Party Goods For All Occasions

Shopfront on Hoe Street, E17.

High speed to my past

I spent my teenage years living in Gravesend, Kent. The riverside town can now be reached by high-speed train from Stratford International Station in just 15 minutes and so this weekend I took the Javelin and embarked on a trip down memory lane.

I enjoyed living in Gravesend at the time but the town like many others has fallen on hard times, and never recovered from the competition of the nearby Bluewater shopping complex. The ravages of neoliberalism! Visiting the town after forty years was a strange melancholic experience with many Proustian moments. I took a lot of photographs. Heres a small selection.

New brutalist furniture outside the Promenade cafe looking towards Tilbury.

Lightship photographed from the Gravesend/Tilbury ferry pontoon. I like this new addition to the riverfront. The church to the left is a community arts centre. I remember seeing a touring rep production of Abigails Party there with Wendy Richard in the role of Beverley. Im glad its still running.

Even the pigeons looked fed up

Scene of dereliction in the town centre.

The historic Three Daws riverside pub. Sadly the ground floor bar has been gutted and is now a bare laminate floored function room. The bar has relocated to the first floor. How was this allowed to happen? The sad state of Gravesends numerous pubs was one of the most striking features of my visit. These were the heart of community life and now many of them are closed and boarded up.

The Pilot Public House, now closed. I have fond memories of friends rehearsing punk music in the upstairs room.

The enigmatic crow ...and Jelly Baby.

Crows gather menacingly outside the Bodega Bay schoolhouse in Hitchcock's 'The Birds'. Innocence and experience?

What is it about the crow that makes it so uncanny? The unmistakable sound they make, that sudden raucous couldn't care less cawing announcing their presence, is neither a particularly pleasurable sound nor unpleasant but something about it always manages to penetrate the psyche, even if just momentarily. It's a sound that can delight but also menace depending on ones mood. It seems to be announcing something more than its presence like supernatural emissaries from another world, scruffy, ragged telegram bearers from the other side, disturbing the peace, puncturing our complacency. Of course the crow is black, and so naturally attracts all manner of shadow projections. The crow is associated with death, a carrion eater its adept at scavenging, happy to eat road kill or for that matter the flesh of any dead animal -humans included, you and me given half a chance. Is that its death-eating message for us? Impermanence? 'Human being the clocks ticking remember one day you too will be dead and food for mother nature'.
Although it has a reputation as a gallows bird, it also has an engaging boisterous cocky quality about it. This is a bird determined to get what it wants, an opportunist, thief, a gatecrasher at the party. In this way perhaps the crow reminds us of our baser instincts, the untrammelled ego, the will to take risks in the pursuit of satisfaction. It's not a dainty or delicate bird, it means business.

'I looked out the window and saw that ragged soul take flight' The Black Crow, Joni Mitchell. Lyrics and artwork from the album Hejira.

In the early years of my psychotherapy training I had an encounter with 'the crow' that made a vivid impression on me. I was with some peers driving across Dartmoor for the weekend module at the Karuna Institute. Approaching Widecome we pulled over and got out of the car to admire the stunning view looking down the valley towards the village. An ungainly group of noisy crows greeted us, undaunted they moved in closer and closer, like a bunch of feathered brigands. It was slightly unnerving and it was difficult not to think of it as some kind of portent for the weekend ahead or that matter the entire training.  I had a bag of Jelly Babies with me, and this may sound cruel but I tossed a lurid green one to the crows. A large bird beat the others to it and snatched the sacrificial offering and pinned it to the ground with its talons and proceeded to behead it and devour it with great gusto. On returning to London I told an artist friend about the incident. At the time he was drawing a regular cartoon strip for the Guardian, and I asked if he could draw me a cartoon of the crow and Jelly Baby. Several weeks later he presented me with an exquisite ink and watercolour drawing of the bird feeding on the gelatinous babe.

