Discussing the dharma and 'Buddhist psychotherapy' in the snow at the Karuna Institute, Dartmoor, Devon.

Discussing the dharma in the snow at the Karuna Institute

I took this photograph several years ago when I was teaching at the Karuna Institute in Devon. In a quiet moment before the students arrived I took these little carved wooden figurines out of the shrine/teaching room and arranged them in the snow. Although they are scantily clad they seem unperturbed by the cold! The building in the background is the lovely Stable Cottage, where teaching staff used to stay.

I always liked these figures, they communicate such a lovely sense of respectful engagement and relationship. On a recent visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum I was surprised to come across larger more ornate versions of the same sculptures, the originals presumably, richly gilded and decorated (from Thailand?), though I think I prefer the simple unadorned yogis of the Karuna Institute. Namaste!

The gate out of suffering: the collected talks of Ajahn Sumedho

"Being the knowing is the gate out of suffering." 108 talks Luang Por Sumedho 1978-2010

I'm enjoying listening to the collected talks of Ajahn Sumedho. It's an impressive body of teachings. There are 108 recorded talks in total given between 1978 and 2010 covering varied aspects of the dharma and practice all delivered in Ajahn Sumedho's inimitable style. Some are serious in tone, others more light hearted, with many of his droll observations on the deluded states of Samsara and our preposterous habits punctuated by his distinctive laugh, which at first I found irritating but now appreciate for its cutting through wisdom.
Each talk begins with a homage to the Buddha:

"Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Samma Sambuddhasa'. 

It sounds like most of the talks were given early in the morning on various retreats he has led over the years and it's possible to hear different ambient sounds in the background; birdsong, insects, different types of transport all of which give clues as to where the talks were recorded (some in Europe, some in Asia). Some of the talks contain interesting topical references such as the 9/11giving good insights into how  political and social events can be understood dharmicaly.
In essence most of the talks are about emptiness, the 'deathless', and our need to trust this moment, and realise the reality of anicca (impermanence), dukkha (unsatisfactoriness) and anatta (not-self). I found the talk on 'Kamma and rebirth' particularly helpful. Reincarnation he argues is more of a Hindu concept and I found his explaination of how we tend to constantly give rebirth to negative mental states by constantly seeking out the same 'wombs' that we are accustomed to very helpful.
I managed to upload most of the talks onto my iPod nano. Strange to think how much talking you can squeeze into a gadget not much bigger than a postage stamp. I've been listening to the talks in various locations including on the underground, not systematically- I'm a shuffler! I also listen to the talks late at night in bed with the lights out. The lack of distraction improves my concentration and with the earpieces in there's this strange audio affect I notice where the sound of my breath seems amplified, and I can hear Ajahn Sumedho deep resonant voice and at the same time witness constant change as I hear the steady inhalation and exhalation of my breath. The breath being born, dying, being born, dying...


(Thanks to N for giving this CD to me and to the Forest Sangha and supporters in Malaysia who supported its production).

Mine? Yours?

Paint detail, shop divide Leytonstone High Road. Taking sides?

Buddha in a box: the transmission of Buddhism to the west.

Every year thousands of Buddha rupas are transported from the East to the West in cramped inhumane conditions in the holds of aeroplanes and ships, often with little food or room to move, a few end up in temples, most end up in garden centres or gift shops. It doesn't seem to bother them...The dharma doesn't come boxed.

'Winding your way down on Baker Street...': Gerry Rafferty and samsara

'Another year and then you'd be happy.  Just one more year and then you'd be happy.  But you're cryin, you're cryin now'

I took this photograph exiting the underground at Baker Street station. I didn't have time to compose the shot and missed the persons head, though I don't think it spoils the image too much. I like the geometry, the vertical bars of the fencing, the horizontal axis of the track. Once I uploaded it I couldn't help but think about the Gerry Rafferty single Baker Street, and made a rush for You Tube to listen to it again, playing it several times over at a high volume.  It's got to be one of the the most perfect pop songs ever recorded and captures perfectly complex emotions and behaviour we all may be familiar with: the hope for a better life (giving up addictions, settling down) and the compulsion to stay where we are, caught in rebirth, repeating ourselves and our suffering endlessly, in Rafferty's case through alcoholism. Samsara! This song doesn't seem to age and if anything becomes more poignant the more you listen to it as you get older. Bitter, sweet and wonderfully human. When I hear the rapturous saxophone riff I'm magically transported back to a very particular time and place in 1978...'another crazy day...'

'The whole boatload of sensitive bullshit'; the life, loves, poetry and prophecy of Allen Ginsberg. A review of the movie 'HOWL'

 an incendiary bomb of a poem

So the verdict? and this is a movie that revolves around judgement and verdict. Is Ginsbergs poem obscene or isn't it? Is it likely to 'arouse lustful desires' or isn't it? Is this film good or is it, well.. crap?  Would Allen be turning in his grave or would the old angel headed hipster be quietly amused, or screaming with joy even!!!

To begin with I was ready to dislike this movie, thinking of punning put-downs-howls of derision, a Howler etc. I must confess my aversion to biopics, which are usually far too literal and pedestrian in my opinion. I was ready to take exception with the multitude of representational devices and forms; the switching from black and white to colour, from live action to animation. I was ready to be insulted and offended by cinematic mediocrity, ready to defend the integrity of Allen's vision, his prophecy. It took real conviction to write Howl (much of it is about madness, the madness that had destroyed not just the best minds of his generation and nearly his, but his mothers too) and stand up and read it in public for the first time, to stand up for his truth, to confront the censors. To begin with I felt this film was singularly lacking in any kind of comparable artistic conviction. For heaven's sake why two directors (Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman-almost a committee)? Here's a film that initially looks like its trying too hard to be experimental, with too many cooks stirring the bohemian broth.

