What is the origin of our penchant for “secrecy”?

Re: my ongoing “Recapitulation Project”: I continue to root around in the bowels of stuff I wrote decades ago. Usually I’m working with complete essays which, if I still appreciate them, I post here, under “AK Reader.” But there’s one piece of paper that, over the years, has continued to surface, over and over again, reminding me of when I wrote it down, in some kind of inspirational frenzy. No longer remember when or where, likely at least 40 years ago; in any case, the words on this old wrinkled piece of paper, for me at least, continue to provoke.

Here goes, verbatim, with the word “origins” larger and circled, in the left margin.

Secrecy is natural result when you didn’t get the privacy you needed. (When there is a collapse — or a non-building — of boundaries between self and others, so no sense of self. [The word “self” underlined, twice.]

Secrecy then becomes self’s way of assuring a (secret) identity in private. [The phrase “in private” added later and placed above.] Secret, because if others knew about it, they would take it away.

Healthy people give each other privacy — all the circles must be honored —. [By which I meant, the “circle of the self” as the first of a set of concentric circles radiating out from the center of the self. This idea, of “honoring all the circles,” has been one of my foundational assumptions all these years.[]

Unhealthy people deny others privacy and then force them into secrecy in order to obtain privacy.

Then, larger, and as if a crucial afterthought.

Holding or keeping secrets drains energy.

I think back to the times when I felt it necessary to keep a (very private i.e., secret) journal: always when I was in some kind of dicey, mutually controlling, mutually ambivalent relationship with a man. But not all men. For example, my deceased husband Jeff gave me plenty of room, and respected my individuality (the central “circle of my self”); furthermore, though I tried to control him, it didn’t work. He would just look at me as if I was nuts. I find it a very good sign that, after the first year or so, I felt no need to keep a journal during our 12 years together.

And let me confess — after all, I’m a forever recovering “Catholic”! As a young girl, if I found somebody’s journal, I would find a way to sneakily read it. And of course, felt guilty for doing so. But my need to understand “where they were coming from” was even stronger than my conscience. I was always, from an early age, highly aware of the enormous difference between what someone “showed” on the outside, and what they were “really like” on the inside. Or maybe I was just so aware of that difference in myself that I figured everybody must be like me?! Though of course, I pretended that I wasn’t like that, along with pretending that I did not read another person’s private journal. Not that anyone ever accused me of doing so. I was very careful . . .

What would I have done had someone accused me of reading their journal? Would my conscience have won out? Or would I have lied, and thus doubled the guilt? Somehow I doubt it, since “telling the truth” was always a primary value for this Sagittarian.

In these days when we are obsessed with, and appalled by, the idea of government secrecy, and especially, of how nations (especially this one) uses the phrase “national security” as a justification for secrecy (and thus control — of at least information, and often much more), I like to remember that the need for secrecy starts inside each of us very early on, given this culture where the paradoxical needs for both individuality (privacy) and community are so rarely in balance.

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That drat “virus” has the whole world bamboozled!

Are you still a sucker? Then you haven’t read enough Jon Rappoport, who, to my mind, is THE voice of both expertise and sanity during this latest drummed up global hysteria.

Here’s two more:

The Virus first, last, and always in the hearts of our Countrymen


People dying equals coronavirus?

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AK Reader: A Whale of a Story (1988)

This essay was first published in the astrology magazine, Welcome to Planet Earth, as one of my Saturn/Uranus in Sagittarius series. I look back on it now appalled: never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the human race would go on to pollute the entire Pacific Ocean with radioactivity from Fukushima. 

This essay also reminds me that Reagan and Gorbachev had just achieved the impossible; their historic agreement to end the Cold War set the human race on a new, peaceful foundation. Or it could have. Furthermore, shortly after their remarkable raprochement, the Berlin Wall suddenly fell. What a miracle! Surely, East and West would now unite to form one harmonious world! But no. The Project for a New American Century ramped up in the 1990s, and the term “hyperpower” was invented to describe the swaggering U.S. attitude. How many nations have we been at war with since then? Not until Donald Trump took office did this nation remember what Reagan began to accomplish by assuming the possibility of a more peaceful attitude towards Russia. Furthermore, have you noticed? No new wars have been started either. Truly, Reagan and Trump do feel aligned, especially when I remember that Reagan, too, ramped up military spending for his Star Wars initiative prior to meeting with Gorbachev. Indeed, they share the motto: “Peace through Strength.”

