The brain that changes itself is a book I read in 2011… And today I watched the documentary… and let you also see it.
Why have I been thinking about brain plasticity/neuroplasticity?
Because I have been intrigued by the fact that in this recent illness I could clearly see the things that were happening inside my gut, and what was the next step to bring myself back to health.
Had I gone to a doctor, I would be dead.
Why? Because doctors, unless they cut you open, can’t see… they can only see what they understand, and they can only see with their eyes… most of them, at least. Internists, definitely. Continue reading “What do you see with?”
What capacity is missing so that you cannot tell, you cannot recognize the same thing in a different environment?
I think this is the main issue for people who cannot grow… even if they keep on having private sessions, do all my courses, or all Landmark courses, or all Mindvalley courses, or use energy stuff… mine or others’.
When you put something they know some other environment, they don’t recognize it in a different environment, a different context.
So what is the missing capacity, you wonder… And how can anyone dream up a method to teach it?
One gift my father gave me is he encouraged me to not resist. I went through several interpretations of what he meant… I thought resisting made me a person, but I was wrong. Resisting gave the power over to others, and kept me stuck… stuck, stuck stuck.
This is a spiritual pattern, a spiritual principle…
What he didn’t say that he meant: life, reality is built of patterns, and all unrecognized patterns lead to inaccurate, unworkable, or misleading conclusions. Thinking resistance, fighting, pushing back is a good thing kept me miserable for decades.
Through that he had a huge career, and a long happy life… after very humble beginning.
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.