A
report from the 2005 EUROTAS conference in Moscow
Glenn
Hartelius
Glenn
Hartelius is a mind/body theorist, clinician and teacher, with a particular
interest in developing critical methodologies for the felt sense.
He is completing his Ph.D. studies in East-West psychology at the
California Institute of Integral Studies.
The 2005 EUROTAS conference exemplified its theme of “Human consciousness
and human values in an interconnected world.” The Russian Association
of Transpersonal Psychology and Psychotherapy graciously hosted over
200 participants from more than 20 countries, with the support of
several other organizations. Vladimir Maykov, Gennady Brevde and a team
of volunteers guided us through four days of presentations (June 23-26),
translating tirelessly between English and Russian (Drew 2005).
The following pages constitute a small tour of the conference, offering
a series of six presentations drawn from the 70-some offerings on
the program. These were selected for their ability to reflect the
flavor of the conference, and for highlighting topics that were more
original in character, or less widely known. Vladimir Maykov
(Russia) opens the conference by situating it in the context of a
Russian transpersonal project that reaches back to antiquity. He
speaks from a uniquely-informed vantage point,
as one of the most accomplished members of the Russian transpersonal
community, and part of the underground transpersonal movement in the
late Soviet era. Jason Wright (UK) draws on his work with
addicts to weave a story of how psychological healing can grow out
of rebuilding narratives that are the very fabric of “self.” Jason’s
work reaches deep into theoretical and scientific realms to understand
experiences of transformation he witnesses with his clients. Vitor
Rodriguez (Portugal) offers a glimpse into his clinical experience
with the diagnosis and treatment of psychic attack. He begins with
a fascinating clinical story that shows the practical value of an
esoteric approach. Mark Burno (Russia) shares fruits from 30 years of practice
using “spiritual culture” as an avenue to therapy. He makes an insightful
distinction between idealist and materialist approaches to spirituality.
Rupert Tower (UK) uses an enchanting Russian fairy tale to
lead us into the shadow, frankly broaching issues of power and leadership
in psychotherapy training organizations. Tanna Jakubowicz (Poland)
rounds out this mini-series with an inspiring call to direct action.
The transpersonal tradition in Russian culture
Vladimir Maykov
Vladimir
Maykov, Ph.D. is a leader of transpersonal
studies in Russia. Maykov was one of the
first Soviet teachers of transpersonal psychology, and since 1990 he
has developed and taught more than 20 training programs in transpersonal
therapy. In addition to authoring several books, he founded an international
publishing project to publish transpersonal psychology texts in Russian;
he has edited about 50 books for this project. He founded the Transpersonal
Institute in 1994 and the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology in
1997, and serves as president of the Russian Association for Transpersonal
Psychology and Psychotherapy. He can be reached through Transpersonal
Project, Moscow (www.transpersonal.ru)
The transpersonal tradition is deeply rooted in Russian culture.
Unlike any other country in the world, Russia is geographically connected
to Asia, the Near East and Europe. In addition, Russia has its own
shamanic culture, Celtic pagan tradition and Russian Orthodox Church.
This rich tapestry underlies Russian thinkers and writers of recent
centuries, who embody within their works the principles and spirit
of transpersonalism. Even though the transpersonal
vision is new in the West, it is traditional in Russia.
We can see three distinct layers underlying the Russian transpersonal
tradition which establish its origins in
distant antiquity. First, there is an ancient layer of shamanism—a
practice that continues in Russia to this day. Contemporary shamans
live and work in places such as Buryat,
Tuvinia, Altai, Yakutiya and Khakassiya. Second is a layer of Russian paganism: Celtic
paganism held sway over western Russia for centuries, and left its
imprint. Then there is a more modern layer, covering the last thousand
years.
In the modern layer, I identify seven different roots of Russian transpersonalism.
The first of these is the Russian Orthodox Church, which includes
the mystical doctrine of hesychasm. Although
there are many aspects to hesychasm, it includes both a practice in which the saying
of prayers is synchronized with the breath, and a contemplative phenomenon
in which one’s chest begins to vibrate and shake. Clearly, Russian
Orthodox mysticism invokes altered states of consciousness.
In addition to Russian Christianity, there is the Russian religious
philosophy of N. Berdyaev and L. Schestov,
the theosophy of E.P. Blavatsky, the anthroposophy of R. Steiner, the existentialist
writings of authors such as L. Tolstoy and F. Dostoevsky, the Fourth
Way of G.I. Gurdjieff, and the tradition
of Russian cosmism of such visionaries as S.N. Fyodorov,
K.E. Tsilokovsky, and academician V. Vertnadsky. Together these inform the modern transpersonal
project in Russia.
Transpersonalism is thus inherent in the
Russian soul. Yet it is not easy to explain our inner being, the
soul behind Russian transpersonalism. It has been said that excavating the Russian
soul is like peeling an onion: the more you penetrate its layers,
the more you cry. In the end, you are left with empty nothingness.
In fact, as noted by the academician D.S. Lihachev,
space holds a special place in Russian consciousness. Russians experience
space as open sky, as the pure potentiality of life that pulls you
out of bondage.
There is an archetypal wounding of the Russian soul, typified by the
image of St. George lancing the dragon. This symbol has been central
to Russian national imagery for five hundred years. How does this
wounding manifest itself? Personal development is different in Russia
than in the West. In the West, the body is born, it becomes a personality,
and then it spends its life striving to become a spiritual being.
In Russia, the body is born and, through wounding, it becomes a spiritual
being. But there is almost a full absence of personality in the Western
sense of the word, with its correlatives of civil society, lawful
state, democracy, market economy and declaration of human rights.
Rather, the Russian soul must spend its life striving to become a
personality—trying to become functional in society.
The continuous historical development of this transpersonal urge was
interrupted early in the 20th century. The gap between
that time and ours was bridged by a small cohort of thinkers and practitioners
who escaped from Stalin’s terror and raised Russian transpersonalism
from the ashes: men such as V.V. Nalimov,
M.M. Bakhtin, A.F. Losev, M.K. Mamardashvili, A.M. Pyatigorsky
and V.N. Mihejkin. In the 1970s and 80s
a broader transpersonal underground developed, laying the groundwork
for the founding of the Russian Association of Humanistic Psychology
in 1990, shortly after Perestroika. In May of 2002 we took a further
step toward professional development with the founding of the Russian
Association of Transpersonal Psychology and Psychotherapy.
