w _, I; . . .A . _ . . ._ I , ... , . m, ... , G40... -m Luna G M x M _ n WW . 4 N 7. - , fi.H. .J . _ y . . _ . , . C a S A an ..I. n U ‘ ,_ .e. M m ._ m, .. ‘ w - n : v m . A m . a . . .. . ., . . . _ . ~ . _ w . - , .. .30.... t. p . . n7... . ., F: 25:1,v.0:4.33%}..3—1, . .Jn_..‘ma.y..£a; ._-..... ‘ 3 .5 ... £11.... 4. . ... 3... o :2... T _.... , Z 1.. .. . .. 03.2%. .stq . .. .310 Cumvmfiucflup T424. 2(- ._ .t...‘o: ..., . )...(.v..f:.. 2.31... Ly ..;‘4.....‘.‘#5...,. 2.5.1. .1... if}; I.»$..‘..an11..r.i.§.:.2.. {$3}.{aéb‘fihahivvrlwfigflfi 5:. an 1.71.5.1" _ 1 - - n ‘0; I II' 0. ' |\ a! l r t l. . » In R. u . t.[iLDEE L LIBRARY Michigan State University This is to certify that the - ' ' fihesis entitled USING KNOWLEDGE 0F SELF: A MEANS TO GROW ' ‘ presented by I Judith SHaffer has been accepted towards fulfillment ‘ of the requirements for Ph.D. degree in Education I Date May 17, 1974 0-7639 ABSTRACT USING KNOWLEDGE OF SELF: A MEANS TO GROW BY Judith K. Shaffer The dissertation is a study of a process for self- knowing, self—evaluation, and self definition. The methods used in this process of learning about self are applied to the author. The author's experiences are shared in order for others to perhaps see value in both the goal she has and some of the methods she used. While the author used the work in a highly personal way, the attempt is to give alternatives and findings that are generalizable. The document is based upon the belief that facilitating, caring people in our society, particularly educators, must be consciously aware of their own processes of growth and being. These awarenesses hopefully can ultimately result in a positive self concept although there will be times when negatives seem to outweigh the positives. The belief underlying this conclusion is that every person has the potential for positive, caring, loving attitudes and behaviors toward self and others. Judith K. Shaffer The task is to identify and implement the process that supports and nurtures that potential. The person with a developing positive concept of self as a defining, growing person, acquires a warmer emotional base which can radiate toward others . . . improving inter-personal relationships. The narcisistic personality gets halted in the need for self-approval that we all have . . . what is attempted here is to offer impetus for transcending that self-need and generalizing it to others. The author speaks of balance . . . balance between getting and giving, being and becoming. The manner in which the workthis task of self- defining for a long time, if ever. The fears that result make mysteries threatening, confidence is undermined and the inner self becomes an enemy. If one talks to her inner self she plays with madness. Yet, the madness, the unseen, the unspoken, the dark quiet parts of a self . . . those things that are not always 'controlled' . . . are the parts that make life exciting and full. Physical energy is not the source for our being, the 'emotional-psychic' energy is our source. Physicality is simply the tool, the objectifying of that core source. It is a little mad to roll in fallen apple blossoms like a child in the snow . . . it is a little mad to think of words having colors . . . it is more than a little mad to think you can have anything of value to say to anyone else in this world. Yet, here we are, I am writing, and not for just myself. 26 Playing with madness . society calls rules, or oughts Madness...playing with the unspoken life...is not madness in the clinical sense. It is toying with the mystery that is a self from another self. Part of the aim of the paper is to show others that madness and mystery is puzzle- solving. Pieces can be hard to take, but the overall is self- affirming. . pushing edges that . . or pushing the inner edges, the limits I have seen in myself, show me more clearly my definition. Madness is that faith in becoming. It is illogical, not "mad." Playing with the mysteries of one's own life makes others more of a mystery too, and somehow more valuable and worth the effort of knowing, as a result. The specific methods I have used to get at the material within me, and to understand both that and the outside forces better, are offered throughout the disserta- tion as possible alternatives others may find helpful. Methods are already at each persons disposal. We each have ways we use to handle life's experiences. The task is to consciously choose, and consciously use the method for the aim of self-definition. Mest hours are spent simply surviving, doing the job, providing for safety. Here the job is to provide the conscious means of searching for the authentic, inner-self and communing with that self. Methods are as personal as the material' is for each person. Aloneness may not be as important a force for others as it is for me. Some may need much more activity than I have needed. For some, dialogues with others may give too much stimuli, all that they need may be quiet and introspection. a . .IIIIIII I I! (I I III I [Illllll IIIIZIIIIQI III 27 The use of written language itself may be restrictive. I have found it so, and wish that this document could be on tape or an exhibition of paintings. A good friend told me I use language in a creative way, I attack words like a cubist painter attacks form. It was hard for him to say something positive because he is a GOOD writer! Nevertheless, I am struggling with the limitations. I think a poet would be able to do this better. The quiet sureness of a poet's process weeds out the unnecessary and leaves the skeletal form clear enough for others. That's a skill I would like to develop. Using words to talk about the un-spoken experience is a challenge. Even a drawing falls short, but may come closer if the experiencing of that drawing is deep during its production, creation. The viewer/reader has a lot of work to do to pull something worth while from page or canvas. These methods are available to us all. The hard chore is to put them to work toward the goal of self— understanding. This is what this one person used: 1. Quiet thinking, sorting out based on the experiences of the day or the week. Or simply a time out . . . not relating to outside stimuli but an effort to center and touch the inner experience. (Some call this meditation and have a complete process with it.) 28 2. Writing . . . diary form, journal form. To put 'out in front' for View, what the experiences have been, objectify them as best as possible . . . Sort out. 3. 'Creative' writing and drawing . . . the playing with the process that frees madness and inner voices . . . imagination. 4. Dialogues with others-- Professionals--using others who are labeled as helpers, psychologists, psychiatrists, clergy, for example. Friends-—selected people from the various spheres of living, professional, social, etc. Students--people an educator works with. Important feedback can come from them if the educator is open to it. Colleagues--people one works with but not in a 'helping-relationship' (in contrast to student/teacher role). Family--trying to hear what 'old' and '1mmediate' families have had to say to and about you. The ultimate goal for these things for me, of course, was the refining of a lot of input into this paper. Such an obvious result does not have to be the goal for others, the integration of all the data must be . . . but the form can be the more fully functioning person. The journals were the primary method for me, the recording place for all of the other activities, as well as the working out place for some of the data acquired. They were used in special ways, too. They became a tool for free-association . . . putting the alphabet throughout a new journal, for example, I then would flip to a page and 29 see 'A' . . . write down the first word that started with an 'A' and then write my responses to that word. Simple procedures like that would begin to get me into the looking-at-self framework. I had to devise tricks to get me into the mood of the work, quite often. (A long section- story is included as Appendix F—l. Appendix F-2 is a handwriting analysis, done on a lark, which was surprisingly accurate.) Re-reading diaries of the past, as well as the journals, brought much to me. The re—reading of letters and notes (I am a saver-collector) saved from a fifteen year span of letter writing filled in blank spaces, reawoke memory. I am lucky to have always had writing people in my life. Letters have been easy to keep. The daily professional life is very much a part of this gathering of information process. The covering of that part of me goes on If one believes the goal is worth the effort, then the methods used daily. One discovery of can be everything and anything that gets you into touch with recent origin, is that I self. It requires a discipline to get started and then the joy have never had long periods of discovery and becoming acquainted with self better, is of 'work life' that were all the reward that is needed. Even the little bad things are separated from my own seen as part of the whole... ultimately positive. needs. The one job I remember as being unrelated to anything I wanted was working at the age of eighteen in a record/music shop . . . it was the only job I ever had 30 that did not present a challenge. I was bored silly. From then on everything had to be a challenge. It was a happy discovery to see that I had unconsciously opted to take on something that was not a sure thing. I chose something I wanted to learn more about, something that would give me something In one way, each person is 'becom- ing' whether she likes it or not back . . . then put myself ...so she had better take hold of the forces as best as possible if in a kettle in order to she wants any part of willing that becoming. A rich inner life is let it boil around me. the only way to have the ability to self-define. She must till the Every day brings new soil, nourish the inner growth and thereby gain a sense of self that experiences. Seeing a could get lost in the shuffle. Playing with ambiguity takes colleague in a new way in practice, and here there are no sure things. a staff meeting, looking at the children, trying to see my hurt or helpfulness to them. The ambiguous atmosphere can impale me on prongs of immobility, then taking a deep breath . . . remembering the solid ground of the foundation for me . . . I can remove myself from the state of inaction and go on. It is a mystery why we search for 'better' things, but I think all of us share this need. I come the closest, I think, to defining my process of becoming, when I use Price's word, 'mystery.‘ The sense of mystery helps one to overcome the fear of change . . . and that is a very real fear. At the same time, one cannot ALWAYS be peering into things or self or III 11’ I ll . IIII Ilil III III I I II I‘lIIIII 31 the relishing of the moments you live will be forgotten. A balance is required between the doing and the reaction or analysis of that. An aware process can help us to reach the dynamic balance between my independence/my dependence my action/my repose my giving/my receiving my loving/my being loved my experiencing/my evaluating my being/my becoming. CHAPTER III INTROSPECTION: THE JOURNALS Both my body and my emotions were given to me and it is as futile for me to condemn myself for feeling scared, insecure, selfish or revengeful as it is for me to get mad at myself for the size of my feet. I am not responsible for my feelings, but what I do with them.1 Hugh Prather My propensity for response is a given, in conjunc- tion--self and environment have created the kind of response. I pattern most of my Pieces of journals comprise this chapter. The author talks to hor- behaviors from the modeling self about responsibility, trying to understand response, trying to of parents, friends, fit all parts of self into a picture--an aliveness-~that has siblings, long before I am room for good and bad. Turning away from the 'bad' is turning on ready to consciously yourself...this is destructive, inhibits growing. The over— Choose. What I do with riding re-discovery is that alive- ness means search, ambiguity, what I am and have learned risking, then resting and knowing. becomes my responsibility as the light of awareness-of—self dawns. I write in this journal, honestly . . . I will not spare myself. If I try, I will catch myself up and see it lHugh Prather, Notes To Myself (Lafayette, Calif.: Peacock Books, Argus Communications, 1970), p. 29. 32 33 in the re-reading. Many things are unpleasant: the re- living of old experiences I will have to do to understand them, the weaknesses I know, the failures I have experi- enced, and the weaknesses I will discover. Some things I would rather not 'deal with' again . . . I know that, but it will be good for me to check it out. It's a fearful process, but it is exciting. So is a ferris wheel. It is a kind of creative play that I put myself to in order to test out the fears. It is a safe place to be fearful . . . here with myself. I am the judge and jury, not the rest of the world. Each thought generates a new thought, but I don't have to worry about how The way to learn about self, just begin. Plunge in with a safe 'crazy' this may sound, I method like private journals...at first the writing will be stilted am the only one to see. ...trying to write like you'should' rather than what you feel...then it I must remember these proceeds to flow. Time must be set aside when the mind is a little questions as I write . . . fresh. Re-read after a few days, a - month and again in a year, new in- Have I been honest? How sights will come. Writing slows down the process for the author, objective is that? How which is probably a good thing... her head goes too fast sometimes-- much is self-serving? Am leaving feelings behind. A I being too critical? Did I stop short? Did I force it? Where is the hook-up? Words are used, but images fly into my mind . . . it is a lot like working on a painting or drawing. I can start with either an image or an idea in my head but I can 34 also start with nothing but a pencil in my hand. Either way it soon becomes a process of play between doing and checking out procedures. Similarities picked up in process between a 'creative work’ and the What is working? What is work of self—knowing. This makes other creative works more mean- useless? What is over- ingful, too. worked? What most people seem to isolate and thus rarify . . . (assign to kooks like writers or artists) . . . is the same living process 'real' people must engage in, no matter who they are. An artist is strange because he deals so much with the feeling state objectified in a work. The process used is called "strange," but it is not. It is evidence of this self- defining process. The form it takes at steps along the way is a different form . . . perhaps a painting rather than a better day at the office . . . but the creative process is a self-defining process. Habit, habit! It has to become a habit, this time for introspection. It's a discipline, and I sure am heavy on discipline. I use the Recurring words in journals can be picked up on. In the living of a word all the time. Where busy life, you are unaware of repetitions...you just DO. Seeing does it come from? Hard things written down over a period of time forces one to be aware of working parents . . . pull recurring words and behaviors and themes. The reason for the yourself up by the boot recurring idea must be explored. straps philosophy? Own need to control feelings, to hide them for safety or to spare others . . . (started long ago in illness?). Making 35 time for this is the biggest hurdle. Heavy work schedule . . . (as usual). Priorities . . . work, family, me . . . have to be switched around. More and more I feel that ideas are simply FEELINGS PUT INTO WORDS. They are not entirely different elements that float in my Writing more and more about the feeling states the author becomes mind. They are attempts more aware of her use of thought and language. Ideas can become to put forth, for communica- objects and easier to handle than fixflings. Wonk;canlfide. tion or inspection what is FELT. The problem is that I begin to feel safer with 'idea' than with feeling . . . it's more controllable . . . so I start isolation pro- cedures. IDEAS ARE CONTROLLED OR WATERED DOWN FEELINGS. Is it my super—ego taking care of my id? . . . the con- trolling part of my socialized being that attempts to caution the un-socialized private part of me? I speak to me and I know I want to be good, fine, perfect, intelligent, creative, giving, loving . . . I sort through all the adjectives Self-deluding behaviors get the spot-light. Repeated efforts to and I see how beautifully bolster the self can be "seen" when it's on a page of paper. my ego strains out the bad, immature, flawed, stupid, selfish, taking, hating parts of me. It is nice to know I have such a good defense system . . . but I had better not use it too much. 36 Outside forces are at work . . . it's those men (and I do mean men) in the ivory tower. Ph.D. = Disserta- tion. Hmph. It is hard to produce for someone else, but I know compromise is part Requirements, rules, regulations impose on inner needs...talking to of living. It is part of yourself prepares the way to handle this in a way that is not losing communication. Oh! A self. (A sense of humor can ahayslmdp.) fine visual reaction (I am mad!) to what I just wrote . . . I am laughing in real glee and throwing open my arms, dancing across the lawn around their ivory tower . . . they look down from little arched openings in the wall . . . some are half-smiling (as at an idiot child), some are scowling ("She's not serious about her work, tch, tch!") and some retreat into the shadows, of course. "That," I say, snapping my fingers, "for academia." I am smiling as I write this . . . I even can make myself laugh. I woke today, April l3, 1970, with words floating in my mind . . . through Sub-conscious, dreams, do their work. It is an effort to 'keep' space. I could SEE them. the dreams after waking. Rushing to a journal can help. It is hard I had to put them down, to rescue what drops so very quickly from your mind upon waking. see what they were. (I put Interpretations can help in the seamflL thandown, then played with the poem that resulted, for three days. The finished poem is here.) 37 Thoughts Washing over me. Slapping at lines I've tried to draw. Unwanted. Some thing Worse than no thing. I hear I see I feel Panic builds Breath catches. Spirit trembles muscle tightens Temple cries fire flashes Ignites chars. Each trip newly bad. Yet so well known. Talk down begins. Self selected answers Conscious calmers. Cliche . . . shoring up. Panic lessens. Essence of survival Blankets insulates. NO. Incubates. For malignant waters Sound on my soul. Underground forces Pulled by sky Spew trauma Stretching limits - cutting debris Then recede Check, protect Control Contain. Soft and bright Becoming hard Opaque Sky relents Core Constant. 38 Sounding Cycles spiral Washing crystal Striking granite. I hear. I see. I feel my tide. Ebbs and tides . . . one way to describe life. The poem was at once symbol of process and a process . . . my working out of another bad time. The heavy surge to 'work it out' on paper was the new clean tide. When I think of Sartre saying man is not only responsible for his own individuality but that he is responsible for all men Responding to outside stimuli with written word imposes a structure . . . my reactions are on the feeling response...puts it into simple language that can be physical and cerebral. 'chewed' on. Sometimes just feeling is enough, but it some- Joy, pleasure, anxiety. times must be pushed. "Head/ gut" working together. If I ask myself, does the way I live set an example for others . . . what is my answer? The responsibility weighs heavy then, but upon discovering the good in the way I live, I am lightened . . . it is good to share it. Mind whirls, visceral reaction is a tightening of muscle--as if for battle! N - no thing, nothing . . . some people say, "to live for" . . . meaning what I am is not worth the effort. How do we awaken the understanding so everyone can KNOW III. Ii 39 she/he is worth it? There are plenty of things about a self to live for. I am I . . . can't ever be in a vacuum, ever. Gibberish, as I sit Free association--using letter symbols and just rambling on. and want to reach myself, Freeing mind from any "require- ment" other than to respond. what am I right now . . . I am a mixture of feelings . . have sense of suspension, would say relaxed, but recognize my shoulder and knees are tight, as usual . . . sleepy nonetheless. N - nice, a conversation about love, with LeeAnn . . . kinds of love possible . . . for a plant, a dog, a child, a friend, a spouse, a parent, all are different forms of love and mean different kinds of commitment. S - symbols . . . "We live not by things but by the meaning of things . . ." who said that? He or she was right. My soul food comes from symbolic meanings. The 'thing' . . . the wooden bird from Mexico hanging in the center of the archway is meaningful because it came from him and is symbolic of peace, peace in love. F - Family--plus--roots, Christmas, sharing, caring negative--expectations, restraints, judgments, dependencies. - Family also is my anchor, my stability--"core." My girls are really that to me. I have shuddered through storms and lost my way at times-~the stability represented 40 by the girls and my commitment to them remains my anchor and harbor. I hope I represent that for them, in a healthy way . . . where I am a part of their inner security, as they are to me. E - Faults . . . biggest ones are quickness to judge, cigarettes - dependency, foolish about $$$, sel- fishness. Faults - in California--can't imagine living righg 92_i£ . . . but I live above sinking mines, etc., etc., smoking cigarettes, driving too fast, not taking care of me and my body enough. Foolish - about him . . . expecting better things, about trusting too often, too soon. I am beginning to see patterns. I have patterns! It's a glorious feeling to Discovering over and over again how the repetitions of ideas, things, see them . . . it places behaviors, blend to form a pattern of one focus or another. A sense me in kinship with nature, of totality with self, with nature can result. For the author, guilt, I have cycles, I am not so became more and more obvious, visualizing became more notice- unique or alone . . . I'm able, too. like a lot of people and things . . . I belong. I have been brought face to face with how many times in these journals I have said I ought to . . . I should . . . I know I shouldn't but I feel . . . .I III I III. III'II-I‘IIIIIIIIE ll ill (I! I l IlllrIIlIl .III III III... III ‘III III: [ 41 I see how they inhibit natural flow and honesty. Guilt for being something capable ('talented' in parents eyes) and depriving others of attention is the basis for all the shoulds and oughts. Visualizing is not 'schizoid . . . it is just 'schizie.