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Breakthroughs and the moral imagination.

Sunset in Provence

We witness the horror of the burning tower. We learn that the cladding outside the block of flats was cheaper than the fire resistant cladding. This choice was made in the richest borough in the UK and some would say on earth.

This begs the question;

” What does one human being owe to another?’ We live now in a society which has lost religious values so what are we to replace them with? It is clear that we are unable to form our own. We have no moral imagination, we cannot conceive apparently that the rich have a duty to care for the poor, the vulnerable, the dispossessed the lonely and the sick. The rich only appear to have a duty to themselves, to their lifestyles and to their desire for more and more and more. This is at the expense of the helpless, the fragile, the afraid.

It is time I suspect for us to return to Rousseau and his masterpiece of political philosophy -‘ THE SOCIAL CONTRACT.’ Here we are asked to imagine ourselves not as individuals but as part of whole.  We are all interdependent upon each other and in the perfect society there is no separation. If that is the ‘perfect’ society then we must acknowledge that North Kensington is so far divorced from that ‘ idea of perfection than it can scarcely be imagined that any more morally bankrupt society can exist upon this earth.

Rousseau talks of the general will  ;

Each of us puts his power under the general will and as a body we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole.’

For any society to succeed the general will must always be for the common good. This clearly not the case in North Kensington.It may be noted that when a rich person is wronged he is given the utmost attention by the authorities . However, when a poor person is wronged they have little or no recourse to either authority or justice. The poor in North Kensington have burnt to death, many children put to bed are never seen again because the cladding on the building in which they were sleeping was of the cheapest kind available. It was not fire proof. The decision to apply this cheap cladding was made by the wealthy of North Kensington.author, alcoholism, murder, matricide.

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Vince Cable.

Having listened to Vince Cable’s speech at the Liberal Democratic conference, I realise that he is the only politician in this country that I could support. I have been a liberal all my life, I come from a liberal family. My grandfather used to follow Lloyd George around the country just to listen to him speak and to hear the power of his oratory.

Vince spoke with sincerity, and a quiet dignity. I have always admired this man mainly for his economic acumen but also for his genuine  and apparent compassion to all  society- to both the young and the old the sick the weak the vulnerable. Here at last is a man I can be proud to follow, a political leader who, instinctively, I would trust with my life.

I have worked in the national  health service for forty years  and it has absorbed my energy, my passion and my determination to make this country a better, kinder place. It breaks my heart to see what it has become in recent years under Tory rule. I am no longer proud to be British as I once was, no I am ashamed of where we are and what and who we are. It is sad. The austerity cuts have driven a wedge into our humanity. Much of my career was spent with the mentally sick. I worked with the homeless in cardboard city and in some of the most deprived estates in London. What always moved me was the basic humanity of these people, their ability to love and care for one another. The less they had the more it seemed to me, they loved. They loved one another they cared for one another: frequently their genuine compassion moved me to tears. Now that I am retired I miss those magic moments, I miss defending them, I miss loving them.

Politics, until the arrival of Vince Cable, as leader of the Lib Dems seemed an alien environment filled with ‘creatures’ that lived in their own worlds. Separate, always and for ever from the needs of the ‘ordinary’. This was nowhere more apparent than in the aftermath of the disaster of ‘Grenville Tower’. As Vince so rightly said the poor are not listened too- it seems as if the absence of money equates to the absence of intellect and intelligence. I was truly ashamed to watch my Prime Minister Theresa May actively avoid the victims of that horrific incident:  to be unable to approach these people: to shake their hands;soutine_051314_820px to demonstrate even a modicum of compassion. I do not want to be governed by these people. I want to be governed by a real human being like Vince Cable.

Thank you Vince for existing and for caring. You gave a great speech, you are a great man.

Mollie Lord.B.A. RGN/RMN. Dip;University of London. Cert;philosophy of the Body(University of Lampeter).

The Alcoholic and the family.

