Category Archives: Feeling and Emotion

Le myome

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J’ai dit à l’amie « quand tu te réveilleras cette après-midi » l’opération sera passée et le myome sera parti. Tu t’es demandé s’il y a eu un élément déclencheur pour son origine. En fait peu importe ce qu’il y avait à l’origine. Ce que tu peux faire c’est la chose suivante : Rappelle-toi des expériences accablantes et peut-être traumatisantes et d’autres choses que tu veux lâcher et dont tu veux te débarrasser. En pensée, mets tout ce dont tu n’as plus besoin dans le myome. Et quand tu te réveilleras cette après-midi tu les auras toutes envoyées sur le chemin. » L’amie a déclaré plus tard qu’elle avait réalisé la proposition et avait transféré dans le myome ses réactions aux différentes expériences accablantes de son passé. Elle a vécu cette approche comme libératrice. Après l’opération elle s’est vite remise et s’est sentie plus forte et plus active que dans les mois précédents.

Pour cette intervention thérapeutique il y a beaucoup de variations dependant sur la situation unique d’une traitement : On peut mettre le trauma en cas de gastro ou de boulimie dans le contenu de l’estomac, en cas de chimio dans les cheveux, le libérer pendant le passage aux toilettes …

Pantomime

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After a while of pausing I would like to continue with some stories…
However, I would like to change the format a little bit and take turns between different languages. So, in addition to therapeutic stories in English there will be some in French and Spanish, as well. But, first of all, let’s continue in English . Here’s one which I have personwitnessed in our local hospital.

“Good morning. My name is … ” he began his speech. “She can’t speak,” explained the nurse. “Stroke… ” The helpless gestures of the young lady patient let him know that she did not understand his words, except for a few, for which he managed to coax from her a nod or a shake of the head. How can you still communicate with such a person? With gestures he painted in the air a steep staircase for her with high steps. But alas he sighed “Too steep!” He shook his head in disappointment. Then he drew with his hands a staircase with long low steps. With his fingers, he went along the whole staircase.
The woman looked attentively and nodded. With his hands he painted a high mountain in the air. A man of two fingers wanted to climb it. But he fell again. Then he found a path with a gradual slope, a zigzag, with many turns. He went this way. The woman’s eyes began to shine. And so the pantomime took its course. “Keep your eye on the goal” and “passion” followed as the next images. The movements of a marathon runner and an upwardly clenched fist; they inspired to perseverance and a fighting spirit.
The turning hands of a clock showed that it would take time. He continued the charade with his hands together on the side of his inclined head. “Sleep” and “wake”, “sleep” and “wake”, and many many times they would have to “sleep ” and “wake” until they would be at the peak, which he kept looking upwards at with his eyes and pointing to with his outstretched forefinger. With hands and feet, with his whole body, he portrayed the picture of how her children would hook into her left elbow, and her parents the right and how they would all go together with her, all the way.
Once again he stretched out his fist to the sky. She would have to fight for all she was worth. Three days later, he again visited the woman. “You know,” said the lady in the bed next to her, “she has been here for four weeks and nothing really happened but in the last three days she has made amazing progress”. He spoke with the patient again and this time she understood every sentence. Then he took his leave. “Goodbye” she said. It was her first recovered word.

Stomach and Brain

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Another contribution by Katharina Lamprecht who will be at the Festival…

“Mom,” my daughter got off the school bus, thinking hard, “ today in Biology we learned something about the brain in that is in our stomach. Now I´m thinking, what if we did not learn to think with our brain in school but with our stomach instead?”

“ A comforting, revolutionary thought”, I answered.

Fred

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« Ceci est une poubelle », a déclaré Louise alors qu’elle me remettait le monstre en carton-pâte avec le museau grand ouvert. À partir de ce moment-là Fred, le monstre de la poubelle, s’est trouvé assis dans la salle de délibération en attendant de la nourriture. Au début Fred se contentait des déchets du bureau. Pourtant alimenté par des déchets mentaux de beaucoup de conversations il prenait goût à toutes ces choses dont les clients n’avaient plus besoin et qu’ils voulaient laisser dans la salle de délibération. J’ai pris l’habitude de présenter Fred aux clients. Avec le temps Fred bouffait les mots maladroits du thérapeute et les pensées lourdes des clients. Il bouffait des souvenirs accablants et des habitudes mal aimées. Une cliente envoyait ses pensées dépressives même de la maison à Fred. À la fin Fred mangeait aussi ce qui me pesait lourd. Et la nuit il pouvait … consommer tous les rêves disgracieux.

The Victory

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The goal of each life is – in some sense – death. When one among us reaches this point, the others often say he has lost his life. When a person died among the first Christians, they used to say: He has won his life! He has succeeded! And they wove this man a victory wreath so as to celebrate with him! A victory wreath, just as the ones the victors from tournaments had received in those days! The custom of sending a man to his grave with a wreath has remained. The message of this wreath is forgotten. It goes thus: You are a winner!