Illustration by David Shenton

I hadn't expected such finely detailed artwork and was slightly embarrassed by the generosity, though also wondered if something about my experience had resonated with something in his psyche. When I now consider the symbology of this encounter I notice the meaning seems to shift but my fascination with this mysterious winged messenger remains just as strong.

Illustration by David Shenton

I like the way the Taschen 'Book of Symbols' describes the mystery of the crow/raven:

'We never grasp the full measure of the birds. They subvert our attempts to do so, just as the tricksters, shamans, magicians and culture heroes they embody in folklore and myth subvert our fondest notions of human superiority, put in question what constitutes the reality of the sacred or profane, rearrange our moral landscape. Consider the progenitor and shaman Raven, who brings humans into being by coaxing them out of their clam (shell), steals daylight for them through trickery or by opposing the falcon of the night, brings them fire and water, teaches them how to sow seed and to hunt-and then"plays" with his creatures and occasionally kills and eats them. Just so does the crow or raven daemon perched in our psyches open doors, steal treasures for us from hidden places, coax us out of our narrow, conventional shells-and also mercilessly confuses us, trips us up, puts us down and sometimes devours us.'

Who wants to live forever? Coping with death anxiety.

'Longevity' brand of condensed milk. I think the branding suggests the milk is long life, not that you will live any longer if you drink this product.

I've always been moved by the Queen song 'Who wants to live forever'. Written by Brian May the song was used in the death scene of the movie Highlander where immortal warrior Connor played by Christopher Lambert comforts his dying wife and mortal Heather -Beatie Edney. Sung by Brian May and Freddie Mercury, the song is made all the more poignant by the knowledge we now have of Mercury's ill health and death. We will of course all die, this is the karma of birth, an inconvenient truth we so often try to ignore, though we live so often as if we are immortal.

'Who wants to live for forever

who wants to live forever

But touch my tears with your lips

Touch my world with your fingertips

And we can have forever

And we can love forever

Forever  is our today'

The song concludes with Mercury's soaring vocal on the line 'Who wants forever anyway'.

These are questions we trend to shy away from, but what would it be like to live forever?  How aware are we of our own mortality? Are we scared of death? These are themes that are always present in psychotherapy but often at a less conscious more subterranean level. What is it about the existential given of death that frightens us so much? Existentialist psychotherapist Irvin Yalom writes well on this subject, arguing 'the idea of death can save us' for 'preparing for death is preparing for life'. When we face death we overcome procrastination and stop postponing we begin to really assess our priorities in life, and live more authentically in touch with our needs.

Halloween window display, Spitalfields London.

From a Buddhist perspective mindfulness is a way of dealing with death anxiety. As we become more aware, more present, we see that death and life are not separate, and that impermanence enables change and growth, and can motivate us to live fuller lives and achieve our goals. When we know we must die we learn how to live, if we don't confront our anxiety about death, the anxiety will manifest in other ways-such as trying to cheat death through reckless dare-devil behaviour or the opposite-risk adverse behaviour, hypochondriasis, procrastination and fantasies of rescue. We can't cheat death, but death can save us.

So as the saying goes carpe diem, seize the day but don't forget your dreams either -carpe noctem, seize the night.....

What is Core Process Psychotherapy? A short film about the Karuna Institute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEfcspW-848

A link to an excellent short film about Core Process Psychotherapy and the work of the Karuna Institute in Dartmoor, Devon. The film conveys some of the spirit of this unique psychotherapy training and the wonderful wilderness setting which is so supportive to learning. Trainees from the Post Qualification M.A., and Maura Sills Director of the Institute and one of the founders of Core Process Psychotherapy, share their experience of the training.

Love, loss and separation; a review of the movie 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg' (Les Parapluies de Cherbourg).