First and foremost alcoholism is a family disease in a way that that is unique. First and at the centre of the stage is the alcoholic, but around him are those whom he infects. The interdependency develops insidiously, slowly and without  warning. Suddenly almost all are emeshed  in the web of addiction. All are determined to maintain the status quo and protect the alcoholic from himself and from the consequences of his drinking. Initially this is perceived as both love and loyalty by all the close family members. The alcoholic is a secret, fragile creature who is sick and must be cared for. The purpose of this behaviour is to maintain a cohesion when in fact there is no cohesion, it is a delusional state that the family enters into.All the relationships within the family network are attachment disorders. All are addicted to the alcoholic as the alcoholic is addicted to the alcohol.

I am the daughter of an alcoholic who killed herself when I was 12 years old. My son is an alcoholic, my first husband was abusive and drunk himself to death. I have survived by spending much of my life as a psychiatric nurse/ therapist learning about this terrible disease. I have run alcohol groups both for alcoholics and for the families of alcoholics. I have a particular interest in supporting the children of alcoholics.

My novel ‘ Paradise Lost’ is the story of a woman who eventually kills her alcoholic mother after years of child hood abuse.  She gets away with it. The central question of the novel is:’Do some people deserve to be murdered?’ Every reader must decide this for themselves, and I have been criticised by some for writing what is essentially an immoral novel. Is it immoral to get away with cold blooded murder? Yet there is the guilt, and the guilt is as destructive and  dangerous in it’s way as the alcoholic. There is no escape: not for anyone. Guilt is the predominant emotion for every alcoholic and also for the family that supports him.

Guilt is the legacy of alcoholism.It is this emotion more than any other that sets the stage for the collapse of the alcoholic family and the destructive nature of the relationships therein. Eventually the family members blame each other for what has happened to the alcoholic and to the catastrophic nature of the collapse.

Jung thought every patient unique and it was this uniqueness that made them valuable.Mental illness he beleived to be essentially a disunity of the personality. Few diseases ,if any, cause more disunity of personality than alcoholism. Children of alcoholics repress their feelings especially those of fear because of the dynamic to defend the alcoholic and to protect him from himself.

‘ If I’m a good girl he won’t drink’.

“He drinks because of me.’

‘ If he loved me he wouldn’t drink- he does drink therefore I am unloveble’

‘It’s my fault’.

The child of every alcoholic is insecure, and frightened because their world is chaotic.Sadly the children of alcoholics are damaged people. They suffer  a self possessed agony which maybe compared to either suffocation or drowning because of the total immersion that is the hall mark of every alcoholic relationship. The person they love most in the world cannot be trusted, the person they need most in the world cannot be trusted, so they grow up without either self belief or confidence.

Image by Picasso:

 

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M.Lord. BA, RGN/RMN. Dip:mental health/University of London.Cert:philosophy of the body/University of Wales.

Author of Paradise Lost(Mollie Bach)

SUICIDE. A half stitched scar. The scar that never heals.

1452130_600202240034439_1160800664_nThis is  a child. A beautiful thing, a loving thing.Suicide is an ugly thing, it is the scar that never heals:

“TIME Does Not heal, 

It makes a half stitched scar

That can be broken and again you feel, 

Grief again as total as in it’s first hour.

Why I wonder does no one understand that very simple fact about suicide survivors? No amount of love from other people can  help. No advantage of a caring family can help. No passionate love from any person can help, no matter how strong, no matter how deep, can make it’s way through the well of loneliness.Those who are left behind in the wake of suicide   are left alone to deal with what is the anger and the guilt.  Trying to understand that which is inexplicable, the survivors who always wish they had not survived, to deal with the loneliness and the despair- to try to comprehend an inexplicable act, an act of betrayal for that is what suicide is more than anything: it is an act of betrayal. Betrayal of those who love and who are left to comprehend the incomprehensible.This is what lies before the survivors a life time of incomprehension.  Most of all they are left to to miss a parent whose life was woven into their own from the very beginning.

