The train is on the track, it is progressing forward, it knows where it is going.
As I was reading I kept wanting to go to the comment section and start commenting, but I didn't want to break the flow of what you were sharing so adroitly (and it's a big deep subject to tackle.)
I loved hearing Freud's voice. He really started a huge movement and evolution because he was brave enough (and had the balls) to put it out there. A brain doctor that wanted to ease his patient's minds.
I think religion freaks us out, tells us how to act, so they can control the uncontrollable. People, especially the pious ones who are so judgmental about everyone else, are usually the ones that explode every few years or erupt once and go kaput. We are complex animals with the ability to think, feel, and reflect. That is unless we buy into someone else's system for us.
Freud stimulated minds and the psychological unfolding. Jung branched off, as did others.
I've got years of my dreams recorded, organized, typed and collated in one notebook. This year I printed lots of them out and read them before bed. It blew my mind how prophetic many were. I saw my high school boyfriend driving up to go to Berkeley (cause I was there), years before he did that. I saw my mother ask me where her bedroom was, decades before she asked me. I saw my brother and sister-in-law getting a divorce a hella long time before they actually split. I didn't remember having those dreams or even typing them up! That's how split we are from our sub and unconscious selves.
In my dreams, documented and forgotten until this year, I've found the more attention I pay to my dreams, the more they start to unfold and become more and more clear.
Rory Duff said, get thyself to a dream group. I signed up with three of them.
I had the opportunity on 5/29 to work for a free half hour with a Jungian dream analyst therapist etc. I poured through my dreams looking for which one I wanted to share. Early on I picked one out but kept searching for a better one. In fact, I got so compulsive I couldn't sleep the entire night before I got the opportunity to talk with her. I did share that first dream. By the end of the 35 minutes I knew it was my brother who died in 1993 giving me yet another message, this one so much deeper and more concise than one can believe we can communicate with those on the other side.
I've been trying to start my substack blog since February 28th. Well, two weeks before that. I know this is the avenue I'm supposed to take. I am a rebel. I'm tired of trying so hard and I've come to realize that like Freud, the more I relax, the more what I really want unfolds almost magically without so much effort.
I know now that substack is where I will bring many of the unbelievably divine communications between my brother and myself over the years. (it's long but it's a beginning - https://journalisa.substack.com/p/what-is-maturity?s=w)
My mom wanted to believe it, but my dad poo poo'd it. Before he died he called me to him at 6:30 in the morning and said, "You and I will have great communication in the great here-and-beyond."
Huh? "Dad, what are you talking about? You have poo poo'd this for 25 years." Wtf? Driving down to my first cancer treatment my dead brother Steve 427 (his birthday) drove right in front of us (on a license plate) two minutes after I said to mom, "Let's ask him to send us a message." Two minutes. My brother was deep. If you would have told me when I was young that I would be talking to the dead, I would say, "NO WAY."
Mom used to say that her paternal grandmother used to say, "Nobody ever came back and told me what it was like over there." Mom wanted to believe it. I saw a hummingbird do something I'd never seen before, an hour before my mother died. A year and one day later I saw another hummingbird do the same thing. Never seen it before, or since. During the year after my mother died my childhood friend said a hummingbird would often fly right up to her living room screen and hover for minutes at a time, looking in as if it was my mom trying to get her to know and tell me she's still around.
Today I was reading some stuff about her last days and looking at pictures from her last weeks. I broke out in sobs a couple of times. I never used to be able to cry. Unless my mother called at that moment and she often did. "Lisa, finish your sentence. Take a big breath!" The tears would well up, the damn broke, and I'd be able to feel.
Anyway. This is your blog. Your blog about Freud. It was a tremendous read and well worth sitting on my butt for this much longer today/tonight. I loved it and can't wait to read more of what you've written in the past and will write in the future!
The train is on the track, it is progressing forward, it knows where it is going.
As I was reading I kept wanting to go to the comment section and start commenting, but I didn't want to break the flow of what you were sharing so adroitly (and it's a big deep subject to tackle.)
I loved hearing Freud's voice. He really started a huge movement and evolution because he was brave enough (and had the balls) to put it out there. A brain doctor that wanted to ease his patient's minds.
I think religion freaks us out, tells us how to act, so they can control the uncontrollable. People, especially the pious ones who are so judgmental about everyone else, are usually the ones that explode every few years or erupt once and go kaput. We are complex animals with the ability to think, feel, and reflect. That is unless we buy into someone else's system for us.
Freud stimulated minds and the psychological unfolding. Jung branched off, as did others.
I've got years of my dreams recorded, organized, typed and collated in one notebook. This year I printed lots of them out and read them before bed. It blew my mind how prophetic many were. I saw my high school boyfriend driving up to go to Berkeley (cause I was there), years before he did that. I saw my mother ask me where her bedroom was, decades before she asked me. I saw my brother and sister-in-law getting a divorce a hella long time before they actually split. I didn't remember having those dreams or even typing them up! That's how split we are from our sub and unconscious selves.
In my dreams, documented and forgotten until this year, I've found the more attention I pay to my dreams, the more they start to unfold and become more and more clear.
Rory Duff said, get thyself to a dream group. I signed up with three of them.
I had the opportunity on 5/29 to work for a free half hour with a Jungian dream analyst therapist etc. I poured through my dreams looking for which one I wanted to share. Early on I picked one out but kept searching for a better one. In fact, I got so compulsive I couldn't sleep the entire night before I got the opportunity to talk with her. I did share that first dream. By the end of the 35 minutes I knew it was my brother who died in 1993 giving me yet another message, this one so much deeper and more concise than one can believe we can communicate with those on the other side.
I've been trying to start my substack blog since February 28th. Well, two weeks before that. I know this is the avenue I'm supposed to take. I am a rebel. I'm tired of trying so hard and I've come to realize that like Freud, the more I relax, the more what I really want unfolds almost magically without so much effort.
I know now that substack is where I will bring many of the unbelievably divine communications between my brother and myself over the years. (it's long but it's a beginning - https://journalisa.substack.com/p/what-is-maturity?s=w)
My mom wanted to believe it, but my dad poo poo'd it. Before he died he called me to him at 6:30 in the morning and said, "You and I will have great communication in the great here-and-beyond."
Huh? "Dad, what are you talking about? You have poo poo'd this for 25 years." Wtf? Driving down to my first cancer treatment my dead brother Steve 427 (his birthday) drove right in front of us (on a license plate) two minutes after I said to mom, "Let's ask him to send us a message." Two minutes. My brother was deep. If you would have told me when I was young that I would be talking to the dead, I would say, "NO WAY."
Mom used to say that her paternal grandmother used to say, "Nobody ever came back and told me what it was like over there." Mom wanted to believe it. I saw a hummingbird do something I'd never seen before, an hour before my mother died. A year and one day later I saw another hummingbird do the same thing. Never seen it before, or since. During the year after my mother died my childhood friend said a hummingbird would often fly right up to her living room screen and hover for minutes at a time, looking in as if it was my mom trying to get her to know and tell me she's still around.
Today I was reading some stuff about her last days and looking at pictures from her last weeks. I broke out in sobs a couple of times. I never used to be able to cry. Unless my mother called at that moment and she often did. "Lisa, finish your sentence. Take a big breath!" The tears would well up, the damn broke, and I'd be able to feel.
I resemble my father in that not feeling part... https://journalisa.substack.com/p/reflecting-on-being-fatherless-for?s=w
Anyway. This is your blog. Your blog about Freud. It was a tremendous read and well worth sitting on my butt for this much longer today/tonight. I loved it and can't wait to read more of what you've written in the past and will write in the future!