I was introduced to Jacques Demy's 1963 movie 'The Umbrellas of Cherbourg' by a French friend who like so many of his compatriots is completely fascinated by the legend that is Catherine Deneuve. Before my first visit to 'Cherbourg' he'd already introduced me to Deneuve in Bunuel's 'Belle Du Jour' and Polanski's 'Repulsion'.  I'd seen her shed her middle class respectability, becoming a high-class Parisien prostitute with a penchant for kinky sex, and seen her losing her mind, descending into madness in a suffocating fly-blown London Kensington flat. Visiting Paris the same friend showed me the square near the Jardin De Luxembourg where Deneuve has an apartment, the cafe where she apparently sometimes had coffee.

The film's opening credits are inspired and set the tone for what is to follow.

I'd been primed for something special from Deneuve but I wasn't really sure what to expect from 'Les parapluies de Cherbourg"'. It is after all a musical, that much I already knew, sung entirely with no spoken dialogue, and famous for its use of colour. I'd heard the aching Michel Legrand love theme 'I will wait for you' countless times on TV and radio, but knew nothing of the filmic context in which the music was first used. This sense of 'not being sure' stayed with me as I viewed the film, and in many ways 'not being sure'- doubt is the key theme of this brilliant movie. Can we ever be sure? What is love? Do we follow the head or the heart? What bargains do we make with ourselves and others?  This is a film that will be of interest to anyone who has ever pondered the meaning of love and relationships.

Demy offers no easy answers and confounds us from the beginning, his aim seems to be to unsettle, and unnerve. It's a bittersweet offering.

The opening shots show an aerial atmospheric view of the Cherbourg harbour bathed in crepuscular yellow light, then the camera pans to the cobbled quayside. We see matelots walking the quayside, evoking thoughts of Querelle and Cocteau. So far so romantic. It rains, (though not realistic rain but deliberate cinematic fake rain) we see the tops of brightly coloured umbrellas, but this is no Busby Berkeley spectacular,  neither is it 'Singing In The Rain', there is no joyful exuberance, the music is sad and mournful, elegiac even.

This is a film that questions the boundaries between make-believe and reality.

Deneuve's character Genevieve, a shop assistant in an umbrella shop falls head-over-heels in love with Guy, a dark, handsome car mechanic played by Nino Castelnuovo. They are totally smitten, there's is a totally consuming young love. Their love scenes are saturated in Technicolour, romance has brought life and colour to their provincial small-town lives. In a famous scene we see the couple walking down a brightly coloured passageway, transported on a dolly out of camera shot, they are pulled along and appear to be gliding in space, a special effect that heightens the sense of their ungroundedness. They appear to be floating in a dream-like state, bouyed-up by romantic love.

Demy seems to be inviting the question-is this love or is this like my film making nothing but a beguiling illusion?  What do you the viewer want to believe? Do you want to be swept off your feet?  To what extent are you prepared to suspend disbelief?

The two pledge undying love for each other, but harsh realities intrude, they are to be parted. Guy has been drafted to the army, and so must leave Genevieve for the war in Algeria. Genevieve reacts strongly to the impending separation, it seems to touch into her deepest wounding and trigger existential terror. She says she will die if he leaves her.

The night before the separation we see Guy walking Genevieve up to his apartment. The screen is filled with a lurid green. On this fateful night she becomes pregnant by him.

In spite of the promises they make to each other, and their pledge to... wait for each other, they drift apart. Guy only writes occasionaly and eventually giving into pressure from her socially ambitious mother Genevieve marries Roland a suave older man, and jeweller, swapping Cherbourg for Paris.

On his return from the army Guy is angry and feels abandoned by Genevieve, scenes where the colours grey and brown predominate in stark contrast to the earlier candy coloured scenes. He appears to be going off the rails, seeks solace with a prostitute, before eventually deciding to settle down with Madeleine, a young woman who's been nursing his aling Aunt who later dies. Fast forward six years to 1963 and they have a child together, a boy named Francois and have opened a petrol station.

