The Dunce
John had been feeling rather depressed of late, and his local GP had advised him to see a counsellor to talk things over with either him, or her.
Over recent years, John’s father had died, and his pet dog, Abbey, of 13 years, had died too.
Here they both are, in happier times.
John also had recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Added to that was that John, over 60 now, had not been able to find any solid work for the last fifteen long and painful years now.
John had had a business, but he had been bashed towards an inch of his life, by a gang of drug-crazed thugs, while he was alone in his shop one day, and this had so shattered his mindset, that he could not even leave his house, on most days.
John was riddled with fear of life, and of living it.
John had closed his shop, after this traumatic event, which was also trashed (they smashed it up with baseball bats, after they had smashed John up with them first) by the thugs, and he had been trying to do at least a little part-time work from his home, ever since then.
Anyway, John took the advice of his doctor, and he started seeing Susan, the recommended counsellor, at least once a month.
John’s fee to see this counsellor was subsidised, but it still cost him some money too. And so, once a month, was the most that he could afford to have a session with her.
John was a prolific dreamer. He used to record his dreams into a notebook, and he would present them to his counsellor to see what she might think about them.
Just yesterday then, John visited this counsellor once more.
Here is the dream that he told her this time.
“I was dreaming of a scene where balloons of all colours, red, blue, green, orange, gold, black and white, where being released, and were then floating up into the sky above me. They were all of the same size though.”
“I was watching them all ascend, when a bird, with a long beak, flew past, and it pecked at one of the balloons, the gold one, which then popped, and then something fell out of it, and it landed right at my feet.”
“I picked it up, and I saw that it was a folded up piece of paper. I opened it up, and I then read the message, which was written on it, in capital letters.”
”’The emptiness of life creates a vacuum which then draws love towards itself.’”
Susan was an understanding and pleasant person. She never presumed to be the expert, nor to pass judgement on anyone else’s life.
She simply said to John then,
“Life beholds itself in a mirror of fear until you get that mirror and smash it to the ground, and stomp on it with your real self. Being your real self is the only way past such fear.”
“When you be this real self, your real self ‘bes’ you.”
“It is usually self-guilt then, that creates self-fear. When you are emptied of all fear and guilt, you are then filled with love, and also you then discover that this love, was actually there in you all of the time too.”
John went home at least feeling a bit better about himself for that one day, but the following day, his heavy clouds of depression had fallen down on him once more again.
At least, over time, poor John, might be helped, to see the rain in the clouds as providing him with loving sustenance, not just dismally painful darkness, and gloom.
The sun still shines on your clouds, and through them, and is always behind them all too, always still shining as it always is. Nothing changes the sun, only you, change your view of it sometimes.
Photo Credit: The photos used here were freely sourced from the free media site: pexels.com, except for the one of John and his dog, which belongs to the author of this piece of fiction.
A very interesting and sad story. A specialist really helps the most with such diseases.
Yes, sometimes, we do need such help, but we usually have to make the decision, to be open to such help, for it to work best for us.
I was in this situation and gladly accepted the help. It is true, however, that many people are “ashamed” to admit that they need help.
Funny enough, I accept help too, but for some reason, I find myself often arguing/philosophising with the helper so much, that I end up never being helped much at all.
Perhaps, I think that I know more than them, or maybe, I am trying to impress them, or maybe again, I see them as “parental” type figures, and so I am afraid to fully open up to them too, because I never did so to my own real parents, when they were alive.
A lot depends on what kind of person we are and how we look at help. I haven’t opened up to anyone as open as a psychiatrist. I can say that he helped me a lot.
I am glad that you were helped.
We all tend to be more open with somebody, sort of at arm’s length to our real lives though, I think too.
I can be open and closed at the same time, though.
I will be open about all of the details, but then I tend to remain closed emotionally, and it is the emotions, and releasing them, that tend to heal us, more than just disclosing the details to someone, as in just telling somebody an interesting story.
I think we are very similar. I am also quite closed emotionally and find it very difficult to show them. Which is not always good.
Yes, it is not always good to not show our emotions, but I think that it is not always, always good to show them, all of the time either.
Some balanced approach is needed, I think, so that we are emotionally mature, and show them at the appropriate times.
But, then this is hard to do too.
Sometimes, emotions do need to be allowed to be spontaneous in us too, I think also.
That’s where I get confused.
I do not like to lose control of my emotions at any time, even if my mother has just died, I hold them back, as I am a bit afraid of unleashing their full fullness, I think.
I am scared of where my emotions might take me too at times.
Nice post and story…….
Thanks. I am glad you liked it.
Nice story, tanks for sharing.
Thanks for stopping by here!