Posts Tagged ‘learning’

Maya inadvertantly embodies MM-us values; Aesthetic Science in Motion.

November 3, 2013

The values of MissionMiraculus Ltd (= MM-us) have been articulated across a range of documents authored by MissionMiraculus & Janie Greville. All of this material is Copyrighted with All Rights Reserved. Today, in particular, we would like to draw your attention to the term ‘Aesthetic Science’. Although Janie Greville has coined this term originally, together with a concept of meaning that refers in and outward to a deep and wide network of knowledges and affective references; it is not the first usage of this term.

One company offering cosmetic surgery have misused the term vis a vis the dictionary definition of the term within The Shorter Oxford Dictionary, a common reference manual for such disagreements, and therefore we anticipate this commercial concern will shortly be renaming their company.

A book as been edited by Arthur P. Shimamura and Stephen E. Palmer, with a telling subtitle – ‘Connecting Minds, Brains, and Experience’. This sounds as if the focal zone for the collection of authors in this volume is subjective experience, not including the subjectivity of the  material body – I  may be mistaken, but I shall order and read this volume within the next month and let you know – if anyone else would like to do likewise that would be great.

For the time being I believe we are the first collective genius to create the new theory of ‘Aesthetic Science’ which will literally, in one swoop, demolish both western science and Modernism, with it’s ‘Post-Modernist‘ spin offs. It will in fact a cosmic blow to post Newtonian Britain and the entire world, but especially USA; UK and Europe (including Russia/USSR).

In addition, quite by accident it will lead to an open and forceful alliance between Sweden & the UK – two unusually strongly independent states / countries within the larger territory of Europe, stretching from Norway and Ireland across to Russia, down to the mediterranean shores of Cyprus, Turkey and Afghanistan.  Communities within two latter, and other ‘borderline’ states,  to have both European and Asian identity issues cheek-by-jowl.  Previous efforts to quell the squabbling have been led by the highly warrior spirited USA and UK organisations; notably, the UN is largely USA controlled with UK support and encouragement too often.  The Teutonic inclination to fire before thinking is balanced by the Viking soul of the Scandinavian’s (including the ‘netherlandish) post-imperial wisdom of taking the following approach to trouble: ‘Think about it, map it, analyse it; reach for the most effective, economic, humane, solution.’ We believe that the ‘nords’ have it sorted. War is no more in these lands. Let’s spread the joy, is what MissionMiraculus thinks.

The theory of Aesthetic Science created, constructed and in the wings of publication, is the brain child of MissMiracle’s MIC & Friends; sister company to MissionMiraculus Ltd.  Though the theory in totalis is not yet visible, it exists. Any use or misuse of these concepts with this name or any other created via MissionMiraculus.com; Talkheals.wordpress.com; facebook pages for missionmiraculus, Arrabella Faith & Janie Greville or referred to or discussed across her networks of colleagues and private friends, will be pursued actively in relation to Copyright Laws. Many thanks for your co-operation.

 

 

Dancing in His Grave

October 24, 2013

Dad’s safest where he is just now…

I wrote this entry, originally, in November 2012 last year, shortly after my father died. Of course, as you will see, it’s a ‘parochial’ piece, pertaining to specifics within my own life and family in the extended sense.

Looking back on this, as I approach the first anniversary of my father’s mortal death (don’t think there’s supposed to be another kind, but I felt like my father’s body survived his spirit by several months, really – he’d lost the will to live earlier in the year when he ‘failed’ yet another ‘tribunal’ held at St Andrew’s Hospital), it strikes almost an orchestral chord with me. This time last year I was a mental health patient (and had been one since 1997), I was ‘incapacitated’ beyond all expectations of sustainable recovery and I was alone, without a partner to share my life with. A year on I am an ex-patient; I am constructing the underpinnings of a successful business; and I am delighted to report that I have been reunited with the partner who appeared in my life, for the first time, back in 2006.

This entry should be read to the song ‘What a Wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong.

My lovely Dad must be dancing in his grave. It’s what he did on top of the soil so presumably he’ll be doing it even more now. He won’t be feeling too hot or too cold, he won’t be feeling too happy or too sad, he won’t be feeling too amused or too enraged – he’ll be as serene as ever he could have felt in this life. That’s a good thought, a good feeling – he’s past pain and past pleasure – a state of utter peace.