Guy's Petrol station, with lots of Esso product on display inside and out, before the days of product placement-apparently the film makers made no money at all from Esso. Note the name of the petrol station-'L'escale Cherbourgoise' a tongue-in-cheek play on words and reference to Guy's upward social mobility.

That's a bit of a rush through the plot but it takes me to the coda, the films powerfully affecting final scene. Even if you never see the entire film it's worth 'You-tubing' this bit because it's in this subtle understated, carefully choreographed scene which lasts just six minutes, (and is almost a movie in itself) that Demy plays his full hand and shows a depth of understanding for the human condition and interconnectedness that never fails to move me, no matter how many times I see it. It's a scene that merits repeated viewings.

It's Christmas we see Guy and Madeleine dressing the Christmas tree inside the petrol station, it's snowing, the snow has settled and transformed the garage setting making it look more beautiful than it is. Their son, dressed in native american Indian head-dress is playing, excitedly banging a toy drum.  Madeleine leaves with the child to go shopping. A black Mercedes pulls up in the forecourt.
The driver of the car sounds the horn, and the 'I will wait for you' starts up, building and breaking like a tidal wave, providing an emotional intensity matching anything experienced in a Puccini opera. It's Genevieve, a bourgeois now in appearance -dressed expensively wearing fur and pearls.

Inside the petrol station Genevieve tells Guy about the death of her mother (echoing Guys loss of his Aunt, adding emphasis to the film's message of impermanence) and tells him about their daughter Francoise 'She's a lot like you'. Her choice of name for her child is like his, Francois, suggesting the ways in which they are both like each other and still connected. The child is outside waiting in the car on her own Genevieve asks if he'd like to see her, he shakes his head, and draws on his cigarette.

Their poignant meeting is interrupted in tragicomic fashion by the petrol pump attendant who bursts in (mundane reality breaking through again), wanting to know what kind of petrol she'd prefer 'super' or-'ordinaire'. The music changes right on cue to jaunty inane incidental jazz. The scene plays ironically with the notion of choices in love and consumerism. 'It doesn't matter' she replies with weary resignation.  She asks if Guy's alright, 'Yes' he says, - 'I'm fine', and that's it...

Genevieve leaves, gets in the car and drives off into the cold snowy night. Madeleine and the child return from the shops. Guy runs to her, hugs her and sweeps her off her feet, then plays with the boy in the snow, picks him up and follows Madeleine indoors. The Michel Legrand theme swells to its emotional climax and the camera pans back, leaving the viewer alone outside the petrol station with the gently falling snow and mixed emotions-I notice I often have strong feelings of grief and a kind of elated sadness. It's not a conventional Hollywood ending, it's complex, it doesn't come neatly gift-wrapped we have to work through our thoughts and feelings.  How do relationships end? What compromises do we make in relationships?

The 'Umbrellas of Cherbourg' in many ways reiterates the Buddhist Remembrances (see my earlier post).  The conclusion is very dharmic-there is suffering (dukkha) in this life, nothing lasts, everything changes but there is also much wonder and beauty when we come alive to the moment-the falling snow, the presence of the people we love.
The film also deals with universal themes of love, choice, disappointment and regret. It invites us to consider the complicated choices we make in love relationships, what it means to commit to another and the losses that any choice inevitably involves as well as the gains.

'Umbrellas' can also be read as a social comment on the changing culture of France-the country's love affair with all things American, and the way an old France began to disappear in the sixties as the nation embraced consumerism and modernity. I'm reminded of the special place that France has always occupied in my heart, and this film reminds me of the peak of that love affair in the days before the tunnel, when you had to undertake a sea voyage to reach 'the continent', a time when France seemed so alluringly romantic and 'other'.