‘ That is a much easier way to look at that practice of mine, I don't condemn it, I use it. The inconsistencies in my behavior are here in pen and pencil for me to look at, I can't avoid it by saying "I don't remember." How often things sounded self-pitying in the first three journals I have just re-read . . . "I am caught in this, I can't get out, poor me . . . ." I see a lot of alternatives I have used, I have reminded myself of being able to get out of a snare. You, my journals, have become my watering places, the oasis in a desert of doing that keeps me from myself. My roles get in the way of Journals point out how much time, energy. is spent with others. They me, I am mother, educator, act as reminders to reserve space and energy for self...knowing all provider, learner, artist, the roles are contributing, but amatahetoormmh. student, housekeeper, friend, colleague, neighbor, and so on . . . I can forget Judy in all of that, and you help me avoid that trap. I am my home, my own sustenance. "Sometimes I sits and thinks and Sometimes I just sits." I III I III III [a ll III-III 42 I read that somewhere . . . it's on a big poster . . . and it reminds me that sometimes I can just sit. That's acceptable, too. CHAPTER IV DIAJKNSUEES: SHELF PH“) OITHERS I can help you to accept and open yourself mostly by accepting and revealing myself to you. John Powell, S.J. frtnn Why Am I Afraid To Tell You Who I Am This method of digging out some awareness for me has had another reward. As two of us talked, aimed at, helping me, we both revealed more and accepted each other more. These people let me into their worlds more, because I asked them to talk about mine. My world, now is a better place than thirty years ago or even five years Selecting authorities--people you will 'listen' to is a big responsi- agO. I am listening to bility. As a child--you have no choices, as a maturing individual my own authority more, the responsibility for choice grows. Knowing self and own needs outside authority less. makes the decisions easier--you can reinforce yourself...not wait Authorities other than fer it. This search for affirma— - tion, in turn, affirms others myself don't exist unless because of your choosing. I CHOOSE to make them authorities. I must give that designation and right to someone if I want an outside voice . . . otherwise I can reject. 1John Powell, Why Am I Afraid To Tell You Who I Am (Chicago: Peacock Books, Argus Communications, 1969), p. 16. 43 44 While this chapter is aimed at sharing recent (last two years) dialogues I must share some response to 'family authorities' before I go on with the new. My "old" family had few, few introspective conversations. Influences were felt, but not analyzed Looking at the lack, or abundance, as the case may be, of family with each other. Practical, sharing of feelings...can point out some 'whys' for your style of hardworking, middle-Class living. Here, the author really discovers how little support for values were at work. The inner life was given her for years. Yet, strength had been first real feeling con- given her so she could carry on with it alone. Families usually versations didn't take balance out! People balance out. place until I was 26 years old and into a divorce. My sister and my youngest brother both were able to sit and talk with me. I have never had a 'real' conversation with my oldest brother and probably never will. Nelson is a late bloomer like I am (our mother calls us that, since we both started back to college very late). He is competitive Clearing the air with a sibling can take years, or it can be done (where did we learn these in a day...the conversation here was not long, but two people who things . . . at father's had spent a lot of time alone in looking at the family, finally knee) works too hard, got their ideas and feelings together. Again, evidence of not throws himself into what being as alone as one might feel, is the result. Too, guilt had a he believes in. We have reason fer being, other than the author's imagination. a lot in common. One important thing we have in common is an understanding of how parents raised their 44 While this chapter is aimed at sharing recent (last two years) dialogues I must share some response to 'family authorities' before I go on with the new. My "old" family had few, few introspective conversations. Influences were felt, but not analyzed Looking at the lack, or abundance, as the case may be, of family with each other. Practical, sharing of feelings...can point out some 'whys' for your style of hardworking, middle-class living. Here, the author really discovers how little support for values were at work. The inner life was given her for years. Yet, strength had been first real feeling con- given her so she could carry on with it alone. Families usually versations didn't take balance out! People balance out. place until I was 26 years old and into a divorce. My sister and my youngest brother both were able to sit and talk with me. I have never had a 'real' conversation with my oldest brother and probably never will. Nelson is a late bloomer like I am (our mother calls us that, since we both started back to college very late). He is competitive Clearing the air with a sibling can take years, or it can be done (where did we learn these in a day...the conversation here was not long, but two people who things . . . at father's had spent a lot of time alone in looking at the family, finally knee) works too hard, got their ideas and feelings together. Again, evidence of not throws himself. into what being as alone as one might feel, is the result. Too, guilt had a he believes in. We have reason fer being, other than the author's imagination. a lot in common. One important thing we have in common is an understanding of how parents raised their 45 children. He said to me, "I think you took advantage of being sick, you got everything (attention, things to do, etc.)." And he is right, but in talking out some of our feelings I took less blame for it and he needed to blame me less. He is more tolerant of parents now, and I under— stand them better, too. Heavens, when the girls in the family learned to drive we had to use our parents' vehicles . . . but when the boys wanted to learn they had to buy their own cars or have nothing. We all remember that, but now it is not my fault for it. I had carried guilt for that and all the things like it for too long. Talking with my sister is another matter. She puts herself down, and feels I live too differently (divorce, work, painting, Where verbal communication is cut off, due to widely varying life mind-stuff) and yet She styles or emotional factors too difficult to unwind, there can admires me and depends still be support of a loving nature. It is good, too. There upon my support. She and are also people in each persons' life that will not be able to my oldest brother are establish any kind of communica- tion. This is the usual, and not most like my parents in to be turned inward with guilt! I or you can't be God. We can't values and style. She make things happen. Others have their choices, too. loves me, but doesn't understand me. My oldest brother, does neither . . . he just tolerates me . . . and that is all right, I have discovered, after years of beating myself for not being able to make it go. We share parents and that is it. 45 children. He said to me, "I think you took advantage of being sick, you got everything (attention, things to do, etc.)." And he is right, but in talking out some of our feelings I took less blame for it and he needed to blame me less. He is more tolerant of parents now, and I under- stand them better, too. Heavens, when the girls in the family learned to drive we had to use our parents' vehicles . . . but when the boys wanted to learn they had to buy their own cars or have nothing. We all remember that, but now it is not my fault for it. I had carried guilt for that and all the things like it for too long. Talking with my sister is another matter. She puts herself down, and feels I live too differently (divorce, work, painting, Where verbal communication is cut off, due to widely varying life mind-stuff) and yet she styles or emotional factors too difficult to unwind, there can admires me and depends still be support of a loving nature. It is good, too. There upon my support. She and are also people in each persons' life that will not be able to my oldest brother are establish any kind of communica- tion. This is the usual, and not most like my parents in to be turned inward with guilt! I or you can't be God. We can't values and style. She make things happen. Others have their choices, too. loves me, but doesn't understand me. My oldest brother, does neither . . . he just tolerates me . . . and that is all right, I have discovered, after years of beating myself for not being able to make it go. We share parents and that is it. 46 Now I am a parent. I have two daughters, LeeAnn who is seventeen and Ruth who is fourteen. They were important to me since The 'new' or current family is one that sees the full you best. They before they were born. are seeing a process that old family members only get hints of. Motherhood was something They are very much in process, too, so the environment is rich and I looked forward to. ready to be viewed every day. Others fretted when I was pregnant, worried about my health, the history of heart trouble, etc. But, I fooled them all and looked and felt better than I ever had before. People commented on it. I was really blossoming. Why children excite me so, I can't really determine. Perhaps there are pieces of these things at work in it: joy of seeing each day bring something new in a baby's life, watching growth in action, nurturing . . . giving nourishment myself to this baby . . . both physically and emotionally. (I cried when Ruth weaned herself at four months . . . she was 'done with me' too early, and the doctor said "She is so healthy she knows the time is right, give her a cup." I did, and I didn't like seeing it! Then she walked at seven months . . . again too early for me, and I cried. LeeAnn is ready to go to college and move away now, that too, is too early!) What seems to be a big conflict is the intellectual appreciation of growing independence and this mother's need 47 to nurture and protect. I was not ready for weaning then, and I am not ready for weaning now, from these young women! The children have given me stability in times of great stress. Some philosophers say that children mean immortality. That may be, but they are much more than that. For the author it has become evident that they are examples of growing, give stability, offer mystery, 7 require care and love, give love and care. They support. They are both home and safety, protected and protecting. I was so unsure about divorce and caring for them alone, but their needing me pulled me out of immobility. LeeAnn was old enough at the time of the divorce to remember her father in a poor light. Ruth was very tiny and does not remember his being distrustful or hurting. 'father.‘ As a result I worry about their reactions to Ruth has a way of seeing him as 'uncle' and LeeAnn doesn't want to see him at all. My older daughter and I talk more, share more, than my younger daughter and I do. The children you influence can aid you in seeing yourself. Roles and behaviors, values, even tastes for feed are picked up, even if not 'taught.’ A good way to look at who you are, what you are, is to look at those you influence most. Do you like what you see? Aren’t there both good and bad things to see? Ruth is often closed to me, relies more on her peers. I am waiting for this stage to end and for us to start talking again. LeeAnn tries to take too much responsibility for me . . . worries about me . . . tries to mother Ruth when I am still at the office 48 (older sisters are a PAIN sometimes). I feel LeeAnn takes too much on for herself. (Where could THAT have come from?) Ruth is lighter in spirit . . . at least superficially . . . but she covers a lot of anxiety by that lightness. It seems they have each picked up some negative behaviors. I judge myself accordingly. Yet, I like what I see in them. They are very much individuals. Independent, strong, and capable of much good. They can think, they know about feelings and can talk them out when they will. They are honest around people most of the time. Comparison of one's style as parent to that of own parent's My children are rewarded style, points up individual need ...kind of support that can be for achieving in their given by certain people at certain times. This takes some school work, SO was I. of the burden off parents! My children are encouraged to talk about feelings, I was not. I do not say that marriage and children is the only alternative for, women. I do not want them to rule that out, but see it as one thing that can be for them, not all. My mother expected me to go to college but she didn't expect me to learn and grow. I expect my children to learn and grow. I didn't invest my self as totally in my children as my mother did. 'Mother' is just one - although a very important one - of my facets. I feel guilty about that sometimes, because I know my mother gave me so much and I 49 am afraid I'm not doing as well by my children. Time will tell. Until then, I'll muddle on. Friends in Dialogue Why- 1. Friends see you in a variety of spheres of your living. 2. Experiences that are not family ties give them fresher more recent, perspectives on you. 3. Relationships can grow through this deliberate an effort. Dangers: 1. It would be easy to select the friend who you know sees only 'good' in you. 2. It would be easy to 'snow' a friend who doesn't have an entire picture of you yet. 3. If you need to work something specific out with someone, you could have that ulterior motive and change that person - no fair! Struggles: 1. To keep objective about responses to leading questions. 2. To keep questioning, pull deeper responses. 3. To 'give' back, not let the exchange be purely selfish. 4. To stay honest, about pain or pride . . . no false modesty, please, or hidden hurt. 5. Take chances, bare more of yourself in this process, trust. . {II II III II. III III Illullll u] ill.i (III-III I. (I.II’III||I‘IIV.IIIII i l|I‘lII\..I‘lIIIZIIcllu.‘ In IJI It I i 50 My procedure was to look at important facets of my In choosing friends for feed-back llVlng and try to SEleCt the trust level has to be pretty high. You are laying yourself open --be prepared. Choose friends that are new and old. Record conversa- tions to be able to re-study after the exchanges. people that represented those areas of my activity. I chose one from the arts, two from education, one from 'social' area that really overlaps in interests with the other two areas. I used parts of conversations in my journals, jotting in key phrases or whole exchanges as they were necessary for me to pour over at a later time. One of the four read parts of the journal and wrote notes to me after reading some of my thoughts. Three others wrote something about me for me. Those three pieces are in Appendices A, B, and C. With Anne . When I first explained the idea for the disserta- tion and my need of her input for my study she questioned me with: "What are your motivations, why me?" "Would something make you angry or upset that I might say?" I explained flmamotivations . . . she saw parts of me others didn't, I trusted her to be honest. In reference to possible upset with things she would say, I just told her there wasn't anything I wasn't prepared for in the negative and nothing she saw in me would be foreign, 51 because she was saying it, and nothing (short of "I hate you") would hurt our relationship. She anSwered then with an affirmative, and with Two basic questions from friends-- will this hurt our relationship? relief. Her most meaning- ...will you see more of me you “on"tlike? ful response in terms of our relationship was "If I write about you I will really be saying a lot about myself." There it was . . . one opens in a trusting relationship and the response is swift and like. Pieces of conversation with Anne—~Exerpts from journals.-— "There are little criticisms, and they will say more about me than you because I'd like you to be perfect since you nearly are." "Upon our first meeting all I saw was charisma and charm, you could sway people." [My response, "I Know I can influence, and that is a scary thing, I always worry that it is too much, or wrong."] "It would be scary but I know you are good and loving so I trust your judgment." "Hard for you to see the trap you set yourself in with David, you punish yourself, struggle too long . . . in name of what?--his genius?" [David was my second husband. Part of the struggle to keep that marriage was that.] "Sometimes you expect too much of me." [Expect her to be perfect, she feels--though I think I do not, but I have given her that feeling, or is that her projection?] "Discipline is very important to you, how much of that do you put on to David?" [Quite a bit although that was hard to see.] 52 Written Material From Anne.--I placed her work in the appendix, excerpting only those things that might prove hurtful to her--the things about her own life that others need not know to get the sense of her feelings, ideas, about me. Our relationship was only broadened by this research. We have continuous contact, many letters, visits twice a year, even though I am 750 miles away from her. She is a rare human being. She gives me much. With Barry Most of the material collected about me was not collected in the name of the dissertation. There was much sharing and mutual support and growing long before the dissertation idea came to me. When I did talk about the dissertation, he wanted to Looking closely at a friendship helps you see stages in relation— be a part of it. Barry ships--they grow, change, mellow. was a student who began work with me at the University, Center for Urban Affairs . . . I think our relationship began as student/teacher with mothering on my part, and changed to a loving friend- ship over a five year period. We have the best relation- ship now. We read each other well, we wear our love lightly and easily. Pieces of conversation with Barry: "When talking with M. last night she spoke of your 'self—righteous' come on in the staff meeting . . . I know what that is, and to some it sounds like that, but I understand." [I come on strong and too pushy sometimes.] 53 "Haven't I learned from you about loving?" [How supportive, when I felt unloving.] "Stop giving to him, paint! Don't work so hard at things that don't give you soul-food." [I often deny myself soul-food in the name of someone or something else . . . self denial pointed out by three of my friends.] "You don't balance enough between give/take. You give too much." Written Material from Barry.--A short story, included as Appendix B, was written by Barry in the Fall of 1972. With Edward My relationship with Edward is the youngest of the friendships referred to in this writing. We worked together in human/relations workshops for several organiza- tions. We came to know each other through a trusting relationship built through the work. He comes to my side, even now, when he knows I need him. I don't have to say a word . . . he knows. Pieces of Conversations with Edward.-- "Your motherliness, protectiveness is something that comes across . . . not toward me, the motherliness part, but toward others." [There it is again, I get very repetitious--motherliness.] "You put yourself down a lot. I can say something nice to you, like 'you look good today' and you are very Repeated feed back occurs. More open to the positive things, than one person mentions the but in a couple of minutes, same traits. not very long either, you will say something that counters that." [My responses 54 to Edward and his perceptions were, to begin with to add the judgmental thing to his statement about pro- tection. He said he did not sense the judgmental but could see how that might be part of it. As for the ability or need to put myself down, my questions were of myself, how? Why? One answer is that I need to keep saying, "You see 'good,‘ but look, here is some 'bad'!"] Edward read and responded to one of my journals . . . each response very short, so I preface his responses with part of the material he wrote in response to . . . Edward: Edward: Edward: Edward: Edward: Parents--I have given them so much worry, but can't feel guilty about carving out my own way, I have enough of them in me to be stubborn and hard to mold. Their lives could have been so much easier than I have made them. Are you saying, 'I feel guilty, I shouldn't but I do?