The Corona Borealis.

Not an easy thing to do. And I found myself walking past his house three times, stopping, staring up at the sky, asking myself - is this right? It was hard to do. Tears in my eyes, and the bitter, cold wind. But in the end, just returning to my car would be keeping everything the same - I'd have thought less of myself, to respect myself I have to take action - there seemed no other way. It is the 3rd of January, and I have just returned from walking the dark passageway up to his front door and posting my final broken sound recorder through the letter box, silently - I didn't let it fall.  I really didn't want him to hear me... The envelope was sealed - and I wrote on the back of it: I give you back your words because I do not wish to remember. Inside the envelope, the voice recorder containing three sound files, transcripts - the blog posts - and a hastily written DOC file: 3rd January 2025. After you called me a minx - see end of this document. I decided it was important f...

Muxia is the final destination of the Compostela. Late last night I caught a video of him teaching. I could only watch for a few minuites before the ache in my heart made me shut my eyes in pain, powerless to stop my tears. I switched the computer off. Tried to walk away from the cascade of feelings and thoughts. And woke today, back in Muxia, on the Costa da Morte. The desire is the same, to just go there - as quiet as a hare, to curl up by his door, to hope that the cold stills my heart as a I sleep beyond waking... Contrary to what he said about suicidal thoughts, I don't use such thinking to make my days bearable, I don't need to look at my end to feel alive. I am far more simple than that, I don't want to die, but nor do I want to live with this pain. I just want it to stop! Muxia is the red warning light on the dashboard, it indicates that something is very, very wrong.  The image of myself, dead outside his front door hidden from the street by the darkness of the sto...

Quote taken from this source.  [+]   All we know for sure from the various writers of the past, such as Homer, Aeschylus, Virgil and Euripides, is that Cassandra will never be believed.  No matter how real and true her words.  Nor will anyone ever believe even after it has happened, that she had known how things would be. But why Cassandra came to suffer so, the writers of this sad story do not agree. Simply put, Cassandra was  cancelled  by the God Apollo. Nietzsche in  The Birth of Tragedy (1872) contrasts Apollo as a God of light and knowledge - calm and reason, with Dionysus as a God of ecstatic emotions.  But the story of Cassandra and Apollo does not support this simple division. This story was written in a time when   Greek society valued hypermasculinity. A time when sexual expression was defined by status, not gender, not love. A free male Greek citizen was at the top of society and women only one notch above slaves. Apollo was...

It has been three years since I recorded the mp3 to tell him about how I feel about him. And three years awareness of how my requests for open and honest dialogue were ignored.  I'm still thinking about some of his inappropriate responses to the emotions I felt when I spoke with him; such as how he laughed as I spoke about being paralysed by horror and fear. [+]   If you are reading this blog, you know that he refused any kind of resolution or mediation process. So I chose to publish my therapy sessions, using transcripts.  This hasn't been an easy decision to make.  A part of me remains uneasy about it.  The alternative? I seriously considered making an official and formal complaint. Now, in October 2024 we are about eight months away from it being too late for that as there is a three year window.  Actually I'm not sure, I may have more time?  And yet the reasons why I don't see complaint as the right thing, remain exactly the same no matter how I th...

 Autumn Equinox 2024. [+] This blog begins on Glastonbury Tor.  High up - you can see for miles! It is understood as a magical place, the meeting point of many energy lines and forces. Many people come to stand there together.  No one single belief system rules, it is free and open to all.  Welcome! When I wrote the first post of this blog  [+]   I was in recovery from the therapy I'd received. Let me say that again, after therapy ended - I was in a bad way - because of therapy.  I felt powerless, and silenced.  Again. During the gaslighting [+]  that ended just two months before I started therapy, I had needed to ignore all and any thoughts or feelings that contradicted my husband's version of reality. If I allowed myself to take my thoughts and feelings seriously, I would try to find out the truth. And when I did that....let's just say it really wasn't worth it. My husband had been lying to me - is the short version - and I've no ...