 BUT...

 wait a minute, stick with it, this film ain't half bad and if like me you're moved by Ginsberg, the man and his work you might not be totally disappointed, and dare I say it maybe even a little inspired, or re-inspired. In fact it'll probably make you want to return to the original text, which really can't be beat and still sounds impressive fifty years since it's first public reading, and is surely just as relevant today. The directors vision might not meet everyone's expectations, or the animated sequences, which have been described as a kind of Beat Fantasia, Disney on acid, dope, or peyote.

The film switches from black and white to vintage slightly washed out colour in the live action and to brilliant saturated colour for the animated sequences.

Yes, this film is actually rather good. Hats off to James Franco for his lovely understated performance; a nice mix of nerdy 'n' intense, sexy 'n' intelligent. The DVD notes and packaging say he is Allen Ginsberg, and this is no idle boast he really seems to have got under the skin of the lovely man and embody him and his sensibility (more than can be said for the actor who plays Kerouac). Some of the best scenes are of Ginsberg as young writer in his run down apartment being interviewed about the use of candour in writing, an interview which includes a touching recollection of an exchange with his psychotherapist.
I don't usually like courtroom dramas, but I loved all the deliberating and philosophising (surprisingly intelligent and sophisticated) on what is and isn't obscene. By the way did anyone else notice the resemblance between one of the uptight prosecution witnesses (Gail Potter 'you feel like you are going through the gutter when you read that stuff') and one time Republican hopeful and hockey mum Sarah Palin? I found the defence attorney and judges closing statements about the dangers of censorship adding fuel to the fire of ignorance, very moving.

As one of the defendants reminds us in the courtroom proceedings you 'cant translate poetry into prose..and that's why its poetry'. I guess you could also say you cant translate poetry into film but this movie gets pretty close to capturing the spirit of Ginsberg.

 trippy animation

I rather liked Eric Drooker's trippy animated sequences, I know lots of reviewers didn't. Its just a pity the animated sequences can't be watched uninterrupted, illustrating the poem Howl in its entirety. I thought you might be able to do this in the extras section but there's no such facility.  I liked the sexual playfulness (lets face it you don't see many dicks and ejaculatory fireworks in Pixar), the jazzy boho chic urban lansdcapes, the hallucinatory Van Gogh like starry New York night skies and I especially the liked the sequences depicting the all consuming monstrous nightmare of Moloch.

'Moloch! the heavy judger of men'

Ginsberg's railing against Moloch ('what sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate out their brains') is one of the most powerful passages in HOWL. From a Buddhist perspective it's interesting to consider exactly what Ginsberg was getting at here. Later in his life Ginsberg offered more of a dharmic interpretation saying Moloch was in fact a reference to the machinations of the mind, the hell we create with the mind; dualism? I guess in Blakean terms you could say Moloch is all that keeps our mind forged manacles in place.

'Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy'

Any doubts I had about his movie were swept away in the closing sequences with the recitation of the brilliant footnote to HOWL- the delirious declamatory epiphany 'Holy' (which incidentally Patti Smith has done a rather good cover version of) a challenge to splitting and spiritual bypassing, a celebration of the non-dual. And then a poignant touch, we finally see moving footage of the real Allen, a kind genteel elderly Ginsberg reciting his poem Father Death not long before his death, welcoming impermanence, facing it with dignity and equanimity.

So reader you've probably realised I rate this movie, it's not the greatest movie ever made, but yes I liked it, 'the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit', and I think this movie may be of particular interest to anyone interested in spiritual emergence and spiritual emergency.

A review of the book 'Spiritual Bypassing: When Spirituality Disconnects Us from What Really Matters'

Has anyone ever suggested you might be 'spiritual bypassing'? Or perhaps you've come to that conclusion yourself and experienced that awful penny dropping moment when you realise your apparent spirituality is not quite what it seems or how you'd like it to be seen. There you were  luxuriating in your wisdom and spiritual correctness and the next moment your fine apparel is seen for what it is- a complete delusion, a sham, the emperors new clothes. It can feel incredibly exposing, and shamemaking. Just when you were feeling so accomplished, and pleased with yourself you're rumbled.

Robert Augustus Masters book on the pitfalls of spirituality and how a pseudo spirituality can be used to avoid what really matters in life should be required reading for anyone interested in the spiritual life. This easy to read, interesting book invites us to take a hard yet compassionate look at our spiritual life, and may be of particular interest to anyone like myself who try to combine a spiritual practice and spiritual outlook with work in the helping professions that includes both the personal and transpersonal. I've been thinking of these issues a lot recently in relation to how I promote my psychotherapy practice, my website, leaflet and this blog. How to be authentic? How to convey an interest in the spiritual without falsely representing it. How to be real.