But then what about Trump’s view of the natural world? This kind of story, that speaks of interspecies cooperation, feels to me like it’s down the road, if ever, given his businessman’s world-view, which doesn’t seem to include animals as treasured beings within the biosphere. I mean, Trump doesn’t even own a dog!

Meanwhile, this story still speaks to us. As do all stories where we are called upon to rise to the occasion and help a fellow creature in need. 

Saturn/Uranus: A WHALE OF A STORY (1988)

Thursday, October 27, 1988. Barrow, Alaska (AP): “Superpower saviors opened a path to the sea and freed two trapped whales Wednesday, as Soviet ice-breakers bashed through an ice ridge and Americans hacked ice holes toward the Russians.”

As usual, the whole world watched as this dramatic “human interest” story, pulling on our heart strings, unfolded. Would the whales be freed in time, or would the unprecedented international effort come to naught?

“Human interest” stories are considered “soft,” i.e., not as important as “hard” factual stories. But they do sell the product. So, as much as most reporters would rather cover something important, they are sometimes assigned to such stories, and token slots are created to give them room.

Once in a while, one of these “human interest” stories grabs us so profoundly that it becomes front page news. Last year we were riveted to the tube night after night as rescuers attempted to free little Jessica from the underground shaft. We rejoiced at their success, and looked closely at the pictures of the child, her head and limbs wrapped in bandages, when she emerged, cradled in the arms of her rescuer. Was she okay? Would the long days and nights spent in the dark tunnel damage her psyche?

This year it is the whale story. Coming on the heels of some “hard” news too: pilot whales washing up on Cape Cod shores, dolphins subject to some kind of immune-deficiency disease; fully one half of the seal population of the Baltic Sea sacrificed to industrial waste . . . Yes, a soft story about the plight of some sea creatures is entirely in keeping with the message our oceans are sending us, S.O.S., now.

The compassionate side of us is activated. Our collective heart opens wide, radiating out to touch these large, dignified mammals. We feel their panic, their irregular heartbeat, as they surface, time after time, noses cut to the bone in continual futile attempts to break up jagged icy prison walls. Daily pictures show one of the whales, its battered nose up above the water, facing — seeming to be in some kind of silent communion with — whichever Eskimo or whale expert is standing there this time, leaning in the whale’s direction.

The story hits the front pages. Media flock to Barrow, an isolated Eskimo village at the top of the world, 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle. We hear of Eskimos cutting holes in the ice with chain saws “and their strong backs”; we hear of an American ice breaking barge trying to reach the area — and foundering. The effort, great as it is, looks futile. The nearest open water, we are told, is 200 miles away. Even our great expertise and massive technology seem impotent in the face of this emergency. Should all else fail, we are told, nets are being built right now to airlift the whales out of danger.

The whale story has magnified to become an “international incident” of the third kind. Whales are as foreign to us in their consciousness as aliens, and yet an interspecies bonding, however temporary and fragile, seems to be taking place here.

As the story drags on with very little change, the media grows restive. Reporters are in living in tight proximity. There’s only so much they can say about a story that is the same, day after day. They grow bored, start covering each other. The story is a media event. The media is part of the story. We see one reporter grinning and talking about how there are two trout caught in a stream a couple of hundred miles away, maybe we should go there next?

We start to look at the story differently. Hey, what’s going on here. What’s this nonsense about? Just another media hype.

“How could the media focus so much on this one incident and yet hardly notice Greenpeace’s constant and ongoing heroic efforts to save whales and other endangered species?”

“Had they taken all that money they spent trying to free those whales they could have fed thousands of homeless for a year.”

“The hypocrisy of this story is incredible? How many of those who were trying to help those two whales make it their business otherwise to hunt the rest of them?”

Disgusted, we turn off the tube, feeling like fools for getting all emotional about this, when we should be focused on the business of daily living.

