A Meditation on Grief

25 11 2010

You must be able to grieve their stories better than even they can.

When these words first spilled from the mouth of my professor, my immediate assumption was that “better” could only mean “more intensely.” I scoffed at the foolish impossibility of this notion and allowed myself to be carried away to greener pastures by the ebb and flow of Dan’s lecture.

Now, four days later, I find myself haunted by the possibility that he was not merely speaking of a simple matter of the magnitude of the grieving. Is there a qualitative, rather than quantitative, difference in the expression of grief that makes one version better than another? Is there a specific type of grief I am to aspire to if I wish to fulfill my new role as a relational expert?

There was this man on the bus last night…

How many amusing anecdotes have already taken off from that particular runway?

There was this man on the bus last night…

What I have to say about him does not amuse me in the slightest.

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My day in words

4 11 2010

§ The horror, here, is the theology

§ You’re a spoon-loving pinko robot spy who’s gay-marrying himself on space drugs

§ Are you squeezing my bum in the frozen food section?

§ Always keep in mind that whenever you go public you have a reader (hi reader)

§ We collude with pathological behaviour by encouraging self-absorption

§ Good psychology is showing people how to have enough of a self to be there for the other

§ The Psalms are my companion in my conversations with the God I have fallen in love with

§ Thank you for being genuine, man

Every day you have less reason

not to give yourself away

 

 






Patois du jour

3 11 2010

§ If the most significant processes take place in the interplay between analysand and analyst, it might be useful to judiciously divulge some of the analyst’s experiences for purposes of mutual exploration

§ I don’t even know how to begin talking about myself

§ God can be so hilarious

§ This education has cost me literally everything.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Fear is the only sun that shines
Passing of time the only hope