psychologists and psychology [Theme] Page 3

Men have the ability to extract the positives out of the worst situations. For example, after a lengthy waiting period of the divorce, they discover that their spouses never really they did not fit. I like to say, that people have a psychological immune system. They suffer the blows of cruel fate much better than you might think.

- Are you anxious when you're with others or when you're alone?
- The same way.

Each of us has his spell, but hardly will solve it, it melts. And comes the clarity and lightness of being that we where not only searched, but did not dare to go to the most terrible and dark world - a world of destructive and looped behaviours of our past, of our ancestors, their fears, mistakes and secrets.
Yes, you have to dig in the ground with worms, to dig something old and put something new. But who is digging in the ground, and gets results.

Emotional wound can be cured by using pencil and paper. Just need to be alone, to be honest, not be distracted, do not be afraid to cry. And when it comes to hidden emotional wounds, tears are always a lot, but they always - good, always.

You will understand when you are willing to understand other people. When you're ready to work to ensure that conflict issues were resolved with the maximum benefit for all.

... selectivity in the us is already laid, and ordered her off we can't.

I had a shrink - rigid Freudian. Never spoke or moved. One day I came in and laid down on the couch. It seems, three minutes later it slammed a heart attack and he died and I did not understand and spoke for 55 minutes. I think it was the most productive session ever.

I also have a cat. Not easy. Philosophical, psychological, existential. His name is Socrates. He had red hair, old and fat.
He constantly needs to assert and define their existence. He needs a cut from the everyday space of meanings. And he cuts through them where possible and where not. Often the latter. The back of the sofa riddled with meaning, the litter box, too, a carpet with tufts of red wool, "cemetery" chicken bones under the kitchen table - all Socratic sense.
Sometimes he deliberately wakes me up at night when I lay hungover, so I got mad, lost his temper and "identified" it is the existence of bashing.
Socrates rises to his paws to my ear, loud screaming, then runs away headlong, hiding under the sofa and squeaks. In a word, existential bastard.
Alas, I must also be approved by the absurd actions to acutely feel some bubble or mosquito unity, and person. Just not one that sounds good. Leave it for curly-haired boys with guitars that call to hit heads against stone walls. Existentialism, his mother! I do know the meaning of your life, but are unable to implement it fully. Can't get rid of habits that are as far from the truth, as a set of psychological properties of the monkey from the man. Isn't that a big gap? Even too big.
However, you need to live. At peace with itself and the constant enmity with the world.
And indicate the existence of a genuine sense in opening the space of truth.
And even if you're a poet, look often at the night stars. If you're not a poet, still get out on the balcony and watch. Maybe ever notice how one of the stars winked at you. And invited into the flight. Here you can open up to the true moments of life. Don't miss a moment.
But if you don't have a balcony, and you're not a poet, and your head rarely turns to the stars, then go and look at his feet - and there you can see reflected in the puddle star. Well, like wink?

I also have a cat. Not easy. Philosophical, psychological, existential. His name is Socrates. He had red hair, old and fat.
He constantly needs to assert and define their existence. He needs a cut from the everyday space of meanings. And he cuts through them where possible and where not. Often the latter. The back of the sofa riddled with meaning, the litter box, too, a carpet with tufts of red wool, "cemetery" chicken bones under the kitchen table - all Socratic sense.
Sometimes he deliberately wakes me up at night when I lay hungover, so I got mad, lost his temper and "identified" it is the existence of bashing.
Socrates rises to his paws to my ear, loud screaming, then runs away headlong, hiding under the sofa and squeaks. In a word, existential bastard.



Explanation of the quote:

From the novel "Psychologist and a psychopath".
Cat Socrates and the owner.

The psychologist is more the lawyer, not the devil's advocate. To understand does not mean to forgive. To understand is to characterize the hidden movement of thoughts so as not to have any desire to throw a stone.
Try to be in one spirit with those who did not throw a vicious woman stone. He just said quietly: "If there's anyone of you is without sin, throw a stone at her". It was a long time ago - so long ago, when people had a conscience. For a moment they looked into themselves and they became ashamed. They dropped stones on the ground and left. And she left. The woman approached the man and asked:
And you don't judge me?
"No," he said. - Don't judge. Go and sin no more.



Explanation of the quote:

from the novel "Psychologist and a psychopath".
Reflections of a psychologist.

