Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Shadow work

February 12, year 2
Dear Dee,

Thanks for the sermons you sent. I have put them in a large envelope where I keep them all and dole them out to myself on Sunday mornings.

My depression problem seems to have abated after the holidays came to a close. One thing that has been helpful is a line that was contained in the first sermon you sent me, which I recently re-read. It quoted Buddhist philosophy, saying, "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." I have made that into a kind of mantra and I repeat it to myself several times a day. It does seem to have a calming effect.

(Note: The following is in response to a chapter I sent Kent from a psychological self-help book. It deals with shadow work; described as the work of looking for, admitting, and consciously integrating the darker aspects of our character that we all carry. This process involves overcoming resentments built up over a lifetime and forgiving. The chapter quotes C.G. Jung:  "No matter how much parents and grandparents may have sinned against the child, the man who is really adult will accept these sins as his own condition which has to be reckoned with. Only a fool is interested in other people’s guilt. He will ask himself: Who am I that all this should have happened to me? To find the answer to this fateful question, he will look into his own heart.")

 I just finished reading the chapter you sent. It goes quite well with some Jungian material that someone from my old men's group has been sending me. Learning about the "shadow self" has gone a long way toward helping me reconcile myself with what I did. Prior to accessing this material, I was in a considerable quandary. I have always regarded myself as a "good person." So how does a good person end up doing such a terrible thing? A thing that leaves his life in ruin? A thing that violates to the core his entire moral center?  I have always loved children and have always believed that they should be cherished and protected. So what led me to do what I did, to participate--even from afar--in the abuse and exploitation of innocent children? The answer is that neither I, nor anyone else, is wholly a "good person." Nor is anyone completely bad. We are all of us creatures of both darkness and light. I let the darkness come out to play. I didn't take the steps I should have taken to insure that the light prevailed in my life. I'll never make that mistake again.

The chapter also dealt with forgiveness. I spent many years coming to grips with forgiving my dad for the verbal and emotional abuse that he heaped upon me as a child. I think I was pretty successful in that. When I realized in therapy that much of the acting out I was doing on the internet was traceable to my father's repeated characterization of me as "useless" and "worthless," it did not reignite the flames of anger that I used to feel toward him.

Much of the time in my most recent therapy was devoted to forgiving my mother. I had the toughest time understanding how a mother can choose her addiction over her family. And then I realized that I did exactly the same thing. I had to have known on some level that if what I was doing ever came to light, it would destroy my family. And somehow that wasn't sufficient to stop me. I just kept it up until what I feared came to pass.

(Note: I should clarify that when Kent speaks of losing his family, he's referring to his current wife and son and step-children. The adult daughter and the granddaughter he talks about are from a previous marriage, and he has regular contact with this daughter.)

My sister came to visit a week ago and it was great. I will be eligible for a transfer after serving 18 months and I am hoping to get to a place nearer to her and to my daughter. They would be able to visit more often. I want so much to have a relationship with my granddaughter, who will be about seven when I get out. I get all teary-eyed whenever I see commercials with grandparents interacting with kids. That's about it for this time. As always, I thank you for continuing to care about me.
Love, Kent

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