“LET THOSE WHO HAVE EARS …,August 26, 2013
This is a most unusual treasure of a book pulsing with emotional, healing, and even spiritual truth. My less than perfect rating is not a commentary on the contents themselves, but a method of alerting those of us who tend to think with western linearity to be prepared to read with a different eye, to hear with a different ear, to feel where we try not to feel, to experience what we don’t often allow into awareness.
Leelah is right to let us know that she is not trying to convert us to the Course in Miracles which has been such a blessing for her. It isn’t necessary. The magic lies in the poetry of her therapy and related stories, in the welcoming of the archetypes, in the varied arts with which she portrays the truth she and so many of her clients have found.
I see and appreciate Jung here, though this is by no means an exposition on his work. The book does, however, share the quality of Jungian writings. When I recommend them, I always include the caveat, “Read it as if you are a rock in the river. Appreciate what sticks, and let the rest flow on by. It will leave a mark even if you don’t recognize it at the time.”
Now for more precision. Be prepared for the power of the author’s own overtly horrendous experiences. Out of her awakening to what happened to her comes what I understand to be her basic message. We cannot be the love we are all part of until we accept and integrate all our archetypes – those ancient oppositional characteristics that constitute the opposite of ego – the blind, rigid, denying belief we hang on to and defend as if it were real.
Let me just offer some samples of her own words to provide a better taste of what you’ll find when you open this book.
(p.50) “And what a relief: we don’t have to figure things out with our mind – but letting it reveal itself to us and surprise us!”
(p.50) “Play is divine worship. Let us play, then. Let me paint an image and see what happens … ”
(p.65) As soon as I accept and acknowledge my story, blocks throughout my body start to snap open, and a rush of energy surges through me. At last the link between past and present, between mind/head and body is established. At last I can mourn now, at last feel compassion for myself, not self-contempt and hatred.”
I’d like to go on, but let me end with the beginning of one long poem, one of the many creative ways she and her clients reveal their experiences of opening.
Hi I am Plastic Charlie I am Plastic Charlie
They’ve taken all I’ve got
Heart and lungs and organs
And given them to those in need
They’ve given me plastic instead
That’s fine with me
I don’t feel at all.