‘ Dentist, Doctors-more problems with teeth, my own fault, delay and clenching of jaw in tension. My own fault re: nerves. Beating on yourself, do you need to do that? Arms ache, shoulders, too-tired, drained, rejected. David is unhappy most of time, but not my fault, I keep saying. Hurt yourself. Section about David and me, repeated behaviors, rejections. So much about David in journal, what needs do you satisfy by staying with him? About my daughters, considering all they have gone through, they are sweet, good girls. I haven't done half as bad as I could have with them. One—half of a positive note. 55 At the last part of the journal he left one note concern- ing what he saw as proof of change in me: I notice a great difference in your writing (mechanics) even within this section on ASCD. Look at first and last pages of ASCD section. And he was right, as I began the section I was tight with the writing, and up—tight . . . as I finished I had worked something out with the words and the handwriting expanded. The journals were certainly more than a collection of words or ideas. With Paul I found my friend Paul through 'social' channels. He has a love for the arts and is an educator. I approached him because I More repetitions of concerns were pointed out...similar perceptions thought he was very per- from a variety of people. ceptive about people even though he had not shared many of those perceptions he had about me. He decided that he would like to begin our series of talks with a list of questions he had come up with. Paul: Judy: Paul: (A poem from Paul is Appendix C.) "What are most important to you, people or places?" "People, places are only where we are, where we do things. That even applies to Paris, which you know I think of as heaven . . . but it is only symbolic of what we did there, and the happiness I thought we would find together." "Which produces growth--happiness or unhappiness?" a (i I III.[.lllIulIl I. I'll AI I III! III- III Judy: Paul: Judy: Paul: Judy: Paul: Judy: Paul: Judy: Paul: Judy: 56 "There are too many variables at work . . . I can't answer that one way or the other. I think that all is bitter/sweet. It seems that in the long run, all experiences I have had that produced growth had both things working." "Do you really love David?" "Yes." "Why do you want to be with him when all he causes is pain?" "That is not all he gives me . . . during the good times I get much more. I get affection, love, intellectual companionship-—stimulation. I am working for the time when he is happier and can give those things more often than he does now." "Do you need him to live?" "No, but you're right to ask, once I thought I did, but during the separation I learned that that isn't so. Now it is O.K. if he goes again. I won't like it, but he probably will. In the meantime I'll be here." "Right, I don't think you NEED him, but you sure WANT him. Why is that? Do you want to be hurt?" "No, I don't . . . but something says maybe it's worth it. Perhaps that means I'll accept some pain for certain reasons. Maybe there is more to it than that." "You don't paint anymore, why?" "I don't know, but I do work on crafts . . . on the side I think a lot about art, the process. A lot of work floats in my head. It is true that since we have been back together I haven't taken the time . . . maybe all the energy goes elsewhere now. David doesn't support my work, that is for sure, he resents my unavailability when I am too involved. I can work to the exclusion of all else, when I am in it." 57 Through these questions and the fuller discussion that I had with Paul, I realized that he was much more sympathetic toward me than toward David. I asked him about that. Paul: "That's true. I see too many hurtful things happening. I am very glad you are stronger than you were five years ago." Since so much has been said in reference to my marriage with David, I have to insert a bit here about that relationship. It is very likely that if I had restricted this study to only the period of time that I have known David, it would have shown enough process and change to me. I am sure that David is the most significant person in my life. Our relationship helped me, at times forced me, to face myself and become more aware of myself. We did not grow "together," obviously, for we are apart now. However, I did grow whilg we were together. I learned much about myself, about others, about caring relationships. We affected each other deeply. The depth and range of feeling that was evoked helped me feel, as in my poem: . . . Core Constant Sounding cycles spiral Washing crystal Striking granite. I hear. I see. I feel my tide. 58 The "striking of granite" perhaps symbolizes the finding of my limits . . . my core. I could not always wait and hope that my needs would be answered. There came that time when my needs had to be asserted. The response from David was rejection. Eventually I had to let go of a dream and face my own reality . . . and grab it. 'Saving myself' was a terrible chore. I had to fight some responsiveness, which often built to become responsibility, for David. It has taken a long time to begin to feel the rightness of our not being together. Paul was right, there were too many hurtful things going on, it had to be stopped since it couldn't be changed. With Students I have not used student input as directly as I have used other methods, but I watched for and tried to 'save' as many incidents that gave me new insights, as possible. I worked with students in Openness to situations/experiences in order to gain insights that are Such a way that personal important. A direct request for assistance from others is not feedback was very often necessary, but a deliberate lookhuyis. basic to our work. In human relations workshops, small group activities in classes, and as a coordinator of some student activities in my work at the Center for Urban Affairs, I had to be willing to hear and to see. I was able to pick up a great deal. 59 Students taught me that I could be honest I didn't have to play the 'role' of teacher-authority in order to have their respect and care, and help them get something good from the educational experience. One example of being honest--I entered class one day, at the high school, and spoke to the group, "I have a terrific headache, you are all in the middle of projects, know what you're doing, so work . . . don't bug me for supplies, they are where they always are . . . so do me a favor and help yourselves as much as possible today and let me sit quietly for a while." They did just that, and expressed concern. (Another teacher overheard this statement of mine, and thought I was terrible, saying "Teachers don't DO such things." The heck they don't.) The more I dared to be honest about myself, my feelings, my good and bad moods . . . the more they were honest and supported me in turn, as I supported them. Young people want you to know who you are. They push to check it out. They begin to trust when you say "I don't know, let me think," and they test you about your beliefs. They are very perceptive. I have learned a great deal from them. They helped me see the difference between support, protection, direction and when to give and when to take. They got my 'head together' and into the politics of living in this country. I'm a very late bloomer and I need all the help I can get. 60 Professional Helpers The first two people--"strangers," professionals, that I ever talked to about my personal problems were marriage counselors, Using a professional for a reason like ’saving a marriage' sets up psychologists with a blocks to understanding. Simple support is not enough, either. community mental health Real insight comes from con— fronting self. Professional clinic. The reason for helpers can aid in that self— confrontation. going to the clinic was the close end of my marriage with David. I convinced David that it might be possible to mend things with the help of a counselor. We went to theeclinic and met Keith. David attended two or three meetings with him and then refused to go further. I asked Keith to let me come alone. He agreed. Some Things from the Diaries.-- Keith: You ought to look at what a capable, intelligent woman is doing with such a needful man. What are you getting? Why are you trying to save it? Why are you willing to change so much? [David left the marriage at this time.] Keith left the clinic and I was transferred to Ward after two months. I saw Ward for a few months, bi—monthly, then occasionally for almost 10 months. Ward: Why is it you only hear what David says about you? Don't you see what you have accomplished, how you give to people, doesn't that make you feel good? Look at what you are doing (gallery, school, teaching). 61 I did not really hear what they said to me. Six years later I heard it with Mariam, the psychologist I chose to work with me on the dissertation needs. Ward was too supportive, it got to the point that I knew he was not helping me to new insights, only shoring me up. After countless separations and one that was two years in length, David and I tried again. About a year after that I began on my dissertation work and tried to find a female counselor/psychologist. I asked around and friends recom- mended Mariam. I deliberately sought out a woman, for two men hadn't helped me much, and I felt a woman might have more ways to relate to my search. (I had also been learn- ing more about male domination of the professions and was looking at that, too.) When I first went to Mariam I told her what I was there for, no big crisis at the moment, but a sincere need to look at myself and find out how I grow, where my motivations come from, and some understanding into my process. She was responsive when I suggested we try each other out before I committed myself to regular visits. As it worked out she was a phenomenal experience. I came at a good time for me to 'hear,' I was ready to hear more, and she was perfect for the job at hand. She was aggressive and would not let me off the hook when I wanted to use intellect instead of feeling to respond to 62 questions and interaction with her. She helped me see what a tool the visualizing that I am able to do, is. She not only supported my search, she prodded me into going further than I might have otherwise. A Look at the Process with Mariam* I WON'T TAKE YOU ON UNLESS YOU LESSEN YOUR LOAD. YOU COULDN'T DELVE INTO YOURSELF WITHOUT CRACKING UP IF PRESSURES REMAIN THE SAME. I proceeded to plan for a beginning with her three weeks later. The time in between would see the end of a couple of projects and courses. I WANT YOU TO THINK ABOUT FEELING DIFFERENCE BETWEEN: RESPONSE - RESPONSIVENESS AND RESPONSIBILITY - RESPONSIBLE I thought and felt, there was a difference. It could be felt. Response, responsiveness—softer, warmer accepting of others Responsible, responsibility-harder feeling, like pulling on strengthing up, could lead to helpless feel and frustration . . . then anger! YOU MOVE SO QUICKLY, EASILY GET AHOLD OF THINGS I THROW OUT, I WILL SPEND TIME JUST TRYING TO SLOW YOU DOWN. To get me to feel more? YES, AND I PRESCRIBE DEEP BREATHING TO LESSEN TENSION, SLOW YOURSELF DOWN. * Capitals: her words; lower case: mine. 63 I tried the deep breathing, and it worked in a limited way, but the concept of slowing myself down worked in other ways . . . seeing myself SLOW was something I could get into without the deep breathing. I continued to do it. IF I ADDED UP YOUR "EQUATION" THERE WOULD BE A PIECE OF DAVID IN IT. IF I ADDED HIS UP THERE WOULD BE A BIGGER PIECE OF YOU THERE. IT IS A SIAMESE RELATIONSHIP, YOU ARE WORKING ON SEVERING THAT BUT IT IS HURTFUL, WORK ON IT, BUT USE CAUTION. The visual of that statement made it seem very true, and that I was coming into my own in the relationship, was something I was working on. I felt no great crisis in the offing, but I was trying to be more individual in the experience with David. Things were not good, I was trying to handle it by seeing myself. USE FEELING WORDS AND DESCRIBE HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT LAST NIGHT'S TALK WITH DAVID. [The talk had been about Wittgenstein, I didn't agree with some of David's analysis of his work, somethings I did . . . I found it a good conversation and stimulating. Some time after the talk, David came from the study and said to me, "Judith, why do you pick my brains and not even acknowledge it?" I had seen it as an even exchange, didn't know thanks were necessary and felt angry because of his accusation--picking his brains indeed!) Trying to put the feelings into words didn't happen . . . I just used words like disappointed, frustrated, angry. 64 I said I could 'see' things better than phrase them. ALL RIGHT, TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE WHEN YOU FEEL WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW. (I relaxed and visualized, I cannot explain the experience, but it works . . . for checking myself out . . .) I am walking in a quiet place, a valley, between steep walls . . . a grey blue day, but color all around me in the walls of the valley. I was plodding, slowly walking and I was ahead of me. Legs, mostly walking, head and shoulders were ahead. CALL YOURSELF . . . I call, I turn part way toward me, the place has a pleasant feeling, but I am lethargic. ALL RIGHT, TRADE CHAIRS WITH ME I'M GOING TO BE ONE PART OF YOU, YOU BE THE OTHER we traded chairs, she glared at me . . . and waited . (I acted the part of 'my legs,‘ she 'my head.') Why aren't you back here with me? DON'T ASK STUPID QUESTIONS, THAT'S JUST WHAT I DO. Well, I don't like it. YOU ONLY GIVE ME TROUBLE, I DON'T NEED YOU. I'm tired, wait. I DON'T WANT TO WAIT, I'M MOVING ON She asked me to switch chairs again and switch roles . . (Now she acted 'my legs,' me 'my head.') 65 YOU ONLY USE ME, ONLY ALLOW ME WITH YOU WHEN YOU WANT IT I do want you, get up here. NO, YOU DON'T. I WANT MY OWN EXPERIENCE NOT YOUR CHOICES . . . I'M YOUR LIFE AND YOU DON'T KNOW IT. and I cried, my head so often ahead of the rest of me O O 0 YOU BEHAVE AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A BLOCK IN THE FRONT OF YOU, BETWEEN HEAD AND CHEST, BUT YOU HAVE A LITTLE ELEVATOR THAT RUNS UP AND DOWN YOUR SPINE . . . REACHING FOR THE FEELINGS WHEN YOU WANT THEM. TASK IS TO KEEP THEM TOGETHER! I worked on that continually . . . keeping myself in full focus. Other Sessions.-- THERE ARE TWO CONSTELLATIONS THAT MIGHT RELATE TO DAVID AND YOU . . . ONE, YOU COULD BE OPERATING OUT OF GUILT-- THE OTHER, DAVID-COULD BE OPERATING OUT OF SHAME. GUILT REQUIRES CONTROLLED SELF, SENSE OF RIGHT/WRONG SHAME-NEVER RIGHT, ALWAYS WRONG, NO WAY OUT OF TRAP. As I look again attjnguilt thing, it has got to be in my early childhood . . . needing to make up for acquired guilt of taking from my brothers and sister. It is a long way from being resolved, but since I know it is there, I can look at it squarely . . . and am on my way to using it, rather than it using me. If it works in 66 our relationship it is because I see David needing so much, and maybe I can help . . . but then it works to my detrement because I can Repeated analysis of friends and others forces author to see the begin to feel responsible parts that are hard to look at. - for his hurting . . . which is NOT so! I start severing the Siamese relation- ship when I see that. (I feel 'at home' carrying some- body's hurt, someone's burden. Trying to ease it. That can be good, if not diminishing . . . it is not that being needed is bad, but that being needed in order to punish yourself is wrong. I don't need to pay for being what I am, I am what I am. Period.) IT SEEMS TO ME THAT YOU HAVE SPENT A LOT OF TIME NOT CHANGING DAVID BUT CHANGING YOURSELF TO FIT HIM AND TRYING TO MAKE ROOM FOR HIM IN YOUR ENVIRONMENT. It crops up again, what I do to myself in name of . . . whatever. The results of my time with Mariam are always paying off, her reminders to stay with myself . . . my total self are with me now. The questions raised by working with Mariam received many answers, some only in part. Other responses were more questions . . . How close does the physical relate to the The right person, at the right time...question and puzzles and split, between intel- mysteries are still being worked on as a result of this relation- lectual and emotional ship. forces in me, or does 67 the split relate to the physical? It is a real tangle, but here are some elements I look at: Childhood: Development of 'head' over body disuse of legs, confined to bed only to use eyes, ears, thinking, talking. Adolescence: Out of bed, but restricted activity continued support for other activities. Young Adult— Developed headaches, which Adult: worsened and developed into migraine type about age of 30 Last Two Years: Shoulders tense, neck tense, one shoulder (the right) so painful and achey that I could not sleep on that side, for example. Today: Now headaches fewer, less intense when they do come--neck, shoulders eased. Seeing forces of me, rather than parts of me, integrated the feelings. Frustration lessened. Mariam's drawing of where I was: (She asked.me to clarify . . . I felt the one me was standing on the pelvic bones, reaching up to the other me, reaching down . . . but separation still there between emotional and intel- lectual forces.) 68 At the end of the period I was with her (three months total, and not every week), I drew the two me's touching . . but not side by side. She said, "No reason to be side by side, head can be in charge, if you don't forget the full you." I don't forget the pulling up, keeping in touch. CHAPTER V ART: ANOTHER KNOWING (OTHER AVENUES TO AWARENESS) There lies, perhaps, the main mystery of the world: the impossible abyss which separates the two sides-- the side where the Self lives, and opposite, the side where the Other extends. Yet man has dis- covered the means by which the two sides may merge together in a most subtle way, and this is in the work of art: for he projects and inserts into it the very substance of his inner life which thus becomes inscribed in space as both image and object . . . perceptible to others.1 René Huyghe from the Introduction to Art and the Creative Consciousness by Graham Collier The objectivication of feeling (in words, paint, clay, yarn or . . .) is what art offers. It is another way A relationship to another is one possibility through a 'work of art.’ A painting is a reaching out toward others, an affirmation of human experience. The 'aesthetic experience' of appre- hending a work is not easy to come by, it requires studied discipline, as does the produc- tion of a work. The two acts producing/appreciating form is a line of communication between self and others. It offers a new kind of knowing. of knowing. The finished work itself, in isolation, is a symbol of experience. It sits and waits for apprehension, understand- ing by another--the artist has finished with it-—it is symbol for her working out of a puzzle, René Huyghe, Introduction, p. xi, in Graham Collier, Art and the Creative Consciousness (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1973). 70 playing with "demons." It is the evidence of a person attempting to form ". . . personal meaning out of what was previously a merely threatening personal chaos.2 A problem, puzzle, mystery is confronted . . . the artist takes whatever is at her disposal, or is her bent, and proceeds to wrestle with it—-pull it into understanding. The work can be viewed then as evidence of that struggle. The viewing, appreciating of a work of art requires 'real apprehending' to be valuable. One can stroll through a gallery as simply as one can flip through a picture book . . . or one can be involved. Involvement calls for the response that is knowledge seeking. "Guernica," by Picasso can be apprehended much as a wall of grey patterned wallpaper or the viewer can release herself into the forces that eminate from that wall. The choice is the viewer's, just as the choice for every human being is to 'deal or not deal‘ with the forces that confront her. Painting, writing may not be the thing for some-- but the fact that the author responds most to those experiences/forms should Experiencing of art forms is a similar process even though the not deter the reader from object may vary from painting to film or weaving. The author uses seeing the applicability painting and writing as her examples, but the process is of the process to many generalizable to a variety of experiences. The process and the object-avenues of knowing. mystery is the important message. We speak here of a process 2Rollo May, Love and Will (New York: W. W. Norton and Co., Inc.), p. 167. 