In each chapter of his book Masters, an Intuitive Integral Psychotherapist, investigates a different bypass we can take on the spiritual journey including: blind compassion; a neurotic tolerance that is unhelpful to the self and others (Chogyam Trungpa described this with Zen-like directness verging on the harsh as idiot compassion, and this book covers similar territory to his 'Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism' but it is written from more a psychotherapy perspective, although I think Masters could have placed more emphasis on spiritual bypassing as a conditioned response and defence against suffering, something that is done for a reason and shouldn't be attacked, but understood and worked through); ignoring the shadow; disowning and problematising anger (Masters is critical of 'Buddhist elders like Thich Nhat Than' and 'New age positivity pushers' for discouraging the direct expression of anger); quick spiritual fixes and high speed recipes for enlightenment; magical thinking and superstition; the ways we use sex, and being spiritually gullible and vulnerable to cult control and manipulation.

Masters argues spirituality is 'not an escape from life's difficulties' but 'a way of embracing and illuminating them.' He also describes something called the 'soul's embrace' which is 'both panoramic and particular, touching the universal without neglecting the personal and interpersonal'.  I was reminded of something a psychotherapist once said to me when I was expressing blind faith in the power of the universe:

 'Trust in the universe and tie up your camels?'

'Just be yourself'; a review of the movie Edward Scissorhands.

Edward Scissorhands is my favourite Tim Burton film. Its a beautiful modern fairy tale, brilliantly cast and acted with great designs (fantastic use of colour and costume), and a lovely Danny Elfman soundtrack that soars and sweeps you along with the unfolding drama. It's a delightful entertainment-clever, funny and satirical. It asks us to consider what exactly is normal and how we respond to difference.  From the perspective of psychotherapy this film may also be of interest for anyone interested in developmental issues related to the self; how we develop the capacity to reach out and form relationships and how this may be compromised by premature separation.

For those unfamiliar with the plot I'll give a brief synopsis (plot spoilers!). Edward (a youthful Johnny Depp) is a man made creature created by an ailing benevolent Frankenstein like inventor/father figure played by Vincent Price in what poignantly proved to be his last film role (a great exit for the maestro playing against type here as a good guy with a kind heart).

Vincent Price as the kind inventor whose work is cut short

We see the inventor attempting to prepare Edward for life outside the mansion home. 'Ettiquete tells us what is expected and guards us from all humiliation and discomfort'. He reads Edward funny limericks reassuring him that its okay to be amused and smile. Unfortunately for Edward just as the inventor is about to lovingly attach his hands he has a heart attack and dies, and Edward is left alone, an orphan.

Everyone lives in identical homes and goes to work at exactly the same time, and they think he's weird!

One day Edward is discovered by Avon saleslady Peg played brilliantly by Dianne Wiest.  'What happened to you?' she enquires, shocked by his traumatised appearance, his ragged clothes, his scarred face, his scissor hands.  'I'm not finished' he says apologetically.  Reassuring him she's 'as harmless as cherry pie' and wont hurt him, she drives him home to her house in a suburban cul-de-sac (a real location in Tampa, Florida) where he's introduced to her family; husband Bill (a bluecollar worker who's always in his work uniform and ID played by Alan Arkin), son Kevin, and teenage daughter Kim (Winona Ryder). After consulting her 'big Avon handbook' Peg, attends to Edwards wounds, 'light concealing cream and blending is the secret'.

Traumatised and in shock

Word soon gets around the neighbourhood about her strange visitor, and in a fever pitch of curiosity and excitement and just a little sexual hysteria the desperate neighbours (including a nymphomaniac played to great comic effect by the brilliant Kathy Baker), convince Peg to throw a barbecue and pot luck lunch to introduce her mysterious exotic guest.

In a key scene his carer Peg is dressing Edward, getting him ready for the big reveal. Picking up on his nerves she says;

 'there's no need to be nervous. You just have to be yourself, your own sweet self.' 

This is of course completely useless advice as Edwards sense of self is practically non-existent, her advice presupposes there is a self to be. Edward doesn't know who he is, he hasn't had sufficient mirroring.  Burton plays on this theme and there are several scenes where we see Edward looking in the mirror.  The first occasion he is looking in Kim's  mirror which is partly collaged with a montage of photographic images of eyes torn from fashion magazines.  We see Edward staring into the mirror perplexed by what he sees, he seems to be searching for himself.  On another occasion after Peg has been dressing his wounds, she shows him his reflection in the mirror and says 'you look fine, just fine' and at that moment we're reminded of the maternal deficits in his life, just how undernourished he is. Later as Edward discovers his rage we see him looking in a mirror once again this time clawing and shredding the wallpaper surround with his scissorhands.

Looking for the self, the mirror is a recurring motif.

Although his scissorhands make him inept at most activities, including feeding himself, everyone is thrilled when they discover Edward's special gifts, the upside of his disability; his flair for topiary and cutting-edge hairdressing, his fun designs enlivening their dull conformist lives.  In his punky ragged tight fitting black leather suit theres also just a touch of rock'n' roll about him which adds to his appeal.  The outsider becomes a sought after celebrity, even making an appearance on TV, though not everyone is as impressed and fanatical Christian Esmerelda urges the townsfolk to 'expel him' and 'trample down the perversion of nature'.  In another existential reference to his lack of self and identity we see him trying to open a bank account (that great rite of passage for any foreign immigrant), of course he has no ID, no credit, the bank manager declines him commenting 'you may as well not exist'.

Edwards clumsy attempts at reaching out to others or simply defending himself result in inadvertant harm to others. He accidentally hurts the ones he loves most, drawing blood with his 'hands' whenever anyone gets too close.

