Of all people, a movie producer gave me insight into my experiences with Carl Jung that I hadn’t considered. I’d give you his name, but he is a genuinely nice person and I wouldn’t want the world trying to chat him up because John said he’s approachable. That may be a worthy tangent to explore- when to not name drop. Let’s focus on Doctor Jung. You’re free to chat him up, if you like channeling. If you’re keeping up, I have written about my experiences with Jung while engaging in my version of his ‘Active Imagination.’ Maybe it’s subjective. Maybe it’s all self generated. I just know, it doesn’t feel like me. I am not that insightful. Take that damn pipe, for instance. How could I have not analyzed the pipe?
Presenting, Doctor Carl Jung
My friend… No, not earned. Peer? Fellow explorer of fun and strange? Fairly long title. FEFS?
No, no, no acronyms. I am trying to have fun here. Forgive me, I am in a funny mood. Last night’s dream, I was scheduled to be in a scene with Pam Dawber, present day and age. We were supposed to kiss? I said, I am worried what Gibbs may think. Technically, I mean her husband Mark Harmon, but I don’t know him. I know Gibbs. Seriously, I like Gibbs. My dad liked Gibbs.
Gibbs reminds me of my dad. So serious! Humor, only if it’s subtly funny. I love Pam. Somehow I shifted away from Pam and ended up with Gibbs, installing a shower fixture. Cock blocked in a dream! Damn the luck. The shower fixture was a complex, marble thing, LSD trippy, that required rotation until all the fixtures aligned in the desired pattern. Gibbs was struggling, I helped turn that around. Together, we got it. He nodded, gratefully. So Gibby of him! But the faucet leaked when activated. He and I created dialogue, “There wasn’t a dry eye in the (movie) house.” “Yeah? Fire sprinklers went off, did they?” Drum beat.
I never said my dreams made sense. Even Jung shakes his head in mock despair. “Let’s try another approach, Sir.” And stop calling me Shirley. “I said, SIR!”
The pipe
What does the pipe mean? They don’t smoke in the afterlife, John. Why would he bring a pipe?
Maybe they do smoke. You don’t have to worry about lung cancer over there. Is it your pipe?
What does the pipe mean. Seriously, Sir! I didn’t invite Sigmund Freud for a reason. He was an ass. I will give him credit for this. He did recognize sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I don’t have to explain that, do I?
Why the pipe? Was it because I had seen pictures or videos of Jung with pipes? I really like the above photo. He looks happy. There is a spark in his eye. Mischievous? Was he a prankster? I get the sense he had the ability to be serious and funny. Seriously funny? Funny has worked well for me with new clients. If I can make someone laugh in the first few minutes, they will tell me anything. If you want to see what’s in my head, this is me and the client: Chunk’s confession. I will have you know, no confidentiality rules were broken in bringing you this scene in, the life of a counselor.
I model my counseling career off three people. Ally McBeal’s Counselor, played by Tracy
Ulman, here, a Geico Commercial, played by that Drill Sergeant, Ronald Lee Ermey, here, and Bob Newhart, best evidential practice, Stop it Therapy, here. I’ll understand if you don’t come back to me once you’ve seen my references. But quite frankly, if you watch my references and still come at me for counseling… bring that suitcase with the million dollars in it. Small, unmarked bills. Seriously. You don’t want that suitcase. Don’t believe me? Watch No Country for Old Men.
I like narrative therapy. Every person is a character. Every prop is a character. All of it is reflexive. Reflexive is a new word for me. FEFS just gave it to me. I am still struggling to integrate it. “I should know this” thought is probably interfering with my assimilation of new words. Should I do a Locutus of Borg clip? (Always work in a Star Trek reference! I dare you to find something I have written that doesn’t go there. (Way to boost readership?)) I am not a fan of smoking. Having chronic asthma probably influenced me. Have you heard this nasty rumor, smoking will kill you? When I am forced to engage in the smoking thing in my office, influenced by state mandates to address behaviors that cost society money, I lead with that question. If a person laughs, we’re done with the smoking thing. If you don’t know smoking kills you, I would like to see your underground bunker. “Good afternoon, Mr. Walkens.” Did he smoke a pipe in Blast From the Past? Those 1950s glasses! Dad! I probably shouldn’t be doing therapy, all the transference I bring to the table.