Plato believed that Eros is the desire that can lead us to a Higher truth wrapped within mystery, and Jung agreed. Meanwhile Freud had grabbed the scissors snipping and was cruelly at Eros... until there was nothing but blood and feathers falling around him like rubies and snow.   I am certain that many of psychotherapy's best theories and explanations are a continuation of much older concepts and ideas - repackaged so as to appear new.  So when ever Kit talked about fantasy 'with a PH '' I was trying to recall Ioan P Couliano's book:  Eros and Magic in the Renaissance.   Of course I wanted our sessions to lead us both to 'higher truths', and encounters with deeper mystery. This is the promise of love after all! But Kit, though seeped in mediaeval lore, and with a comprehensive knowledge of Christianity regarded therapy as disconnected from eros - or he purposefully kept our conversations so. I mentioned Couliano several times in our sessions, and Kit ...

December 2024. When I began processing my therapy sessions last year (2023) my aim was to understand how my feelings for Kit came about, and  why it ended so badly.  And the end really was bad. I don't honestly know how I had the strength to walk out of his room, I felt so defeated, so crushed. To understand and answer these questions I re-entered the dialogues, my thoughts and feelings, and over the year 2023, I documented the therapy sessions 2021-2022. Most of them, not all. Some are too boring, or I accidently missed one out. And they are now being published every Monday - as the contents of  this blog. 2024 is the process part of the blog. The fascinating thing is, that as I went through the dialogues I became aware of a factor X! And isn't X what a black box is really all about? In this case, X is the something, underlying Kit's entrenched beliefs. I can see the effect of X in the dialogues, in the way that it is as if Kit was unable to hear or consider t...

 Only one thing left to do now. To change the publish dates of these blogged words. And leave this blog to be found. Or  do I carry on? To stay with it, learn more, to speak up for other clients who receive well meaning lectures. Aversive, defensive in-humane... ending in Erasure. + But - there is only one choice from this moment onwards.. To live, to carry on. Because This happens to others too. + Yet in one layer of the multiverse I'm no longer here. In the other layer  I took all the sleeping pills and died  outside his door,  huddled cold on stone,  cold. My heart finally stilled. No drama, just the truth of it.  -- These words were at are the end. (semi-psychotic visions - written the evening after the final session May 2022...) [+] The reference to 'rescuing Jesus' in this poem relates to my sense that both he and I will inevitably be crucified by this experience - unless we find a way to prevent, the agony and pain born from our miscommunicatio...

13th February 2024. I believe that what happened to me is too important to be ignored.  I also believe that technically speaking, this subject is too personal, and it should be confidential - and absolutely not put in a blog!  But this feeling of embarrassment, this feeling of  I shouldn't say it, is full of shame and guilt actually, but ultimately I have to ask myself, is my sense of shame and guilt, my silence doing any good?  Silence contributes to maintaining the problem - silence prevents things changing, silence - my silence - cuts off any possibility of learning how to make improvements.  Clearly I think that this information should be in the public domain, as much information as possible actually.  I wrote to Kit to open up dialogue. Recent emails. 13th February 2024. If there is emotion, something matters. I trust in the beauty and dignity in expressing need, and I see an innate value in communication. Making a request is about finding a way to me...

It has taken me almost two years to admit the obvious. I don't want to say that I'm a victim, but his reaction to my honesty was harmful - I was harmed. And it is a therapist's responsibility to know what is going on within his or herself, and not let it 'contaminate' sessions.  There were times when he may have hinted that he guessed? But somehow he could never actually say it or ask me...? How or why is that possible! It doesn't automatically indicate denial though - A supervisor once told me that 'the best therapist never needs to ask a question!' That didn't work out well in our sessions! I believe on the contrary  that asking a straight question demonstrates trust in oneself and the client!  But really - isn't this all  his transference and my countertransference? I pick up his feelings and feel them as if they are my feelings....And I couldn't get clarity because I'm not the therapist!  In his room I felt so blocked, so confined, ...

OK, this is hard - I need to dig deep. The pain of it is almost beyond my endurance, and yet at the same time I am above, observing, watching and recording. The pain is like wearing a dress made of nettles. And so I turn towards it, embrace it  and connect. Holding out my hand I ask into the empty air, 'what is your name? ' In the roiling blackness of the void I hear the words  'I am your intoxication'.  Gently I ask the pain, what do you need?  My hand touches something cold and rough, like shark's skin. And below me deep under an ocean of tears and a crimson gush of my heart's-blood, the words 'love and soul ' boil, radiant and poisonous as a nuclear flash. The sun turns blue, a 'vision' of Cherenkov light, 'the blue sun' I'd seen in my semi-psychotic state when I had left the therapy room for the last time. "love and soul..." Returning from inside to out, directing my vision to the keyboard, to the soft white light of th...