Actually, I continued to participate in Landmark after the incident I'll tell you about... but NEVER intended to contribute any more. Or not really. I was participating from hurt... knowing that what was broken cannot be fixed.
I should be doing some laundry. I have run out of socks... And anyways, I want to tame this beast of not doing my laundry.
I gather a load's worth of stuff, carry it to the washing machine... and the distaste, the disgust is so strong... I take a beeline... and sit down by my computer.
Distaste, eh? Yeah, says muscle test. Disgust? yes. Was it always there? No. Was it from when i was 3? later... from age seven.
What was happening at age seven? I went to school. We had a live-in help: my mother was working on her Masters Degree, coming home around nine every night. My brother was about a year old... and was probably driving the live-in help bonkers.
And I recoil from dirty laundry...
I sit really quietly. The fear joins the distaste. I feel terror. I feel being beaten. Screamed at. Wrapped in wet sheets... Can't breathe...
I must have wet my bed. I don't remember. My body remembers. The fear, the disgust, the gagging.
I have one student who actually is doing the work the way the work was meant to be done.
It sounds meager... but it is all I ever wanted... really.
If you have one student who actually does what you teach, you can tell if what you teach works or not. Or tweak what you teach to accommodate the difficulties they experience. And watch if the changes you made will make the results match what you intended to accomplish.
What do the rest of the people do? I mean the students in the same program? I am not sure. Apple polishing? Feeble attempts to fake me?
Humans live this fake, apple polishing lives, thinking that life should respond to their feeble attempts, to their intention, to their desire, or whatever the heck they were taught should change reality to what they want reality to be.
Your mind, your stupid part, has no direct knowledge about reality. It has no concern, no regard to reality... It has in it what the memes have programmed it to have... 1% reality, 99% b.s. And your mind is, therefore, your worst friend. It is killing YOU and it is killing your life... sometimes slowly, sometimes really fast. 1