71 of knowing, the heightening of awareness, the expanding of inner resources--not the value of a particular art form. The involvement in production of a work of art is based on investigation, puzzling out, dipping into experience, sorting out, making decisions, being self- critical, evaluating and re-evaluating response and projection. One 'looses' self in the relating to inner- self. The everyday world drops away, face-to-face with the inner demons, questions, the core of being is touched. "Coming up" from the depths one feels visceral reaction, tension, excitement and the focus vacillates between inner recess and object produced. The critical eye responds to object, the middle-ground experiencing notes the intel- lectual/physical response to the emotional product. The process vibrates the entire person. . . . this refers more broadly to the creative experience as a whole. And to that curious and troublesome aspect of the creative moment, be it in art or thought or ethics or--as in Jacob's case--religion: that aspect of the creative experience which pulls all of the man's self into it, calls forth an effort and level of conscious- ness which he did not know he could put forth, and leaves him crippled. The individual completes the creative work vastly relieved and more a person than before--but also maimed. We often hear the statement after a harrowing task which took years, "I'll never be the same again." It is the hurt after the struggle, the imminence of a neurotic or schizophrenic break, though the person may simultaneously be more a person after the wrestling. Van Gogh was maimed; Nietzche was maimed; Kierkegaard was maimed. It is the danger of the razor-blade edge of heightened consciousness 72 on which the creative person lives. No man shall see God and live; but Jacob did see God-- and had to--and, though he lived, he was maimed. This is the paradox of consciousness. How much self-awareness can a man bear? Does not creativity take one to the frontiers of con- sciousness and push one beyond them? Does not this require an effort and courage beyond human capacities?; but doesn't it also push back the frontiers of consciousness so that those who follow, like the explorers in early America, may erect cities and live there? This is the mystery. The clearest explanation seems to be that in the creative act, the individual moves farther away from the innocence of the child, or from the virginal state of Adam and Eve. The gap between the "essential" and the "existential" now becomes greater. The wisdom of Thomas Wolfe's title, You Can't Go Home Again, is written more deeply in his (the creative man's) being. In the heightened consciousness which is rmcessary for the fully creative act--as in the case of Blake, Neitzsche, Kierkegaard, Ibsen, Tillich, and the few other men who have challenged the position of God--schizophrenia and the creative act go hand in hand. And the individual may move back and forth from one to the other. One can see the whole story in the eyes of the person who has "struggled with God and with man and prevailed." Assertion and dedication are necessary even to go to that frontier, and although a genuine self-realization may be achieved, he is also maimed in the process. What does Rollo May mean by "maimed," I think he uses that word to say 'hurt.‘ Whether we confront the "daimon" within ourselves-~the forces of inner life-—or not,we will hurt. A Dangers of playing with demons, stretching limits—~price one must denial of sensibilities pay fer broadening ability to sense and feel--the highs are hurts us by dulling our higher, the lows are lower-~BUT THE ABILITY TO HANDLE THEM IS existence, a heightening IMPROVED. and use of sensibilities 31bid., pp. 171—172. 73 spreads more surface on which to receive stimuli . . . potential hurt. If I turn away too much I am where I started. If I don't turn away enough I have the possi— bility of going too far and into a state of constant reverberation. The maiming is the naming-~acknowledgement-- of the propensity to be controlled by the 'demon' within me rather than my total integrated self controlling all 'parts' of me. The artist is an environment maker—-just as the educator is. She handles her inner and outer environment and creates a new environment to be involved in. It is a kind of madness. The struggle to control all facets of her environ- ment is the puzzle—solving process. It is a constant wrenching of propensity to propensity--an aware process of integration-—creating meaning from the chaos of warring needs and demands. It is a way to handle being and becoming which exacts its toll by making her more vulnerable. It is the 'fine and sharp edge' of living fully. In the viewing of a completed work the viewer has the opportunity to approach her edges of living, too. I momentarily give up 'reality' to plunge into image and feeling, responding as totally as possible. I abandon the real and submit to the force of the pre- sented. I dare to release my propensity to 'leave my 74 body' and experience without judgment. The result is a 'natural high' that everyday movements don't allow me. Then, to appreciate the totality of the work I must play with my abilities and create a "psychical distance"4 in order to apprehend the work as a whole. The form, the artist's experience of Fine edge between too much and too little involvement in the work of process, become visable. art parallels the same in reference to other facets of living. Too much distance and I am alien to the process, too little distance and I am caught in the forces without will of my own . . . no identity of my own . . . no way to exercise my being. This process of artistic appre- ciation parallels living--if I become too uninvolved in others, I am alienated and I have alienated others. I am not authentic as a person. Too much involvement negates my authenticity--I become a mere echo chamber, not a 'willer.‘ The precarious balance must be achieved between those extremes-~which involves using both extremes in order to experience the balance. The efforts at the understanding and experiencing of this process produces 'high' of self definition. The result of that conscious involvement with inner/outer forces makes me more susceptible to stimuli lEdward Bullough, "'Psychical Distance' as a Factor in Art and an Esthetic Principle," A Modern Book of Esthetics, edited by Melvin Rader (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962), p. 394. 75 as I grow. Reading a novel becomes more important because now I experience form as well as content. I do not only read to find Aesthetic experiencing in a variety of 'structured' and 'discovered' parallel experience with instances. Having expanded aware- ness allows more discovery. The characters--a message--a 'everyday' becomes real in a heightened way. philosophical idea--I read and experience what the author has had as his experience in creation. Long acquaintance with a particular author gives énmther dimension of the experiencing of content. I begin to 'feel' the rise and fall of his intensities, the structure failing and being rescued--I see his method as well as his problem. I am able to relate then to a process of mystery-solving and_give myself support for my own mystery solving. I get something--a force is alive. Being open (this is an overworked and badly mis- used term . . . here, I do not mean the orgasmic, spouting definition, as it is all too often translated . . . I mean the willingness to experience) allows one to see, touch, feel, much more. The arts offer a deliberate approach toward expanding experience that sets me up for many discoveries. I must learn to use discoveries, take the time. When I awake and raise the blind on my window I can glance attfimanewly blossomed tree and rush to the kitchen to start breakfast. I could also stand at that 76 window, perhaps for only 30 seconds, but stand and engulf the scene . . . loose outward self and meet inner self- response . . . grasping beauty. A sense of wonder expands inner life. Everyday things can take on new meaning. Each episode is new as it reawakens the ability to go beyond the practiCal self. I remember putting the children on a plane last year, then going to the open air viewing area to wait for their plane to leave. I watched three big planes take off, still waiting for theirs to leave, and realized all of a sudden (with a start!) that I was smiling (all by myself at the rail) and feeling expanded. I backed off further from the feeling and asked what I was responding to and my answer was: The miracle of a big, clumsy, metal thing teetering on slender legs and tiny wheels, rolling around pre- cariously and awkwardly, finally being able to lift, then lifting. Each time it was a miracle. I somehow smilingly acknowledged the feeling and identified with it. How good that sort of expansion is . . . and how good to have been able to respond. Sometimes, I am 'called' upon to physically respond to a moment, outwardly show something. This often is possible but often impos- Action sometimes seems to be called for--physical interaction with sible. I have to decide object or situation. we cannot always act on feeling and should when the whole of me can not--for priorities in living have to be decided and acted on. be involved. One day I 77 discovered, as I tore into the driveway (already half an hour late for supper) that my Japanese cherry tree had started loosing its blossoms. I pulled the car up and sat immobilized a moment . . . the immediate response was to roll on the blossom covered ground . . . to roll in 'pink snow' . . . but I left the car and headed for the girls. It was probably best I didn't take time--but the possibility of the roll in snow was important to sense. I was able to go beyond mere visual response and savor feelings even if I did not act on them. The world pulls me, the inner needs pull me . . . there are many balances to work for. Not too long in the involvement of a moment without pulling back to 'see' what you are feeling, not Balancing "madness" and "sanity"—- challenging understanding of limits always acting on feeling, in the task of living. Knowing needs well enough to act on them but hearing it, savoring in the most growth producing way. Resources are rejuvenated when it . . . not always allowed use and expansion. Inner life supports all else. inhibiting reaction, but daring to act, too. Introspection is good, but must be balanced with the outward push. Navel contemplation is prone to be immobilizing. I have learned that for me, good novels, poetry, music or involvement in my own art work can refresh me. Involvement challenges me and can wear me out, depending upon how deep the involvement is, but it strengthens the 78 core of forces that allow me to act in outward situations as well as inward ones. I can come back to professional and family environments with more resources to draw upon. CHAPTER VI LIFE AND LOVE AND WORK But ourselves also exist and are as frail, vulnerable as any other person we may have loved. Yet it is our selves which will remain true to us longest of all. All our weaknesses—- our vanity, greed, dishonesty, cruelty, fickle- ness--will accompany us closely to our graves. What shield is there then against our own loyal flaws? What may free us from outselves, our final enemy?--work, perhaps only work, our daily commitment to a task which will demand from us full and strenuous exercise of our strongest selves; our comprehending, foreseeing, order- creating minds, our miraculously complex physical competence.l Reynolds Price from Love and Work Reynolds Price talks of work as the guard against our enemies, just as WOrk--can be expanding or isolating. work can be the method to expand ones resources and loving of self and others or it can act as alienat- painting. Our enemies ing forces. Looking at how one's loves and work inhibit or impede growth is imperative for self understanding. The author views inside us. The most her loves and work in this chapter. Picasso has talked of are both outside us and crucial understanding is required for the inner-enemy because that leads to understanding of others. lReynolds Price, Love and Work (New York: Antheneum, 1968), p. 10. 79 80 My life is comprised of many involvements. They each conjure up the daimon of me--my weakness, the pettinesses in me, but they also draw out the bignesses in me. My inner "enemies" are manifestations of forces that are also positive. Nothing is alien, I cannot think a thought or feel a feeling that is not "there." When I am vain, dishonest, greedy, cruel or fickle it is because I am those things . . . I cannot deny those moments. I must recognize the connection of those manifestations of self to positive manifestations: pride in self, self protection, valuing quickness to act, or adaptability. Part of my process of integration must begin by an effort to place all behaviors and feelings into my self's context. (Appendix D has more of this compilation attempt.) A full life is accepting all of myself and going beyond the weakness toward fuller use of all my forces in positive growth producing ways. Yet this cannot be pushed because living by 'oughts,‘ even if the 'oughts' are good ones, is false living. I can push at edges of awareness, but I cannot authentically exist by play- acting behaviors that seem right. Real behaviors have to feel right. 81 I feel right--good--when I care about my children, our plants, or pets. Loving is always leaving yourself . . . for a moment . . . Love and caring are strong forces for the author to analyze. The but something can be felt physical, sensual pieces of being enter in...the author looks at coming back in. I touch a what she 'cares' about and the reinforcement she receives from blue spruce, it warms my caring. Altruism doesn't exist, we receive when we give...all of hand--I admire its form, us. color, and like the fact that it is alive. The prickle of its needles against my palm reminds me I am alive and we are at one in nature. I loose patience with my daughter, I have to repeat too often that she has a share of work in this household-- we exchange yells and threats-~my adrenelin flows--then after nobody "wins"--I sit in my chair and laugh at the tremendous display of the need of an adolescent to push against authority. It fits and I've been cruel. She's right to fight. (But isn't it good to not have to fight a marshmellow?) Independence comes hard. Letting go comes hard. I talk to my plants in the house and feel like a perfect nut--but they need some affection, too. They grow toward me as a result. My children laugh as I spray the plants saying "It's raining, it's raining," in a sing-song voice. They know it's affection, too. They see I care and I know modeling "good" behavior gives support for their own goodness. Others did that for me in the past. 82 I warm to the maleness of a friend, the vibes are sexual, one reason we enjoy each other is the differences that complement between male and female. The likeness we may have--caring about some of the same things, strongly-- a quick style of response and thinking--a set of percep- tions that jibe--are contrasted by the differences--male- ness, femaleness-—the sensing of mystery about each other. A special kind of love is the result. Sexual attraction between the sexes is only partly motivated by the need for removal of tension; it is mainly the need for union with the other sexual pole. In fact, erotic attraction is by no means only expressed in sexual attraction. There is masculinity and femininity in character as well as in sexual function. The masculine character can be defined as having the qualities of penetration, guidance, activity, discipline and adventurousness; the feminine character by the qualities of productive receptiveness, protection, realism, endurance, motherliness. (It must always be kept in mind that in each individual both characteristics are blended, but with the preponderance of those appertaining to "his" or "hers" sex.)2 Fromm's statement illustrates our prevailing social expectations of male and female (and can easily be labeled "chauvenist"). Femaleness--for me means some of those ordinarily accepted 'female characteristics' including wanting to be 'cared for,‘ wanting to care for, nurture others, being less active physically, liking a 'nest,’ being 'emotional.‘ But I share "masculine characteristics" for I'm a striver. My sexuality includes all of those 2Fromm, The Art of Loving, pp. 30-31. It"!!! 83 things that are sensual, too. The pleasure of touch--the need to hold, or at least lay a hand on anothers hand, the texture of fabric, the response to color. Am I "sexy" in all of this? It depends on who is looking. It depends on how I respond, how he responds . . . the vibes have to be right. Relationships that are positive growth producing ones, with males, have been hard for me to come by. Needs often seemed to be greater than mine or at least I could not admit mine were strong and did not look to fill them. Now I do know my needs and know they must be met. "A man"--is not enough. A person, male, who gives in response to my giving is what is needed. Without affirmation as something much more than "sex partner" it is nothing. I am much more than that, even though the sex-act, "love- making" is tremendously important to the expression and expanding of love. I could not establish a deep, strong 'friend- relationship' with a man until I was nearly 30 years old. What I had before was very limited, stereotypical. Sexual behaviors were more important than emotional/intellectual needs. Now I can establish good relationships, where the sex-act may or may not be part of the relationships. If it is not, it is because we each know the reasons and desires of the other. If it is, again, we have come to it 84 because of sorting out the needs. There is no hidden agenda . . . if I have my way about it! I often get caught up in needs of others. I can respond too much--denying myself in the process. A late awakening to that propensity is my salvation. I can watch my "enemy" now. In my work as a Dean of Students my primary aim is to help establish a caring, facilitating environment for the people who come to our college. I care about them, I care about the people who work with me. Very early in this new Love can become an enemy-—too much of a good thing--can place person place I found myself in off—balance position. Balance really means one 'foot' firmly in acquiring responsibility self while the other is outside self. The force of guilt may for the unhappiness of motivate a propensity to ferget self and atone by giving. What one of my colleagues, and feels right to the reader in her circumstances, may parallel in had to arm myself against process, if not content. that kind of 'love' . . . I cannot be responsible for another's unhappiness, he owns it. I can respond to his need but can only be responsible for whether or not I contribute to it, or give him support to handle it. Love becomes an enemy when it interferes with the total self defining of either the lover or the loved one. My coming to understand the difference between response and responsibility helps me check out my self in times when I am apt to forget my self in the name of someone else. 85 In my own work, as contrasted to professional work, I require a great deal of privacy. My anti—social self comes out. I fend off social demands, I reject people who want to involve me in Author notes separation of work from 'own' work, the 'professional' 'relaxation'--films, week from the 'personal.’ They are both affirming activities but readily ends in New York, dinner steal from each other. The balance between being needful and out--I crave quiet, at need answering is at stake. home/studio environments. (What my friend Ann saw as laying about in disreputable robes or jeans and sweatshirts that were past redemption was really my time for work--and I'm in my working clothes. I suppose a robe and sloppy clothes makes me feel like I did in bed years ago, when I was about 'my work'!) I resent neighbors, I really resent all people who pursue me into my sanctuary. I have to say over and over to people-~students, friends and colleagues alike--that the evenings and weekends are eiee and my children's. My children get short changed in all this because if its been a particularly draining week I am so in need of the re-fueling that they too can interfere because they need or want me. (Ruth has stomped her foot now and then and said, "All you do is read and work." At times it must look like that because at times that's Ell that I need.) I sometimes don't need anyone nor do I need to be needed! 86 My work, a painting for example, can be based on an attempt to understand the love I have for my children, an attempt to place them and Controlling needs so that needs of others are given just due is a bit this feeling in a knowing of compromising that every individ- ual practices. If we want com- way . . . I work on it to munity with others we must recog- nize the limits--the edge of each their exclusion. I paint other's personalities. Others become objects and dehumanized with them as objects in my without negotiation and understand- ing. work, having forces by virtue of color or line combined with my feeling-~but in the process treat then as 'objects' and exclude them from thought or care. The need for self—ness gets in the way of the relationship I have with them at times. To recognize the dangers of my need for isolation is also to cushion what that does to others. In my attempt to understand chaos I cannot create more. My work is at once, as Reynold Price says, the ". . . tools of defense and reconnoiter which my past, present and future demand--shields, mirrors, microscopes, telescopes."3 (See Appendix E.) Too much isolation deprives me of the love and response to others that feeds my work. Too much isolation hurts others who need from me. Too little isolation leaves me nothing to give, to either my work or others. It is a 3Price, Love and Work, p. 40. 