I won’t bore anyone with a clinical perspective, but interestingly enough, my hope burned brightest during the endless crucible of my childhood. As a slave, the only thing I owned was my mind, and the imagination which allowed me inner access to the world I built to escape the horror. That world remains, although I have been blocked from
entry since I was fourteen, I can still see it as through a window. Sigh. For all its fantasy, that world was far more grounded and sensible than the paedophile stable which defined my existence, or the family home where pretence ruled. Reality, like perception, can be very flexible indeed. I believe I think rather well, can employ scientific method well enough to get my thesis approved at
least. Lol. Am I bitter? Sometimes, when CPTSD takes hold, and the dragons I keep in boxes wreak havoc in my mind. My experience of scientific method as a kid involved some rather brutal experiments. But, most of the time I am grateful for the less tangible things this journey taught me, how to read people, how to be feral and read ones surroundings, be at one with nature in a way a more civilized person often is not. Much of
this is difficult to explain because it is subliminal. Empathetic on a rather large scale. My boss tells me this is the best gift I bring to my practice. I try to integrate, thought, emotion, and my connection to the pattern I sense but cannot see. Perhaps I do not explain this very well, poetry rather than prose is my metier. As for surprises, I am amazed
every day that I am still alive, and have been graced with the privilege of serving others. They other children never made it out of adolescence. I am blessed to be able to make their deaths count. Life is good