Predictably the the townsfolk turn against Edward, their blood is up, what identity he had is spoiled, ruined by gossip and innuendo. False allegations of rape and violence circulate and eventually he gets fitted up for a crime he didn't commit.  Ironically in the season of peace and goodwill to all men, the neighbours now no longer fans, more of a baying mob dressed in outlandish festive yuletide costumes drive Edward out of town and back into the solitary confinemnet of the old house on the hill.

Frozen

In the final scenes we see Edward alone in his castle, making ice sculptures of the ones he loves, his adoptive family, they have become fixed and frozen in time, and being artificial, Edward himself will never grow-up, never reach maturity, never age.

A meditation on multiple loss, and grace; a review of the movie 'The Tree of Life'

I love the films of Terrence Malick (especially Badlands) and my expectations were racing when I saw this long awaited film at the Barbican Cinema shortly after it's release last summer. Now the audiences at the Barbican are not your blockbusting popcorn and nacho munching variety, and true to form they sat in complete attentive silence throughout the entire film primed no doubt like me with various articles and reviews they'd already read in the quality press. It is a demanding film, somewhat long (133 minutes), both grandiose and at times so painfully intimate and so private one feels almost like a voyeur. It was hard to read the silence, were people in a state of awe or were they simply bored, or perplexed?

The Tree of Life is unashamedly spiritual in it's vision, religious even and begins with a beautifully poetic quotation from the bible that sets the tone for the rest of the film:

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?..

When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

                                                                                                               Job 30:4.7

This reference is key, we are being invited to remember, to consider how we were in the very beginning, we are about to enter a state of reverie, Malick's poetic contemplative exploration of a Blakean world of lost innocence and experience, a requiem.

In the first section of the movie we see a mother, the beautiful Jessica Chastain (a Madonna archetype, who is filmed so lovingly I suspect Malick adores her every bit of much as Derek Jarman adored/venerated Tilda Swinton) receiving news every mother must dread, the news of the death of a child, in this case her nineteen year old son, one of three boys. The beautifully filmed scenes that follow are some of the most moving depictions of grief and bereavement on film. As the absent father (Brad Pitt) who's away on a business trip hears the news on long distance telephone a funereal bell tolls in the background.  (Like all Malick films this one has incredibly rich soundtrack; not just beautifully poignant classical music but found sounds which adds to the films intensity. Its suggested you play the DVD loud for optimal effect).  We see neighbours offering their awkward condolences to the family; 'The pain it will pass in time' and harsh truths; 'life goes on, people pass along, nothing stays the same'.

Moving forward in time and we see a besuited bewildered Sean Penn as the older son trapped in a souless corporate office environment, it could be Manhattan or Canary Wharf, a mammon of glass, steel and mirror, with just a brief glimpse of nature, a solitary tree stranded in a plaza. In a voiceover we hear Penn lament 'the worlds gone to the dogs, people are getting greedy, getting worse'. Poor Sean-its not clear if the puzzled expression on his face is acted or a genuine reflection of his emotions as an actor wondering what the hell he's doing in the movie and whether the footage will be used or end up on the cutting room floor. This movie features 'stars' but Malicks way of working is notoriously freeform and requires actors to put their egos to one side and trust in the project, to trust that a certain kind of magic will be found in the moment; the smallest of unscripted gestures, happy accidents (like the chance arrival of a butterfly), the glow of candlelight, the dance of light and shadow. The DVD covers boasts 'Brad Pitt gives the strongest performance of his career'. I dont know about that but he certainly seems willing to take risks with his career and this is another intelligent performance proving once again that he is so much more than a pretty face.

Another leap in time, into the past, and we are at the very beginnings of life, the big bang, creation, call it what you will, fantastically rendered in dazzling non CGI special effects by the same guy who did the SFX for 2001 Space Odyssey. At this point Malick lost a lot of his critics, but I think these scenes are amazing and you've got to hand it to him this is film making at its boldest and most ambitious. This section of the movie includes a much talked about/derided scene with dinosaurs where a large predatory dinosaur places it's foot on the head of a smaller dinosaur. We expect to see the animal crush the other but instead it seems to lose interest and moves on, sparing its life. An obvious point perhaps but Malick seems to be saying we have a choice, we can choose to be destructive or not. We then leave the womb of creation and are back with Jessica Chastain giving birth.

What follows is a series of beautifully filmed intimate vignettes from the young boys childood, we see them struggling with their authoritarian father, we see them playing, exploring the world around them, testing its boundaries, getting into trouble, discovering talents and envious attacks motivated by sibling rivalry. Inevitably this stirs memories of ones own childhood. This may all sound rather prosaic but Malick has a great eye for the numinous, and this section of the movie is as much about lightness and darkness, both real and metaphorical. The photography is breathtakingly beautiful, though I think there is an edge here. Malick seems to be saying open your eyes, LOOK see the beauty around you that's in everything, and if you start to really open to this movie it can feel quite overwhelming. In one touching scene Pitt/ the father (a tragic Willy Loman-like figure) breaks down in remorse 'I wanted to be loved cause I was great, a Big Man.  Look... the glory around...trees, birds... I dishonoured it all and didn't notice the glory'. 

Some critics disliked the Tree of Life because they found it too preachy, over-thought, pretentious even. Personally I don't feel this way. Yes it is in a way an illustrated sermon, it is about lost moral compass. It's sad and melancholic. At one level it's about death and bereavement in a family but at a much deeper level its about the death of knowing our true interconnectedness. In the parlance of Core Process Psychotherapy you could say the film is about the loss of connection with being and source, the loss of faith in the basic goodness in the world and brilliant sanity, how we forget to see the beauty in everything and forget to listen to the heartbeat of what is most precious in each moment of life. The films message is clear, it is I think the same as the Buddha's;

WAKE-UP!

