PsychoBabbleJabble

By Kurt D LaRose

This book will likely irritate every reader at some point. One chapter is so bold it intones the good of a mother who kills her children. The chapter does not say the murderous mother was a good woman, or that she did a good thing; it doesn’t say that her actions should be without penalty or consequence. The chapter suggests, basically, in a metaphoric and anecdotal ending, that the mother loves the ones she killed. PsychoBabbleJabble is full of these kinds of challenges; this book is written and designed to tackle human judgment.

My work as a therapist, a clinician, and as a helper in different settings, and in different states even (I am licensed in Florida, the District of Columbia, and Missouri), plus with my hypnosis training, all of these play a role in this writing. The reader will see and experience the maneuvering of words, each used to explain and help promote understanding in how people’s judgments are formed. Many judgments are those that I like to call ‘terminal thoughts.’ For some reason or another, certain thoughts are seemingly non-negotiable to the holder of them.

With terminal thoughts in mind (we all have them), I’m able to, using my writing, go with the reader using their various lines of thinking, as if their beliefs are absolutely true. Then, near each chapter ending, I include an alternative and new perspective, where a question about the once absolute belief is now wedged toward and in between a different belief. ‘Wedged,’ meaning a small detail of alternative thought is strategically placed juxtaposition to a terminal thought, that the reader once used (or uses still, maybe) to hold up a rationale supporting ‘truth.’ By each chapters end, the belief is jolted loose a tiny bit, hopefully. It is in that jolting, where a belief becomes finally questioned and questionable.

This text contains my best writing and some of my best clinical recall. All of my training is included in some way in every part of this text; the hypnosis training kicks my writing up a notch. Here, using people’s RIGHTNESS as an ally in shaping a new belief, I contradict the old truth while valuing it, in key and passionate areas of what might be called life and the people that make it so.

That’s what I’d say this book hopes to do – to jolt loose, just a little bit those absolute judgments we as humans may unknowingly, without ill intent, and possibly mistakenly hold as settled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662412042

Book preview

ChApTeR 1

The Concept

Significance

One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.

—Joan of Arc

1412–1431

There are people who can talk about life in a way that resembles wisdom and intelligence. On the surface, it all sounds very good. Sometimes the knowledge proclaimed is a cover-up to the self-reflection that is often needed to confront our own questions. It is possible to get so caught up in what we know about life that the time it takes to live it seems less important than the wisdom we have to share with others. It’s always easier to tell someone else what it is that they need to do, rather than do it ourselves.

Different perspectives can bring clarity to our own.

Objectivity can be a helpful tool when looking at life’s significance; different perspectives can bring clarity to our own. But objectivity is difficult to find when discussing life because everyone who speaks about it is living. A fair and accurate perspective on life is probably eternally elusive, in the human experience, because all of us who discuss it have some gain or loss in the outcomes. No one who has made the full run of life gets to tell us all about it—unless the moment of death is excluded from the story. One thing is certain: there is not much time to live—at least in a way that allows us to fully take advantage of all that life has to offer us, and all that we have to offer it.

Significance partially manifests in whatever it is that we say about it, but it is much more than a label. The full beauty and wonder of dancing, singing, laughing, crying, playing, yelling, eating, hugging, resting—what most people do in an average day—is valuable, if not for ourselves, then for others. Everyone is a leader to someone, even if for a moment. The intimacies of connection and lasting relationships happen—one person at a time. The closeness of talking, hearing, seeing, and touching matters; the only right thing to call life is significant.

To minimize the importance of one’s life, regardless of credibility in the justifications for doing so, suggests that one person’s footsteps matter more than another. But what about all the people you see, speak to, touch, and listen to in an ordinary and routine day? Many will remember you—even if you will not remember them.

The time to realize the significance of one’s impact almost routinely happens in the realizations that accompany the end stages of life—but does it have to happen that way? Living and breathing might be automatic, but the power of one life in and around another is not. The sooner that you and I can place some value on our own lives—value that is quantified by something other than time and numbers—is the sooner that our lives will represent something deeper. What would it be like to thrive in a way that brings us closer to self-fulfillment, closer to other centered fulfillment, with a connection to family, to friends, and to some kind of faith—faith in humanity, if nothing else?