Those of us with breath in our lungs and blood running through our veins can’t genuinely imagine this state. After all, our very capacity to experience ourselves as living is dependent on this constant state of flux between various potentially opposite extremes. I can’t offer to throw light onto the matter either, because I don’t remember anything until I was about two so I’m blind and deaf to the eternity I was in before I was conceived and presumably that’s the same space he’s returned to now.

Of course in another sense he hasn’t because a fair few people remember him and hold him in their minds eye and fewer still, in their heart. I hold him in both, and let’s face it, I hold him in the length of my arms and legs, my addictive love of music and my sense of humour. Oh – and in my insistence on personalising anything and everything that comes within my sphere.

I want to check with St Andrews if there are any audio or video recordings of my dad performing to his peers and carers. It would hardly assist me to show the world what a gifted man my father was but it would warm my heart to see anything to keep him alive to me.

For the time being I have his order of service card, young soulful photo at the front, heart warming image of his birthday party in July on the back. To me he’ll never die.

Father of Mine

Father of Mine (Photo credit: Just Us 3)

Which is why I’ve only sobbed about his concrete death a few times so far. I feel like he’s still with me somehow, so most of the time I feel he’s actually closer to hand than he’d been for some years.

Oh what a lovely outlet this is. To speak what’s in my heart in an environment stripped of people who intrude to corrupt it.

The corruption is coming from matters of estate. If you have ever been named in a ‘last will and testament’ or have ever read a novel by Jane Austen you’ll immediately know what I mean. At death the vultures appear and hover – where the body disappears they gather to feed on the living grieving.

Makes you shudder doesn’t it? I’d experienced it in Austen’s novels, and I’d seen it over a meal in Dover when my grandfather died when I was eighteen years old. At the time my Uncle Ivor tried to soothe me by sympathising with my feelings while assuring me that I would feel differently when I got older. But Jane Austen’s novels are about large estates, my grandfather was a millionaire over twenty years ago – it doesn’t make the hovering or the lip slapping or the blood dripping claws any nicer but at least you can see why the booty looks so appealing and unmissable to vultures. – Oh – and I am older now, and I haven’t changed my feelings one iota. Nice try Uncle Ivor (now also in the ether) – I love you for doing your best xx.

My Dad’s estate, after costs, will probably be worth £115,000-120,000, Maximum.

Yet, so far, three people have applied to my Dad’s solicitor to find out the contents of his will in advance of his funeral, have sat together and have left several abusive voice mails on my mobile phone and one has informed me that I am personally responsible for some terrible recent misfortune in their family, all on the grounds that I turned out to be named in my father’s will. Most of the abusive phone calls were made at around 11 O’clock at night on the day of my father’s funeral. A funeral to which these people failed to appear on the grounds that they feared they had not been named in my father’s will and needed to have hard evidence about the matter before deciding whether or not to attend.

Have we left earth and headed for terra-ghastly or what? I don’t know. I only know this: ‘there ain’t nout so strange as folk’.

Feel free to comment dear readers – I’m genuinely perplexed.

Empty Soul Smile: Vultures

Empty Soul Smile: Vultures

To vultures if hovering over my blog – my words are backed by evidence so please leave me alone now.

My Dad spent a lot of his life persuaded by the 18-20th Century obsession with Love as a reference to ‘romantic’ attachment. He was fully capable of loving beyond this – he loved his little dogs; he loved music with a passion; he loved photography and colour, pattern and arrangement; he loved ‘the high life’; he loved conversation; he loved fine food; he loved good people; he loved laughing; he loved cups of tea; he loved glasses of wine, sometimes bottles of the stuff. I could go on. My Dad was a loving guy.

My Dad also loved his children, his acquired (by marriage) children and his natural, ie blood, children. This last was a passion of love that showed in letters he wrote to my mother many years ago but which he was discrete about in his day to day existence. He largely accommodated his second wife’s wishes in where to live and what to do, and he did this for a range of reasons, not least that he loved her very much.

There was a strain in him that somehow connected money and possessions with love. I believe that isn’t uncommon although I tend to think that it’s a good idea at times to stand back, notice that the one doesn’t equate with the other, and then take actions in relation to money that make sense and actions in relation to love that make sense – and somehow or another the relationship between the two can stand in a form of conceptual and defensible harmony if not equability.

I think that this paragraph is relevant to my father’s last will and testament. It reflected the passion of his love and it reflected his customary tendency to equate money with feeling. Had he been like me he would have adjusted his will to bring a ‘better’ balance to a wider approach of his loving. But he was not me. He was more impassioned than I am, less ‘dispassionate’ than I’m inclined to be.