It isn't a depressing film, it has it's flaws but its also uplifting and offers hope. In a key sequence Chastain's voice-over describes the paths we can take in life.

'There are two ways in this life; the way of nature, and the way of grace. 

Chose which one you will follow.

Grace doesn't try to please itself, accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked, accepts insults and injuries.

Nature only wants to please itself. It likes to lord it over them, to have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world around it is shining and love is smiling through all things'.

I haven't discussed the film's controversial ending but would like to conclude this review with another quote from the film:

'No-one who loves the way of grace ever comes to a bad end' 

Safe treatment?; a review of the David Cronenberg movie 'A Dangerous Method'

I first saw this movie on a quiet Monday afternoon at the Stratford Picture House. There were three other people in the audience and I convinced myself that they must all be psychotherapists like myself filling a quiet afternoon with an entertaining but CPD worthy diversion. At the end of the movie as I left the auditorium an old man turned to me scratching his head and said 'that was all rather deep wasn't it? One for the mind me thinks'. Ah the power of projection...

I'd enjoyed the film and so was interested to see how I'd find it on a second viewing as a DVD.

A Dangerous Method is directed by David Cronenberg, more well known for disturbing horror films like Shivers and The Fly, and this is his adaptation of the Christopher Hampton stage play 'The Talking Cure' about the relationship between Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung; starring Viggo Mortensen as Freud, Michael Fassbender as Jung and Keira Knightley as Jung's famous patient Sabina Spielrein.

I watched the DVD with and without the directors commentary. Cronenberg's commentary reveals I think the problem with this movie. It's not that it's a bad film or an uninteresting film its just that fidelity to form; the historical subject matter (save for some artistic licence in the imagining of sado-masochistic relationship between Jung and his patient Spielrein. There is no evidence as far as I'm aware that he ever spanked her) seems adhered to at the expense of the creative and imaginative flair we might have expected from Cronenberg. So for example in the commentary we hear all about the fastidious lengths the director went to to ensure everything was realistic and historically accurate, including; cleverly CGI-ing a modern Lake Como to make it look like Lake Lucerne, cosmetically crafting a special nose for Freud, finding a garden wall that had just the right texture to stand in for a wall of the Bugelezi Clinic, and having a facsimile made of Freud's original chair. So what we get is a reverential, respectable, largely historically accurate if rather low-key conventional film; all a bit Open University and not that cinematic. I found myself wondering what Ken Russell would have made of the same material if he'd been commissioned to make this film in his early BBC Monitor years (I'm thinking of those wonderful biopics on Debussy and Elgar).

Moretensen's and Fassbender's performances are subtle and strong, both managing to convey the intense intellect and interiority of their characters, Mortensen is especially good as a wily chain-smoking Freud (his skin seems yellow and parchment like from so much nicotine), Fassbender is a little bland in places and hard to reconcile with the creative genius who wrote and illustrated the Red Book, but Keira Knightley is more problematic. For a start unlike Mortensen and Fassbenber who speak English with precise diction Knightley's character speaks English with an unconvincing cod Russian accent. In his commentary Cronenberg suggests Knightley is 'more than a trooper', and threw herself into the part 'with great exuberance' (including another pond, though unlike the pond scene in Atonement a film incidentally where I thought she was rather good, this time she comes up covered in mud/shit -a symbol perhaps of her descent into the unconscious). In his commentary Cronenberg says casting can make or break a film commending Knightley and Fassbender's oncscreen chemistry, but I can't but help feel she's miscast here, there's too much jaw-jutting overacting and gurning.

The film is strong on the father/son like relationship and rivalry of Jung and Freud, I particularly liked the way Jung's concept of synchronicity is explored. There is also an excellent performance by Vincent Cassel as maverick psychoanalyst and anarchist Otto Gross (who also had his father issues-his father had him incarcerated at the Bugelezi Clinic). Gross who argued one should 'never repress anything' and can be seen as a personification of the ID, gives tacit permissive support to Jung's taboo breaking sexual relationship with patient Spielrein (who went onto become a pioneer of child analysis and was murdered by the Nazis in the holocaust), a dual relationship which would be considered a gross violation of boundaries and serious misconduct judged by today's professional standards. We see Cassel as a bearded unkempt but rather charismatic Gross sniffing cocaine, rifling through Jung's office looking for drugs and having sex with a uniformed female nurse in the grounds of the Clinic. There's an edge and aliveness in these scenes with Cassel that seems lacking elsewhere in the movie, and I was disappointed the Gross character didn't feature more than it does, and the challenge of his views is never really addressed. Another movie perhaps?

In my opinion this isn't a great movie, in its earnest bid for fairness and historical objectivity it somehow never quite takes off, and remains rather literal, but I think it will be of interest to anyone who has ever had psychotherapy and especially interesting to analysts. There's so much of Freudian and Jungian psychology we take for granted today and the film reminds us just how revolutionary Freud and Jung's ideas were and how divergent their thinking eventually became.

Anyone interested in a Jungian analysis of this film might be interested in a series of lectures posted on Andrew Samuels website www.andrewsamuels.com . The six lectures includes a very interesting lecture by Samuels himself where he explores interesting themes connected to the movie including: the overlap of narrative truth and historical truth, polyamory and 'kink', what Sabina Spielrein tells us about structural forms of the feminine psyche and psychoanalysis and anti-semitism.