87 struggle to become. On the other hand, it is a struggle to "let go" and BEE struggle to become, but just Ee once in a while! I have my sanctuary, my home and yard are sur- rounded by trees growing in a lopsided circle-~the only way in is through the driveway opening. I love it because I am hidden from view. People driving by don't really know this house is back here. They can't see me. I love that feeling. I want to feel able to leave one 'work' and come home to my other work--myself and the children. I get lonely for me if I don't respond to my own need to isolate myself. I know my professional work is as near perfect as possible . . . I am doing a job which affords us a liveli- hood and affords me a place to BE. I want that, too, for I need to be needed. Balance, balance, balance. Balance the me-ness with the you-ness. I am my own best friend. I am my own worst enemy. I am. ,CHAPTER VII DIRECTIONS We stand on the peak of the consciousness of the previous ages, and their wisdom is available to us. History--that selective treasure house of the past which each age bequeaths to those that follow-- has formed us in the present so that we may embrace the future. What does it matter if our insights, the new forms which play around the fringes of our minds, always lead us into virginal ground. The only way out is ahead, and our choice is whether we shall cringe from it or affirm it. For:h1every act of love and will--and in the long run they are both present in each genuine act--we mold ourselves and our world simultaneously. This is what it means to embrace the future.1 Rollo May from Love and Will The direction each of us takes will not only produce a self--it will produce the world. This unhappy society has been shaped by people. It has been shaped by many people who worked very hard to answer needs for power, expediency, profit and a certain kind of stature. We all get caught up in this stream, history has brought us here. But what of future directions? I believe the way Open to each of us for affirma— tion of self is to affirm others. A person cannot be 1May, Love and Will, p. 325. 88 89 genuinely more self knowing unless she sees herself in a community of human beings. She cannot care for self and not also care for others. Affirmation, faith in life and what it means to change and have a future is the act of self-affirmation that is needed to support that faith in life. It is cyclical, but cannot feed on selfness alone. It is true that what a person does to or with another she does to herself. We need others to show us our own boundaries, we need to know our limits to understand our directions. Each of us has a set of unique limits and possi- bilities with which to make a future-—the artist has the limitations of her medium to work with and against. Her medium includes the kind of paint and her own predisposi- tion to begin with an image. She struggles and pursues, challenges and defines, critical judgments being made throughout the process. It is through this process, so much like the process of living that she exemplifies what it is to choose, to value, to affirm and grow, to challenge and give order. We each must be involved in this process. People need people. I need to feel, to know yee are there striving, too. There are very few cave— dwellers who isolate themselves completely, although a lot of peOple feel isolated. The feeling of isolation is .l I III II 90 is only comfortable when chosen. If a person is isolated because her skills for reaching out to others are cut off or if others will not, or cannot, reach toward her-- isolation becomes alienation. Being out-of—touch with others helps in the production of a person out-of—touch with self. Living authentically is the only way to avoid alienation. Educators (really all of us) must share in the responsibility of producing environments of touching, being-in-touch . . . promoting authenticity. The future must bring environments that are more conducive for inward human growth and outward sharing. This future cannot come unless we will it. We must learn better how to recognize our own needs and then, those of others. Becoming is a conscious pursuit of feedback. A conscious pursuit of data to evaluate and to consider. The data is then accepted or rejected, and the accepted becomes part of the process for integration. Integration of all 'parts of self' leads to expanded ability to decide and act . . . a heightened vulnerability to stimuli, experience. The expanded sense of self makes contact with others more possible and more authentic. Becoming is becoming authentic . . . self actualizing is becoming authentic. Pick and choose the terms that fit your needs . . . but each person must choose--either to be unaware or aware. 91 If the choice is for awareness, the process of getting to know yourself can make the mind grow weary, it is not easy. 'Brain strain,‘ as the children would say, but it is also 'emotion strain.‘ Too extended an effort without some distance once in a while can prove to be exhausting. Simply trying The process of learning about self is simple in method...all avenues to put into words what is are open and more than enough stimuli are available. The hope to felt, is a brain strain. assist others, student or clients or family members in the search Dealing with the content can best be realized by partaking of the process while assisting. is a strain . . . some of The process has joy and hurt and frustration, as the author points it has been shoved in back out here. corners in hope that it can be forgotten, but the process won't allow it to be hidden. Dodging something just seems to make it bob-up even more often. The propensity of the organism seems to be toward health and balance, systems show up to let the self know that something is going on that needs to be looked at. I have learned this, too, about the process of learning about self-~it is affirming by its very act-- valuing begets value. One begins to 'like' the unique pattern, idiosyncrises, and strange going-ons of the mind because they appear as definers, not 'strange' at all, but belonging to the person, the self. 92 Perhaps the most important discovery (or re- discovery, as it happened to be, from time to time) is that learning about self cannot The wholeness, gestalt, as a major . discovery for the author, perhaps be done unless one is for others. ready to 'see' or 'hear' the connections. Some pieces can fall into place, while others simply can't be even acknowledged at a particular stage of the knowing. If the focus is on one aspect of one's history, it takes time before the larger picture, the patterns, come into View. It seems impossible to be 'outside,‘ looking 'inside,' from all views, all the time. Once in a while something clicks--it seems to mushroom into a series of clicks and the acknowledgment of the discovery, feeling the click, leads to new possibilities. The production of a painting, or a piece of music, is an example of that kind of 'clicking'--adding something new to the work in process calls for reaction to the gee totality--the gestalt is changed, reverberation begins anew--a new red against the green, or a flat note against a major melody sets up a reverberation calling for response. So it is with life. New awareness makes for a new totality, makes for a new awareness with which to see a new totality, and this leads to new awareness . . . 93 Learning about self leads to an appreciation of the totality of being, the organization of experience that emphasizes patterns. Gestalt psychologists hold that experience and behavior contain basic patterns and relation- ships which cannot be reduced to simpler components. Put simply, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.2 Sensing the wholeness of me, I must accept the mystery. I must keep things in perspective as much as I can, knowing that the 'blurs' or the out-of—sight cannot always be known, even if they influence the totality. Accepting change, the new awarenesses . . . seeing self and others as complex and always larger than the sum of our parts . . . accepting the mystery in each of us, promotes community. Potentiality is shared by us all. Contrary to the infinite uniqueness that each person has, there is much that is generalizable. Persons share in potential and process, if not in specific content, history. This means that community is possible . . . a flowing together of the me-ness and the you-ness because we are like each other. There are some specific things I have learned that might be found by others . . . some areas where we may touch. Since I value 'community,‘ a sense of touching 2Robert M. Goldenson, The Encyclopedia of Human Behavior: Psychology, Psychiatry, and Mental Health (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1970), p. 506. 94 among isolates . . . the role of 'trust' is very important. If I present an atmosphere of trust, I present fewer boundaries. There is more Specific findings fer the author lead to a mapping out of her room to expand in a caring directions. relationship without hitting against restrictions of my self-ness as it relates to another. Knowing myself better, I can trust to lessen those boundaries between me and you . . . because I am sure of my "inner" boundaries. Knowing my strengths and weaknesses, my good and my evil, I don't haveto be afraid of you finding them out . . . they are already known well enough to work with. They are not spectres that haunt me, they are accepted parts of me. Since I have accepted them within myself it is easier to let others into my world, MUCH harder to judge others. I will understand another's 'reasons' and boundaries. I will be able to move more slowly for I am not running from myself. Those are the directions for an emotionally/ intellectually balanced me. I need to know my limits. I have thought about them, and still work on my judg- mental attitudes where I cut people 'off' because what they believe or adhere to is so foreign to what I believe, or they infringe on my needs. I want to be more able to know a greater variety of people, and not limit myself to those with whom I agree. 95 Of course it is natural to give support to those that support you, and I do not want to minimize the importance of the super-relationships where giving and caring is deep and intense. But, I cannot lose sight of the slighter relationships, the quick ones where we meet and brush by each other. There is much to be gained from those, too. No person is unimportant. However, I will have to pick and choose when to respond to others, for too much is too much, I cannot always be open or I will be closed to myself. The balance again, is what needs to be achieved. Even with the weaknesses, balance can mean good can come from them. If‘I carry old quilts and accept them as part of me, the energy from that part of me can carry me through being responding to others' needs. Being needed is not an evil, being needed TOO much can be. Balance. If guilt makes me need to be needed, then it is good, as long as I keep it in balance. If guilt is out of balance . . . out of sync with the rest of me, then I become too pliable, too ready to change for answering another's need, and lose the rest of me in that process. If aggressiveness, the need to act and move is out of balance it makes me hurtful, mindless of others, unaware of the totality of my needs (part of which is other people) and cuts others off from me. It is self—defeating. But if aggressiveness is seen as useful to my growth, the 96 energies directed at self-knowing and definition with others . . . then aggressiveness becomes my energy for the process, my Hill in action. If the need for quiet work and thought is cut off because I let others call that need "selfishness" as evil, I deny the parts of me that give me strength and support all the rest of me. If I accept this "selfish- ness" as selfness--that part of me that is crying out for reinstatement, nourishment, then I accept the fact that I must operate as a whole and find this self-ness good. Without being "selfish" with myself and my time, I will not have the caring capacity to share with others, which is another basic need of mine. If sense of right/wrong that is part of the guilt syndrome is active in me I can use it to protect myself alone, or I can balance that to offer others protection. If my rights and wrongs are in terms of the right of human life, human goodness, and the basic humanistic philosophy that man has potential for growing and becoming . . . and that wrongs are hurt, killing, destruction of life and potential, then my values can be supported by my inner self. Values that are based on intellectual standards are not values, but poses. Values are heartfelt, soulfelt, gutfelt. .. illlwli‘li I‘l‘dII—l‘a l I .1 ‘ \ l.alllll‘ II" In 97 My directions then are to build on what I have discovered about my process and me. To balance more dynamically the forces within me and to face with more understanding the forces around me. I like a lot about myself, and I would like to know myself better. I would like to live more peacefully with the parts of me that I once tried to avoid. I don't avoid them now, but I must work at knowing them. The mystery of living will always exist and that is good. I can be at peace with it. It is a never ending search, for self-actualizing--becoming. In the January, 1972 issue of the Saturday Review, John Ciardi, in his column, answered the complaints of a reader in this way: I am the only I I am. That isn't much, to be sure, but it can still be the basis of a contract between my I-ness and yours. Yours needn't be much either, but what else have either of us to contract with--and even possibly to expand to? May you wear yours in good health. But keep your big, muddy, indignant, exclamatory feet off mine. It's all I've got, and I need it. Personally. It's all I've got——and its plenty to try to handle. This work has been one way to handle it--there are many more ways to discover. I can't know all of myself, I suspect, so I must be content with the process of balancing between the mystery of myself, and the knowing of myself. That process holds my share of the future, is my direction. AFTERWARD This dissertation has been a process in itself, and a piece of the author's life-long process. It has been shared in the hope that others may find the same sort of endeavor to be helpful to them. I believe the methods illustrated here can be used in a non-threatening way. They include both methods that can be done very privately and some that require others' involvement. The others can be asked in" to the process when one is ready and willing to risk being known. The control over my own life-~deciding when to risk and when I cannot risk-—is something I cherish and hope for, for others. This means that one tackles a piece of the process of searching for self knowledge when one is ready and when a method is felt to be comfortable. My beliefs (about learning/growing, the caring of others, the "nature of man" and about each person's responsibility to define self) have been tested, in part here, and I find them solid. I believe the dissertation exhibits that. Too, I have tried to show the importance of the "coming together" of individuals. The fact that a person cannot know self without the feedback of others, cannot 98 99 exercise the potential for giving and caring in absence of others, has been stated. I believe we each need to find, contact, and know self 329 others in order to be able to chose and develop the environment most conducive to self-growth. I also have tried to show the particular importance of this sort of endeavor to the "helpers" of this world—— the educators, the nurturing individuals who seek to assist others. In the attempt to find ways to best aid others, an examined life has to be the best base from which to move. I examine myself. I find a process at work. I see more clearly what it is I respond to, and when I respond. This makes me more aware of my patterns of becoming. This awareness helps me to transcend my self-ness and see the patterns in others. I begin to know others better, I can accept more people, I can become a more positive part of their environments. Gathering and becoming more attuned to the data that exists both within and around me I am better prepared to risk continuing growth-producing behaviors. I can put my sources to work for my own self-defining. I can assist others, primarily by being "real" and responding, to their searches. I will walk gently, then, in the new plantings we all put down. APPENDICES 100 ill-...li‘ I! i l !. 'lllul'll ..lld.'ll||!l..1.li 4" ‘ ill-I II ll] {I II all .. {llr ...III III. I . APPENDIX A BECOMING by Anne 101 BECOMING by Anne The first time I saw Judy, I saw a beautiful, poised, graceful woman in her late twenties who was also articulate, feminine and charming. I didn't know that we were all bewitched, for this was Judy with her personality jewels on and I was mesmerized. This was at a meeting of the officers of a small art guild and Judy was the speaker. I was not an officer, but only invited by dint of being the group President's current potegé. Her plan, put forth with elegant excitement, was to form an Art Gallery for our city which would serve all the community--especially struggling amateur artists. She stated that she did not solicit funds, although they would not be unwelcome, but just our approval and support. Later I was to come to the realization that it was neither of those things, but an advance reconnoitering to win over all the small groups so that when she put her master plan into effect there would be no quibbling or rivalry. She must have entranced more than myself, as the notoriously tight-fisted group leader gave her a nice donation. 102 103 Judy, with her jewels on, is still Judy as she is, much the same as a woman all decked out to make a conquest appears much different than she does when she is first out of bed; the same person, yet different in appearance. The effect on me was momentous. Normally extremely shy, I was always the one to let someone else make the first move. For the first time in my life I actually went over and began a conversation with a total stranger. Her charisma, plus the fact that it was really an excellent idea proved an irresistable lure. So began a long, beautiful friend- ship and mutual growing. I never expected to see her again and would not have had the temerity to call on her. Much to my surprise, when she finally called together all her chosen people, I was also invited. This group was comprised of artists, those with influence, those with organizational ability and those who would work. I feel I was probably in the last category for although I painted, I was but a beginner. All those present, however, were people who Judy felt would be able to effect her idea; The Community Gallery. The board was selected that evening and Judy became, quite naturally, Director. She assigned me the job of instituting a rental gallery. When the others began to leave and I moved to do the same, she urged me to stay a while. After the others had gone and we were alone by their diminutive pool we had our first personal conversation, which was as always 104 tentative, touching lightly on home, children, her job teaching art in the high school, and finally ex-husbands. Lastly, she confided that she had no close girlfriend in Lansing, and suggested that perhaps we could get together from time to time. After that we didn't see each other except in brief passing with the work of getting the gallery plan set in motion. There were plenty of snags and plenty of work to be done. I gave some thought of the idea of being her friend as I was flattered, but again I would be the one to sit back and wait for her to come to me. Eventually I had to go to her home on different trips of gallery business and in the process we found that we had much in common besides children and home life. There was our painting, our love of books, our crafts, as well as both having an insatiable curiosity and philosophical bent. Although our relationship had not reached a stage of confidences, I feel we both sensed in the other deep emotional struggles. All I knew of her current marriage at that time was that her husband, a well-known professor at the University, was an elusive and somewhat dictatorial person. When briefly seen, he was usually polite, but vanished within minutes. And, she would make remarks that he wouldn't let her do one thing or another. I was in a rebellious stage at that time and the idea of any man not permitting me to do as I wished was out of my ken. 105 My own marriage was unsteady at the time, to say the least. My husband and I engaged in a struggle over my child by the past marriage. The first marriage was unhappy, as was Judy's, and ended traumatically, as did hers. My marriage had, however, ended in my husband's suicide and I had thus been driven to a psychiatrist. I had discussed very little of this with Judy except casual remarks as to the difficulties of her marriage in general. She either felt she could trust me or was driven to desperate ends, because I became the listener to endless, almost daily, phone calls relating her troubles with her husband, David. I suppose it was at this point when the charisma began to fade a bit-—now we were more just two sympathetic people. I had come to care for her enough that many times, hearing of David's antics made me furious. Other times, with my reading background of psychology and personal experience on the "couch," I was able to suggest different possibilities and avenues of approach. This did no good except perhaps in a