Our idealism seems fragile. With one flip of the switch, it transforms into cynicism, an attitude which, actually, feels safer to us, more normal, more in line with the daily living we are supposed to attend to.

Each of the above cynical responses can be viewed as both true and appropriate, within the “normal” frame of reference. Yet so was our initial idealism both true and appropriate — within another, larger, frame of reference.

We need these “human interest” stories to help us break out of our myopic focus on daily concerns. Our awareness expands, lifts, lightens, as we travel in our minds far from home to imaginatively enter a situation which stirs our hearts into compassion. As we psychically enter and participate in the inner world of another being, our experience of ourselves stretches to encompass this larger reality. As our own personal boundaries dissolve into this immensity, we feel invigorated somehow, more alive.

Indeed, coming back to ourselves after such a journey is a sort of shock. There is a such a contrast, such a clashing between the smaller self focused narrowly on daily life and the larger self sympathetically resonating with all that is! To acknowledge the shock, to stay with it and quiet our busy lives down to the point where we can allow this shock to penetrate deeply in to our cells and psyches, is to trigger a transformation in the way we live here and now. No longer will we be so obsessed with trivia; instead, we will see whatever we are thinking and doing now with equanimity. We have gained the wider view within which to place today’s pressing, but passing, concern.

Our cynicism, fed by the media, and seemingly more and more prevalent in America, is actually but the flip-side of our inherent, God-given, but much maligned, idealism. We cynics are disappointed idealists. The great hope which initially inspired us has been dashed on the rocky shores of so-called “reality,” and we are pissed. Pissed, we think, because we were foolish enough to be idealistic in the first place. Pissed, in actuality, because the world is not measuring up to our ideals. The world. Our world. Us . . .

It is ourselves which we have so much trouble with. No matter how much we try to deny our foolish utopian dream, tinges of it remain, hovering around the edges of our consciousness. No matter how much we try to close down, we are human, our hearts can still be tugged by another, even one as alien as a whale.

Now let’s view this whale story in a new light. Let’s “get metaphysical,” and ask why this particular story was chosen by the collective unconscious to be one which the media would pick up on. Let’s assume the choice was no accident, and view it as a symbolic event of great significance to the human race.

The whale story has the makings of a modern myth, a healing tale for our times. It prophetically illustrates the possibility of an entirely new kind of planetary cooperation.

Placing the story within its larger heavenly context, it is notable that it began on or around October 6, the day when Saturn joined Uranus at the 27th degree of Sagittarius, to line up exactly with the heart center of our Milky Way galaxy. The story unfolded over a period of three weeks, surrounding the final Saturn/Uranus conjunction which climaxed on October 18, 1988.

Let’s look at the story from a Saturn/Uranus in Sagittarius point of view. Let’s see how it illustrates, in a number of different ways, our need for a philosophical perspective which gives value to not only all ways of life, but all living creatures.

The subjects of the story were denizens of the deep blue sea, whales, an endangered specier whose eerie and haunting songs have graced our ears through the marvels of recording technology for decades now. Their songs have been analyzed technically, and are found to be astonishingly complex sonar patterns, so intricate that some experts conjecture that perhaps they constitute a true language whose code we have yet to break.

The story took place at the top of the world, its rays of significance raining down upon the entire planet. Converging upon the scene were a group of rescuers as unlike one another as humans are to whales: oil companies, whale experts, small businessmen, Eskimos, whale hunters, environmentalists, the military — not to mention the joint efforts of the two superpowers, Russia and the United States.

This joint ice-breaking effort, dubbed “Operation Breakthrough” (how Uranian!), was further indication of how the ice has been broken between our two nations. “We feel very good about it. The cooperation has just been fantastic. The Soviets came in here with a very positive attitude and went to work immediately,” said an American spokesman. The Soviet ice-breaking ships were even flying the flags of both countries — “as a sign of cooperation between nations!”

The third-world Eskimos used small primitive tools to cut ice holes in the ice. This kept the whales alive, but it did not free them. The industrialized United States and Russia used their giant machines — though ours broke down before reaching the whales . . .  The Russian ice breakers made mincemint of that giant ridge of ice. This was the final act which gave the whales their freedom. The aboriginal and the technological ways of life joined here. Both were necessary in their own ways, both appropriate.