Understanding envy; the 'if only' trap.

'The Critic' 1943, Weegee (Arthur Fellig).

I've always found this photograph fascinating. In it we see wealthy socialites, and benefactors of the Arts, Mrs George Washington Kavenagh and Lady Decies attending an opening night at the Metropolitan Opera New York. They've just stepped out of their limo directly into the glare of the photographers flash. They appear to be unaware of the woman standing to their left. In contrast to the onlooker they look rather exotic, slightly ridiculous, with an air of vulnerability, clinging perhaps to each other for security.

The onlooker appears to be seething with resentment, hatred even, as the saying goes. She's clearly from a different class, and has none of their refinement,  her hair's a mess, there's no ermine, no tiara, no jewels.  It looks like she's wearing a sheepskin coat. Sadly time has forgotten this woman, and there's no record of her name.

The encounter was in fact a carefully managed, rather cruel and unethical set-up, the photographer got his assistant to go down to Sammy's bar on the Bowery, find some poor soul (in this case who also happened to be very drunk) and take them in a cab uptown in order to get the reaction shot Fellig anticipated and desired.

This image of a confrontation confronts us with our prejudices and gets us to consider where our sympathies lie. But who suffers? Do the poor have a monopoly on suffering, or is suffering as Buddhism suggests a universal phenomena, one of the four Noble Truths? This image is in a way a powerful representation of that most corrosive of human emotions- envy. Haven't we all at some stage felt like the onlooker here, felt that awful feeling where the self seems to writhe, contract and twist, with the only outer movement being one of hatred and resentment.

We tend to dismiss envy quickly without considering what is really going on. When we are envious we may feel like attacking others but significantly it is primarily a form of self-attack. The envious person has the misapprehension that he needs something others have in order to be happy. Fortune is located externally, its something out there, and happiness is thought to be out of reach, we feel excluded.  So when we catch ourselves feeling envious it's important to consider what is really happening. It demands a re-evaluation of ourselves. Are we really that impoverished? What is stopping us appreciating ourselves? Do we have to be the needy supplicant?

Envy is a form of self-sabotage and it fits neatly with the shame based aspects of the self-the despised self that feels it is never good enough, the shamed self that may in some way have a compulsive need to feel bad, that paradoxically can't tolerate good self fortune. When we notice envy arising we are almost certainly idealising the other in some form, the other person, the other situation and the bit we are usually less conscious of- denigrating the self. We lose contact with the good that is in the present and instead resort to an 'if only' plea.  If only I won the lottery ('it could be you'), if only I had a good-looking boyfriend or girlfriend, if only I was famous, if only, if only. Can you hear the 'if-only' chorus in your life? Of course we live in a culture that thrives on our discontent, envy is in many ways the motor that keeps consumerism going. We are never full, never sated. The envious person wishes their life away chasing an illusory happiness. The envious live a provisional life. The envious person is out of touch with the gifts he already has, he lacks generosity towards the self and he's unable to rejoice in the good fortune of others. Envy is the great spoiler of the good, the rain on the parade.

However resisting envy doesn't mean we need become stoic, we don't have to simply grin and bear it, it is okay to want more for ourselves, to have legitimate aspirations, so long as we realise that getting more doesn't guarantee happiness. As the saying goes be careful of what you wish for.

I also want to say something here about the so-called 'politics of envy'. We all know that envy is unpleasant, which is perhaps why the tired phrase 'politics of envy' gets trotted out so often when anyone challenges inequality of wealth. Political actions they suggest are motivated by envy, and are pathological.

This is a complex topic.  Envy calls us back to the self. What do we really need and value? When we make a more accurate assessment we often find what we thought we needed we already have, or is much closer than we realised, and then we can become more expansive and experience more spaciousness; our focus shifts from getting to giving.

The thrill is gone: the unbearable pain of Chet Baker. A review of 'Lets Get Lost'.

I've finally got around to watching Bruce Weber's 1988 documentary on the life, loves and music of Chet Baker 'Lets Get Lost'. I began by dipping in and out of the film on You Tube and then watched the film in its entirety with PT. It's an excellent heartbreaking film; a meditation on beauty, pain and loss.

We see Baker towards the end of his life, still a relatively young man in his late fifties, but looking much older-looking, lost and confused. He's filmed in artful black and white at glamorous locations-the beaches of Santa Monica, the back of open-top Caddilacs and the Cannes Film Festival. Baker looks wracked with emotional pain. In some of the scenes he's surrounded by friends, family and laughing carefree 'beautiful people'. Weber has a knack of making them all look incredibly glamorous and star-like, all of which acts as a cruel counterpoint to Baker himself who looks sleazy more like a street person, a hobo. If they are Dorian Gray, he is their portrait in the attic.

My favourite collection of Chet Baker songs on the Pacific Jazz label.

Weber tells the tale of his early life in Oklahoma, the handsome clean-cut young man, the madness he feigned to escape the army, the myths surrounding the loss of his teeth in a violent assault (a calamity for a trumpet player-he had to have dentures), his irresistible charm to women. There are interviews with his ex-wives, who all at some point wanted I think to rescue him caught up in grudging co-dependency, being used themselves and using him. The allure of the bad boy/object? We see his mother who admits tearfully, hesitantly that yes he was a disappointment and we see his charming grown-up children who he hardly ever saw, including his sons who have inherited his good looks, though one suspects little of his wealth. There are noticeably few references to his father. Baker is at his most animated when talking about his drug addiction, enthusing about his favourite high; speedballs,  a mix of cocaine and heroin which he's at pains to point out has to be mixed carefully in just the right proportions to attain the optimal high.  When asked what was the happiest day of his life, people don't feature; he recalls the purchase of a new automobile.

