Group Therapy as Recirculation

Ross Dale Kelly

      Today, I went to group therapy. Inside, I started to think about the day. There are no obstacles today. There is no challenge, no reward; no time spent directing my thoughts. It was merely a time to be effected, and then think about if I could affect myself without acting.
      This seems improbable. While I may not see the use in directly interacting with any of the staff or patients, it is still an outlet for my creative thoughts and emotions, which, were mostly bent up inside.

      To get to the plot, I started the day mildly reserved. I noticed a new group member was conflicted with the morality he saw in his own life conflicting with the world. I interjected, saying how; it was in my case an interesting world during certain times. I felt that everything I normally take for granted as my ethics comes into question, not necessarily by my mind, but in my mind.
      I am steadfast in my position, I explain, as these feelings only reiterate, but it is unpleasant to even think that I should have moments where the world makes me feel physically sick, even to the point of wanting to get away from a situation that I see no clear enemy or motive, except the disgust within my own mind.
      The fear is encompassing. “Uh oh:” “Oh.” “Why should I feel this way, I do not see anything currently wrong with the situation, other than the fact that I am observing it from an outsider’s perspective.” “I don’t want to watch these kinds of scenes from an outsider’s perspective.” “I just want to let the scenes happen as I am conscious of that which I am attuned to.” “Why is my attunement fixated on fear?” “I know I do not relate myself as a dangerous person to be watching this scene.” “Why must I have to feel endangered while watching this scene then?” “Where is this fear, and why is it usually taken for granted that nothing would be imperturbable about this situation?” “I am so baffled in the simplicity of the nonattachment to this fear that it grips me again.” “Why cant I get the reactionary feeling that should be deserved from feeling this way?” “Am I stuck somewhere where my mind does not seem to be?” “Am I living by pure morals, disregarding all of my thoughts entirely?” “No… then I wouldn’t be able to think this.” “But it could just be a moral reaction. I am a good guy.” “Well, maybe, and then again, I am just not moving anywhere at all, stuck.” “Well clearly, I get nowhere each day.” “Where do my thoughts go?”
      “They clearly go, but mostly in circles.” “It is like my mind revolves with cogs, even as I am sitting still, trying to get a picture in my mind of why sitting in this chair does not cause anxiety and boredom and hate for not getting anything pleasurable from life.” “Uh oh:” “Someone is here.” “…” My mind slips as I lift one cog in the wheel in order to make sure I make it through the situation clearly.
      “Well crap, I am still in this place of fear.” “It is okay.” “Hmm, good save, because it is, but I don’t feel well again.” “Alright, distraction is totally unnecessary, so I am just going to be a part of this situation again.”
      “Well hello, I feel like a man in quicksand, so don’t stand too close, I am not going to reach out or anything, but don’t pity me anyway, that does not seem to help the situation.”
      “Oh no, there is mild pity, but only because I allowed this.” “I did not take initiative correctly.” “Uh oh, it’s okay, but don’t think this because there is no clear incentive in your thinking right now that shows these people you incentive is to be able to move forward without blame on external forces.”
      “Well, this does not feel too tragic, but it could be so if I needed it to be.” “I guess I am just not willing to let anyone else take the fall, this would just recirculate the problem back to the sender.”
      “Anyway, I guess I should push forward and see if there is anything I can say here to show how average this feels.” The black man moves into the room and I look at him inquisitive, knowing that I am right, but he looks back, thinking his issues through. Looking back, I think I see the fallacy in the train of thought within the room.
      “I am thinking and I am thinking that I am not racist, but don’t let me fool you because if you ask me, I will tell you that I am a good guy, and I can tell good from bad, and if you ask me, maybe you will end up with the same conclusion, but it is probably better to keep your train of thought because I don’t know why I feel awkward looking at you.” “But I don’t feel awkward because that is not how I am really feeling, I just physically feel that way, but my thoughts aren’t even perturbed anymore.”
      “Hello.” He turns away, continuing his routine, probably a bit inquisitive about my situation on a subconscious level, wondering what it is that is hidden that he does not see about my expression. Truth be told, there is not much hidden, so let me figure out the root of this ailment. It isn’t an ailment, because that is a defeatist’s point of view, so instead, it is in my mind only enough to keep me going on to the next thought.
      “Well good, I am alone again. Finally there is no one to question.” “Wait, I didn’t ask any questions.” It is quite a predicament that I am finding my mind in, so much so, that I am sure you are sick of hearing me churn the bowl with this spoon.
      “Anyway, the frustration in capturing this train of thought seems a little silly. I feel like a trolley, without a switch-track, only moving forward, around the route in order to keep any confusion out of the passenger’s heads. But, why, would one be inquisitive if the trolley instructor decided he would go back to the old patterns and reserve the switch to his own hand.