The Russian transpersonal project of today is more highly professional
and many-sided than ever before. Many academic scientists have been
drawn to this perspective, yielding a community in which intensive
searches are conducted in many directions; there is no strict adherence
to any one epistemology or theoretical framework. Russia, a country
with centuries-old transpersonal roots, is poised to speak with the
entire world in the common language of the transpersonal.
Synthesis and plurality: Stories of the self
Jason
Wright
Jason
Wright is a Transpersonal and Psychoanalytic psychotherapist. He is
currently Chair for The Centre of Transpersonal Psychology, and Clinical
Director for the CORE Trust. He holds positions as a board member
for both Eurotas and The College of Psychoanalysts,
and has a private practice in central London. He is a United Kingdom
Council for Psychotherapy registered psychotherapist, where he has
held the office of Chair of the Psychoanalytic and Psychodynamic section.
This essay was inspired by an epiphanal moment, which occurred whilst on a lonely holiday
to Turkey in 1997. As I lay beside my hotel pool exhausted from looking
a rocks piled up by the ancients, it occurred to me that ideas live
in us as we live in the world. We are the medium of ideas—they live,
breed, and die in us. I became fascinated with this as process, and
as imagery. As imagery that helps me describe the work I have done
over the last 12 years treating people who are struggling with addiction.
I work at the CORE Trust, a London-based center that uses a holistic
multi-disciplinary approach to addiction involving complementary therapies
and psychotherapy individually and in groups, with the whole project
held as a community. In this context we understand the unifying intention
to all the therapies is a spiritual one: we work within a transpersonal
metaphor and see the fundamental issue facing the addicted person
is the choice of whether or not to live: to live even in the face
of devastating early-life trauma and alienation, inadequate parenting
and dysfunction.
In its raw form this basic question is an insoluble and often torturous
dilemma: Should I live, or not? Here, the assumptions about the nature
and qualities of the self that is at stake remain unexamined. In
therapy this question can and often does transform into the more useful
question, What self am I, that I might want
to live? Although narcissistic, this question opens the door to useful
inquiry. From here it becomes possible to
explore how the self image of the client is organized, and how its
organization might be made secure enough to be sustained over time.
From a Buddhist perspective, of course, this self is an illusion.
However, this is not simply the end of the matter. Rather, it piques
us with the question, What is this self that I experience? Following from the imagery
above and my multidisciplinary work at the CORE Trust I was unable
to sustain my image of self as a “thing.” i.e. onticly
and diachronically secure. Rather, it seems to me, in a semiotic
and narrative context, that an image of self exists at the point where
a person’s inner conscious and unconscious stories and outer stories
of community and culture meet. This self image is identified with as me. However this is not a
self as thing but as a process that alters with the ever-changing
tides of inner and outer narrative.
Here I am thinking about process as does Pickering (1999) in terms of Alfred North Whitehead’s
process philosophy. Whitehead (1933) considers transitional processes,
structures of activity, and the evolution of those structures to be
inherent in the character of reality, in the “continual creative advance
of nature.”
If the self is also such a process, then the key to transformation
in psychotherapy is moving beyond the personal self to the process
behind it: transcending the fixed ideas of self and encountering the
self as an ongoing process. The focus moves away from the artifact
of this process, i.e., the personal self, and into the process itself.
Following Pickering’s argument I would view
these processes as being essentially semiotic in nature --that is, composed of
culturally-meaningful signs--and negotiated
through narrative. Here then we return to the inspirational images
that open this short paper. Access to this process would then mean
access to the possibility of more effective and more useful narratives,
a process that can radically change the self-experience of the client.
Here we meet James Hillman’s (1983), idea that you need to heal the
story, not the person.
How do we approach this? What might be the mechanism of this self-process?
In his book Approaches to Consciousness (2004), Les Lancaster
brings together cognitive neuroscience and mysticism to explore the
nature of consciousness. I shall use his ideas here to think about
how we might generate and sustain the process of self, how we might
think about redefining those narratives, and the cultural milieu from
which they arise.
For the purposes of understanding consciousness, Lancaster recognizes
the link between cognitive neuroscience approaches and mystical approaches.
For example, consider the following elucidation of the perceptual
process as understood by Abhidhamma practice
seen in conjunction with processes of consciousness as defined by
cognitive neuroscience. Lancaster identifies the fact that the process
of identifying a “self,” or “I-tagging,” comes late in this sequence
of six events that make up the perceptual process.
There are six stages in Lancaster’s model of this process:
1. In the process of seeing an object, a set of neurons fire and
are analyzed through the visual cortex.
2. The memory process responds to the input.
3. Various schemata are activated through neural resonance.
4. Identity of an “object” is established separate from the background
information.
5. For Lancaster, this is the moment when the I-narrative and the
perceptual process come together. The perceived object is incorporated
in the individual’s ongoing meaning narrative. In Abhidhamma
this is known as javana. There is
no literal translation for the word javana, but it conveys an active role in the perceptual
process--there is a clear transition from perceptual mechanism to
narrative.
6. Finally, memory is updated by relaying back the current perception,
including the narrative interpretation.
The important feature to grasp is that this activity is preconscious;
it goes on outside of normal awareness. The sense of I-ness is added
prior to the normal waking experience of consciousness, but late in
the perceptual process. Under mundane conditions the nature of I-tagging
is powerful. The sense of self is continually reinforced
by registering new I-tagged perceptions into the individual meaning
narrative.
The advantage of studying this process from a mystical perspective
such as Abhidhamma is that it points out
this deconstruction of the perceptual process. Lancaster suggests
that such deconstruction, through meditation or other mystical processes,
offers the opportunity to decrease the reinforcing nature of the I-tag,
and thereby allow the possibility for a greater number of associative
schemata to reach consciousness.
Here then we are back to the key for transformational process in psychotherapy:
moving beyond the personal self image to the process behind it, to
the thoughts of the world, or the mind of God. Through altering the
relationship between the narrative of self and the narratives of experience,
it becomes possible to develop more effective and more useful narratives.
Here we are immediately into the ground of psychotherapeutic work,
be that in a classical psychoanalytic frame such as a Winnicotian (1951) model of transitional space or a Hillmanesque view of narrative reconstruction or soul making
from a case history to teleological soul history (1983, 1996).
