A Ticket To The Dream Country
Today in therapy I drew pictures, and I talked for a while about metaphoric language and the semiotic construct of reality. On certain levels of my consciousness the distinction between the metaphoric and the literal ceases to have any meaning, because the parts there think in pre-verbal ways. So in order to communicate effectively with my insides I have to take everything a face value-- a dragon isn't a symbol of anything, it's a real dragon, a real thing. I have to deal with the images on their own terms, and that's tough for me to accept, because I want to be so literal and "realistic".
I drew a map of the Dream Country, or rather someone inside me, did, and I realized that I had drawn almost the same map a few days earlier, conscously, as apart of a fantasy fiction piece I was working on. I still want to look at things analytically, and put it in terms of projection and fantasy ideation and so on, which is all true as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. Not far enough to get to where those parts of me live.
I made a ticket, like a train ticket, with a picture of a castle on it and gave it to my therapist. I could say that it was a symbolic gesture expressing my trust in the theraputic relationship and my willingness to allow her access to my non-verbal alters, but that is only one way of seeing the truth, because I could also say that the dragon that guards the way into the dream country has seen that she is brave and wise enough to travel there.
I am beginning to see that it is not reticence or obstinency that has kept the internal alters-- what I call "the black box gang"-- from coming forward and speaking, they can't. They can't learn my language-- I have to learn theirs. I have to be willing to meet them on their own terms.
I have to be willing to travel to the Dream Country. That's where the answers are.
I drew a map of the Dream Country, or rather someone inside me, did, and I realized that I had drawn almost the same map a few days earlier, conscously, as apart of a fantasy fiction piece I was working on. I still want to look at things analytically, and put it in terms of projection and fantasy ideation and so on, which is all true as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. Not far enough to get to where those parts of me live.
I made a ticket, like a train ticket, with a picture of a castle on it and gave it to my therapist. I could say that it was a symbolic gesture expressing my trust in the theraputic relationship and my willingness to allow her access to my non-verbal alters, but that is only one way of seeing the truth, because I could also say that the dragon that guards the way into the dream country has seen that she is brave and wise enough to travel there.
I am beginning to see that it is not reticence or obstinency that has kept the internal alters-- what I call "the black box gang"-- from coming forward and speaking, they can't. They can't learn my language-- I have to learn theirs. I have to be willing to meet them on their own terms.
I have to be willing to travel to the Dream Country. That's where the answers are.