There is perhaps nothing so humbling as the notion of being run through sequences of prepackaged lessons imparted by machines hidden away in unknowable realities.
As I listened, I was not sure which continuum I would have preferred.
The unmistakable workings of my Method had me bound to my ludicrous Sticking Point.
If distant iuns really were directing the dialogue in the room, could it all just be to hammer home to me how spitefully any intended interferences on my part would be spurned?
Was I never actually meant to add anything into my Method’s function?
Could that be the whole point—the ultimate lesson these notes have been brought about (from wherever) to show?
Or was I supposed to keep fighting back?
The insanity of fixating upon inferred grandiosities at the base of seemingly directed streams of obvious irrationalities could not be lost on me.
Yet regardless of why, I sensed myself reaching two conclusions at once.
First, it seemed unfair.
Knowing my mind and Method, I felt the urge to rise up indignantly against any and every controlling being or program—to stand until the end for this person and purpose I have grown to at least tolerate embodying.
I would wish even now to plead with unknown powers for the chance to try.
Perhaps that is exactly what I am doing.
Second, I did not fail to notice that I was attempting to interpret a conversation about whether such interpretations could be relevant—interpretations given in terms of astrology, Ray’s visions, etc.
Held fast between desperate to know and wondering if I should care, I heard Ray somewhere deep in my mind saying something from before about faith always shining its light.
I slowly eyed Ray, the astrologer, Rolman…
How absurd to think I could be counseling pieces of myself.
ME (to Rolman):
“How about what Ray here just said: that there are no bad relationships, and all relationships can serve a purpose?”
ROLMAN:
“I think it’s true. I know my wife can’t really say how she’s feeling. And I used to get mad at her for that, when I’d ask and ask, and she wouldn’t tell me. But then, just in all our years together, I started seeing her different. Now it’s like she’s this little robot buzzing around. She’s broken, yeah, but I don’t yell at her anymore. She’s not really cold to me, not the way I thought. She’s just different from me.”
ME (to Ray):
“And what do you think, Ray?”
RAY (to Rolman):
“Well, it’s like I saw some soup in a pot, y’know? But it’s all rocks. And you wanted to boil the water to see where the rocks could get soft. Maybe now you found a happy temperature…?”
I remembered something a Normal male (perhaps Rolman) had once told me about he and his wife having been divided into groups.
ME (to Rolman):
“How about cultural differences?”
ROLMAN:
“No, her whole family’s great. She’s very traditional. She takes care of me, and lets me do what I want, mostly. But she does get jealous! I kind of like that about her. She doesn’t mess around.”
I recounted to the group (and Rolman, specifically) about a hellish session years ago in which the Sticking or Breaking Point of a male client of the same race as Mrs. Rolman had rested upon me finding a way to convey that he was being disingenuous.
I shared that such an accusation had felt like the worst insult one could bring against someone of that race.
Ray said his former co-workers, Vin and Carmen, might have been of the same race as well (he was not sure).
Rolman said nothing.
I glanced from face to face, oddly certain whoever was meant to speak at that moment was missing, and that we would not be able to continue without that absent individual.
Did I see Bing?
How can I even ask that?
Then as I peered down at the edge of Rolman’s file on my desk, further celestial (possibly unimportant) worlds of correlation and design must have cascaded in imperceptible displays of rapturous celebration, for I happened to glimpse in my dense, handwritten scrawl the exact portion of notes outlining the nature of Rolman’s felt division from his wife.
And seeing immediately that I had misremembered his words and wrongly assumed the breach to have been along cultural lines, my only available concession was to simply read Rolman’s own words back to him.
ME (to Rolman):
“I have a quote here from another time we met when you talked about feeling distant from your wife.
“You said: ‘I hope she and I don’t get divided by our beliefs because it feels like everyone in the world wants to divide and just keep dividing.’”
ROLMAN:
“She might be more religious than me. At least I thought so before. But her religion reminds me of a little girl in a bedroom or something, lighting candles, saying words and prayers. I think it touches a special place in her heart.”
Having never been married nor involved in any long-term, personal relationships of any form, I tend to only treat individuals within couples.
I do at times instruct or allow clients to bring in their partners.
Though the relationship is then at the complete mercy of my Method.
Hidden truths are inevitably uncovered to either salvage or disintegrate the bond.
In truth, I am amazed by the rampant dishonesty I see prevalent in all such unions.
So much of what is said gets shown to be entirely tactical, and ultimately selfish, which leads me to question the validity of matrimony, monogamy, etc.
ME (to Rolman):
“How is your communication with your wife?
“Do the differences ever make you feel like you have to lie to keep peace in your home?”
I don't know anything 