Also, does it bother anyone that society complains about the cost of smoking on society when we live in a capitalistic system? I thought that was the intent of a free market. I give you shit that kills you, you consume it, the medical people treat the symptoms, we’re all happy. The Circle of
Life is follow the money. Just saying. Hakuna matata to you, too.
I digress. Tangential thinking makes narrative therapy very difficult. Not impossible, just difficult. It could take years. Where were we? Freud’s phallic cigar. There, I explained it to you.
Happy? Pipes… Harder to get there, but you do have to clean your pipes after smoking. No, no, smoking comes after sex. Sorry, I keep getting this backwards. (How to explore euphemism in your counseling session.) I told you I don’t smoke! Give me a break. My dad did start with a pipe. Is it a Navy thing? I have a Medium friend, Andre Philippe Laisney, here. I liked him from his first comment. My esteem shot up on seeing his pic. I think it’s the pipe! He reminds me of someone. Jaws, Robert Shaw, Quint. Andre also laughed at my joke. “We’re going to need a bigger boat.” Granted, it was text based, LOL, and could have just been complimentary. Hell, I still like him.
My dad’s pipe interested me. It held my attention sufficiently that I envisioned having a prop of a pipe in my office. You can’t smoke in my office. Maybe I will get a laugh when I blow a bubble.
I’ll reserve bubbles for when clients start crying. “And this one time, at band camp…” Fucking band camp. Damn it. I blew bubbles out my nose.
I love the smell of tobacco. Not when it’s burning. A pouch of tobacco just feels homey. Is it pouches or bags? Do I like Andre and Jung because of the pipe and my association with my dad, and the Navy? That haunting scent that takes me back in time…
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
I think I have been unfairly influenced by my television parents.
Is it any wonder why I want to talk to ghosts? HBOs Dream On, that was likely my autobiography.
The practice…
It’s really simple. You can probably do it while reading my instructions: It’s just a jump to the left
And then a step to the right
With your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight
Wait wait wait! Stop. Don’t do that. If I am not there to hold your hand, there’s no telling where you’ll end up.
Engaging your subconscious, or ghosts, or higher beings doesn’t require rituals, or any fancy smelling incense. You don’t have to be able to dance. If you have a pottery wheel, spin it up.
Seriously, all you have to do is talk. You just talk. If you want to know what it is like to be
psychoanalyzed by the greatest therapist of all time, it’s as easy as talking to yourself. You don’t even have to be Shad Helmstetter! (You didn’t get that, did you! Trust me, it’s funny. It’s a nerd thing.) I recommend his book, What to Say When You Talk to Yourself. This stuff works. You’d be amazed at the resources you have inside you. I submit to you, you are one Andrew Lloyd Webber song away from being luminous!
Starlight Express, Starlight Express
Are you real? Yes or no?
Starlight Express, answer me yes
I don’t want you to go
Rusty, you’re blind, look in your mind
I’m there, nothing’s new
The Starlight Express is no more, nor less
Than you, Rusty, I am you
And you, and only you
Have the power within you
Just believe in yourself
The sea will part before you
Stop the rain, turn the tide
Can you get any more consistently profound than that? It’s Over the Rainbow simple, in melody with Lena Horne singing, Believe in Yourself.
Maybe I am delusional. Maybe I am channeling ghosts. Or maybe I am using the brain as it was meant to be used, a platform for self discovery of the soul. The brain is a stage, not the be all end all of life. If you want to see more of my Jung interactions, here you go. You don’t need a pipe to read, but if you have one, I recommend enjoying it.