supportive way, as Judy herself was so completely enmeshed in the agonizing tangle of their conflict as to be almost incoherent at times. Many of the calls consisted mainly of tears. We talked endlessly and probed and figured, but just what was happening in that marriage eluded us both. Through-out there was a nagging in the back of my mind that I had heard all about 106 what he was doing, but had no inkling of what she was doing to keep the vicious cycle going. When I asked her what her part was in all this, she always said she didn't know. She was just too far in it to see any of it objectively. Finally, we both concluded she should seek outside help. She began to go to weekly sessions with a kindly psychologist at our local Mental Health Clinic. This man concluded fairly soon that he must either treat them separately or that David should go to another doctor because they could not agree on the merest matter. He was very supportive but didn't seem to be leading her to any illuminating insights about herself. Even so, his warmth and encouragement were rain on the desert to her in her distress. In a last-ditch effort at solving their problems Judy quit her job, took her children out of school and went to France for six months with David. While she was gone I had to take over the job of director of the Art Gallery which was really more than I could handle emotionally. Always having been a loner and shy with people, to be put in a position of authority over a board of chairmen composed of fractious, irrational artists was (extremely difficult. I didn't hear much from her and now :it.was my turn to cry on her shoulder. Her few letters ‘finere sympathetic, but I felt she probably didn't understand 107 the trouble at base; nor, did I. I had the intellect and the ability to deal with the Board as individuals, indeed, even to the point of counseling them in their personal lives, but this knack of being able to see into the psyche about drove me wild when it came to the back-stabbing and continuous petty maneuverings. Her letters during that time said very little about her personal problems, but nothing had changed or improved. When they returned from Europe she gave up the director- ship of the Gallery and began work on a part-time basis in an effort to acquiesce to her husband's demand of more time and attention from her. I know she missed teaching full-time as she enjoyed teaching art and had many pet students whom she still sees occasionally. She was very big on discipline both in the classroom as well as in the students' own work. That should have been a clue to why there was so much turmoil at home. After all, its unlikely that any sweet, little, soft- spoken gentlewoman can drive a man to violent, furious physical attacks without doing something. But, neither of us recognized that under that gentle, sweet surface laid a fairly indomitable will. Shortly, Judy went back to full-time work as David refused to support her and her daughters and the situation qgradually worsened to the point where she had to leave him. 108 Her father (also an indomitable, stubborn man) bought her a large trailer in Mason where she and her daughters encamped. I cannot really say they moved in, as all three of them hated trailer living and trailer parks, and so they teetered there like gypsies in transit for nearly three years. I saw a lot of her then as I still lived in Lansing, and our friendship became close, confidential and very rewarding. We discovered endless similarities in ourselves, much like those infatuated do, and spent many long visits by phone in mutual admiration. We analyzed each other's dreams, picked away at knotty problems, solved philosophi- cal problems and sorted out thorney human relationships, as well as endlessly telling each other how great we were. That we are both absolutely wonderful people cannot be contested, but this was a real "high" and we did each other a lot of good. Some of our discoveries were happy and some very painful. We parted nearly every time, feeling somehow that much had been accomplished and much gained. The after-glow sustained us for days. During that time Judy was subject to fearsome migraine headaches and this too led to much discussion about medicine, doctors and psychological speculation. By now, I knew Judy was very attractive, but not quite beautiful. Her face is asymmetrical more than most. She got tired, depressed and listless very quickly and loved 109 to sleep late and lounge around all day in the most god- awful, crappy—looking bathrobes imaginable. This was Judy without her personality jewels--the woman who just got out of bed, and with a headache to boot. And I loved her even more as I discovered all the beauty of her soul. (I must also admit that it is intensely satisfying to look into the mirror of one's alter ego and find beauty, intelligence, warmth and love.) However, the real pain was David who would not stay out of the picture. He had been begging Judy to come back from the moment of their divorce and continued to telephone and visit and plead. She vacillated all that trailer-park period before succumbing once again to his spell. There were many things she liked about her life alone and she even had a few dates although none could compare with David. Judy liked the privacy of being mateless, the fact that she had more time to spend with her girls as they approached the difficult puberty stage, her time for painting, reading, learning, and just plain time to lounge and dream. But, she also wanted to be a wife, have a sexy man, cook him meals and keep a real home. And, David is a viril, intelligent, very artistic man in spite of being a crazy bastard. Also, by then he was promising her the moon, as he had done before, but now in more grandiose terms. The real clincher was a beautiful tri- level home in Mason which he swore was to be in her name. 110 Judy had resolved many of her old difficulties and was coping with more responsibility and heavier burdens than ever before. One major problem still un-knotted was David. She had taken a job as Education Specialist at the Urban Affairs Center that led her into all sorts of new confrontations with other races and revolutionary notions. Judy had been a fairly conservative person of middle-class morality; a housewife who worked and went to school and raised two healthy girls, a woman of special talents and a great deal of human warmth to whose romantic heart the racial plight appealed greatly. She became a flaming radical almost over-night in dress, manner and conviction. But, it was a very positive, helpful, radical lady that she became and her compassion and charm helped solve endless tough situations. My marriage had settled down long since and we moved to a farm thirty-five miles north of Lansing which made phone calls at long distance rates and visits at seventy miles distance much less frequent. I had a baby and she was back with David, in a lovely home, on the same old merry-go-round; he demanding the impossible of her and she demanding the impossible of him. And like two dogs on a bone, neither would give up. 111 Our visits continued to be rewarding and uplifting when David stayed out of our hair. Sometimes he would join us and acted fairly human, as if he finally accepted my presence on the scene with a little less irritation than that produced by a tornado in January. Strangely enough he seemed sometimes to accept me as almost human, or maybe inevitable, although I never stopped suspecting that it was just more of his maneuvering. On my part, I was surprised to find that he was much less than God-like and that we could exchange ideas and information as equals. Judy and I had both matured greatly during these years, although David had not. Indeed, it may be entirely impossible in his case, but at any rate while he stood still we had surpassed him in many areas. While my life on the farm with a new baby settled slowly into complete contentment, Judy seemed to cope effectively in every part of her life save one--that old David hassle. She began to gain insights as to why she had married badly twice and even when she related their latest difficulties, it was almost as if she too was getting tired of the same old story. Before the struggle ended a second time she entered into Transactional Analysis with a real cracker-jack of a woman who would brook no dallying or self-delusion. This therapy was very brief and to the point. Most of what Burke pointed out Judy already had discovered for herself, but had not 112 put into effect. The woman's directness and manner had the effect of galvanizing all those sleeping conclusions Judy had already come to in her mind. The last big unresolved area of the psyche iceburg was about to come forth for conquest, but not without one big last try to continue the false dream. Judy and David had a confrontation so serious that it resulted in her doing something very self-destructive. The cracked and erroded picture window to her illusion finally shattered. Now knowing what was going on in her head, I waited in anxious trepidation while she assimilated the importance of this final act. She seemed tired and defeated but was obviously mulling it over intently, and I was determined that she would assign this act not one whit less the enormity and seriousness it deserved. She never told me how she finally viewed what had happened in so many words but when once again she moved out, even though she was sad and upset she seemed to be more in control. Something ended and something began. She got an excellent job offer as Dean of Students in a new community college in the East and although she was reluctant to uproot her kids again from the townhouse they had moved into (which again "felt" temporary to me) it was an opportunity she could not refuse. I knew she would take it as soon as she told me about it, but she had 113 to dither and examine and then go see. By the time she got around to "go see," the answer was already "Yes." She found a beautiful, tree-surrounded home there-- her own home this time--and once settled into the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of her sanctuary began the process of re-evaluating, re-constructing and re-vitalizing. This review of the whole fabric of the preceding years, even back to childhood, doubtless brought tears and regrets. But it also brought peace and her face became young again, rested and refreshed. She saw David once more and it was amiable and not devastating, and that too she put behind her. When we see each other now our conversations are quiet, slow and unremarkable. The interior struggles are gone and the inner voices are quiet. We bask in our mutual accord. Its all been said and we agreed before it was said anyway. It's as if it has all come full circle. Which brings it all to this writing and this paper. Something ended and something begun. But never completed. Judy is pretty great, but not yet perfect, so she will go on becoming. APPENDIX B SPUN SUGAR by Barry 114 SPUN SUGAR A Short Story for Judy from Barry The magazine slips from Laura's lap. The cartoon which has provoked her stares back from the floor. Her heat rises. Blood rushes to her head renewing the grip of the migraine she is trying to shake. When she stops grimacing, the wrinkles remain on her brow. These lines are etched there to stay. "Goddam that man," she trembles. "It's over. I've taken the final step to get him out of my system and look at me . . . I'm still waiting for him. He hurts me, but I can't seem to make him go away." Laura had been planning to show him the cartoon when he came home. She had been anxious to hear his reaction. The humor had been so much like their own. "0 damn." Tears are brimming in Laura's eyes as she stares absently through the picture window, twisting the thick cord of hair that lies on her shoulder. Gently she draws up her legs and tucks the comforter around her. The snow is calming, peaceful, falling. New layers upon the old, soft and vulnerable above the frozen base. 115 116 An occasional car passes by on the road out front. The school bus will be along soon and the girls will be home. If the storm worsens, they may have to stay home from school in the morning. That will be fine, Laura thinks. She really ought to spend more time with them. So much has been for their own sakes. Dick had never really been much of a father to Laura's two daughters by a previous marriage. She had never expected it. They weren't his. Perhaps that was why he never considered them every time he'd rage about like a madman ordering her out of his house. Laura still hears his cries. "Get out. You and your girls can take your things and get out. I don't want to see you anymore. Out!" Customarily Laura would simply wait for these out- bursts to subside. That is, all but the last time. That time she, as usual, didn't protest or deny, but just gathered some things and got out. Dick had been floored. He didn't believe it. He actually chased her in his car, honking his horn, trying to stop her. Where the hell did she think she was going? She wasn't really leaving, was she? He hadn't meant it. Like all the other times. Not really. But she had.4 117 In time Laura rented a van to move the rest of her things out. Dick wasn't there when she came. He was off on another one of his business trips. Laura couldn't be sure of her name this time. She supposed it was another one of the girls from the office who knew just how to respond to Dick's great passion. But Laura tried not to care. Why should it seem important? She was leaving him and his lair behind. The only thing she deliberately took of his was the rose bush they had planted together a few months before. In some ways she knew this would hurt Dick. He had been so possessive about his yard. Sometimes he'd even object to the girls' playing on the lawn. But the hell with him, Laura thought while struggling to dig out the roots of the young plant. It was half hers anyway, and she didn't even bother to fill up the hole. Now several months later the bush is in the front yard of Laura's own home. If she stretches a bit on the sofa, she can make out the pruned branches poking through the crusty snow. No new leaves have grown since the transplant. None have fallen off. No one knows if it will survive the winter. Laura won't know until spring. Sissy jumps from her perch near the fire and barks officiously trotting toward the door. The grinding of gears rouses Laura. She glances out the window just in 118 time to see the school bus pulling away slowly up the slippery incline. It is snowing harder. "Oh hush now, Sissy," she orders the dog. "It's only the girls." The aging terrier twists her neck and stares wide- eyed at Laura. Then crouching on her front paws she yawns. Using her whole body Laura unfastens the jammed lock on the door and tries unsuccessfully to brush the snow from the backs of her entering daughters. "Mother, Carol Anne thinks she can have anything she wants and borrowed five dollars from her friend today and bought that skirt you told her she couldn't have." "Doesn't make any difference, does it, Mama? If I want to spend my next allowance to pay for that skirt, it's my business. It's my money and I can do what I want with it, isn't that right?" "Yeah, but she won't have the money from her next allowance two minutes and it'll all be spent and you'll end up paying for the skirt anyway." "Oh Mama, will you tell Louise to mind her own buisness. God, she's always sticking her nose into my business ." "That's enough, you two," Laura demands. "Put your things away and then come on into the living room. I've got a nice warm fire going today." 119 Still grumbling, the girls shove their coats into the packed closet and trudge down the hall to their rooms. Laura sighs and collects the coats again. The snow she brushes off is fast turning into glistening beads of water. Deliberately she rubs her forehead with a cool, moist hand. Back in the living room Laura retrieves her magazine and determines not to think about Dick anymore. Flipping through the magazine Laura looks for her place. What is it she has already read? The slap ofijmzmagazine hitting the floor convinces her she has been reading nothing at. all. On a rug near the fire, Sissy shudders involuntarily in her sleep. What a mess this place is, Laura thinks switching her attention to the room around her. She knows she casts no image as a domestic model. A pass with the vacuum, a rearranged group of furniture; these things suffice. There is no particular place for anything. Things lay here first, then there, depending on where they are left. What- ever order emerges from this is strictly dependent upon the process things undergo. Laura's vast book collection is arranged this way. In general, the psychology, philosophy, and education texts are up; the literature and popular reading, about midway; and the oversized art volumes and how-to's mixed with stacks of magazines and records are below. But a 120 selection from all these areas--things Laura is pursuing at the moment--is doubled up and tucked on the shelves at eye level, within reach. Laura's reading takes the place of her housework; in some ways, reflects it. There is no particular order or place. Too much depends on the process. Some of her books have been sipped, others devoured, though never has Laura felt the need to formalize the information she gathers. Dick never understood this. Why did she waste so much time reading if she couldn't use the information? Why did she read at all? Why didn't she watch television or something like other women? Dick had never accepted Laura's own career. Sure the augmented income was nice, but why couldn't she be a waitress. Dick had resented Laura's status. He was probably threatened by it. She'd even spoken once or twice about working on her Ph.D. Under Laura's bookshelves bulge the things of her former nestings. Yarn skeins and cloth swatches, ragdolls, puppets, and quilts, needlepoints and embroideries, and even a few tiny articles of crocheted and knitted clothing salvaged somehow from her daughters' passing youths. In the corner a bulky hassock holds the window curtains askew with an empty pin box lying open on the top. The contents are scattered sparkling all over the floor near a gangly old philodendron growing temperamentally up an unsteady bark trellis. Only three waxy leaves linger 121 at the tip of the plant. The stem has grown thick and woody, perhaps in response to the sudden relocation. "How's your head feel, mother?" Louise trounces on the hassock and pulls at the stuffing in the rip. Laura acknowledges her elder daughter dreamily. "Much better, thanks." Her voice grows firmer, but there is no hint of severity. "Have you gotten around to that room of yours, young lady? It's a mess." Louise appears insulted. "Mother, it doesn't take me two minutes to pick up my things. You ought to get after Carol Anne. That girl was almost late for school again this morning running around here screaming I'd stolen that stupid red belt of hers when it was under her bed all the time. Have you ever looked under her bed? Every- thing's under that bed. Really, mother, and then you tell me . . . ." "All right, Louise." Laura raises her hand to dismiss the subject. It's not that important. She is massaging her forehead with her other hand. Louise casts a furtive glance at her mother and then stares at the bright pins on the floor mumbling something about what a slob her younger sister is. Half- heartedly she gathers the pins and puts the box aside. Then she leaves the hassock and sinks into the chair nearest her mother. They are both facing the fire. 122 "Do you think you'll feel well enough to go into work tomorrow?" Louise inquires timidly. Laura readjusts her comforter around her. The tips of her furry slippers still poke from underneath. "Yes, I think so. That is, if we're not all snowed in. Then you won't have to go to school and I won't have to go to work. By the way, how's school going for you lately? Have you made any more new friends?" Louise shrugs. "I'm still hanging around with Jan. She's the nicest girl I've met so far." Suddenly Louise jumps up and throws another log on the dimming fire. Then dropping back into her chair she draws up her knees holding them with her arms. A few more moments and she squeezes and lets go. "Mother," she says musically, pausing for a response. Laura inclines her head toward her daughter to show she's listening. "Mother," Louise continues softly now. "A few girls at school have been reading this new poet. I've read some of his stuff and I like the way he puts things." Laura has sensed the change in her daughter's tone. "What does he write like?" she asks. Louise does not stir. She speaks and stares at the leaping flames. "Well, he doesn't write about love and all that stuff. I mean, he's not romantic or anything like that. 123 He just writes about things . . . ordinary things . . but he makes them special . . . almost magical, but not really, because they're still real. I mean he talks about things, but they're changed or special somehow like . . . ." Louise is pawing the arm of her chair. "Like spun sugar?" Laura offers. "Well . . . Yes, mother, in a way, that's something like it. Spun sugar. What made you think of that?" Louise looks toward her mother. "Oh, just took a guess," Laura smiles. It is a sad smile. The pressure in her head shows through the gaze which has captured Louise's eyes. Louise looks away. "Well anyway, mother, I can't borrow the book from Jan because her mother won't let her have it in the first place. Her mother says she doesn't want Jan wasting money on foolish things like poetry and stuff. Isn't that stupid? And Jan loves to read poetry too and if I had the book I could lend it to her and then we could both read it and I thought if you're going into work tomorrow maybe you could stop by the bookstore and pick it up for me." Louise pauses compressing her lips tightly. Crackling flames are casting shadows of light on her fixed expression. "I think I can do that," Laura responds. Just leave the poet's name and the title of the book near my briefcase." 