In the AP story of Thursday, October 27, there were several comments on the behavior of the whales which hint that we humans are beginning to acknowledge that perhaps a kind of interspecies communication took place here. “The whales are acting in a very excited manner, almost like they can sense freedom,” said a spokesman for the Alaska National Guard early Wednesday, when the Russian ships were still miles away from the trapped whales.

As the Russian ships broke through the massive ice ridge preventing the whales’ escape, the same spokesman said, “The whales seem to be doing fine. It’s like they expect something to be happening. . .”

Perhaps the whales engineered the whole thing. Perhaps they sought contact with us now in this way to demonstrate the kind of interspecies bonding that is going to be necessary if we are to attend to the drastic needs of our planetary home. Perhaps it will turn out these whales are not only our fellow creatures, and thus deserving of our compassion and care, but more. Perhaps, as they circle the globe deep within the deep blue sea, singing and dancing with each other, they sing to us too, they dance with us, too.

The ocean symbolizes the collective unconscious, where we all meet nightly in our dreams, where we all mingle together, each of us a mere drop in the ocean, all of us together a mighty surging sea.

The ocean represents the watery depths within us, linking us to one another, washing through us all. We are all biological creatures. We feel. As we feel for and with each other, as we personally sense earth and her cries for help, we are motivated to both bond and to act, together.

Newsweek’s article on the whales was titled, “Just One Mammal Helping Another.” That article concluded: “It was clear that our species had an emotional stake in helping these creatures survive. It was as if we had resolved to demonstrate to the rest of creation that technology doesn’t just mean better weapons, and that when our best instincts are engaged, man no longer is the planet’s most treacherous animal.”

Yes. And let us remember: the source of our power for destruction arises within a greater power — that of our human imagination, our capacity to both envision and manifest a new way of life upon the planet. We meet and unite as one, humans and other creatures together, first in our dreams, singing and dancing, then in action, to change the face of the earth. To allow her to breathe again, to smile again. That we may love her as she has loved us.




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ARKCroneCast Updates for February 12, 2020

ARKCroneCast #12 silver and gold tier access for Patreon subscribers:

Chapter One: DEATH AND THE MAIDEN, from Ten Tools for Transformation

In this book I talk about the ten tools I use to help me both stay on course and amplify my own evolutionary process. These tools help give my life shape, meaning, and direction. They assist me in overcoming old habits which tend to make me stuck. Most of them, moreover, are “free.” : they do not depend on buying anything or paying an expert for anything. I write this book for all those who think I, and others like me, have no fear. As if fear automatically stops us. As if, when we are afraid, we are excused from following our soul’s call.

Chapter One of Ten Tools was especially difficult for me to record, at least the first few pages — as you will realize if you listen to it. Yes. My first ‘tool for transformation” was Death! Something I encountered in full psychic force as a tiny child — and it torqued my life profoundly. Plus, due to my own techie gaffes, I had to re-record those first few pages three times! Grrrr . . .

Producer Gabby, who edits the kinks (coughs, dog barks, mispronounced words, etc) from these ARKCroneCasts, had her work cut out for her! But as she said, “you got into the flow as time went on.” Yes. This morning, she emailed me her response to this week’s audio:

“This is a GREAT chapter. My heart hurt for little Annie and every soul carrying the reality of that nuclear horror around with them. Now I understand you in a way I hadn’t before!  It made me want to revisit/hear more about the Baby Picture Project. Perhaps a video story about that next week? This way, when CC #12 is available to the public in a month, that story would follow the next week. Give it some thought!” ~ G

Yes! I agreed, immediately. Let’s do that! The BPP is the initiative closest to my heart, and has yet to truly flower. Just like these ARKCroneCasts: very few Patreon subscribers so far! But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 77 years, it’s to  never give up. If a project feels right to me, then I do it, no matter how long it takes to grab hold. How fitting that I should say this now, in early 2020. After all . . . It’s Saturn/Pluto time! (Weird: In  my mind I keep humming “It’s Saturn/Pluto Time” to yep, the It’s Howdy Doody Time theme song.)

