House of Fears? What could have motivated me?

Thunder and Lightning came through last night ... maybe it would've been a light-on-sleep night, anyway. I have a whole variety of types of sleep; don't recall that from years gone by. Last night, I'd wake up with dreams in which something wasn't complete ... a house? a room? some writing I've been trying to do? Maybe that was it, I said to myself about 1 AM. It occurred to me about an hour later that my last posting was titled: House of Fears but I ended up talking about confusion in language. Was I confused? I do notice in myself and other Players in this Fourth Quarter near to me that logic has become looser. Sometimes, I may say something just plain incorrectly. "I'm going to the Living Room to eat" can mean "I'm gonna eat in the Dining Room." I have the usual failures to remember names of people but also names of things.


Howard, it's called the remote control (not the clicker)!

I was trying to think of the name of the little control valve on modern cars that keeps the injection system woirking at the right pace and even rhythm ... (Gimme a pair of SU Carbs and I'm OK, though.)

Hey, if you're Playing in this Quarter, I suspect you know.


But, yesterday, from House of Fears to a discussion of confusing ideas seemed rich ... I was confused -- so, I thought to myself in the Still of the Night -- ... I was confused in talking of confusion when I thought initially to speak of Fears.

So, be it! I'm prone to point out, recently, that there are only two infallible people on Earth ... and they're both the Pope! And me? I'm not the Pope. Maybe suicides need perfection ... The dead are perfect in life  (well) death. Any case ... gave rise to pause to think of my major fears. Some come to mind quite easily: becoming so confused that M locks me up; becoming so restricted in activity that I arrange to have myself locked up; getting lost; losses of those near and dear to me; the end of this wonderful experience of filling in my own canvas ... of the everyday pleasures of watching myself and others 'be.'

I watch many of my compatriots, though, and maybe this is what I had in mind, yesterday ... I watch them afraid to be who they are. So many who are afraid to play .... afraid to be too happy. Kind of like they carry around the voice of a parent who says: 'You always go too far" or "Stop that! You'll work yourself up into a dither" .... or maybe they'd work themselves into glee.

And the fear to be really sad. A fear to experience whatever emotion or  craving that I have right now. I once stopped for a bit at the CG Jung Training Institute in Zurich ... Must've been Fall of 1970. I was saddened by recent events. An older man, Rafael Lopez Pedraza, wondered with me if that sadness wasn't what made me most human at that moment. He never thought it necessary to add that, if that were so, human life was valuable enough to make it worthwhile to cherish that feeling, whatever it was.

Past few days the past has come to visit. Old visitors came to wonder how the past unfolded for me and for them. Faces and voices I was pleased to hear from ... Like my Father, I easily tear-up at such moments.  A cousin called two days prior to his 72nd birthday ... to say 'hello' ... Our minds have had certain vague similarities and interests. He talked about a "laughter group" he belonged to sometime ago. People would gather to laugh. Then M and I ran into a 46 year old man who came to live with us in the late 70's when Khomeini rose to power and his parents felt that their two boys were in danger. We took one. His parents got him to the States and a local religious organization found us with sons who bracketed his age by rougly seven months on each side. He was niow standing there with his youngest ...

Do I fear the unfolding of generations and new skin ... and the molting of the old?

Maybe, Rafael would tell me to cherish the fear, as well. Maybe, I should.