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Posted by janehaynes in : Atomies of love, Uncategorized , add a comment

I commented earlier on the frightful pangs – when one is writing – of beginnings, of empty pages and mental spaces, which provokes another thought which journeys in a different direction when I am thinking primarily as a psychotherapist and not as a writer. The beginnings of any significant relationship are not empty but often full of awe, excitement and usually a delusory sense of freedom.

On the assumption that some of us, and hopefully most psychotherapists, are using their lifetime to become more complete, beginnings are vital threshold moments of engagement.  Whether they take place in the protected space of the consulting room, or in a more random way, they are, for me, like entering through those classical ‘gates of horn and ivory for dreams’ and then moving on towards ‘A fence of wild pear and oak’s dark heart’ where two strangers can meet who hope to become more entire. ‘So, to'intergraft our hands, as yet
/Was all the means to make us one,’. (Donne.) If the chemistry is right that first meeting - whether professional or personal – can be the moment when once more everything feels possible. In those relationships which begin with an eureka moment of  ‘I’ve found another missing bit of myself’, the ‘Other’s’ presence can allow us to feel as if an answer to an unsought question has floated into destiny.

There is always the risk that any instant illusion of engagement turns out to be as destructive as the shadow meetings with the irresistible and seductive Duessa in Spencer’s Fairie Queen. Hope of communion is ignited but sometimes its energy is gossamer fine. It may be days, months or probably years, even a lifetime, before we find out if the engagement of a new beginning has become the platinum of eternity.


Posted by janehaynes in : Uncategorized, Writing a book , 1 comment so far

My first blog entry is being written on a TGV from Avignon to St Pancras, which is bringing me back to London and to work. Except, it’s hard to call something you feel so passionate about ‘work’ but it is and of an intense kind, else I should be full of misgivings about returning to the city. Except, ever since the July 2005 terrorist attacks I’ve realized how much I love London, and how I dread more harm to her. I was in the centre of the city when it happened and heard the serial explosions. In fact I was so close to King’s Cross that I could not get home except by walking and for hours there was too much dread in the air to do that. Now there is a delay in getting my blog online because my web designer, Darius is Iranian and his impromptu website has become a principal organ for communicating samizdat information across terror stricken Iran and this blog is not high on his priorities. It happens that I have young patients who have recently come here from Iran to conduct research who reminded me - before the violence began - that behind many of the foreboding and closed forecourt doors, men and beautiful bare-shouldered women still dance, swirl, drink and abandon themselves to the elegance of their glorious and sensual Esfahan, which means ‘half the world’s ancestry.’

I’ve decided to accompany the travails of writing my new book with an attempt to blog its journey from conception to publication. Travelling towards Lille we are already delayed and