The Complex and the Bees

The Psychoanalytic in Greece

The theme of our Kundalini Workshop in Greece was Peace. When we are travelling with a group, the family dynamics rear their heads, even in a period of just two weeks, and peace gets a little rocky.  Which leads us back to our family of origins, and what went down when we were in that bowl. We can then find just one more of our triggers, one more of our complexes, which we can unravel and be less bent out of shape in general and in particular. 

Bee hives in the mountains full of honey from the low growing thyme flowers. That honey tasted great. Honey has been used as a metaphor for love.

This experience came up slowly, until I was furious with someone for the way I was being treated. I had to look at it, as this is my game, this is my work. If I am furious, there is usually a complex involved. Our attitudes and emotions lean into these complexes, created in our past, disturbing our peace.

My simple version of a complex is a place where we place all that is unacceptable in ourselves as a child, when we want to fit in, in the worst way but cannot meet that other person’s standards. When we are triggered we want that other person to be different, to accept us or to go away completely if at all possible.

Parents let children know, maybe one in particular, that they are not up to par. Again the child wants to fit in but simply cannot and has to put up with whatever scapegoating goes on.

It can be as simple as an older sibling, not easily accepting the next born in the family. They do not want the status quo to be disrupted and the new addition is treated to body language and some fits of screaming to let her know they are not wanted. It is subtle and hardly detected by anyone in particular. 

Grandmother loved me in the first year of my life but she had left our home,  by the time I was one year old. I was not finding my place as I tried to get my need met by another slightly older sibling. 

It was the loss of the grandmother; it was the loss to the other child of the same grandmother. We were both lost without her. We did not know how to deal with the hook of our love for her. We were totally without her comfort and out mother was busy having a fourth child and without the help of her mother. We were left out compared to what we had when the grandmother was there.

I know I am on the scent of something when I find myself having a scenario relating to my sibling, in which I break something of hers and put it in a bog hole. A little something irrational and unreasonable that appeared in the middle of a workshop. The swirl of the complex is active now. My peace is wobbling.

I realize in that moment that the person, in the here and now, with whom I am mad, resembles my sister in looks. She did not care for the way I was trying to manipulate where I sat in the van. A little hiss from me here, a little frump from her there.

The goats and the sheep produced yogurt that was delicious.

All the time of this aggravation, we were going up an unpaved mountain road, with many goats and lots of beehives to be seen. The road was very bumpy on the middle of the middle row of seats. I was wilding swaying as we went around bend after bend, over pot hole after pothole. 

Describing what happened to the drones

The scenery was magnificent. We were entertained, by our guide, who was an expert on bees. He told us all about the community of the bees and the role of the queen bee. 

Scenery plus

I seem to have heard him say that the queen gets the testicles of six drones and fertilizes all her eggs with those. Those drones die of course but the rest of the drones are allowed to live on in case they are needed later for their sperm, in case the queen dies or something.  It seemed a little shocking. He relished the telling to his van full of women, as his right hand gesticulated off the wheel.

This same woman, on the trip, with whom I projected my childhood losses, put her arms around me and let me know how much she appreciated my work, when I presented my work with MARI cards to the group. Very warm offering in my direction came from her.

When I was eighteen and in the big city, Dublin, I went to the same store, where my sister bought a coat, and I bought one there. It was a different color and style, but she seriously got me for copying her. The hook I was throwing on her was rejected still by her, was being thrown on her still, by me. I had just moved into her apartment from the country for my first job. There I was again hanging on her.

Now she takes the place of my mother in the family, the one who knew our mother best, as she had the job of supporting her while her siblings were far and wide over the globe, in New York, California, England and Virginia. She is like our mother in lovely ways, generous and loving. 

Fellow travelers, Mal from Ireland and Trish from PA.On the back of Mal’s shirt was the Irish Anthem in Gaelic. I so enjoyed both, Trish who was my room mate and Mal, well his Irish accent from Northern Ireland and his teasing were so much fun.

I also remembered that my sister is the same child that put her arms around me when I had an epileptic fit as a child in the bed beside her. That was the best feeling, to have my body held as I vibrated, in involuntary movement, toward a fall out of the bed. 

I have told you the plus and the minus of childhood issues and of my travels. Both were wonderful experiences. My job is to turn from these attitudes and emotions I hold that trip me up out of peace. I call on Love, my help and my strength.

The view down the mountain with the Mediterranean in the far distance center.

Awareness is hard won, and writing about it even harder. Stealing fire from the gods in order to be more human, more loving is no small feat. I hope you can examining the spots where the feeling gets hot and high and take the wind out of it and examining those embers of yourself and take back your wholeness. 

This olive tree predates Jesus by over a thousand years or so.

Please sign up for this blog if you have not already. My numbers climb slowly but surely. Comments are most appreciated. Keep the prayers coming, as I may need them more than ever now. Love from Rose.

The blue peak behind me was a source of interest, when we stoped for a rest on the mountain pass.

PS: At my Kundalini Yoga class today, our teacher Siri Amrita Kaur told us that it was the beginning of a big nine day festival in India. Last night was the night that Durga Ma, Goddess, fought with the ego demon. Happy Durga Ma day to you too.

Siri Amrita leading us in practice on the famous pink beach in Crete before sunrise. The other person is Ben deep in a Yoga pose.

About rlongwort

Licensed Professional Counselor. Dream specialist.
This entry was posted in complex, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Complex and the Bees

  1. Doris Martin says:

    Hi Rose,
    I enjoyed reading about your connections to childhood memories/feelings and your trip to Greece.
    Often it seems you connect current strong emotions to parallel ones experienced in childhood or at least and earlier time in your life. I guess I am wondering how more phlegmatic individuals or those who don’t recall strong emotions from an earlier time, especially negative ones, learn who we are? and how to be more loving and less judgmental?
    Thank you for sharing your wisdom through your writing.
    Doris

    • rlongwort says:

      I love you Doris and will think about your question. Rose.

    • rlongwort says:

      I believe that the dream material, when worked with over a period, will be helpful in seeing the complexes, on which our shadows stand. There is an intuitive leap that has to be made between the dream material and what is being referred to. The unconscious is happy when we write out a dream and make a response to it. Rose.

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