I have been recently writing blogs essentially about my book. And I'm new at this. I have been bothered by the contentious atmosphere of blogs and I’ve begun to feel that way myself. And I don’t like it. The book was written as a kind of love story about human nature, a new paradigm of consciousness and the wisdom and caring of psychotherapy. In book form I had the time to develop and present the ideas is a full and thoughtful way.
Yesterday gave me pause. I attended a funeral of an ex-patient of mine who died of cancer. This is the second such funeral in the past year. It has been a terribly sad time and nothing I ever envisioned when I was a young psychiatrist. Your children are not supposed to die before you, and neither are your patients. In each case I carried with me a deep affection for my patient. And I know how each of them had an appreciation of the value of our psychotherapy, not just for their own lives, but the lives of their spouses and children and even grandchildren. At the funerals I was in the unusual situation to see not only the richness of their lives, but the cast of characters of their lives, most of whom, I had never met. I was deeply moved by all of them and proud like an invisible guardian.