In any case, . . . if you’re at all inclined to support my efforts here and elsewhere, please do! Either with a one-time donation or a Patreon monthly contribution. Either way, everybody gets to see/hear all my offerings within in a month of first offering them to Patreon subscribers. So if you simply can’t afford to help me, I totally understand!

Speaking of which, this week’s free public offering on Patreon is

ARKCroneCast #8: Ella’s Evolutionary Journey

Also available on youtube

The story of my friendship with Ella stretches over decades, and the extraordinary obstacles and miracles of her singular life illustrate well the seriousness of difficulties encountered during this year’s Saturn/Pluto time. Ella died at her second Saturn Return. She was 60 years old.


ARKCroneCasts are produced by Gabracadabra Studios.




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Ten Dogmas of Materialistic Science

Is Nature alive? Or is Nature dead.

That is, indeed, the question.

Here’s Elva Thompson on the subject:

The Ten Dogmas of Science

And here’s Rupert Sheldrake, his more detailed, extended, and philosophical comprehension.


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Douglas “Uncola” Lynn: “Identity Politics and Climate Change are the Twin Pillars of the New Relligion”

Always on the lookout for alternative (and expanded, but grounded) perspectives on “what is really going on,” here’s one amazing blogger that has eluded me up until this very morning: Douglas “Uncola” Lynn. Here’s his latest:

IN THE BUBBLE: Trump’s Presidency Reveals

Seven Undeniable Facts about the Swamp

I especially enjoyed Uncola’s reflections on the clues buried in people’s last names, eg CIAramello, BUTTegig, TRUMP.

And wow: I’ll never forget Fact #6:

6.) Identity Politics and Climate Change are the Twin Pillars of the New Religion

If Trump was elected on the twin platforms of immigration and trade, The Resistance has countered back with melaningenitalia, and the weather.

Identity politics and the legislation of social justice policies have stifled the rights of free speech and freedom of association throughout the democratic nations of the western world. And they materialized as the result of language manipulation.  Remember when gender used to represent male or female?  Yet, in that example, the word “identity” was added after “gender” thus opening a verifiable Pandora’s Box of Orwellian Newspeak.

Today in formerly free societies, men and women are forced to navigate Genderqueer and Non-Binary Identities, consisting of an entirely new lexicon including neo-designations such as AgenderCisgender,  CeterosexualCeteroromanticDemigenderEnby, and Epicene; just to name a few.

Political Correctness is a means of thought control in the bubble, designed to protect imaginary victims from the societal sins of xenophobiasexismhomophobism, and racism.

And climate change is a means for global regulation and taxation.

The Swamp has implemented both schemes in order to unite the world via social justice and open borders illegal immigration.  It works because many people in the bubble acknowledge the wisdom of loving others while caring for Mother Earth.  Moreover, many others must believe in the new morality as atonement for their guilt.

It is a new religion.  Or, perhaps, an old one with new names.


Correction, THE new religion, if globalists, including Pope Francis, get their way.

In another post, Uncola mentions that the only alternative to the increasingly surveilled centralized technocratic police state is de-centralization. YES. 

Speaking of de-centralizaiton, here’s one suggestion:

Want to double the world food production? Return the land to small farmers





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Jordan Peterson’s Saturn/Pluto Ordeal

Like many people, I have admired Jordan Peterson, his wide range of learning, his strong, passionate, and extremely articulate views, and especially, his uncanny ability to connect with young men as a wise trusted elder who advises them to clean their own room before trying to tackle anything bigger. Common sense!


When I discovered what first brought him into the spotlight, a series of youtube videos critiquing “political correctness” in response to his refusal to change pronouns for LGBTQ students, I was thrilled, having come to the same conclusion.

When was that? Back in September 2016. Here’s one mainstream view of his actions then:

Toronto Professor Jordan Peterson takes on gender-neutral pronouns.

Peterson’s subsequent rise to fame was meteoric. Before long, some touted him as the  “most influential public intellectual” in the world.

The Jordan Peterson Moment

But then, ommigod, what happened?