Who knows, however, that he didn’t also know in his very bones about this difference in our natures and entrust me – and/or my sister and I, with the responsibility to ensure that peace shall reign in our lifetime? 😉

If the vultures will just shut the f**k up for a while, behind my back as well as by diversionary routes, and turn back into human beings – I shall have some peace in which to think!!!!

English: Back View of Jane Austen, Watercolor

English: Back View of Jane Austen, Watercolor (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Doh!!!

February 5, 2013
Stuck in the mud; trying to get clear again

Stuck in the mud trying to get up again

Mistakes Made During the Year

This isn’t going to be a long entry; I simply want to correct something said in the Human Aesthetics piece.

Frankly I have to confess that on a reread of Goodman which arrived today (my earlier copy having been lent out ..permanently….) I can’t support yesterday’s confident assertion that my thoughts subtend from his theory.  The influence of Goodman and Kuhn are present in the background of most of my broader thinking but I think that is as far as it goes.

I shouldn’t really have shared my working so soon after producing it because in retrospect I’m having serious doubts. It lacks rigour, there’s little scope offered for the ‘fleshing out’ of it and all in all it’s really just a bit of meandering ‘thinking out loud’.

Well – you didn’t do it for me but I got there in the end: the writer becomes her own critic.

… Back to the drawing board apparently…

NAOMI WOLF.. ‘VAGINA: A NEW BIOGRAPHY’

December 20, 2012
Love, Love, Love..

Love, Love, Love..

..Sounds very interesting.#

I haven’t got a copy – if you have – fancy lending it to me when you’ve finished it?

I have trawled through a few articles by this journalist today, in the online Guardian pages, pursuing more information about this little ditty, and I have been favourably impressed.

That doesn’t mean – ‘I’m impressed – quick everyone, get your visas out and make a purchase’. It means : mmmm…. now this sounds worth a look…

I was looking up ‘neuroscience’ in relation to a conference I’m thinking of sending an abstract for ‘Understanding Human Flourishing: A Postgraduate Medical Humanities Conference’ (CfP, Durham University, 16-17 May 2013) [in case you’re interested yourself] and somehow or another – don’t ask me how, because I can hardly recall, I ended up via a host of other articles I read during the hunt-down, coming across a couple of articles by Naomi – a far cry from my original intent.

But hardly a far cry from yesterday’s entry so – it must have been a case of serendipity.

The first thing I have to say to Naomi Wolf is : Brave Woman!!! In a world where, outside the (un)adventurous boundaries of the Guardian and the Independent, English society is terrified of the word ‘Vagina’ (though thoroughly comfortable with words like ‘shag’, ‘slag’ and ‘cunt’) (the last rather ironic of course as it usually is used against men as a term of abuse) here is a woman who happens to be at the forefront of the public eye and doesn’t cringe to admit that – she has one.

Quite a lot of us do, I hear rumoured.

I know, I know.. If you’re a man it’s a harsh thing to hear. Your mother has one, your daughter has one, the little old lady you passed in the street has one. Every other person you ever see has one.

How fucking outrageous!!!!

And it’s the reason why Feminism was fated to make such a shit job of improving our world.

Don’t get me wrong. Of course – women had to find a way to get seen, heard, valued in the world we found ourselves in: a world in which we frequently found ourselves valued as less than the cattle we slept with.

Sure things had to change.

Apparently they needed to change in this bizarre manner. With ‘feminism’ standing for ‘women’s rights’ to become ever more like men.

Ouch!!!

Who won then?

Who’s winning now?

The ‘femininists‘, that’s who – who love and adore men, who love and adore them – those whose object is to integrate and complete the human circle – by entering ‘woman’ as the equal and different partner of ‘man’. Ie:-

Those women and men who are beginning to wake up to the differences, that’s who. Those men and women who are learning to heed the sound of softness, of feeling, of tenderness, of subtlety: who tire of the call of gongs and trophies; who wear of the demand of competitive success; who notice how vacuous is the grand title, how precious the arrival of a new born baby.

Who notice how precious is the touch that is made for love, how futile the touch of coins and bedazzled, camera driven lust.

When will we ever learn… When will we ever…

Oh – I have to share with you the huge pleasure writing this has given me. A long time ago I was a post-grad at Leeds University and was privileged to be taught by two people I rapidly grew to love – Griselda Pollock and Fred Orton. Each of these individuals were exemplary examples of humanity at its best – warm, passionate, alert, sincere, determined – that must surely be sufficient attributes to win anyone’s love? I didn’t agree with the feminist part of my ‘social history of art’ nor did I feel qualified to disagree with anything.