      I must be looking at this switch thinking, “Hey, whenever you feel necessary flip it around, it looks good both ways.” But of course, my mind is thinking again, “Yeah I guess he is right, this is getting pretty ridiculous.”
      Anyway, I know that there must be at least one point during the day when the cogs of my mind catch the earth and roll me forward. Perhaps, it is not as I see it anymore. Maybe I am amidst my own sandbox, churning the sand into ever more predictable patterns.
      Certainly, there has to be a right answer, and I must be close because, “I think, I must be close.” Well, anyway, I guess it wouldn’t matter if I were in the sky, writing my own message in a bottomless sandbox, strewing the sand in a pattern of predictability and lofty love and inhibited. Unfortunately, I do not want to see myself amongst the stars just yet.
      Why bother turning the wheel of my mind at all. Maybe stopping it right now will allow me to get the new perspective to catch the solid ground and go. Certainly.
      “I think, oh wait, I found something new to grasp. The only relationship I can find a solid link to relies on something, that perhaps I would not need to know.” The past is certainly destroyed in a mess of complexity in the mind’s of everyone I now know. However, God seems to have an ever clear picture of the real way things happened.
      Certainly, he is telling me that, well, whatever you did, you did it to your self. “I concur I say.” But then I go into a dialectic which I do not normally concede to and say things to him like, well, I cannot control or influence the world in its entirety. Therefore, I may be fully accountable, but there may be things in my life to which I was not held accountable for in that moment.
      It is only when I get this far, when I start thinking about moments again. “Well, what is this problem I seem to have with infinitely short and displeasurable moments?” And, my lower mind seems to add, why these moments must last more than a moment to be real.
      The distress is, of course. I think I have fallen, into quicksand, and instead of waiting patiently to get out, I have decided to stick around, waiting for time to throw me the rope.
      We of course know God has a hard time affiliating with such an imperfect world, and he may of course be too busy, sad, or heartbroken to even know when to act. Therefore, I guess I should look back at the world, and see if maybe moving forward starts with the people.
      Unfortunately, I was too humble to speak to the black man, being a man of little color myself. “Well,” my mind interjects, “I seem to have a lot of color, but only in my ever expanding memory.” Maybe it was the day I found myself in quicksand, saying, “Hey, well, I guess I really am stuck,” that I actually started to make some progress.
      “Well, we all know there isn’t much you can do in quicksand,” I am thinking now, “But why did I have to take those few more steps to be sure it was real? Was this sand fake? Was it hiding something in the murky depths that one may never know if you never end up in quicksand?” Thoroughly not, I said.
      I am definitely in this quicksand, leaning back, not trying to swim. But maybe this is the right idea for a few more fleeting seconds. “Thoroughly not,” I thought, “even as my memory becomes a bit more expanded in my memory, it is only becoming more rearranged in the starlight, as people go on, leaving without me, for, well.” Well, it is hard to feel like I actually could have done a whole lot differently, but I do still find enough flaws to make me feel that ending the story at this point is, in fact, pointless.
      Well, It seems that, “I hope not in my mind,” someone is hacking his way through the jungle with a large machete, wound intricately with some sort of animal bone for a handle, clearly part of this jungle, as much as I was at this point.
      Alongside this man was a sense of adventure and little conflict with the situation in this here jungle. Instead of waiting for me to even shout, he said, “Hey, buddy, what are you doing down in this here quicksand pit?” And I replied, well I guess I stepped the first step a little blindly in this here thicket, not really weary of the threat of such travel in the jungle.
      I knew, and he knew. You really shouldn’t be in the jungle unless you can travel like this man, necessarily leaving no true path, but taking with him the truth of where he was certainly going, and for what purpose and to whom.
      Anyway, by this point, I was feeling much like sitting where I was, for it was quite pleasant. “Uh oh:” “I forgot that there was much more to this jungle that I could cope with watching.” “I certainly…” Well I thought anyway, that I was certainly ready to start walking the path again, ready to interject at any inappropriateness or run from any distractions too large to be of concern.
      Was time playing some sort of trick on me? I was clearly feeling much like myself, but even more so than usual, as I found myself pulling at a rope, and making my way out of the quicksand, slowly chasing after this man, who seemed concerned with moving himself a few yards and more through the trees and vines ahead, easily and decisively moving his hands and body right through the mess without seeming too concerned for the sake of much other than being in control.
      The rope, tied to a sturdy tree made me think. “Well, what would I have done, I am still clearly stuck on my own.” “Clearly, no one could have unstuck myself but myself.” “This does not make any sense, because…” as you must know, sitting in quicksand may seem like an inevitable end for anyone of this kind of nature.
