"Finding Elmo"....Again

The first time I played "Finding Elmo," I was twenty-three years old. I was a counselor at The Bridge For Runaway Youth, and this search was being lead by Marlene Barghini. Not ashamed of her own neurosis, she bravely led her staff of counselors in the examination of their own. I have to admit, the point of this, escaped me. In my mind, it was a two hour meeting that upended my schedule of important duties. From this point forward, and across my counseling career, clinical supervision was part of my life. Good, bad, boring, kleenex box or not, there was no way around it.

Last night, I began class two of a skills series that is running inside of my program. This class is called Pastoral Counseling. Hosted by the self-proclaimed King of Neurosis, Professor DeFrancisco, I was again victim to the slap and slide. However, "Read This" was now interspersed with "Do This."

"You will get a three ring and write out the story of your life. You will include every morbid detail of being hurt, getting hurt, feeling hurt. You will write out every single thing that happened to you in your family. And let us insert Freud at this point: 'Men, everything important about how you tick has to do with your mother. Women, everything important about how you tick has to do with your father.' You will write out your fears, your hopes, your crushed hopes, your anger. You will include every significant event of your life where you have been brought to your knees, destroyed. You will write about that destruction, the pain of losing yourself, the fear of never finding yourself again, and the rage that is inside of you. You will write about all family members, all lovers, all employers, all strangers, all observers, all players. You will start writing and you will not stop writing until this class is over. Let me be clear here, you have no business being in any relationship, with anyone, unless you understand yourself. What you are like, why you are like that, and what your vulnerabilities, feelings, and fears are. Least of all....in a pastoral counseling relationship.
At the same time, you will fill out this form on your behavior. Here it is. (Slap and slide.) You will track your behavior. The point of doing this is to understand how you protect yourself, and what your defenses are. You will carry this form and a pencil with you until I tell you to stop. Check off your reactions. Check off your defenses. You must recognize and understand your inner feelings and your reactive behavior. It is coming from somewhere. Fight or Flight. Your behavior indicates that something is happening inside you. You must understand what it is, and what it is hooked to.
If you do not deal with who you are and what is inside of you, you will lead others away from dealing with what is inside of them, and who they are.
And finally, I do not care what these things are. I am not here to judge you. I have obsessive-compulsive disorder to the point where I have gotten up in the middle of the night to rake my living room rug...over and over again until the fibers were standing perfectly straight in the air. We all have neurosis. We are all reverberating from our past. We are all flawed and struggling.
What you are writing about is not what I am concerned about. What I am concerned about is that you face it, feel it, and know it. And here, read this, read this, read this, and read this.
Class is over. Oh, by the way...any questions?"

There were no questions.

I shot out of bed this week and landed in the kitchen to eat crackers after a dream that I was lying on a surgical table. My wrists were exposed for surgery. The intent was to cut the tendons.
The night before, I was pushed into the cockpit of a 747. I explained over and over again that I did not know how to fly. No one listened. I was told that I would be flying charters, and I would be flying them at night. I said again that I did not know how to fly. While seated at the console, I thought a manual would be in the overhead compartment. I opened it, and a sewing kit fell in my lap. A sweet grandmother type basket containing many spools of beautifully colored thread. Worthless. The cock-pit door was locked from the outside, and the engines started on their own, all of the dash board lights went on, and the plane started moving down the runway. Crackers in the kitchen. It was 3:30 in the morning.

Yesterday, I wanted to write on my blog. I like to write after walking, praying and meditating, early morning. I couldn't do it because by 8:30 am in the morning I was already angry at two people: Dave-the-furnace-guy-go-ahead-and-rip-out-your-furnace-I-will-be-back-tomorrow, and my brother-who-can't-handle-his-finances-nor-any-other-aspect-of-his-life-Jim.
Because of my feelings and my reaction to these two guys, I had great difficulty with my day.

In reflection, I can only say, I guess it is about time to find Elmo....again.