'I get along without you very well. Of course I do. Except perhaps in spring. But I should never think of Spring. For that would surely break my heart in two.'

Chet Baker was naturally musical. He never had to work at playing the trumpet, he could play it a couple of weeks after picking it up age twelve. His voice had the same effortless ease and musicality, and most remarkably although the body aged terribly the voice retained its youth and innocence, barely changed right til the end. It's a strange voice, superficially easy on the ear, soft, gently lyrical and melodious yet oddly affectless and out of relationship. Its as if there's no-one there, no-one listening. Perhaps that was his unconscious conviction; no-one's there. It's this alienation and lack of connectedness that makes Chet Baker's music so powerful. Even with the more up-tempo numbers such as Always Look For The Silver Lining the music has an ache to it, all is tinged with melancholy, hinting at an unbearable yet unreachable pain. The music is blue, but isn't the blues-there's no sense of resilience none of the humorous defiance of the bluesmen; just a world weary resignation; someone doing the best they can, hanging-in there, self-medicating on drugs, doing what they know and do best, singing and playing the horn. Paradoxically in spite of this the recordings have a peculiar intimacy; reduced to bystanders we bear private silent witness to his pain, the pain of someone who seems to be using song and melody to self-soothe. Little Boy Blue's jazz lullabies.

At the end of the film we see a confused, disoriented Baker at the Cannes film festival surrounded by hangers on and sycophants. He looks a little irritated but doesn't make a fuss. They eventually persuade him to sing. One for the road... Chet politely requests them not to talk during the performance, to be 'kind of quiet, cos it's that kind of tune' then gives a wonderful achingly sad rendition of 'Almost Blue' a song Elvis Costello wrote especially for him.

'now your eyes are red from crying. Almost blue...' 

and as he sings you know this is his swansong, and when the credits rolled I found myself fighting back my tears, swallowing hard.

What's stopping you being happy? Counselling and psychotherapy in east london.

Design by Molly Sage (friendly and helpful design service)

I've just produced a new leaflet to promote my psychotherapy and counselling service, which is based in E10, east London (close to Leytonstone Station on the Central Line). I went through a number of drafts before settling on quite simple wording and design arranged around the question 'What's stopping you being happy?'.
I'm pleased with how it came out, though discovering there are only a limited number of appropriate venues where you can leave leaflets, hence my use of this post to try and achieve a wider circulation.

If anyone would like to know more about the type of therapy I offer (Core Process Psychotherapy) please email me: vallance@hotmail.co.uk

May all beings...

May all beings be serene and happy!

May they live in safety and be joyous!

All beings, without exception,

Whether weak or strong, small or great

in high, middle, or low realms of existence

visible, or invisible, near or far

born or yet to be born:

May all be happy and at peace!

The dance divine: acts of kindness on the Central Line

With so much of the London Underground being given over to commercial advertising it's great to see Transport for London devoting space to civic minded art by young British artist Andy Landy.

Landy posted ads on the Central Line inviting passengers to send in stories about acts of kindness they've experienced on the Underground. The stories are now being displayed on the Central Line. The stories themselves are not particularly characterful in their writing.  I guess something of the voices gets lost in the editing down but I really like the artists intention here, the reminder that acts of kindness do occur on the network, and his rather dharmic celebration of relationship, generosity and compassion. The Central Line can feel like a pretty hostile environment at times and I think anything that encourages people to think beyond self and about the other is to be commended.

Poster promoting 'Acts of kindness' on Central Line train.

A nice touch the 'Acts of kindness' Self and Other motif on seating fabric. I like the irregular, imperfect way the matchstick/paperchain figures have been rendered.

A passengers recollection of an 'Acts of Kindness' reproduced on carriage door, see below for text of story.

'I was trying to pass an elderly man in the train to get off. By coincidence we both kept stepping in the same direction. As we eventually got around each other, he joked. "You dance divine". It made me laugh. It was a sweet thing to say'

Finding compassion on Dartmoor: recommended psychotherapy training.

When deciding where to train as a psychotherapist over twelve years ago now, I shopped around. I diligently sent off for lots of glossy course brochures and visited open evenings at a number of well established training centres in London. Eventually my heart, imagination and a wish for a training with a more spiritual outlook led me to the residential training in Core Process Psychotherapy at the Karuna Institute in Devon (N.B. karuna is the Pali word for compassion). The training proved to be an intense and transformative experience. Since then I have maintained a steady psychotherapy practice in east London and continue to enjoy the support and friendship of peers I trained with all those years ago.

The Institute is based in a lovely old manor house in splendid isolation high on Dartmoor, up from Widecombe, a fantastically dramatic and beautiful landscape with big skies (think Thomas Hardy and you're there). It was a wonderful place to study. As students we lived together as a learning community, and a spiritual community (sangha) with time and space dedicated for contemplative practices including meditation to deepen enquiry. The training was and is academically and philosophically rigorous combining a depth study of western approaches to psychology with the profound wisdom of Buddhist teachings on self and suffering.
It's a demanding training and may not be the right training for everyone but if you are looking for a training in counseling or psychology that reaches beyond the personal and the psychological it's worth considering the programme of courses offered by the Institute.