124 Louise looks relieved, but does not turn from the fire. Laura tries to draw out more information about school, but her daughter's replies grow short and impatient. "No . . . yeah . . .s'okay . . . ." Finally Louise leaps from the arm chair and blurts, "Mother, if you don't need anything, I'll go get started on my homework. And listen, don't worry about dinner. I'll take care of that." A few hours later Laura realizes she has been dozing when Louise calls her. Dinner is quiet in spite of Carol Anne's repeated criticism of the dry, overdone meatloaf. "My God, even ketchup doesn't help." There is a childish playfulness in Carol Anne's voice. It is out of character with her rapidly develOping body. Laura notices this. "My God, there's grit in the salad. You wash this lettuce, Louise?" Louise's eyes are fixed on the television set visible from the dining room table. The news makes no sense to her. She is not listening, but she does not pay her sister any mind. Laura has been picking at her food. It is not the meat loaf nor the salad. She is not hungry. Forcing 125 herself to swallow a forkful, she is reminded of the subject which has come up earlier. "Carol Anne, I want you to take that skirt back tomorrow and return the five dollars you borrowed." The impish expression on Carol Anne's face changes to one of coquettish surprise. "Why, Mama?" she sings. "I'm going to pay for it out of my own allowance and it's just the color I need for that new blouse Daddy sent me for my birthday." The remark cuts Laura. Carol Anne knows this. Recently she has been threatening to leave Laura and live with her father. "Daddy," Laura's first husband, doesn't pay attention to Carol Anne the way Laura does. Bedtimes, allowances, and the intake of sweets are of no concern to him. To a young teenager that's important. The stiffening is barely noticeable. "Carol Anne, I'm sure the skirt goes beautifully with the blouse. Your taste is not in question. However, you know that you have already spent your allowance four weeks in advance. The skirt has got to go back." "Awe, Mama, please. I'll work for it. You can give me a few extra jobs each week and . . . " Carol Anne pauses. She knows her mother's expression well. When Laura stares and shakes her head slowly, the discussion is over. Why press it? Besides the timing is wrong. Louise 126 is definitely taking her mother's side even though she's not talking. And Laura obviously doesn't feel well. "Mama,' Carol Anne says with a conciliatory air. "Why don't you go sit down near the fire and relax. I'll clean up in the kitchen." Louise breaks in at last. "You're darn right you will. You have to clean up the kitchen so stop acting like you're doing anyone any favors." "Sshhh," Laura reaches for Louise's hand hoping to ward off the confrontation. Louise pulls her hand away before Laura can crasp it. Then she is gone from the table. Carol Anne interprets this as support for her side. "Thank you, Mother," she says as if she'd been interrupted. "Now you go on ahead. I'll come in later and we can talk some more about my skirt." Laura has lit a cigarette.‘ Exhaling the smoke, she responds firmly, "Young lady, I think we won't talk about the skirt anymore. The subject is closed. You have to take it back tomorrow . . . no excuses." Laura knows that Carol Anne will undoubtedly "forget" to return the skirt, or just downright refuse. Then Laura will have to do it herself if she decides doing so will make any difference. But for now, the affair is settled—-or will be as soon as Carol Anne stops 127 complaining above the deafening racket of banging pots and pans. In time the house falls silent again. Outdoors three squares of light are cast on the new fallen snow from the windows of three separate rooms. At her desk Laura works under the harsh light of a goose neck lamp. Scraps of paper filled with doodles and sketches are scattered all around. Laura is trying to order her thoughts for a report she must make at tomorrow's committee meeting. Nothing is coming. Her outline is an intricate pattern of cross—hatched designs. A face, a shape, an object occasionally emerges. Laura is painfully aware of how little time she has spent drawing and painting lately. Her materials are still on the shelf and she frequently promises herself to use them. The girls use them for school projects. Laura used them to design some school brochures. But that is not her own private work. It reminds her too much of the job she took once before she was married as a commercial artist. She had hated it. It had been so restricting, so confining. Her job as a school personnel administrator is sometimes restricting and confining too. Laura tries not to feel that way. She may not be using the tools of her art, but she does use her own mind as a canvas upon which she works every medium her senses can consume. These she twists and shapes, searching and discovering. 128 The freshness of Laura's ideas attract people to her despite the irony of two unsuccessful marriages. Laura loves words. She experiments and plays with them, though never too fussy about their formality. She is more concerned with her meanings, the moods, the expres- sions she conveys. People sense this and relax that much sooner with Laura. They never have to worry about reading into what she writes, or interpreting what she says. It is always right there in front of them, sometimes embarrassingly so, with an extraordinary amount of honesty. Yet, no matter how creative her job, Laura cannot deny her own private work is lacking. It is possible that she allows herself little time for it by giving so much of herself to her job. She isn't sure. But she does not deny the restless twitching of her hands from time to time. These fuzzing threads of thought are interrupted when Laura hears the fracas at the other end of the house. The house has been still. The argument must have begun quietly enough. It is only when someone shrieks "Mother" that Laura sets down her marker and heads toward the girls' rooms. Through the door of Carol Anne's room Laura finds the two girls sprawled across the bed wrestling furiously, 129 completely combined. One grunts for the other to stop. The other wails her arm is breaking. "Stop it now, you two. That's enough." Laura reaches out in an effort to grab a foot, a hand. "That's enough, I said. Get up, both of you." Carol Anne pulls away crying, "Mama, you tell Louise to stay out of my room and stop bugging me and mind her own business." Her face is heated and flushed. "It is my business if it concerns me, Mother," Louise breathes heavily. She is standing between her mother and her sister. "She was supposed to do the dishes and I just went in there and found all the pans stacked in the skin still dirty." "So what? Mama. I was lettin' 'em soak. She burned the meat loaf so bad I can't get it off . . . ." "Why you little brat . . . ." Laura tries to speak, but her voice is drowned by angry screaming. Momentarily there is a lull. Both girls look to Laura for support. ". . . Isn't that right, Mama? . . ." ". . . Shouldn't she, Mother? . . ." Laura pauses, then speaks softly. Her fists are clenched. "I did not come in here to referee a ridiculous arxgument. Young lady, you march straight into that kiinchen and scrub those pans now, and you, young lady . . . 130 There is a hesitation. "You can forget about any poetry books until you learn to control your temper." Indignation crosses Louise's face. "Oh sure. She can just go out and buy herself a skirt any old time with money she doesn't even have. I ask the way I'm supposed to, but I get punished." "Louise, I'll handle Carol Anne," Laura retorts. "She's returning that skirt tomorrow." Louise is standing awkwardly in her sixteenth year. She glances first at her smirking sister, then at her mother. Again she catches her mother's painful gaze. Suddenly her eyes fill with tears and she rushes sobbing uncontrollably from the room. "God," Carol Anne sighs with exasperation. "She sure is touchy today." "That's enough, young lady," Laura responds staring at the closed door of Louise's room. "Go on now. Get into the kitchen and finish your job." "My God, Mother . . . ." "Now . " Laura follows her reluctant child from the room and stands in the hall outside Louise's door. When Carol Anne enters the kitchen, Laura knocks gently and enters. "Do you want to talk, Louise?" 131 Laura's daughter is lying face down on her pillow. Tears have left dark patches on her blue cotton pillow slip. Laura reaches to touch Louise's shimmering hair. Louise is shaking her head back and forth. "Come on, Louise," Laura whispers. "Something's hurting you and we've always been able to talk before." Laura sits down next to her daughter and continues to stroke her hair. "Cry a bit and then we'll talk. It's good to cry sometimes. Makes you feel better when it's all over." Sissy whines on the other side of the closed door. When she is admitted, she sniffs about timidly, then leaps onto the bed and cuddles in the folds at Louise's feet. Laura sits and waits. The room is silent except for the dog's heaving breathing and her daughter's intermittent sighs. At last, "Oh Mama." Louise stirs and takes her mother's hand. "I'm so afraid, Mama. If you ever got sick, I mean really sick and something happened to you so you couldn't take care of us anymore, what would happen to me? I mean, I couldn't go live with Daddy anymore. I just couldn't. He isn't my father anymore. And Dick . . . well . . . I mean I'd never . . . Oh Mama, I'm so frightened." 132 "I try to help you as much as I can, but I just keep messing up. I know we need money to make ends meet and I can't give you any help that way. All I do is burn dinners and loose my temper with Carol Anne and ask for things we can't afford. Oh Mama, I'm so sorry." Laura bends over and kisses her daughter's cheek. "There, there, baby. You're a terrific help to me. Things aren't as bad as all that, you know. We can afford that book." "Oh yes, Mama, I know, but I feel so deceitful with you sometimes. The whole way I approached you about that book made me so mad at myself. I wanted that book for myself and I just couldn't come out and say it. I was being selfish and I tried to make it seem like I wanted to have the book so I could share it with Jan. I've been feeling rotten about that ever since. I shouldn't have to make excuses like that should I, Mama? Shouldn't I just be able to come out and say what I want?" "Yes, baby, of course you should. You should never have to hide your real feelings." Laura is barely hearing her own words. Her body begins to quiver and she thinks the room has become suddenly chilly. Yet this is more a tingling sensation-- like heavy doses of bitter, then of sweet. Louise reaches out to hug Laura. "Oh Mother, I'm sorry I was dishonest with you." Louise pulls away and 133 smiles through her drying tears. "Really I am. I don't want to be." Then drawing closer Louise speaks again with a hint of fright in her voice. "Mama . . . we won't have to go through this all again, will we? We won't have to move any more because of some stupid man. You won't let anyone put you through what Dick did to you again, will you? Isn't that right, Mama?" Laura pulls Louise closer to her breast. Tears spill over her drawn cheeks and fall unnoticed into Louise's dark hair. Laura will try so hard to help Louise taste this sweet before it too melts away. There is no wavering in her voice as she replies, "Yes, baby, that's right . . . no more." APPENDIX C "Jiulith" l'JY Paul 134 Judith Girl—child in woman; you. Mysterious sensuality in questioning, open, fathomless blue eyes ... Hurt, groping, reaching, touching with tears and tenderness. How shall I learn to perceive you Until I have learned to understand The receiving, boundless limitations of pain And love intermingled in that artless state of being ... 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WM...LUO HMO mcuuuscm I .uOuuemsm. mxooH “.oue .Hm>0uome m.emue 0:0 0: usupeecalmooHe OOu mumemed J-—nu APPENDIX E TWO EXCERPTS FROM LOVE AND WORK by Reynolds Price 139 E-1: EXCERPT FROM LOVE AND WORK“r His unfinished essay-~this morning's work--was his first gathered try at a usable answer, the weight of his own life pressing to yield what was not new but needed-- by himself, Jane, his parents, every student he'd taught, nine men in ten. He sat now, checked the house again for silence, drew his parents slightly forward from falling, and read through his first pages, softly aloud. There may be no reason yum! a man should work, provided he lives in a society which charitably supports its unemployed. The only abstract reason for working may in fact be that a God exists who created man and set man to work to glorify His creation. (The second chapter of Genesis says that God made Adam "and put him in the garden to till it and keep it.") If a man does not acknowledge such a God--and his own duties to God--then perhaps he is a fool to work. Let him sleep till noon seven days a week, leave the house only to cash his welfare checks, buy his beer and return to watch television all afternoon, half the night, surrounded by his loud and growing family. Yet--to speak of myself--even if I did not acknowledge God, even if I were adequately supported by the state, I am sure that I would work. And my first, simplest reason for working would be one universally expressed in proverbs--that "The devil finds work for idle hands." But my next reason would be that one expressed in the motto which Hitler inscribed across the one-way gates into his death camps: Arbeit Macht Frei--Work Makes Free. Few if amy men freed themselves from Dachau or Belsen or Auschwitz by the work required of them * Price, pp. 8-12. 140 141 there. But the truth of the motto survives that hideous distortion. Work frees a man. Frees him from what, though? First, from want--physical want, hunger, cold, disease. But I have suggested a society which would supply these wants. Exactly so. In such a society I would work to be free of others. Free from prolonged economic obligation to the state, which is self-diminishing (and a man's obligations to his state increase paradoxically and terrifyingly as that state becomes increasingly impersonal, unreachable). But at least as necessary, free through the exercise of my proud and growing skill from other human beings, free even from those people I love, especially them. This will require explanation. I do not mean that I would wish to be--or would ever become--free of the duties and debts of love toward my kind, partners, friends. What I mean is that only through my own early discovery of, cultivation of, absorption in some work--building houses, teaching school, laying roads, writing novels--could I free myself from the crippling emotional dependence upon other human beings which infects and afflicts many a man who has nothing in his life upon which he can rely, nothing more permanent than other people. A craft, a skill may--given good health--last a man all his life; very few friends, wives, sons, daughters will prove as enduring. Age, disease, death--and worst, disloyalty--exist and will in time win all that we love. The hardest shield for ourselves will be our work, if we have troubled to discover and master and commit ourselves to some absorbing and yielding work. But ourselves also exist and are as frail, vulnerable as any other person we may have loved. Yet it is our selves which will remain true to us longest of all. All our weaknesses-~our vanity, greed, dishonesty, cruelty, fickleness--will accompany us closely to our graves. What shield is there then against our own loyal falws? What may free us from outselves, our final enemy?--work, perhaps only work, the daily commitment to a task which will demand from us full and strenuous exercise of our strongest selves; our comprehending, foreseeing, order-creating minds, our miraculously complex physical competence. So work frees a man. Yet I have only spoken negatively, denyingly of the things work frees us from. The difficult but necessary question remains-- what things can a man's work free him for?—- 142 He stopped then, hearing Jane's footsteps again-- back-stairs, kitchen, hall, the climb to his study, a pause outside but no knock, no word. He did not call, so her aim diverted to the nearby toilet; and he read on, though silently now (Jane's nearness would make him feel painfully visible, bathed in his own light, Narcissus at the pool). --I will--can only--answer for myself, by attempting to explain briefly but truthfully my discovery of my own work, its nature and function in my life, perhaps in the life of the world. I was the son of parents who like most Americans at the time of the Great Depression, suffered pro- found humiliations—-economic and, thus, emotional-- which were inevitably filtered through their screening love to me, their first child, born in black winter. Yet though I was faced in my early years not with actual poverty but certainly with the threat of poverty and though my father (who had only finished high school) hoped that I would want to study medicine, I have no memory of ever wishing to be anything but an artist. First, a painter; then a musician—- Again Jane stood outside his door--why else but for him? She was hardly studying pictures on the wall. He could not read or begin to revise--that far, she suc- ceeded--but he held himself entirely still. He would not call to her. He had asked her help--to protect his work-- but his work was what in the world she most feared, secretly hated, having none of her own (a job, yes-- design at the college press), no child, only him, and he divided by his various works of which she was one and not the largest--his writing; his teaching; his friends and students; the remaining ties, tough as gristle, to his 143 mother. With every moment Jane hung-fire outside, his own stillness swelled in intensity till his mouth and throat were awash with loathing, till his shut eyes transmitted loathing enough to penetrate doors, throw her back on herself. E-2: EXCERPT FROM LOVE AND WORK* The house was empty. Jane had seen his note. He glanced at hers--"Back to fix your dinner." It was 3:15. He would have an hour; with luck a little longer. He went to the study and, looking for a moment at his parents' picture (both deleted at last), he read again only the previous sentence—-"I have no memory of ever wishing to be anything but an artist. First, a painter; second, a musician; at last, a writer . . . ." Then he wrote through to an end-- But when I had tried and proved to myself that my gifts for painting were insufficient--that whatever my ambitions and delight and despite the contemp- tuous praise of friends, I could not paint a beautiful picture or sing--then in my last years of school I began to write: first, jewelled love poems; then Poe-esque tales; then at last the seam at the core of my life (richest ore I could offer, however embedded in rock and ice). Stories and novels. I wrote from the start with stiff reluctance, difficulty, even pain--more difficulty and pain with each year--but the sense of excitement, exultation, which paralleled the struggle in fear and hope (and occasionally blossomed for a moment at the end-- before flaws and failure hulked into sight), this exultation became its own end and showed me finally that the action which produced this state was surely my work. Was and is. Is because it must be; not because it is my wish or pleasure or source of income but because it is two deeply adamant things--my gift (forced on my by birth and growth) and my need * Price, pp. 39—41. 144 ll I‘ll 145 (mined from me, by myself, to make those tools of defense and reconnoiter which my past, present and future demand——shields, mirrors, microscopes, telescopes). Thus I have worked for twelve years now in the solitude necessary to a writer (which is only, at last, the solitude of all--the solutide which is cause and condition and enemy of work but which only work can arm us against) and have subjected my work to the judgment of an unpredictable, generally uncomprehending public so that I might, first, understand (or at least catalogue) the threatening mysteries of the world, of my human fellows and of myself; second, that I might communicate my under- standings, however feeble, to a few other men as baffled and endangered as I by all the controllable and uncontrollable mysteries of the universe, God, human nature. My work then is what all honorable work is--the attempt to control chaos. It has helped to free me from physical want and from prolonged dependence on my fellows, even loved ones. It has freed me for the attempt to understand, if not control, disorder in the world and in those I love. It has even freed me, though from moments only, to round on myself, stand, face my own failure; and survive the sight. He had made that much at least from the day—-in the teeth of the day, from dream to death. Now he was tired. He squared the four pages in the center of the table, then went to the couch and stretched flat there. He shut his eyes and thought, "I will not think, not yet, not for an hour"; and with the concentration he had learned in school (to sleep at the heart of a rackety dorm), he quickly sifted downwards toward sleep--two layers, three- then was met by something rising, stronger, which bore him with it to full consciousness. But he kept eyes shut through a moment of annoyance, then plunged down again. A solid lake—-no entry, no dent. Eyes open, still prone, 146 he felt the room fill with pressure around him. Walls, windows, door seemed instantly sealed; and the space (in which he was now mere clutter) was pumped full in regular strokes, as by a heart. Full of what?