A few days ago, his daughter released a video which speaks of a horrific, long-lasting ordeal that her father is still undergoing.

With this in mind, I decided to look up Peterson’s birthdata (June 12, 1962, 2:49 AM, Edmonton Alberta), so that I could check out his birthchart. Would his horrific ongoing ordeal show up?



YES. Notice where the Midheaven is located: 22° Capricorn. His path sits exactly on the point that Saturn and Pluto occupied when they reached exact conjunction on January 12. Pluto, remember, signifies the primal life force that runs through us all — until it does not. Thus its connection with both birth and death.

Notice also that the planet Venus, at 24° Cancer, sits right next to the IC (the root point of the chart), opposite the 22° Capricorn Midheaven. Cancer is the sign of the family. His daughter is the one who tells of their family’s ordeal.

According to his daughter her Dad has nearly died several times during this extended time of tribulation, in which he is being treated in Russia for both pneumonia, and underneath that, addiction to (or, in nicer terms, “physical dependence upon”) a psychoactive drug that is extremely difficult to detox from.

Quite an amazing development for a psychologist whose expertise includes the phenomenon of Addiction.

Pluto’s hovering around his Midheaven path (Saturn has moved slightly off, is now at 26°) has brought Peterson’s own severe wounding to the surface in full public view. Once again the spotlight is on him, but now as the fallen Hero.

Furthermore, when Peterson rose to fame in 2016, with those controversial youtube videos criticizing political correctness, the volatile, “sudden changes” planet Uranus “just happened to be” at 23° Aries, closely square his 22° Capricorn Midheaven path.

Please remember that the Midheaven and the IC move at the rate of about one degree every four minutes. Which means that the particular degree on the Midheaven and IC at the time of birth  is of extreme significance in a person’s life. When “outer planets” (those with very long cycles) aspect these points the reverberations tend to be both extreme and once-in-a-lifetime. That first Uranus would square those points, and then, three-four years later, Pluto, with Saturn, would conjunct and oppose them, is an astronishing demonstration of the power of the collective/generational outer planets to catch us poor mortals in their archetypal grip and refuse to let go.

I imagine that once he’s through with this decisively karmic and horrifying Saturn/Pluto ordeal, Peterson will be make a Plutonian comeback, truly a rebirth, given that his Ascendant is in stubborn Taurus. He’s not about to let himself die of a drug dependency. Furthermore, that his mortality, and his Achilles Heel, are now in full public view, I imagine that his popularity will be stronger than ever, as should be.

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Saturn/Pluto (with Jupiter) opposes Cancer: Family systems also subject to Plutonian death and rebirth

[Note: The current Saturn/Pluto (and soon Jupiter) conjunction in the final third of Capricorn sits in opposition to Cancer, sign of the family. In this post, my own family system looms, front and center.]

For the past several years, I have been periodically engaged in what I call my Recapitulation Project, in which I rummage through all my old written work, especially that stemming from when I finally got a computer, back in early 1985, and so was finally able to type as fast as thoughts flowing through.

My writing life has been my secret life. I have been preoccupied with paying attention to my own experience, and rendering it into language, ever since I woke up when I was 26 years old and began to practice Gurdjieff’s technique for “self-remembering.”  From this time on, I have consciously cultivated a second level of awareness, so that I might learn to neutrally witness the contents of my mind and the sensations in my body, both together, as I move through the world — all without identifying with (attaching to) any of it.

Even back then, I knew the Buddha was right:

Life is suffering.

The cause of suffering is attachment.

The cure for suffering is to let go of attachment.

Concurrent with the current 2020 Saturn/Pluto conjunction in Capricorn time, I decided to read through old journals, specifically those written during my 40s, which followed the Saturn/Pluto conjunction in Libra. Mostly, these 1980s journals are records of my dreams and interpretations, plus the ins and outs of whatever one-to-one male/female (Libra) relationship that obsessively preoccupied me at the time.

In the following photo, the front box holds a few of the precious old journals . . .

It’s obvious to me now, as a 77-year-old crone, that I was a complete “control freak” back then, and really do wonder how anyone stood being with me at all! I was determined to make whoever I was with into the person I wanted him to be. Rather than allow him to be himself, my intense need to reshape the Other guaranteed failure in relationship.