      The past seems so much like what it could be in the future, except much more toxic. “I am not so sure why this seems to be clear thought, but I would like to at least make it forward to a place where my past seems to be clear enough to be consistent enough to not affect my future.” “Well, at least to the extent that I let my experience drives my psyche, morals, and attunement to the world around me.”
      Well. I guess sitting here is only dragging me down more. I forgot about gravity. “Why the hell not.” I started moving forward with the rope again.
      And slowly, my chest and waist, and then knees and ankles, and then feet were all dragged out by my grip as I took the rope hand over hand, moving forward toward my goal.
      By now however, the jungle explorer was a few steps ahead so I could no longer see his form standing safely before the quicksand. In fact, he was already safely through the mess and I was already crawling to my own feet, looking back at my old sanctuary and solitude. I looked above the surface, thinking about my thoughts drifting around; not exactly soaring through the world as I had once had really pictured them to be.
      In fact, “I am thinking that maybe, I was brooding too much on the past, when, the turning point was only reaching out to at least one relationship with which to satisfy myself, and I certainly wasn’t wishing to drag anyone into the mud with me.” In another fact, it almost seemed silly to picture myself there in the quicksand, finding sanctuary in my thoughts. I was clearly alone.
      Why was I so satisfied? I was so willing to accept the fact that I did not have to hurt anyone, that I forgot that I was probably doing a disservice to myself by not turning to someone, or anyone to get through this mess.
      “I am satisfied,” I am thinking, standing on my feet. But where should I place these emotions and thoughts, and brooded and broken recollections of the past? Certainly as we all move through our lives, certain people can look to something new and be satisfied placing the past in a recess of the mind, not turning to it until it is something powerful and wonderful again to look at.
      Unfortunately, sitting in the quicksand, I was finding myself playing games with the past. “What if this was like this.” “Well, it is most likely like that, but it certainly may seem more like this right now.” Unfortunately, rearranging the past is incredibly difficult and repetitious without bringing in new evidence, which there always seems to be in the past.
      And it was exciting in a new way to step outside of that pseudo future. I looked forward to my new path. I thought briefly to the nearly silent black man I had seen before, no longer perturbed by myself as a non-racist. It was all slightly odd in recollection, but made perfect sense. I didn’t bother to worry about my damaged clothing, knowing that if I ever wanted to step away from this mess, now was the time.
      Of course, this could be a moment that lasts eternity, but not in this type of life. I listened ahead, and caught up with the explorer, wondering where he was going, and what was out there that I had not yet seen. I knew the things I had seen were so intricately complex that I could have died mildly contempt within the pit I had found myself in. Anyone can die mildly contempt. It takes little more than a daily rhythm of order and nourishment, lacking the little things like the stimulation of love and breath.
      “Already I feel great,” I thought, but as I did so, it seemed a little more of the situation flew out of my mind. I didn’t feel like I was falling, but I certainly felt like I could stop the cogs in the dirt if I needed to. In fact, the ground was certainly solid enough to allow only one true path for a wheel to drive upon.
      “Whatever I choose to think seems to be at least moving forward.” I concurred, though cautiously, with my previous recollections, ensured that I was in fact one person intact with memory of only one solitary life.
      “Hey slow down,” I decided to blurt out to the explorer, but I was almost unsure in my actions, realizing this was the first thing I said to such a noble person as a collected person. Certainly this was not for the first time, but it was certainly new time which seemed to be moving through me, and not with me.
      I was no longer moving at my mind’s pace and contentment, but at the pace of a new liberating situation. I saw the trees about me, I saw the vines, and I felt the firm yet forgiving ground within the green environment around me.
      I looked at the explorer face to face for the first time at my firm level, my head swimming with old thoughts, not interesting, not even to regurgitate for physical sickness of finding myself back in a wide open world, complete with brush moving with the breeze outside the forest, blowing along the tops of the trees, causing them to cave slightly in their strength.
      The explorer seemed to be Asian in orient, but not to an extreme degree. He seemed to be moving someplace out of my way, but not entirely. I thanked him for the rope and decided to continue with him, at least for the moment. I was ready to hitch my own way out of the brush when I felt tired, but for now, I could at least walk with some motivation and intention, even if it was into uncharted land.
      Ashes circled the location as we left. The ashes were of different colors but all of the same magnitude at least in my mind. I knew that there was only so much of this type of interaction I could take before my mind would break into a mode of inner enlightenment where my only thoughts would guide me to new levels of understanding. This did happen, although I cannot explain exactly where, this is for the reader to decide. To me, does this seem that I have found a place separate and separated from this type of thought, and also the deep bog that could pull me to places worse? And, and in a moment of relapse and situation, do I understand all that there seems to be in such a place, or am I still caught in the matrix of mud, sand, and water and decomposing animals between the brushes of leaves within this forest.