Demy's film suggests France like romantic love is not what we think it is or would like it to be.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, Core Process Psychotherapy, Buddhism and the Five Remembrances

The churchyard of Southwark Cathedral on a fair weather day becomes a crowded outdoor grazing space for visitors and tourists sampling foods from the adjacent Borough Market. However take one step inside the splendid gothic cathedral and the atmosphere is very different-quiet and still save for the occasional deep rumble of a Northern Line train running underneath.
I love the Cathedral and although I'm not a Christian, whenever I'm in the area I try and find time to visit, and I usually find some internal shift occurs during my visit, however short and I leave feeling different, reconnected to something healthy-dare-I-say spiritual even. Its a wonderful inspiring sanctuary in a busy part of town.

Recently I was visiting the cathedral with friends, we'd been talking about someone who'd recently been diagnosed with cancer and this led to shared reflections on death and impermanence as we wandered from chapel to chapel and tomb to tomb soaking up the atmosphere, admiring the stained glass, pausing to light votive candles.

The Cathedral began life as an Augustinian Priory, it has had two major fires and at one point in the 19th Century had no roof. Its a survivor, surviving neglect, fire, the coming of the railway, the blitz.  It used to be called St Saviours and became a cathedral in 1905. I like the name St Saviours, it seems somehow apt as this is a church I associate with good causes and a modern progressive outlook. It has an area dedicated to people with HIV, once hosted a service for the Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement, has strong links with the Anglican Church in Zimbabwe and includes monuments to Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela. Unlike more famous churches like St Pauls or Westminster Abbey is seems to have fewer associations with the ruling elite. It doesn't feel pompous, it feels welcoming and inclusive.  It is in its own way a bit alternative and rather 'Bankside', befitting somehow for this riverside area which for centuries was famous for its theatres, boozers and brothels and now seems to have found a new lease of life with the mixed attractions of art and modernity at Tate Modern, organic posh foods at Borough market and the macabre appeal of the Clink and the London Dungeon.

As we talked about death and illness -how we never know what's around the corner, you may think our mood might have turned a little glum. Far from it, we seemed energised and uplifted by our discussion. We talked about the Buddha's teachings on change -The Five Remembrances.  There are many differently worded versions though in essence they say the same thing.

Decaying Buddha rupa

Below is Thich Nhat Hahn's interpretation of the scriptures.

1. I am of the nature to grow old.
    There is no way to escape growing old.

2. I am of the nature to have ill health.
    There is no way to escape ill health.

3. I am of the nature to die.
    There is no way to escape death.

4. All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.
    There is no way to escape being separated from them.

5.  My actions are my only true belongings.
     I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

Reminding ourselves of these existential givens ('the wisdom of no escape') we challenge our egoic attachment to ideas about how life should be, including the seductive notion of the sorted out perfected life, and we reconnect to that which is, the universal, that which is shared by all humanity. This lifts us out of pity. Instead of bemoaning our misfortune and railing 'Why me?' we realise we might just as well ask 'Why not me?' Not that we should be indifferent to our fate and take a spiritual bypass. We do matter. The Remembrances give us a sense of perspective, and enable us to consider what really matters in this world of constantly changing phenomena. They challenge our cultural collusive memory loss about death, they invite us to embrace the facts of life including illness, separation and death. When we look back on our life, will we feel satisfied with our actions, will we feel we did we did our bit to make the world a better place?

I think psychotherapists of all modalities , not just psychospiritual ones like Core Process Psychotherapists would do well to reflect on the Remembrances in their work as it lends balance to the enquiry. So often in psychotherapy we obsess about the past, and whilst it can be important to understand how the conditions of our early life shaped the pattern of our character, and how we respond to people and situations in the present, it's also important to consider what we are doing now, and how today's actions will shape the person we are when we wake up tomorrow, and the person we are when we die. This is a call for responsible living. It isn't pessimistic to recall that everything changes, far from it, this realisation wakes us up. We don't have to remain fixed or stuck, we are process, we're tiny droplets in the great river. When we remember this we struggle less, we stop fighting and defending, we can relax...go with the flow!