Everything Else

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In a land in our time there lived a man, who read a book and found lots of wonderful stories therein. There were true and invented stories, experienced and pensive, enjoyable and painful stories. There were stories which contained stories, and such which were actually not stories. For every story he read, there occurred to him nearly five which he had either experienced or thought up himself. So the thought came to him, that a lot in the world was a story which could be healing for himself and others; he only needed to absorb the healing stories well and to forget the terrible ones immediately. Then he would learn which story he had used when and for what. So he organised his own stories which he knew, and which had become a help to himself and others, or could become so. Sometimes he noted it down when a new story came to his ears and sometimes when a helpful story occurred to him, he memorised it.

Then he saw before him in a picture the storystories of this life arranged in long shelves, as in a large pharmacy. And behind the counter there sat a man who had learnt to listen to himself and others. He was a master of his subjectspecialty. His talent was that he understood how to tell the right thing at the right time to himself and to those who visited him.

What God has Joined Together …

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This is now many years ago. My grandmother told me the following story. And this story had come about when she herself was young and still lived with her parents. A woman often came to her mother – my great grandmother – and poured her heart out. A neighbour who had many woes. My great grandmother was always there for others. She was a good listener, and she had a deep Christian faith. She often advised others and helped where she could.

This neighbour told her about her marriage. It must have been a terrible marriage. Her husband was often drunk. He hit her, he abused her. The woman was desperate. It occurred to her to get a divorce. A brave decision for a lonely woman in a village in Bavaria about eighty years ago. She shared her thoughts with my great grandmother. The latter advised her against it. “What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. So hath our Lord spoken.” She should try somehow to make it work with her husband. And so it continued for a while, again and again. Then one day it was said that the woman from the neighbourhood was no longer alive. She had hanged herself.

Lumbago

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„Witch’s shot“, that’s what they call a lumbago in my country. And indeed, it is like a curse! This pain whenever I move! “It would be best not to move at all any more”, I thought. “If I just keep my arm in front of the body, pull my right shoulder up, let the left shoulder drop down, and bend a little bit forward, I can stand it.” If I were to move very cautiously, I could even go to the door. But how should I press down the handle without changing my posture? Any wrongfalse movement was causing terrible pain.

On the other hand: What was a “wrongfalse movement” in this situation? The longer I stayed in my unnatural position, trying to protect myself from the pain, the more my muscles tensed, and the worse they would ache afterwards. If my means of escape were actually my trap – what could I do?

I decided to do an experiment. Instead of trying to find a comfortable position for my body, I went into the most painful position I could stand for a prolonged time and I stayed like this. Surprisingly, my pain became less after a few minutes, and my ability to move increased. Once more I leaned back into the pain – the worst I could bear. And again the pain decreased after a while and I could move more freely. I repeated this procedure another six or eight times. The curse lost its power and turned into bliss.

The Island Flower

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On a small island in the middle of the wide ocean grew a wonderful golden yellow flower. No- one knew how it got there, because there were no other flowers of this kind on the island. The seagulls came flying in to look in wonder at this miracle. “It is as beautiful as the sun”, they said. The fish came swimming in. They looked out of the water in order to admire it. “It is as beautiful as a piece of coral”, they said. A crab came onto the land in order to observe it. “She is as beautiful as a pearl on the sea bed”, he said. And they came almost every day to admire this flower.

One day, when they came again to look at the flower, they found the golden petals brown and dried-out. “Oh dear”, said the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The sun has destroyed our flower. How can we refresh our hearts now?” And they were all sad. Yet a few days later, in place of the flower, stood a wonderful, delicate white ball. “What is that?”, asked the animals. “It is as soft as a cloud”, said the doves. “It is as light as sea spray”, said the fish. “It is as fine as the shimmer of the sun in the sand”, said the crab. And all the animals rejoiced. A puff of wind blew over the island and carried this white wonder away across the island in thousands of tiny flakes. “Oh dear”, sighed the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The wind has blown our ball away. What can cheer our souls now?” And they were all sad. One morning, as the sun rose above the sea, hundreds and even more hundreds of wonderful golden yellow flowers shone in the golden morning light. The doves danced in the sky and the fish in the water, and the crabs danced a jig with their friends, and everyone was happy.

Chasing Ghosts

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So you’re having trouble with the ghosts in your home? They’re in your room, behind the cupboard? And under the cellar stairs, too? Listen! I’ve also met them, and I have some experience with them. Mine were probably not exactly the same ghosts you’ve met, but I bet yours are similar to the mean characters which hung around my house. When I was a child, I often came across them and still do today, now and then. When I was little, I was terribly afraid of them. Then I discovered something about them:

In reality, they can’t do much, they only behave as if they can. Their only aim is to make you afraid. When they manage that, it gives them a kick. When they don’t manage it, they get bored. And when they are bored for too long, they go away. You can annoy the ghosts, too. For example, you say: “Good morning dear ghost! How are you today? Did you sleep well? Do you want to come and have some breakfast?” Then the ghost gets really angry. Perhaps it then tries to make you more scared. But if you continue in this way, it loses interest in you and soon looks for something else.