But – if you get wind of this as it moves through the www air, Fred and Griselda: I want you to know: you did me the world of good: indeed, together with Charles Harrison, a man who grew to detest me but who I loved to and beyond the end: you made me who I am today.. Just because you never heard from me again doesn’t mean I lost ambition or drive. It means I walked my own path. And that ‘as they say’ – is the record of a fully achieved student. 😉

Bushel etc…….

July 20, 2012

I’ll get to the bushel later, let’s talk dreidels first..

Gordon popped over this morning. Car not drivable at the moment so he generously offered to collect me from sainsbury’s when I’d done my shopping. Or, as actually occurred, arrive 10 minutes before me and accompany me around the store.

Over several cups of coffee we chatted about this and that. The topic to share today was this: Yesterday I came across a guy called Tony Robbins who is an experienced broadcaster and practioner in relation to ‘strategic interventions’. He & his colleague were sharing their broad approach whilst focussing on a woman who suffered from depression.

At a particular point he raised the concept of the ‘crazy 8’ – two circles of physiology + mental focus + language that = a depressive syndrome – from passive sadness, hopelessness, despair and powerless vulnerability to active determination, anger and empowerment – back, of course, to depression in the passive state etc.

In particular in this case he noticed that the woman in question fiercely protected her depressed state.

Eureka – he introduced and explained ‘the crazy 8’.

The day has rushed by and now I shall have to continue tomorrow.

Sleep Well Everyone – thanks for being so patient during our fallow period 🙂

The CLI Presentation – Words for Now :-)

February 23, 2012

Tracey Holley's New Home 🙂

There’s no doubt about it: anyone finding themselves a patient on a psychiatric ward is in a vulnerable, distressed state. Whether or not hospitalisation has been necessary – or even helpful – is, in this sense, less important than recognising the vulnerability and distress of the person in question.

Whether desperately unhappy; enraged; disturbed or confused, patients are characteristically in a state of overwhelm on arrival; the more so where they have been forced into the context.

Thus the first duty of caring professionals = nursing; medical and other practitioners, is to acknowledge and respond sensitively to the emotive state of the patient at this point.

Sadly this has not been my experience most of the time: indeed, on the contrary, the insensitive, inobservant, arrogant and cavalier conduct of staff in the early years of my experience of mental health services created within me the mission I have had ever since to address it’s traumatising, wounding impacts – impacts that for many, are more violent and repressive than the contexts from which they were taken.

However, outstandingly compassionate and sensitive behaviours by four members of staff stand out from this mellais of disgrace.
The first came within a year of my request for an alternative psychiatrist from the one I had been ‘given’ in 1997 and whose arrogant, insensitive attitude and behaviour had driven me to 2 suicide attempts (none prior to meeting her, none even as a thought, before it).

The replacement psychiatrist was far from perfect (are any of us?) but what he did have going for him, certainly in relation to me, was a transparent humanity and quirkiness that warmed my heart and assisted me to feel as protective and concerned for his own wellbeing as he clearly felt for mine.

His name was John King. He recognised my intellectual restlessness and stretching inquisitiveness, he noticed my creative impulses and achievements; he marked my impassioned love for my children; he found it difficult to get his head around the abuse I had endured from various quarters leading up to and continuing in relation to my personal breakdowns and difficulties in recovering from these.

The second came from a nursing assistant who, by the time of this particular incident, I had met several times during ‘incarcerations’ at Hill Crest Hospital in Reddditch. I am racking my mind to remember her name, I feel dreadful that it isn’t at the tip of my tongue. I ran into her at a seminar only a year or so ago : she is attractive, 40-ish, with dark, curly long hair; vivacious and warm: the very epitome of the kind of nurse that anyone could wish for on a ward.

In 2003 she noticed the painfully distressed state I was in and within a few days she asked me if I would like help to have a bath. Her manner was non-patronising, tender and empathic. She had surmised that I was in serious need of nurture – she couldn’t have been more right. ‘Normally’ I am frighteningly shy and inhibited about my body, having suffered body dysmorphia and eating disorders from my early teens that had affected my growth so that in some respects I appeared barely adult: this was only too evident to me and I tended all my life to hide away from inspection, or indeed, even from being physically noticed.