Suicide is indeed a death like no other and those who are left behind must confront a pain that is like no other. It leaves a hole in the heart that nothing and no one can ever fill.Corrosive pain, abandonment: suicide rips apart families like nothing else.Everyday the survivor wakes up and wonders why. Why did they do this to me? How could they do this to me? The incomprehension is what rips neural networks apart, that shreds them that destroys links and synaptic connections. Suicide shreds brains. Brains are what we are , brains are who we are. Brains are us. Yet brains cannot deal with the volcanic eruption of suicide. They cannot recover from this irrevocable damage .They fracture, they dislocate, they change into shattered glass. Shattered glass is the legacy of suicide, the twisted nerve the ganglion gone wry.

THE End.

THE End.

We stare into the void and we ask ourselves ‘How can this be?’ All this loss and all this tragedy. We fall out with friends and with those we love and miss. It is the abyss and there are moments of desperation and that is when it happens and we wonder how   it can be thus.Yet this is how it is and the lonliness eventually destroys the lonely and the lost until there is no reason to continue. Yet there are those who love us dearly they want our continued existence and we try to make out the patterns that exist inside their heads so that we can go and investigate the level of pain that our departure from this world might cause. We don’t want to leave piles  of agony and so we go on through every lonely day- ALONE. There is pointless interaction with others, there is gazing at swans and water, and rivers and mountains and streams. We look at the disabled and know how lucky we are to be healthy, we are lucky to possess sight and hearing and yet we..possess nothing.

We absorb ourselves in the political antics of the day and we pretend it matters, we engage in the emotions of the famous because we have none of our own. We borrow everything from others, their triumphs their disasters and their pain. We read novels, we grab the loves and hates of the characters  therein.Yet those we love and relate to are no more dead and gone. We are not missed by those that have gone, yet we miss them all the time.

BREXIT NEEDS BRAINS.

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The chaos that is Brexit requires a rainbow coalition of all the parties to produce order out of chaos. This country stands on the edge of  disaster as has not been seen since the second world war. It needs the greatest intellects to come together to create the best deal. Why on earth has May sent David Davis and Liam Fox for this vital task? Is this really the best brains she has to count on in this time of crisis. Well god help us all if that is indeed the case.Where is Oliver Letwin at this time when his brain is so desperately required?

The complexity of unravelling  the ties that bind us  to Europe  is beyond the imagination of most minds and it is sad that mediocrity is all we can manage to send to Brussels. They are not bad men, Davis and Fox but they are the epitome of insignificance  they are an embarrassment. We require someone touched with the fire of genius if we are to dig ourselves out of this bloody hole. Time ticks by and nothing shifts, we sense that we are facing imminent annihilation at least on the economic front and probably on many others as well but we just don’t have the talent-or do we?

Me and that burning Tower.

Me and that burning Tower.

I have been in hell ever since hearing about the disaster. I have been unable to sleep. I have upset my friends by shouting at everyone..it has been a time of desolation. Now I am beginning to understand the creative process. There,  in dreams,  something has emerged.. a large empty space. Then a woman walking to the park with her child and now. Judith( the heroine) of my last book ”Paradise Lost’ emerging at the site of the disaster sitting amongst the victims the lost and the bereaved,I understand at last what has been going on in my crazy head. When I have  feared for my sanity, felt dazed and crazed in some unimaginable horror losing control of myself and who I am and what I am becoming.

This has been the beginning of the sequel to my novel my unconscious mind has been busy and disturbed as it creates the sequel. Judith who in ‘Paradise Lost’ murdered her own alcoholic mother and gets away with it is to find her redemption amongst the survivors of the tower. She will take a survivor into her own home and she will care for this woman who has lost everything,  her child, her husband, all her cards, her clothes. This is how Judith who was so abused by her own mother will be redeemed.

So this is it- creativity can drive you crazy- whilst the story is being written at an unconscious level the conscious mind is driven away. It becomes an irrelevance, everyday activity becomes an irrelevance, friends, families, lovers are all some how disposed of as unwanted baggage.

 

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