have its own hell and perhaps nobody understood or could consider.
Joe said:Odyssey said:The other night I was feeling sad about the bleakness of the world and how it is kind of a sorry state to be a human being. In a way it was probably like a profound feeling of being disconnected from ...the source or truth and love?? And will there ever be anything better? Will I ever be anything better? I was thinking that we are born alone and we die alone essentially. No one can occupy your body with you and have the same experiences that you do. The words, "There is no escape," kept running through my mind. No amount of dissociation, no matter how positive it may seem, will alleviate this state of things. There is no running away and I won't be rescued.
I figured the only way to deal with this is to make peace with it and know that the only way we can alleviate this loneliness and disconnection is with other beings through physical contact and meaningful conversation and interaction. By sharing. Really sharing. Not a bunch of fake, surface-y stuff but giving all that we can.
So thanks for writing the above post, Laura. If this is all there is, then so be it. It is the choice to find meaning in this life that matters.
This feeling of disconnection is a necessary part of the process. It is seeing the truth of the human condition. Most people never allow such thoughts to enter into their conscious minds to be reflected on. On the contrary, they shove them under the rug at every opportunity, and with all sorts of "distractions". While it feels depressing Odyssey, realise that it is through this awareness, and sitting with it, that you provide yourself with the motivation and will to create something real, something lasting, something new.
It is through our relationships with others that we suffer. But it is also through our relationships with others, depending on how we handle them, that we can come to know ourselves and others, and, with the right people, know ourselves AS others and vice versa. A shared and common aim, a shared and common struggle, shared and common suffering, leading to shared sense of belonging, shared knowledge and understanding, and through that, joy.
"Heraclitus said strife is the creator of all great things. Something like that may be implicit in this symbolic trickster idea. In our tradition, the serpent in the Garden did the job. Just when everything was fixed and fine, he threw an apple into the picture.
"No matter what the system of thought you may have, it can’t possibly include boundless life. When you think everything is just that way, the trickster arrives, and it all blows, and you get change and becoming again.”
Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth
Woodsman said:Here's a thought...
If genetics can create suitable profiles for specifically tuned souls/soul-energies to inhabit, then perhaps it's not just traumatic memories being passed along as Martha Stout's observation suggests, but actual souls who really did experience death camps and such, but who got distracted on the way to the light and became attached to their own descendants?
-The attachment would be easier to have happen, presumably, if the genetics are already leaning in that direction.
After all.., we strongly suspect/know that a lot of behavioral patterns and ticks and such can be caused by attachments exerting their own will over the host.
(Which, for me, rather complicates the idea of Karma.)
Joe said:luke wilson said:Plus since it appears to be a sort of huge black hole in which anything can be thrown into... it seemed to me that it's setting an impossible challenge for the conscious mind. How can one truly know what lurks where one can't see? It ain't called the unconscious for no reason... Logic dictates it's a black hole that the conscious mind can't truly come to fully know, therefore always leaving us in the position of never having solved the problem.
Not true, I think. Have you ever done something, or repeatedly done something, that you soon regretted? A repeating pattern kind of thing? Have you ever done something that you later wondered "why did I do that? It caused me such a problem!?".
I know you have, because you've written about such things on this forum.
T.C. said:What if part of the epigenetic incarnating naturally puts us into a body where over the formative years of life, we can rebuild/recreate this current brain with the same or similar mapping to the last one we had, because maybe the only way to change these beliefs - and in turn, our DNA, the combination of which determines 'where we fit' - is we literally have to do it physically, by changing and remapping the brain we have now?