With her maternal warmth and gentleness I allowed her to run a bath for me and to re-enter the room after I had undressed and got into the bath. She gently washed my back – a form of physical contact that I had not felt able to accept for so long I had no memory of it. Indeed, when I reflected upon it, I had not received such gentle contact from humanity since I was a tiny pre-school child, by one of my grandparents. It was a healing, nurturing contact that catalysed my recovery.

The third person to stand out from the crowd was another nursing assistant who was small, bubbly and loved by absolutely every patient. She worked with the hospital team to advocate for my needs to have contact with my children and she succeeded. She took me away from the hospital for coffee hours where we simply sat and chattered like girls with no reference to ‘heavy issues’: again, my recovery was catalysed.

Finally, I received memorable respect and kindness during my most extraordinary imprisonment last year. It was extraordinary because my distress had been caused directly and almost exclusively by malicious efforts by my ex-husband and his wife to malign me in order for my ex-husband to continue to conceal the truth about himself; plus, by the mental health service who once more, and this time indefensibly, leapt to his aid by ‘rounding me up’ after hot pursuit and declaring me insane for writing a blog and for being ‘over familiar’ with a nurse who I had known (to be ‘over familiar’ himself at Hill Crest where I had first met him) by trying to engage him in music session whilst he was (ininvitedly) in my home…..

…one of the nursing assistants (support workers, as they are now called) took to coming into see me in my room when the ward was quiet, simply to have a chat, to show me her publications, her poetry and to contextualise me in relation to the triggers for her work. This was respect, courtesy, warmth, acceptance, treating me in a manner I could recognise as fitting in relation to my identity..

I hope that this indicates to you the kinds of positive risks these intelligent and responsible and compassionate individuals took and the gains their risks achieved in the journey of one mental health patient. So very risky none of it was – but they took the ‘risk’ of ‘coming out from behind’ real or supposed masks of ‘expertise’ and ‘clinical’ (=cold and heartless and judgemental) reserves of ‘professional identity’ and related to me as fellow human beings disposed to assist me at a point of pain and difficulty in my life.

I hope that you, too, find the courage to work in the interests of ‘shared humanness’ regardless of those pressures you may find to be remote, ‘professionally detached’ and covertly judgemental. Active listening is probably the most important skill any mental health, or any other health, professional can acquire and use.

Welcome, CLI Students :-)

February 23, 2012

Crazy Daisy's Doodles

Many apologies for the lateness of the day in which I upload this for your benefit. I confess, it was written around 3am last night and another, on silencelol, addressing a specific question asked after Mike Smith’s session, did appear around then… I got it into my head that this one, too, had been published, but of course, because it’s just an intro, I’d saved it to draft only.

Anyhow, with no further ado: Let’s begin with this ‘Part 1’ and then later this evening ‘Part 2’ will appear. I look forward to hearing from you in response to the views shared herein – dialogue is the space where ‘collaborative learning’ takes place 😉

Peer Support Organisation: The Best Hospital Out

Well, I’m going to begin this presentation with a response to a question asked of me from one of you as I left Muirhead Tower last week. You will find this response on http://www.silencelol.wordpress.com

(The question was, in a nutshell, ‘How do people manage to handle moving on from mental health traumas, with all the set backs that these are inclined to involve, without being lost in regrets for all the time lost on the journey?’)

And now to the presentation ‘proper’.

My topic is the ‘Shared Humanness’ concept as articulated by Tracey Holley (ex Worcestershire based mental health consultant, now living in Scotland). I would like to explain this concept a little, relating it to the ten shared capabilities which you may be aware of (I hope you are) and then referring to specific experiences that I have had during hospital stays where such values were in place and which have remained memorable and cherished as an oasis within a desert of humanity.

Hopefully, I will gain permission from Tracey to upload a version of her work for general dissemination on this site within the next few days. Til then, let’s just say, the concept derives from an all inclusive perception of sharing those qualities of human value that none of us are excepted by or from and which she proposes should form the basis for mental health practitioners ethos, right across the field.

Necessarily, this approach does away with hierarchisation (?) of personnel, including those at the ‘receiving end’ of services, without removing the care that sufferers may need at any one time.

I promised you a video presentation, so I am going to have to sort that out now. In order to do so it takes a hell of a time to upload it first to my youtube account and then to the website. So bear with us – you may not see it until tomorrow afternoon.

Mmmm don’t think I’m going to make it til the weekend or so.. let’s do a typescript and see if you’re actually listening before I bust a gut for you all shall we? 😉

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