How does this operate in my practice as a transpersonal psychotherapist
working with addicted people? The essential frame is to effect a
de-identification with the self image within
“me” in order to imagine differing possibilities. The goal, if there
is one, is to develop an overarching narrative with the client, one
that enables the client to cope with his or her experience creatively
rather than destructively—a narrative that is open and containing
rather than destructive and constraining. Sometimes I feel as if
I lend an alternate self to the client—both as a stop-gap tool for
coping and as an example of the narrative reconstruction process—until
such time as the client grasps the process enough to do his or her
own reconstruction.
Working with a client in this way requires some skill and art at perceiving
the individual content streams within the client’s narrative, and
then helping the client to re-weave them.
Perhaps the best way to illustrate it is with a brief clinical example:
H was 41 at the time or presentation. Her father had been deceased
for 10 years, her mother was still alive;
she had one sister. She had been treated violently by both parents
thoughout her childhood. She left home
and school at age 15, but had gone on to work in demanding and prestigious
jobs. These are the bare bones of the personal narrative, with significant
defining features such as violence, death, and action in the world.
The client presented to CORE with alcohol, poly-drug habits and difficulties
with eating. In individual therapy she identified
her violent and abusive experiences in childhood as causing problems,
particularly with respect to difficulties in relating to people, a
tendency to isolate herself, chronic low self-esteem and habitual
self-destructiveness. The client’s narrative of these symptoms as
drivers of her addictive behavior indicated a compatibility between
her ideas and those held by CORE as an institution. Here is the experience
of shared narrative ideas that is essential to developing the therapeutic
work.
H attended well during her time at CORE, but experienced initial ambivalence
toward the community. She found it difficult to talk in group, and would lay down on the floor hiding her face,
speaking rarely, and then not in a self-disclosing manner. Here the
CORE narrative and her personal narrative came into conflict. It was
not possible for her to determine the safest way to meet the needs
of the CORE project as caregiver, so she attempted to control the
situation by evoking her familiar narrative cycle of non-compliance
and the violence it historically evoked. Within the analytic frame
of repetition compulsion, the kernel of the story is here.
Concurrently in her individual therapy, the client and her therapist
explored issues of trust and relationship, examined her difficulties
with shame, and her linkage of violence and intimacy. Toward the
end of the fifth month H was beginning to recognize that she had agency
in relationship, and was not simply the victim of circumstance. Here
we evidence a fundamental alteration of the client’s narratives in
relation to herself. CORE, and perhaps to a normative
narrative. She was able both to contain and reveal difficult
feelings and the story behind them, whilst developing a new overarching
narrative in which she is no longer trapped in her circumstances as
a victim.
However, the client’s non-compliant behavior in
group was still at issue. The conflict between the two narrative
streams became unbearable, and she relapsed into addictive behavior.
Ultimately the newfound story, and new self
image contained her, and in this context historic experiences that
had previously been unbearable began to emerge into consciousness.
Over the next few months the client explored many of her intimate
relationship, particularly with members of her immediate family.
Most significantly, she was able to bear the memory of her father’s
sexual abuse. She considered that she might be able to pull the parts
of her self together to feel more whole.
Her personal narrative was being negotiated within the containing
narrative framework of CORE, and a deeper sense of self slowly emerged.
As part of this process, she read her own case history. In response
she wrote:
It’s very strange, and enlightening, to read a case history of yourself,
someone else’s version of your narrative. Firstly of course it isn’t
long enough; it doesn’t begin to explain the circumstances or the
level of distress that I felt to start using when I was 12. Before
alcohol, I self-harmed: burning myself, bouncing my head off walls,
stitching my fingers together, trying to find a way I could cause
myself more pain than what I already felt, but couldn’t understand.
My linear narrative didn’t start until I was nine, just fragmentary
memories of agues. Alcohol made me not feel pain, as later did heroin,
tranquilizers, and cannabis; cocaine and speed made me not care whether
I felt pain or not. When I got to CORE I’d used
alcohol for 29 years and drugs for 26….Substance free, it became apparent
that there wasn’t a time without the feelings that made me want to
self-destruct….Through CORE I have repaired myself enough to attempt
a fulfilling, clean and sober life, and I am fortunate that support
is available through CORE’s weekly after-care
treatment that I attend. Another strange thing is how completely
different I feel for the vast majority of the time. I still have
bad days when I plummet to the depths of despair and self-hatred instantaneously
but I can contain my feelings without using. That is true liberation.
As of this moment, the client is still in psychotherapy and has remained
clean for 15 months since leaving CORE. She is continuing in higher
education.
It is through the interaction of differing narratives that such changes in the client’s
narrative stream were possible. She became capable to tolerate her
experiences and re-envision herself; this new and more useful self-image
better contains her narrative and her experiences.
We are back to the main idea for defining self: a set of confluent
narratives woven into a master narrative which,
through time and the process of the psyche develop into the
image or icon called “self.” Through deconstruction of the narrative
stream it is possible to engage the underlying process and avoid over-identification
with the images it throws up. Transpersonal psychotherapy is not
just about the content of our being, but also learning to be
aware of the context within which we experience being itself.
That the self advances and confirms the myriad things is called
delusion.
That the myriad things advance and confirm the self is
enlightenment.
(Aitkin 1985 page 232).
References
Aitken, R. (1985), ‘Gandhi, Dogen & Deep Ecology,’
in Deep Ecology, ed W, Devall & G. Sessions, Salt
Lake City, UT: Peregrine Books.
Hillman,
J. (1983), Healing fiction, New York: Stanton Hill Press.
Hillman,
J (1996), The souls Code, New York: Random House.
Lancaster,
B. L. (2004), Approaches to consciousness, New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Pickering,
J. (1999) The self as Semiotic Process, in
Models of the Self, Exeter, UK: Imprint Academic.
Whitehead,
A.N. (1933), Science and the modern world, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Wiley,
N. (1994), The Semiotic Self, Cambridge:
Polity Press.
Winnicott, D.W. (1951), Transitional objects and transitional phenomena, in
Through paediatrics to psychoanalysis, London: Karnac.
CORE
Trust web site www.coretrust.co.uk
The
Psychic Defense
Vitor Rodrigues
Vitor Rodrigues has a private psychology/psychotherapy
practice, and is president of both EUROTAS and the Portuguese-Brazilian
Transpersonal Association. He is the author of eight books, and has
taught at the University of Lisbon, the Nursing School of Evora,
the University of Algarve and the Faculty of Medicine. He regularly
lectures and conducts workshops and journalistic interviews on transpersonal
subjects.