Night called Irina. Interrupted a dream where I was talking with Socrates about the benefits of ritual in the work of dealer meat market. I argued that you can not see the pork heads and the smell of blood, and to bear philosophical thought. He laughed at my naivety. And convinced not to surrender to the slavery of the animal shop. Isn't flowing there, as on the battlefields, blood, and sweat? No, I smiled, this is not a battle. It's a ritual of pagan sacrifice. I am a priest, not a slave. I cut and I cut a sacred product and not dismembered corpses of animals. Play sacrifice, hone ritual, as Spinoza magnifying glass. But my heart remains untouched. Blood of alien ritual comes to my mind. A robe? Well. Bathrobe will give in the wash. Or throw it like a snake casts of its old skin.
- Do not dissemble to himself, ' replied Socrates. I swear to dog, you won't be able to protect your inner peace from the market of the stench. You're too weak for this. Too vulnerable, though not a poet. The meat shop is not for you. Go to Church and nephrosis temporarily as a watchman. It's yours.
- In the Church? Hmm. As a watchman? But it is impossible to grind lenses. It is impossible to sharpen a ritual where Christ drove out the beach vendors. In the Church you cannot be a worker. You can only serve. And I'm not ready. I swear to dog, Socrates, I am not ready. If you want to live in freedom, to learn to serve. Little patience, Socrates. A lot of ease and very little patience. Perhaps I'll take the wording of the text of the play. And benefited from it. I'll think about it.
And then the phone rang Irene. A dream come true.
Disturbing voice she said,
- Daughter problem. Locked myself in the bathroom crying. Evening came drunk. Said that I raised her wrong. Said I took away her opportunity to be happy. She will never be happy because I taught her happiness. How does it feel to hear of your mother?
- Why all this? Have accumulated? Or reaction to the event?
And reaction, was accumulated. Some Director gave her up. Told her that she is young. And it needs to be taught everything. And what is everything?
- What? Oh, this Melpomene. I believe, not theater arts. Where is she now? In the bathroom?
Yes. Quiet. I'm going through. Wouldn't have done something with us. Silly.
I got out of bed and approached the laptop. Opened the email, found a file with the text of the play "Suicide".
What is there in the play? - I asked. - Don't have time to read. What's up with the heroine?
- Opens the veins, - a small voice said Irina. - What to do? To break down the door?
Break. I'll sit on the phone.
.....
People fell in love with acting. Actors - founders of the mod. The mummers - house on the sand. Open the news feed and rested his eyes in the murk and the husk, which is called life...
(Psychologist and a psychopath)

The issue of accountability is poorly understood. It is not considered in our psychology textbooks. In fact, like to explore responsibility in white rats?!

The rain came pouring down in the morning. And a veil held out before lunch. To work do not need to go. There are savings. However, not much. Cost of living. However, this time the rain has put a dent in my meager budget. Bare "meaning" to my existence in the form of cracks on the roof. Bad men worked with the Kalmyk people. All summer skipped like hell on a hot flat roof. Something smoked, burned, blackened. Descended from the "heavens" dark, heavy, drunk from exhaustion.
But the cracks remained.
Through these cracks flowed the muddy streams of water first aunt Gali, then in other neighbouring upper floors. Stirred people. I do not know how many living souls accommodate our small entryway. Wail, rushed out into the street, nervously deciding what to do? The voices - a Legion.
Heads viscous bass Semyon Ivanovich, a former Sergeant of the entrance. Thick bald man with a raspy voice. After the psycho-neurological clinic became deaf and passive. Used to go to door and collected money for housing repairs. Now not walk. Run on doctors engaged in health, day, drinking beer and telling old ladies about their medical exploits. Praise.
Semyon Ivanovich always very much. Too much. I would have him cut. At least a little. Somehow it does not strike by lightning. Didn't deserve it. But we all deserve such a neighbor.
- It is necessary to collect from each apartment, Basit man. And to call.
- Must - agree. And to call.
Decided to call a team of repairmen of the roof and patch up the cracks. To finish the job for those who have already received the money. They may be from the same company?
Red briefs from the balcony of the stranger disappeared immediately after rain. Funny men with Kalmyk cheekbones too. As it was not them. But the cracks remained. Circle of hypocrisy. Even the devil from the middle Kingdom rush this summer.
Gave the last savings of a roofing crew of climbers. What to do?
Tomorrow will contact the Director of the market Street, volunteered to sell meat. At least until the beginning of autumn. You need to patch the cracks in the budget. Funny, isn't it? Spitting on the world gave rise to the heavenly embarrassment, Livni revealed the flaws of the house, the cracks of the roof has exposed holes in my budget. The only real groundwork to roll a hog, butchering of the head, punching knife of the peritoneum, to stand behind the counter in a blood red robe and to trade. I'm better than two bald men with Kalmyk school? Nothing. Perhaps they, too, of former psychologists? Idleness is the sort of thing that requires constant vitality. And a lot of sources for covering holes in the budget.
(Psychologist and a psychopath)

Psychology as a science has its limits, and as a logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.