José Ortega y Gasset, the Spanish philosopher, talks of the release of spirits that the spilling of blood brings. Blood is a frightening mystery, he says. It carries life. When it is spilled and the ground stained, the whole landscape is maddened and excited. Oculists know that humans can be killed in a particular way so that the human spirit is harnessed. We saw how great initiates like Elijah fashion their vegetable and animal selves in such a way that they can become chariots with which to travel through the spiritual worlds. In occult circles, it is also known that black magicians can use the souls and spirits of others, their sacrificial victims, as chariots.
What can possibly be happening in the minds of men sitting in female dominated space, box of tissue at their side, with a woman saying “tell me how you feel” about this or that? Even worse, asking such probing questions with the implication that he is an empty emotional vessel in need of her redemption. Lea Winerman, a staff writer for the American Psychological Association asks us to “imagine the Marlboro man in therapy.” Imagine instead a therapy office in the boiler room of a ship, in a workshop, a park, a building site, mechanics shed or a sports locker room, with seating arrangements that allowed men to sit at 45 degree angles or side by side — engaged in some kind of task if they wished. Imagine too if we were to engage in some kind of typical male play or industry – not just Jungian sandplay or water-color art therapies as suits the more effeminate sensibilities of women, but hands on therapy – while driving a truck, fixing the engine of a ...
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