I want to introduce my subject by telling you about the case of a
client who came to me. Picture an independent young woman who suddenly
begins to have fainting spells. As a result, she cannot work or drive.
Although she is an excellent swimmer, she cannot swim; even in waist-deep
water, she is likely to faint and end up floating facedown in the
water. Medical tests detect no problem. Her EEG and EKG are normal;
she is not epileptic.
I bring this young woman into deep relaxation and, using particular
techniques I help her approach a state where she can access information
about her condition. Then I ask her to tell me what is happening.
She describes that she sees a man, the father of a friend. This is
a man who had recently died. She tells me that he had had sort of
a crush on her. She sees that at times he suddenly pulls her out
of her physical body, causing her to faint.
After giving the woman some instructions for creating a psychic defense
against his unwanted presence, I speak to this man that she is experiencing.
I say, “Do you know you are dead?”
The young woman reports that he says, “What do you mean? I am alive!”
I ask him to remember when he died. After a few moments, he is apparently
able to recall his death. Then I ask, “Do you know you are harming
this woman?”
“No I am not! I just love her.”
“But you are harming her, threatening her life, by causing her to
faint.”
After some further conversation, the man agrees to leave the young
woman and goes “across” with a being of light. Within a few days
the fainting spells cease, and the young woman is able to resume her
life.
Here we have a scientific problem: there is no proof of an afterlife,
but a therapeutic strategy that involves the soul of a dead person
is effective in relieving a condition that standard treatments cannot
resolve. On the other hand, many religions and traditions describe
the phenomenon of psychic attack. Perhaps we should take seriously
the possibility that these occurrences are on some level real. In
the end, it is not as important to argue about what kind of
reality is represented by such processes
as it is to find ways to assist those who suffer them. In any case,
the possibility of psychic attack is something we cannot directly
test for empirically due to ethical constraints (we would have to
consider the fact that if the attacks were effective, they would be
damaging to the subjects). However, parapsychology research suggests
it is not only possible to influence thoughts at a distance (Radin, 1997; Dalton, 1997; Bem &
Honorton, 1994), but also possible to influence
biological systems at a distance (Nelson, Bradish,
Jahn & Dunne 1994; Nelson, Jahn,
Dunne, Dobyns & Bradish, 1997; Ostrander & Schroeder, 1997; Schlitz & Braud,
1997).
I myself had to learn a lot about psychic attacks. From my adolescence
onward I underwent many of them over a period of 20 years. Gradually
I came to understand how these episodes were constructed, and how
to deal with them. In my experience there are three sources of such
attacks: 1) the presences of those who have died, as illustrated by
the previous story, 2) other entities, and 3) living persons.
Many teachers picture the wonders of conscious expansion, the glories
of penetrating other realms. This is all true: it is nice to learn
a spiritual path, to have meaning in your life, to expand. But if
the folktales speak truly, then there are some dangers in these realms
— even for those who are not on a path. These dangers include more
than the souls of the deceased.
Some teachers naively tell you that you should meditate a lot. If
you follow their advice, it may happen that you end up in some trouble.
You have your moments of light, but then you hit anxiety. You go
to the teacher for help, and he or she tells you it is only coming
from inside you—so, meditate more. If you follow this advice, there
is at least some chance that you may experience a serious breakdown.
What such teachers say is partially true: you are dealing with your
inner demons. But all religious traditions talk about outer demons
as well. In the end, I believe they are right—even if you do not
speak about “demons,” but only about aggressive “entities”. For
the psychologist who encounters these phenomena, it is necessary to
understand such attacks. They are a real feature of the spiritual
dimension of human life, and those who suffer from them need and deserve
skilled assistance. Until we have more scientific-sounding words
to talk about this dynamic, it will be necessary to use traditional
terms—at the risk of speaking in language associated with medieval
superstition.
Unfortunately I have found very few authors dealing with the matter
of psychic attacks in a somewhat realistic way (Bailey, 1930; Fortune,
2001). If we assume there is some kind of real phenomenon behind
such reports, what kind of a model can we use to understand outer
“demons”? “Inner demons,” of course, are our own unfinished business—unwholesome
fears, greeds and ambitions. Left unchecked,
these unwholesomenesses lead to evil actions.
One way to understand outer demons is as subtle presences that connect
with us through these inner flaws, and who cultivate those flaws.
Psychic attacks can also come from humans. Some will try to perform
interesting rituals, some will try to project their own negative energy
onto you, some will ask for help from demonic entities. Two of the
main procedures of classic witchcraft are the dajida,
and the charge.
A dajida is a witchcraft doll prepared
by the practitioner of dark arts, and sympathetically connected to
the victim by means of a sample such as a bit of that person’s hair,
nails, blood, sperm, saliva, photograph, or a piece of clothing that
has been worn for some time. Once the connection is established,
it is believed that what the practitioner does to the doll will happen
to the victim at a distance. Fortunately, this is not so easy to
accomplish. Part of the effect is through suggestion, reinforced
by the folkloric beliefs of the victim. But in some ways the doll
also helps the practitioner project his or her own energy and intention.
Some classical experiments seem to produce interesting effects, though
it is difficult to do such experiments ethically. However, a few
related experiments have been done under laboratory conditions (for
some hints at a modern version, see Ostrander & Schroeder, 1997).
A charge is an object filled with bad feelings and bad intentions,
such as a dead cat. Typically, the sorcerer gets a cat or rat, connects
it to the victim in the same manner as a dajida,
then puts it some place to rot. The rotting process is intended to
have repercussions on the victim. Another variation is a cursed stabbing
knife that is placed where the victim will find it. The intended
outcome is that the negative qualities in the knife will induce the
victim to use the blade to kill himself.
Symptoms of psychic attack include the following:
1. A feeling that someone is blowing on the back of your neck, but
no one is there
2. A persistent stinging in parts of the body, producing a specific
pain
3. Strange pains that do not respond to painkillers
4. Unexplained illness that cannot be diagnosed by medicine
5. Pressure on the back of the neck, spine, or back of head, as if
someone is pressing with a finger
6. Panic attacks; while most such attacks result from stress and
worry, some are different in origin. These come on when everything
in life is OK, and occur as a sudden feeling of intense anguish or
fear, or the sensing of a threat; they may occur with nausea.