-—he rose on his elbows to see. APPENDIX F F-l: EXCERPT FROM AUTHOR'S JOURNAL F-Z: GRAPHOANALYSIS 147 F-l BRIEF NOTES - LOOKING FROM OUTSIDE* Who is She? What is the "X-Factor" — Hers Alone? Who and What experiences have shaped her? She is Judy - Judith Estella (after her Mother's mother) Keller - Judith Keller Shaffer (Robert) - Judith Shaffer Fitzgerald/2 (David) — Judith K. Shaffer and she is LeeAnn and Ruth's Mother. Through name changes she was always Judy--sometimes less Judy than Judith or Mother or "his" wife-~but there was always that thread of Judy, no matter how much she denied it at times, that came through. Her earliest memories are-—watching her younger sister being pushed onto a yellow school bus, door closing while she stood in stair well, crying and wanting off because Judy wasn't able to go to school with her, and Judy was helpless to help. A grey, misty day in a hospital when a buzzer wouldn't call a nurse so she had to soil the bed and then she cried so hard, alone, when a nurse finally came and said, "That's all right, you couldn't help it, the buzzer became unplugged when we pushed you to the window to wave to your mother and dad. Don't worry, we don't have to wash the sheets, we've got big machines." (But she still felt awful!)--and there's an old picture of her--she's on a bed--lounge (it was a 148 149 lawn chaise-lounge), heavy, tufted and blue, but covered with sheets because that plastic was hard on a body all day) playing with a scarf and a puppy who pulled at it, she looks fake, smiling like that (her hair is up in a net, her mother had made curls, she is in pajamas)--I know she was trying to be good and pretty and cheerful, but she wasn't any of those things. She knew she wasn't being truthful and was guilty of living lies. She felt powerless--she saw brothers hurt and then hating her . . . but why? She thought it was her fault for being sick. She got love for 'nothing.' For being Judy. Letters would come from her brothers when they were far away and they "felt" closer than they ever had before. It was easier to dream them close, than to have them there with her family and see Dad hurt them and Mother not move. Dreams were some kind of power from very early on in life. Sadness. Tears welling up. I look at that little girl and want to hold her. I am trying to right now. I am saying, "You were £3923 to feel alone." 'Pretending' was the only way to avoid it for peace of mind and less 'alone' feeling. It's "O.K." Judy grew up, she got up on her feet and in high school she did everything she could do to make up for lost time, lost energies. A good student, a school politician, one of the "good ones" according to teachers. She 150 excelled and though she felt she had no real talent her art work brought her attention. (She always felt her art work was part of "pretending" that she existed by when younger, so she minimized and criticized while still trying to expand it.) Her involvement in 4—H work brought her many awards and much acclaim. She planned on college as a result, and got a scholarship or two, to help out. In her senior year of high school she was engaged to a boy who was very ill. Another responsibility she acquired for herself. She felt she had to help him--he needed her and she could do something for him. In some ways she was trying to pay past debts. She couldn't "help" when she was very young--now she could "help." Marriage took place during her freshman year in college. In June of that year she quit school to please her husband who hated East Lansing. Back in the Detroit area, she tackled a job that she had no preparation for, but faked her way in and proved successful. Years later she ended that job as soon as she knew she was pregnant. Oh, happy day! She wanted a baby—-so did her husband, he thought. LeeAnn was born and a beauty of a child. Judy thought, "Now we're parents—-Jim won't be a boy, won't drink so much, etc." How wrong she was. As she turned into not only wife, but 151 "Mother," things worsened. Ruth arrived three years later and the relationship between husband and wife worsened even more. Partly because of her part-time work, teaching, which she discovered was "her thing," but partly because they weren't really aware of each other one little bit. Drinking had become a real problem, so much so that physical abuse was part of the picture. She judged harshly, too. Judy ended that marriage, frightened and miserable, she moved out, started school, and started to look at who she was even more. Afraid to rely on less than middle- class "security" and knowing she was going to be sole support for her children in every way, she decided on Art with a teacher-certification. Parents were there and helped when they could, not understanding her, but loving her as they were able to. Her children became even more important to her-—she saw their growth as evidence of hope and goodness of life. (They are an anchor to goodness today.) Her parents became very important to LeeAnn and Ruth--there's where they found a "father-image" and luckily grandpa was more flexible with them than with his own children. Grandma became almost Mother at times . . . and they continue to mean "safe port in a storm" to the girls. 152 College-~the second time around (like marriage the second time around, later) was an intense love affair as compared to child's play. She vibrated with new ideas, experiences, opening doors, expanded horizons. This time she was more woman than child and could respond with so much more and absorb so much more. Many friends and loves, between 1962 and 1973 came into her life, left indelible marks, expanded her. Despite the ups and the downs the good outweighed the bad. She became aware of people as being able to give as well as receive. Up to 1964 or 1965 it seemed she had to give more than get. She had needed to give a "very good daughter" to parents (using EEeie criteria) who had kept her alive--she had needed to give this or that--forever—- now she was learning to be selfish with the important things and decisions of her life. (A psychologist sug- gested a couple of books on selfishness--they were great! She still has to work out of her thing that she "got so much more" than "anyone else" when she was younger-- so she'd better give more now, etc. It's too easy to be a martyr.) College--despite EEe intentions, didn't give her so much a head full of facts but a way to see life--but that took place over 10 years of time. 153 In 1963 she was still battling for balance between giving and getting. Her second marriage really began when she saw an admirable person-~someone in trouble emotionally--that she could help. She had a dream about what would result when his life was better. The relation- ship grew out of teacher/student mutual admiration and had a I need help/I'll help you thing going on. Their expectations were great, too great. Another time when giving ended in resentfulness, hurt. It started with a lie and ended with more lies eight years later. Judy found out how "discipline" - "will-power" oriented she is. Another man she was going to help--but this time she felt she was going to get some— thing back—-in return. She didn't get what she thought she would--except in the most negative way--"in-spite-of" sorts of things. The term "star-crossed" has been used and maybe that's it. She grew through that relationship and she still loves her second husband, but no longer can tolerate losing herself, as she did while with him. That dream about what "could be" has been set aside, in process of dismantling. Today, she is more aware of the balance needed in life. More aware of her intolerances, her weaknesses and her strengths. She won't try to live dreams anymore. She 154 works toward dreams, ideals, but watches that one foot is on firm ground. Her life seems to have been always full of dif- ferences--two sides of her personality, knotted and tangled. (Gemini?) Wanting to be "free" from the ordinary, but tied to the usual (a "decent" home for self and her girls, luxury of TV and radio and all, rather than "Bohemia"). Yearning to live in her studio and do nothing but read, write, think, paint and yet knowing she owes the world more than that. Loving people, involvement, interaction, yet loving solitude and self-ness without interruption. Afraid of self-indulgence, but craving it! "Successful" in many fields of endeavor, in many personal relationships, but not successful with marriage. She's done brave things (more than one friend has said she's brave . . . maybe that's her "dreaming"?) and she's done cowardly things. A lot weaker physically than she shows most people, but that is still her pretending (she does less of it though). She is a happy responsive person yet has a central core of sadness (Bitter/Sweet). Guilt still operates--and a lot of self criticism re: being a "good" mother, intolerances of others, etc., etc. But, she's so much happier with herself that, that too may be coming into balance. She has found this for herself at the age of nearly 39--she's O.K. Not perfect, but she's happening-- right now, and that means she's alive to the world. What more can one ask? 155 So now she's into a new era-~being a "Dean of Students"—-not sure what that is but being given the freedom to be Judy in that role, so she's making her own "Deanie" as a result of living it. She is a lover--and even two years ago she wouldn't have had the nerve to say such a good thing about herself--and expands with loving. She is also a loner--and expands through acknowledging and relishing that. She is still a lonely girl in part, but she is a productive, nourishing person so her existence will have made a difference--has already made a differ- ence, how ever minute the ways. Lonely, sad, happy, loved and not alone, loving and valuing, she is relatively happy with her self. (Thank goodness-~the self-criticism isn't gone-- it's just more in balance!) Part of what her dissertation does is show her more clearly how others have made a difference in her world, so she cherishes them even more, and life even more. Isn't that what a dissertation should do? Affirm individuals? The writer—-eee others? If she could have a dedication she'd say "This is for all of you who have made a difference and touched me in this lonely world. With this I want to touch you again. Love." F-2 GRAPHOANALYSIS OF JUDY SHAFFER Preface This analysis represents an assessment of per- sonality, motivational factors and aptitudes following the principles of Graphoanalysis, a scientific system of handwriting analysis taughtlmrthe International Grapho- analysis Society of Chicago. Both "Graphoanalysis" and "Graphoanalyst" are registered trademarks of the Society. Since personalities change with time, experience, and situation, this report should not be considered valid in detail more than six months to a year after the hand- writing specimen on which is it based was prepared, nor following any major change in the writer's circumstances. Graphoanalysts rely on the slant of a person's handwriting to tell how strongly he will react (inwardly) to emotional experiences. The greater the forward (right) slant, the more emotional responsiveness is shown. Responsiveness, as Graphoanalysts use the word, is not synonymous with expressiveness. The one is inward, the other outward. 156 all Ill! i.‘ 4 I'll i' ...II' I in .l. 157 Judy Shaffer Population Sample Percent of Percent of strokes strokes in in slant areas based slant areas on measurement of 100 upstrokes 70,000 upstrokes f—Tj , l ___l AB BC CD DE E+ FA AB BC CD DE E+ Key to Charts: FA = Withdrawal CD = Moderately Responsive AB = Poise DE = Highly Responsive BC = Mildly Responsive E+ = Extremely Responsive Your handwriting shows you are highly reSponsive to the feelings of others and to most experiences and situations in which you are involved. This means that you react first with feelings and perhaps a little later with thought. You are prone to form strong likes and dislikes for people, places, and things and have a capacity for con- trasting moods. Your highs can be real high and your lows real low. Your feelings may range from light sympathy to intense emotion, yet they fade in time without leaving 158 indelible impressions. In other words, you are able to forgive those who hurt you deeply, to shed the effects of unpleasant experiences in time. Your outward behavior is affected and controlled by other personality traits. This is a picture of what goes on within you. You like to dig up information on your own, to investigate subjects without relying on others for facts. You do your own spade work. Your critical nature-- highly analytical!--sorts thing out, evaluating each piece of information for its worth in building a conclusion. You are able to grasp many ideas (and the conclusions they lead to) quite rapidly without apparently going through the intermediate, logical steps. This might give others the impression that you are more impulsive in your thinking than you really are. Most people move slowly from premise through middle term to conclusion. Your keen comprehension often jumps the gap! While this is a great advantage, it can sometimes lead to embarassing errors. All the same, you probably get bored with people who give out long-winded explanations because you have already reached their concluding point ahead of them (like waiting at the bus stop up ahead). Directness, getting right to the heart of things, stripping away all the nonsense; dealing with essentials, with what really matters, is probably your chief mental 159 trait. It shows especially when you are pressured to get a job done. Your ability to handle details, to think smoothly without effort or regard for custom, organizing your thoughts for making firm decisions: these traits, with loyalty to your emphatic beliefs, support your mental activity. Yieldingness, giving in to others,perhaps to their emotional needs and appeals, may be a compensating trait, that is, a way of softening up firm convictions, avoiding stiffness and rigidity; but it can also undermine your efforts. And taking on too many jobs, too many interests at the same time, can scatter your energies and weaken their effect. You are able to create mental images of things not present to your senses. This applies to material things and concrete situations. Your ability to form mental images that are apart from the material or practical, including the understanding of ideas, theories, philosophies, etc., is not presently active. You have a taste for facts, not theories, for the practical, not the abstract. You are an achiever of goals that are mostly practical—-within reach. You choose your own objectives and plug away with strong determination until they are realized. Again, the habit of organizing your thinking, ll I'll! liill' . III. I! All? 160 efforts, and energies, gives support to whatever you may decide to do. But caution, being wary of taking chances, and pessimism are two traits which may influence your choice of goals. They may cause you to sacrifice higher, more distant goals. Your handwriting shows no evidence of deep, dis— turbing anxieties. An inner quality, a feeling of self-esteem--knowing that you conform in thought and action to a set of standards which you have adOpted as your pattern of living-~represents your basic value and your idea of worth. Your standards may or may not be conventional ones; all the same, you are loyal to the sense of worth they give you and cautious about behavior that would diminish that sense. One result of this trait (plus your sense of humor) is emotional control and tact in dealing with people. A desire for change, getting away from the humdrum, the usual people, places or things, joins with a craving for variety as a relief from tension--a way of refreshing yourself. It is difficult to say which of two worlds you are better suited for: the world of business or the world of culture. You should do well in either. In business you would be effective, but in art and culture you would find greater satisfaction. To practical affairs you would 161 bring decisiveness, organizing ability, determination and diplomacy. These represent your forces to achieve, part of your goal-orientation. On the other hand, creativeness, color appreciation, delight in the experiences of the senses, manual dexterity and material imagination-—not to mention your literary leanings--all suit you for the world of culture. Creative, imaginative work with your hands, involving texture, tone, or color would be an excellent medium for your self— expression. One feature of your writing has been saved for this page because it throws light on the two "worlds" mentioned above. You use two truly different letter forms for the personal pronoun I. One is strictly school copy, indi- cating a self image that conforms to established authority, rules and regulations (just as you did when you were taught to write it that way). The other form expresses simplicity itself, directness, creativeness, individuality. It is often found in the handwriting of artists, poets, scientists, writers, and people of high intelligence. The fact that you use both forms suggests two self-images: one self, trying perhaps, to live in two worlds in order to be complete. 162 Resumé Your writing reveals you are highly responsive, outgoing in nature, yet cautious about your emotional expression and behavior lest they conflict with feelings of dignity that you cherish so much. Though you like people and enjoy their company, you select your friends with care and prefer to work alone, that is, to be solely responsible for what you do. Your mental abilities and talents are suited to problem-solving and creative work. This sets you moving in two directions in search of completeness and probably explains confusion among your varied interests. Your goals are not set far ahead since you enjoy the assurance of success. In your drive for achievement, thinking habits find full expression, revealing an ability to deal with essentials, to weigh facts with a view toward imaginative but sound conclusions. However, your intentions in achievement and thinking may be weakened by following many interests, by a touch of gloom, and by yielding to the wishes of other people. You are able to work creatively with your hands, showing imagination and good attention to details. You enjoy color, texture, music, richness in sensuous 163 experience, and contrasting situations in life. It is in this world, your second world, that you realize the creative part of your self. Art Gaines Certified Graphoanalyst BIBLIOGRAPHY 164 BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary References Bullough, Edward. "'Psychical Distance' as a Factor in Art and an Esthetic Principle." A Modern Book of Esthetics. Edited by Melvin Rader. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962. Collier, Graham. Art and the Creative Consciousness. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1973. Friedan, Betty. The Feminine Mystique. New York: Dell Publishing Company, Inc., 1963. Fromm, Erich. The Art of Loving. New York: Bantam Books, Inc., 1963. Goldenson, Robert M., ed. The Encyclopedia of Human Behavior: Psychology, Psychiatry, and Mental Health. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1970. May, Rollo. Love and Will. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1969. Moustakas, Clark E. Loneliness and Love. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Co., Div. of Litton Educational Publishing, 1968. Kahler, Erich. Man the Measure. New York: Pantheon Books, Inc., 1943. Powell, John. Why Am I Afraid To Tell You Who I Am? Chicago: Peacock Books, Argus Communications, 1969. Prather, Hugh. Notes to Myself. Lafayette, Calif.: Real People Press, 1970. Price, Reynolds. Love and Work. New York: Atheneum, 1968. 165 166 Price, Reynolds. Things Themselves. New York: Atheneum, 1972. Rogers, Carl. On Becoming A Person. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1970. General References Friedman, Maurice. To Deny Our Nothingness. New York: Dell Publishing Company, Inc., 1968. May, Rollo. Power and Violence. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1972. Maslow, Abraham. Toward a Psychology of Beieg. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Co., Div. of Litton Educational Publishing, 1968. Perls, Frederick S. In and Out of the Garbage Pail. Lafayette, Calif.: Real People Press, 1969. Perls, Frederick S. Gestalt Therapy Verbation. Lafayette, Calif.: Real People Press, 1969. Price, Reynolds. A Generous Man. New York: Avon Books, 1973. Price, Reynolds. Names and Faces of Heroes. New York: Atheneum, 1973. Price, Reynolds. Permanent Errors. New York: Antheneum, 1970. Roethke, Theodore. Straw for the Fire from the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke. Selected and arranged by David Waggoner. Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Books, Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1974. HIGRN STATE UNIV. 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