The Karuna Institute run Diploma level courses , a three year MA course, a two year Post Qualification MA course and a two year course in Mindfulness Based Therapeutic Counselling. A good way to see if the approach suits is to do an introductory workshop. Details of these and other courses can be found on the Karuna Institute website( www.karuna-institute.co.uk ). Alternatively details may be obtained from Jacqui Aplin, Course Administrator on 01647 221457.

Joy happens in the present.

I don't usually like graffiti but appreciate the sentiment of this message painted on the wall of a bridge by the Regents Canal towpath in Bethnal Green. The joy of now?

Lotus

Don't curse the mud and the mire -without it you can not flower.

I like it when I happen upon Buddhist symbols. This image of the lotus is from a cushion cover I bought at the Futon Company shop on Tottenham Court Road. They had another version with a mustard colour background but I liked this colour combination best.

Watering the seeds of happiness

Good seeds, and bad seeds: Gardening as spiritual practice.

For most of the winter I forget the garden. I leave it alone, then when the warm weather eventually comes I venture out to perform the springtime rituals of pruning and clearing away the dead leaves from the borders.  I should add here that my garden is more or less all border-a sixty foot narrow strip of land with a concrete path running straight down the middle, more of a planted corridor really. A fairly typical London garden.  It's at this time of year that I get my box of seeds out from under the sink, an old Havana cigar box.  I always feel tremendous hope and excitement as I inspect these little packets.  There's something miraculous about the potential life held in such tiny forms.  With the right conditions and care they will reward me well with beautiful flowers, foliage and food.  Each little seed is also a dharma teacher providing lessons in interconnectedness.

I'm reading Thich Nhat Hanh's 'Transformation at the base'.  It was required reading on my psychotherapy training , though I never read the book cover to cover preferring to dip in here and there.  The book consists of fifty short verses on the nature of consciousness and each verse is followed by an essay.  In a nutshell/seed he argues we are all have a store consciousness and stored in this consciousness are an infinite variety of seeds, some of which are innate, handed down by ancestors, or sown while we were in the womb or when we were children.  These seeds are by their nature individual and collective, and the quality of our consciousness depends on the quality of the seeds deep in our consciousness.  Like any gardener we can chose to water the good or the bad seeds.  Here mindfulness is the key.

"If we can recognise when a harmful seed has manifested in our mind consciousness, we will be able to avoid being caught by it."

"If we water the seeds of happiness, love, loyalty, and reconciliation every day, we will feel joyful, and this will encourage these seeds to stay longer, to strengthen."

I like this view of ethics, its pragmatic appeal to kindliness and enlightened self-interest.  Do good to feel good.  I wish this was taught in our schools alongside those early experiments with mustard and cress seeds and blotting paper.  This may all sound deceptively simple but this is also a complex book, which will take you deep into the heart of the dharma if you let it.  I think the best way to read it is to probably take a chapter/verse at a time, maybe one a week and contemplate it's meaning deeply before moving on to the next.

(Thich Nhat Hanh is a poet, Zen master, and peacemaker. He lives in Plum Village, a practice centre in southwestern France.)

Going, going ...gone?

Grave spotting in Highgate

We found Mahler's daughter Anna not far in, took some time finding Max Wall and helped point a foreign tourist in the direction of George Elliot off the main path, up a bank near the perimeter wall.
Marx is perhaps the most famous 'resident', his colossal incredible hulk of a grave suggesting the power of his thought and intellect. There's graves that make you cry and some that make you laugh. Patrick Caulfield's tomb doesn't mince words, the neat precision cut geometric holes in his minimalist pristine headstone simply spelling out the word DEAD.

Nothing fancy then, the rationalists view of death as dead end, but is it-the end?

Entry to the Cemetery costs just three pounds. It's a beautiful and thought provoking place to spend time in and I hope to return later in the summer and gather some seed from the abundant aquilegas that thrive among the graves.  I left with a phrase from one of the inscriptions repeating in my head 'they are not long, the days of wine and roses'. I've heard the words before but didn't know the full poem and felt moved to look it up. Here it is, words of 19th century romantic poet Ernest Dowson who knew Yeats, Wilde and Verlaine and died from a combination of TB and alcoholism age 32.

They Are Not Long by Ernest Dowson.

Vitae summa brevis spem
nos vetat incohare longam.

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love desire and hate;
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
within a dream.

Family tree

Rock-a-bye baby

I love old postcards, and this one pictured below, a recent acquisition is one of my favorites.

New technology is great-it enables me to send this message and image to you but the declining popularity of the handwritten postcard saddens me.  This lovely surreal image is I think early 20th century. I can't be certain of the date as the stamp has been removed. It's addressed to Miss N. Jeffery, Ye Olde Vaux Hall, Tonbridge, Kent ( which I understand from a google search is a listed building and old inn still in use).  There's no message, no caption to the card, and it's signed simply 'Charles'. What was his intended message, and how was this received?  Wishful thinking or prophecy?
And what of the little babes featured here?  What happened to them?

Everything changes

Anicca (Impermanence)-Headless Buddha

My terracotta Buddha's lost his head. He spent several years outside sitting at the end of my garden path in front of an urn. He seems quite unperturbed. His face still has the same serene expression. I think the frost must have got to him at some point or he may have been knocked by a clumsy marauding fox. Its a pity as he's acquired a nice patina with age (when I first got him he was fresh from the kiln and bright orange). Can you repair terracotta? I'm not sure glue will work. We'll see...