7. Nightmares; most are from indigestion, stress, worry, and personal
problems. Other incidents have a quality of vividness. It may feel
as if an octopus or some other threatening thing is grabbing the person,
or as if some specters or demons are present; sometimes the dream
experience is one of being encaged or otherwise imprisoned.
8. Direct visions. A girlfriend of mine was combing her hair in
front of the mirror, and saw black serpents in her hair. Other clients
have seen a vampire at the door, or a bedcover has seemed to become
a python.
9. Hearing threatening voices. Of course, to a psychologist this
is a probable sign of schizophrenia. But
in my experience many people hear voices who clearly are not schizophrenic—that
is, they are living normal productive lives. Some small percentage
of these may result from psychic attacks
10. A sense of constriction and despair, a feeling of oppressive
darkness that is darker than the absence of light
11. Fatigue, weakness, feeling a burdensome weight
12. Unexplained fainting
13. Waking up and feeling as if movement is impossible, as if a force
is preventing full return to the body. This can be felt as total
paralysis lasting for some minutes or even hours.
14. Sudden, intense, uncontrollable emotion
15. Repulsive odors, such as rottenness, that are suspended in a
precise location
16. A sound of bells that comes from nowhere
17. Paranoia—the feeling that someone or something is after you
Naturally, all of these symptoms may arise from causes other than
psychic attack. However, when more conventional causes or cures do
not work, it is possible that the symptom may result from such an
attack, mostly if several symptoms like the ones above are showing
up together, and “normal explanations” have first been ruled out.
There are specific protocols for treatment of such conditions, which
are omitted from this review. Vulnerability to such attacks can also
be decreased by the development of personal and spiritual power.
If a person such as my client wants to develop her power, she must
deal with her inner demons. If done properly, she will have power—but
she must use that power with love. If not, eventually it will amount
to black magic: the manipulation of psychic energies for your own
purposes. As power develops, we learn to let go of our own personalities
so something different can happen spontaneously inside of us. According
to the spiritual traditions of the world this different thing, which
is really our soul, will start moving in harmony with God’s plan for
the purposes of love, justice, and beauty. This is a coincidence:
moving in unity with everything, so God’s plan is your plan.
References
Bailey,
A. (1930), Letters on Occult Meditation. New York: Lucis.
Bem,
D.J. & Honorton, C. (1994), “Does Psi Exist? Replicable
Evidence for an Anomalous Process of Information Transfer,” Psychological
Bulletin, Vol. 115:1, pp. 4-18.
Dalton,
K. (1997), “Exploring the Links: Creativity and Psi
in the Ganzfeld,” Proceedings of presented
papers at the Parapsychological Association
40th Annual Convention held in Conjunction with The
Society for Psychical Research, Cary, North Carolina: Parapsychological Association.
Fortune,
Dion (1930/2001). Psychic
Self-Defense. York Beach, ME: Samuel Weiser,
Inc.
Nelson,
R.D. Bradish, G. J. Jahn,
R. & Dunne, B. J. (1994), “A linear pendulum experiment: Effects
of operator intention on damping rate,” Journal of Scientific Exploration,
8:4, pp. 471-489.
Nelson,
R.D. Jahn, R.G. Dunne, B.J. Dobyns,
Y.H. & Bradish, G.J. (1997), “FieldREG
II: Consciousness field effects: Replications and explorations, Journal
of Scientific Exploration, 12:3, 425-454.
Ostrander,
S. & Schroeder, L. (1997). Psychic Discoveries. New York:
Marlowe & Company.
Radin, D, (1997). The Conscious Universe.
New York: HarperEdge.
Schlitz,
M. & Braud, W. (1997), “Distant intentionality
and healing: Assessing the evidence,” Alternative Therapies,
3:6, November.
On
therapy by means of spiritual culture
Mark
E. Burno
Mark
Burno is Doctor of Medical Science, professor in the Department
of Psychotherapy of the Russian Medical Academy of Postgraduate Education
in Moscow, and president of the Professional Psychotherapeutic League
(national umbrella organization of the psychotherapists of Russia).
He has 234 published works in English, French, Russian and other Slavic
languages.
Therapy by means of spiritual culture is a psychotherapeutic approach
in which the leading psychotherapeutic mechanism is that of creative
self-expression, creative inspiration. Yet the state of creative
inspiration can be felt in different ways according to the nature
of the particular soul. For example, an individual with a more idealistic
nature will experience spirituality and creative inspiration quite
differently than one wih a more materialist
bent.
In Western tradition, the state of creative inspiration is often understood
as something sent from Above, as to a receiver. As such, this state
is called Freedom (Fromm), Logos (Frankl),
Self-Actualization (Maslow), Personal Growth
(Rogers), Psychosynthesis (Assagioli),
Transpersonal State (Grof), etc. This approach
is more of an idealistic relationship to a transcendent spirituality.
In Russia there are more people of a materialistic nature of soul
than in the West or the Far East. Such people feel the state of creative
inspiration as an emission of their own bodies. Because of this,
the Russian notion of spirituality is broader; it includes not only
what is sent to us from Above, but is also Something
emitted by ourselves. In this way we can say that Pushkin and Chekov are spiritual writers, but without an idealistic, religious
worldview; they are more in the natural-scientific stream.
This same distinction can be seen in psychotherapy. Alexander Jarotsky, a physician with a materialistic worldview, is one
of the fathers of Russian clinical psychotherapy in the natural-scientific
approach. Jarotsky named his classical
book, published 103 years ago, “Idealism as a physiologic factor.”
He understood idealism as a state of captivity to altruistic ideals.
In Russia there are many intellectuals with this materialistic understanding
of spirituality.
With the help of many others, I have worked out this psychotherapeutic
method over more than 30 years. The essence of the method is as follows:
The patients with painful feelings of inferiority study elements of
clinical psychiatry, characterology, natural
history, and psychotherapy in order to learn to express themselves
creatively in harmony with their natural characterological
peculiarities. In order to live naturally, that is, in accordance
with one’s own nature, one must study one’s own natural features;
these then become real orienting points for following one’s own spiritual
nature: one’s own nature, emitting spirit.
This method helps not only people of a materialistic outlook, but
also those with a more idealistic nature, to find their own psychotherapy.