Anytime I tried to read through old journals before this current Saturn/Pluto conjunction time, I could not do so without getting bogged down, and worse, re-experiencing whatever tumultuous pain I had been undergoing back then.

This time is different. It’s as if I am witnessing the growing pains of someone other than myself. For it’s true, I am not that woman anymore. I have changed. Indeed, I have been engaged, for over five decades, in a continuous process of transformation.

How fortunate am I! Both to still be alive to dip into a plethora of memories from long ago, and to have been a person back then who needed to work through her psychological and spiritual issues by writing it all down! For this recapitulation process of re-membering truly does put myself back together again, as ever, in whole, new, transformed manner!

I think back to that youngish woman, sitting hunched over, obsessively writing in her journal in 1985. Who would have imagined that, 35 years later, I would be re-reading that old documentation of her inner process?

This entire Recapitulation Project feels like a great gift. Since I was meticulously keeping track of my day to day experience over the years, I now have this accumulation of archival material to ponder. Documentation of the lived experience of one female human being over the decades.

It’s this kind of enormous time/space arc that interests me most: both who I was then, and who I am now, and the long-term process that mutated “me” from one to the other. Because, unlike many people, I evolved; and I continue to evolve.

Even so, I’m surprised that I now find these old journals so fascinating. And indeed, one day a few weeks ago, sitting there in my chair reading through one of them, I found myself utterly astonished at the wealth gifted me by this personal library I have created over time; not just the journals, but all the other written work as well, published and unpublished. All of it dropping clues as to “who I was then,” and my evolution through time. For example, here’s an entry, from 1/14/85, during which I was attempting to understand my own “family system.” (At that time in my life, I was the family scapegoat. This resolved itself, but not for many years):

Beginning to identify what I call the ‘Kreilkamp family sickness” — more an atmosphere than anything else — of confusion, ambiguity, not knowing what is really going on, but a sickening feeling of being constantly watched and judged. Which turned me into a watcher, judger. If I am to embrace/erase personal history, must get to the root of this, recognize it in all its facets, and root it out of me.

The space of ambiguity — wherein thoughts dreams images emotions all live “objectively,” i.e., exist outside any particular individual, though all of us partake in them. They all stand in a sort of confused, unrelated jumble, down beneath conscious awareness — yet we all tap into it, exist inside it; this space is the air we breathe, the amniotic fluid of this larger family womb.

Ambiguous space allows so much in! — indeed anyone’s feelings, thoughts, moods, can be projected there, and have been for a long long time. How long? 20 years? Or, since I grew up and defied their monolithic [Roman Catholic] world view. Since they are my parents, and parental values are strong, they can’t just disown me, though they’ve tried to, twice; yet, as long as this monolithic world view holds, they cannot allow me to express myself freely either — any attempt at expression which deviates from the monolith is quickly shut down, or, more likely, shunted aside — instead of a space where free expression of all for all is allowed and others listen, really listen — there is this ambiguous space which, paradoxically, both includes all the various views, etc., but attempts to not let them be seen. Because we all live inside this space, we are all confused — and I can recall, often, having lots of ideas running through my head, and yet, really, there is nothing to say, as it will all be taken in, if at all, in a distorted way, and silently judged.

Feel confused, frustrated, even here, trying to describe what is so obvious that I’ve never really noticed it. Must remember, this space, fucked up as it may be, still performs the function of “keeping the family together.” My opting out of it is the first step towards dissolving this particular pattern of order/disorder.


My surviving six siblings and I plan to meet for a five-day reunion this coming May. Will I read this passage to them? Will they comprehend it the way I did back then? Or is this just my experience, my confusion, my ambiguity.

P.S. I just noticed that 51+ years from 1985 coincides with the cycle of Chiron. Chiron, the wounded healer:  the wound and the healing of the wound! My natal Chiron occupies the final degree of (self-expressive) Leo, conjunct the North Node (the path), in the (philosophical) 9th house: I was destined to reject the ambiguous family system and come into my own as a philosopher.


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