Here is an excerpt from a group session on creative self-expression
that helps individuals to feel their own outlook and understand whether
they are more idealistic and religious or natural-scientific in their
own nature. This session is called “Polenov
and Rublev.” It begins by viewing a painting
by the Russian artist Vasiliy Polenov entitled “Christ
and the Sinner” (1887). In Polenov’s picture, Jesus is a young but wise man: wholly human,
realistically depicted. This is realistic pictorial art on a religious
theme. Then we view an icon by Anton Roublev,
the famous Russian artist and monk of the 15th century.
Here we see the face of Jesus, but we do not know whether the neck
is male or female. The nose looks rather like a duck’s bill, and
the hair is just an inarticulate mass. For the idealist it must be
this way: the face of Christ should not be full-blooded and alive,
for it is the origin of Spirit. If the face were life-like, we would
not see the stream of Spirit flowing from his eyes. This image of
Christ is the glance of the transcendental world, of God. It reminds
us of how the girl in Gogol’s story speaks
of the stars in the sky. She says, “The angels open the windows of
their houses.”
So, we have one image of spirit for idealists, and another for materialists.
Spirit is no less important to the materialist, but it is secondary:
body (matter) emits spirit. For such a person, his or her own body
is the source of spirit. So, therapy by means of spiritual culture
may be creative inspiration that takes a more religious, idealistic
form, or it may take the natural-scientific form of creative self-expression.
The approach is different for differing patients.
References
Burno, M.E. (2005). Native psychotherapy in Russia.
Archives of Psychiatry and Psychotherapy, 7:1, pp. 71-76.
Burno, M.E. (2002). Therapy by means of creative self
expression. Archives of Psychiatry and Psychotherapy, 4:2,
pp. 49-53.
Yarotsky, A.I. (1917). O psykoterapii pri hronicheskih vnutrenih boleznyah. Russky Vrach, 25-28.
Yarotsky, A.I. (1908). Idealizm
kak fiziologichesky factor. Yuruev:
Yuryevsky Universitet.
Creativity
lies at the Edge of Disintegration:
Addressing
the Shadow of Power and Leadership within Psychotherapy Training Organisations
Rupert
Kinglake Tower
“One does
not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making
the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable
and therefore not popular” (Jung, CW13, par. 335)
Rupert
Tower is a UK Council for Psychotherapy (UKCP) Registered Transpersonal
Psychotherapist working in private practice,
and a Director of the Centre for Transpersonal Psychology (CTP) based
in London. Rupert has worked in management roles over the last 20
years in the Arts and Qualitative Marketing Research, leading groups
with managers and consumers, where he has explored and experienced
firsthand the
psychology
of organisational and group dynamics, and examined the challenges
of
leadership and how power is held within organisations.
More recently he has led process groups with addicts in an Addiction
Clinic. He has presented and published research papers for the UK
Market Research Society, the European Society for Opinion and Marketing
Research (ESOMAR), and the British Journal of Social Psychology.
I want to begin by telling you a Russian fairytale loosely
taken from Marie-Louise Von Franz (1987, pp. 236-9). This tale, called
“The Black Magician Czar,” describes an encounter with the Shadow and how to cope
with it. In the discussion that follows, I will also draw upon six
informal qualitative interviews that I conducted with senior, experienced
psychotherapy colleagues outside of CTP who act as representatives
for their training organisations within the Humanistic and Integrative
Section (HIPS) of the UKCP. Based in large part on their experiences
of encountering the Shadow during difficult transitions and periods
of conflict within their organisations, I will examine how power and
leadership are held, and how later generations may unconsciously carry
the Shadow for the founders. Finally I wish to suggest innovative
forms of holding authority and leadership for the 21st
century.
The Black Magician Czar
There was a czar who was a black magician
and a very powerful ruler. One day he gave a dinner party for all
his subjects, and said to them: ”Whoever can run away and hide himself
from me shall have half my kingdom and my daughter as his wife, and
after my death he can rule over my whole empire”. Everybody who sat
there remained silent and turned pale. But a very bold young man got
up and said, “Czar, I can hide from you
and escape.” And the czar answered, “All
right, bold young man, hide yourself. Tomorrow I will hunt for you
and if you don’t succeed in hiding yourself, your head must come off!”
The bold young man went off to hide, but the czar
read his book of magic and found out where the youth had gone, and
sent his servants to find him and bring him before him. And he himself,
the czar, took a sharp sword and cut off
the youth’s head (and found great pleasure in his evil game). The
next day the czar issued the same challenge and again a bold young man
suffered the same fate.
On the third day there was another dinner party and the czar made the same offer. There was a third bold young man
who said he could escape him, but only on the third attempt. He went
out of the city and shape-changed into a weasel, a drill, and then
a falcon and flew in front of the czar’s
daughter’s window. She saw him and opened the window and he flew in.
Inside her room he turned himself back into a young man and had a
nice private dinner with the czar’s daughter.
Then he turned himself into a ring she put on her finger.
However, the czar again consulted his magic book and discerned the youth’s
hiding place. “So”, he said, “now your head must come off your shoulders!”
But the youth replied that it had been arranged that he should have
three tries, and the czar let him go.
The youth departed once more, shape-changing
into several animals, and was again admitted to the czar’s
daughter’s room where he turned into his own form. They had a nice
feast and spent the night together and tried to plan a way to escape
the czar. The next day he went to open fields and turned himself
into a blade of grass. But once again the czar
consulted his magic book, found the youth and demanded that his head
must come off his shoulders, but the youth said No, he still had another
chance to hide, the last one, and the czar
agreed.
The youth left the palace, and shape-changed into a gray
wolf, a pike, and then a falcon. Flying over mountains and cliff,
he saw the nest of the Magovei bird (a magic bird in Russian fairy tales) on a green
oak tree and dropped down into her nest. The bird was not there at
the time, but when she came back and saw the bold youth sitting there,
she said, “What impertinence!” She seized him by the collar and flew
with him out of the nest, across the blue sea and put him on the magician
czar’s window. The youth changed himself
into a fly, flew into the palace and then became a piece of flint,
a fire stone, and lay down by the fireplace.
Meanwhile the black magician began to read and search his magic
book which told him the youth was in the
Magovei bird’s nest, but his servants found the nest but no
youth. The czar looked in his book and thought
that he must be there. The czar himself
joined in the hunt. They hunted and hunted. The czar
thought that even if he had not found the youth he could no longer
be alive on the earth.
So they went back to the empire. The second and third day passed.
One morning the maid got up and started to lay the fire. She took
the flint stone and rubbed it on some steel; the stone flew out of
her hand and there stood the youth.
“Good morning, mighty czar”, he said.
“Good morning, bold young man. Now your head must come off your
shoulders.”
“No, mighty czar,” the youth said, “you
have sought me for three days and had given up the search. I have
now come voluntarily. Now I should have half the kingdom and your
daughter as my wife!”
The czar could do nothing so the two were
married and had a wonderful wedding feast. The youth became the the czar’s son-in-law and got half
the empire, and on the death of the czar
he was to ascend the throne.
The “Black Magician Czar” describes
a kind of incestuous situation between the father and the daughter
where the feminine principle is a captive of the masculine principle.
The czar is a diabolical “negative shadow” figure whose primary
drive is to dominate and retain power. Those young men who also attempt
to adopt a power attitude are swiftly beheaded.
The black czar’s magical book seems
to represent a closed system of magic which
misinterprets the way of the feminine, misuses power, and seeks possession
through personal will alone. The hero in this tale succeeds because
he is able to receive knowledge directly from its natural source,
which cannot be misused by evil forces, and he knows a way to approach
the feminine principle so that he is helped three times. He represents
openness to a wider, deeper consciousness that utilises wit and emotional
intelligence, connects us with our spontaneity, immediacy, and an
instinctual living basic nature of the psyche.
The Abuse of Power and Authoritarian Leadership
The tale of “the Black Magician Czar”
expresses the debilitating effects of the ruthless drive and desire
for power. The czar’s willingness to kill
the bold freshness of ardent youth reflects a drama prevalent with
an omnipotent fantasy of omniscience, and his primary motivation to
possess power. He is unable to recognise the limits of reality or
the existence of the other. Any possibility of dialogue is prevented
through an atmosphere of terror and dehumanisation. (Biran, 2003)
An organisation is an ongoing drama enacted by fallible players,
where the idea of the organisation as a unity (the ego ideal) contrasts
radically with reality, where the character of organisational life
more viscerally resembles a “snakepit”;
for “…there must be for each of us, individually and collectively,
a shameful, secret underside to organisational life” (Schwartz,
1990, p. 10)
Experience of power dynamics within psychotherapy organisations
seemed to indicate that more often than not leaders promoted initially
a visionary drive towards personal and professional excellence and
integration, which contained many inherent strengths, but over time
this gradually tipped over into a narrow form of perfectionism and
inflated “magnificence”, with an exaggerated focus on an organisational
ideal that denied and became rapidly out of step with reality, eventually
in some cases leading to organisational decay and breakdown.
What seemed increasingly to be held in the Shadow in these
instances were the qualities of ordinary humanness – the permission
to express fallibility, fragility, or vulnerability, to be unsure
or unclear sometimes about where the project was going, and to acknowledge
limitation – and a degree of trust in staying with the mess and chaos
of a creative, processing space of not knowing, where it felt safe
enough to question, debate, disagree and voice criticism. Alongside
this, there was a loss of recognition that a necessary part of being
human was the acknowledgement and ownership of one’s own capacity
for envy, competitiveness, nastiness and destructiveness.
It was the denial of this reality, the failure to recognize
faults within themselves and to discern the fantasy nature of the
organisational ideal, that caused a rot to gain hold from within. Typically,
any perceived challenge to the leaders’ authority, or anyone who dared
to hold a different vision to the status quo would be isolated, and
these shadow qualities would be projected onto the imagined perpetrators.
Anyone that metaphorically speaking wished to “grow up” and assume
responsibility for new ideas and new input that deviated from or appeared
to threaten the organizational norm, was likely to be cut down in
czar-like fashion.
The interviews also showed that when an organization goes through
the demise or departure of a founder, a distinct transitional stage
showed itself amidst the vacuum and chaos, prior to finding a re-framed
identity. The Jungian analyst Robert Hobson calls this the “therapeutic
community disease” (Hobson, 1979, p.232). He outlines three phases
(1) The coming of the Messiah (2) the Enlightenment (3) the Catastrophe.
A gifted individual steps forward within the vacuum with revolutionary
ideas opposed to the original Vision and is experienced by self and
others as magical, a potential Saviour Hero
who will bring revitalizing purpose to the organization. Initially
a period of intellectual stimulation follows, there seems to be inner
cohesion; but outer groups are constellated, individual differences
and anxieties are denied, and the Shadow goes underground. However,
inevitably the pain, death, rage and mourning for what was lost with
the original founder has to be faced, and disillusionment, breakdown
and usually unnamed destructive components of the process force themselves
into consciousness (Perry, 1991). The saviour
fantasy must be relinquished, and only then can the organization begin
to remain present with what Nigel Wellings
and Elizabeth McCormick refer to as “Fallow Chaos”, by
facing the unpalatable but unavoidable journey that “to do or be
something new we must first let go of something or some part of ourselves
that is old” (Wellings and McCormick,
2005, p. 98).
There is an African proverb that holding power is like holding
an egg. Hold it too loosely, and it may drop and fall; hold it too
tightly, and it may break. It is in the holding of the tensions of
these polarities that the “unthought known” (Bollas, 1987)
of the transcendent function can reveal itself.
There are several methods for mediating with shadow influences
that can aid such a process of internal self-examination. “Social
Dreaming” is increasingly used within analytical training institutes
and mainstream organisations to build a communal relationship with
the shadow and unconscious processes. (Gordon-Lawrence,
2005). Another emerging approach to leadership and service
is “servant-leadership” which emphasises an ethical awareness and
appropriate use of power by the encouragement of a long-term, transformational
philosophy to life and work – in essence a way of being – that is
committed to an individual’s personal growth within organisations
and promotes a sense of community (Greenleaf, 2003). Collective leadership
is yet another paradigm in which mutual interconnection configures
the presence of collective leadership, where difference, messiness
and diverse ideas remain and flourish but are held, becoming differentiations
of “one-mindedness” (Bohm, 1982,
p. 72). The nature of leadership is no longer that of a spiritual
parent to a child, but of peer to peer, allowing leadership to shift,
devolve, and be shared by individuals that are able to provide many
differing qualities of leadership in differing circumstances according
to their particular style, strengths and personal attributes.
Creative methods such as these may help us to own, name and
respect the destructive and creative forces of the personal and archetypal
Shadow that will always be present in some form or another within
our organisational life. It is within the oft unspoken, unnoticed,
unassuming acts of determination to bear difference, and in open-hearted
gestures of kindness and the courage of forgiveness, that possibility
lies to co-habit more fruitfully with our Shadow sides and remain
open to our unruly complexity amidst all its savagery and beauty.
References
We
were made for these times
Tanna
Jakubowicz-Mount
Tanna
Jakubowicz-Mount is a psychotherapist specializing in transpersonal
therapy. She holds an MA in Clinical Psychology from Warsaw University,
with postgraduate studies in the USA in Gestalt Therapy and Bioenergetics.
Tanna is president of the Polish Transpersonal
Forum. As vice-president of EUROTAS (1996-1999) she organized the
fourth European Transpersonal Conference in Warsaw (1997). She can
be contacted at mandala@mandala.x.pl.
Having Jewish roots, studying mysical Judaism, Buddhism and shamanism, I have followed many
paths, finally arriving at this one place with no name. Ain
Sof, Holy Spirit, Great Spirit, are
among the many names for this one ground from which all life springs.
But if you ask me what I believe in, I might confess that I practice
the religion of love, because religio
means putting together and love has the biggest bonding power. My
concern is how to make this world a better place to live.
Czech president Vaclev Havel,
speaking at Harvard University, said, “I am persuaded again and again that, lying dormant in the deepest
roots of most, if not all, cultures there is an essential similarity,
something that could be made—if the will to do so existed—a genuinely
unifying starting point for that new code of human coexistence that
would be firmly anchored in the great diversity of human traditions”
(1995). Deep down in the ground there are the same seeds of truth,
love, wisdom, compassion, peace and justice. It takes new moral energy
to create new political will. We need politics of awareness based
on morality and new morality based on love for all living beings.
When we look at the world from an eagle’s eye view we see two struggling
forces. The old order is a fragmented world based on the illusion
of separation, battling for spheres of influence and control over
territories and human minds. The new order, set by unitive consciousness, perceives the world as one organism
based on the shared ground underlying all spiritual traditions.
There are no spectators in this struggle. We need to establish direct
connection between our spiritual practice and service for the world.
My intention is to join all people who are concerned about the state
of affairs in our world right now, and who are awake enough to contribute
to the process of healing, transformation and reconciliation. We
can all see that transpersonal and holistic awareness is becoming
more popular. Why? Because this is the right answer to the burning problems of the world
and the painful dilemma of being human.
The real pain in the lives of most people may not be about starvation
as much as about lacking trust—a deprivation of higher purpose and
meaning. As Eyad el Sarraj observes, “The hopelessness
that comes from a situation that keeps getting worse, [is] a despair
where living becomes no different than dying” (2002). Even if spiritual
emptiness is a phenomenon particular to the West, it has great impact
on the entire human civilization. It is the spiritual starvation
of the so-called developed world that causes physical poverty and
starvation in underdeveloped nations. These “developed” societies
pump natural resources out of the soil of the Third World and dump
back their junk and toxic waste, thereby stripping the inhabitants
of natural dignity and spirituality; they are left naked like slaves
and beggars of a “better” world. In this way, both rich and poor
nations are left spiritually bereft.
Earth is being devoured because most people are disconnected from
the Source of Life, uprooted from the earth, spiritually homeless,
thirsty, unsated. This is the cause of
deep despair, fear, anger, oppression and wars—the emptiness inside
us that leads us to reach for everything outside us, to conquer other
territories and exploit natural resources. We have an ongoing history
of genocide and holocausts—a long chain of cruel wars between oppressors
and victims, and victims who become oppressors.
How can we respond to this situation? How do we heal and seal the
hole in the soul of our society? As Ian Gordon Brown used to say,
“The future is brought into the present by people who conspire together—that
is, breathe together” (1994). A saying attributed to the Hopi Indians
says, “We are the ones we have been waiting for.” In my vision I
saw that the most urgent and beautiful task is helping people to tap
into a deep source of spiritual abundance. A second, equally important
work is to learn how to transform and reconcile inner conflict so
we do not cast our shadow on the world. When we are deeply connected
to the whole, we feel relieved and happy, willing to contribute to
common goodness. In this state of mind we can embrace and respect
all diversities as a manifestation of the One.
In practical terms, I imagine this work to be one of supporting already-existing
trends in our culture such as:
1. Promoting the renaissance of holistic culture, drawing from old
spiritual traditions, cultivating the real nature of man as a manifestation
of the true nature of all creation, reclaiming the sacredness of life
and death
2. Enhancing the evolution of humankind from Homo tribus
to Homo holos. The tribal human
is preoccupied mostly with the tribal drives of the first three chakras—basically
having to do with territory and survival. The holistic human is able
to raise awareness to the heart and the crown chakra level, and embrace
the entire Earth community.
3. Inspiring new women’s movements to reclaim feminine power and
wisdom, and to bring in more love and respect
for the Earth and all living beings.
4. Developing the politics of awareness, fostering a new sense of
planetary consciousness that is interfaith and multicultural.
5. Supporting culture and communication
without violence.
6. Co-creating a new code of co-existence based on the values that
underlie the great spiritual traditions.
Indra’s diamond net is an ancient vision
of the world in which all beings have the nature of a diamond, and
exist in a boundless network of reflections and relationships. My
personal vision is to set up a network of international action so
we can inspire each other to do this most urgent work with the people
who are within our reach. My idea is to create INDRA-net, standing
for International Direct Radical Action Network. We need to think
about what kind of actions we can develop, so more people can get
access to spiritual experiences, and find their way home. The guardians
of the old order are very well armed and organized. We need to encourage
each other to intensify our activities and make them more effective.
I
believe we have a special responsibility in this time in history.
This is our opportunity to trigger the tipping point, to transform
a minority perception into a majority embrace. In the words of Clarissa
Pinkola Estes, “we were made for these times”
(2003).
Brown,
I.G. (1994). Brochure of the third conference,
European Transpersonal Association. London.
el
Sarraj, E. (2002), “Suicide bombers: Dignity, despair, and the need for hope,”
Journal of Palestine Studies, 31:4, http://peaceuk.co.uk.mdl-net.co.uk/archive/modules.php?name
=News&file=print&sid=193,
retrieved July 30, 2005
Estes,
C.P. (2003), “Letter to a young activist during troubled times,” http://www.mavenproductions.com/estes.html,
retrieved July 30, 2005
Havel, V. (1995). Address delivered at
Harvard University. http://www.znak.com.pl/eurodialog/ed/0/havel.html.en,
retrieved July 31, 2005.