Knowing what it is that we want to give to the world is a part of the path, a part of the purpose. It is probably easier to know what it is we want from the world. The goal is not to live for purpose only but, rather, it is to walk in, enjoy, encounter, and embrace some greater existence—that which we give and gain.

* * * * *

The Story

The Ingredients

I remember once when my parents took me to my grandmother’s house to stay for a long weekend. The drive from our house to hers took about two hours. She was a widow now, but it wasn’t always like that. One thing was sure: she welcomed family overnight visits. On the drive there, Mom and Dad used the time (and the captivating opportunity in a car) to prep me for all the things Grandmother would/would not tolerate. Oddly, as I look back now, it wasn’t Mom and Dad’s list of Grandmother’s strict expectations that struck me; it was their lengthy explanation of what a meal meant to my Grandma Betty.

As we drove the long windy road out into the country, Mom explained that Grandma and Grandpa lived through the Great Depression, and as a result, Waste not, want not was something like the Golden Rule. To call my grandmother conservative would have been an understatement. The other thing that struck me was that just as my mother explained the great joy Grandmother took in making sure a hot meal was prepared for her husband each and every day of his life, I found it humorously odd that my own mother had a more feminist view of it all. Mom’s view of preparing a family meal went something like this: if you’re hungry and you can walk, go get it. Otherwise you might just go hungry. It was nothing like that at Grandma’s; she was as passionate about serving her family as my mother was about taking care of herself.

"In hindsight I now see that those meals…had a wonderful ingredient in them—a dash of love."

For Grandma, mealtime was an important time. She got to ask each of her six children what happened in their days. She got to talk to Grandpa about how unfair the boss was at the factory. She was able to make sure that everyone’s tummy was full and that their appetites for anything more were all satisfied.

When my mother and father and I sat down to eat at Grandma’s, at first it was kind of a culture shock. I just wasn’t used to what I was seeing, and I wasn’t sure if it was even okay. Grandmother smiled as she hurried in and out of the kitchen (Mom certainly never did that). Grandma went around asking each person what they wanted to drink, where they wanted to sit, and if their plates were large enough. If there was a hint of imperfection by those Grandma served, she seemed to get excited as she’d smile again and say, I have just the thing for you—I’ll be right back.

As Grandma would ladle out food, she smiled, taking in the aroma she inhaled; as she ate she moaned with delight at the flavor—closing her eyes and raising her head in the air a bit with those nice and slow chews of each savory bite. Grandma spoke of the food on the table as if it were a friend: These came from the garden that me and Daddy planted. This was canned in the basement last winter. I made these from scratch. She enthusiastically offered seconds (and if that wasn’t enough, or if it didn’t seem like enough, Grandma offered to make more while intoning our permission). She encouraged the clearing of the plate as extremely important to get some skin on those bones.

All said, one of my first memories of a meal at Grandma’s still sticks with me almost every time I sit down somewhere to eat. For Grandma, the meal was joyous, festive, edifying, and delightful. In hindsight, I now see that those meals, with the food from her garden and the dishes she made from scratch had a wonderful ingredient in them that only Grandmother could pour in—a dash of love.

_______________

Significance

It’s always easier to tell someone else what it is that they need to do, rather than do it our-selves. Objectivity can be a helpful tool…

The closeness of talking, hearing, seeing, and touching matters; the only right thing to call life is significant.

The dishes made from scratch had a wonderful ingredient in them—a dash of love.

ChApTeR 2

The Concept

Legacy

The unexamined life is not worth living.

—Socrates

469–399 BC

From birth to death, living a legacy is guaranteed. Everyone who lives and dies leaves a mark somewhere. Most people’s legacies are born one moment at a time.

As lives are remembered in birth and death, the easiest memories to recall are often anchored in the context of great successes and great failures. Discounting the average, the normal, or the routine is a travesty to legacies. It is all the moments between birth and death that lead to the greater memories. Birth and death are memorable, but what the life promised and what the life left behind is all about is how the life was lived and how it changed others.

"Sometimes the actions of man are little known in forethought. Plans are made and outcomes differ."

Sometimes the actions of man are little known in forethought; plans are made and outcomes differ. The point is, something is always left behind. The footprints of predecessors tell of a life that was lived here first. Sometimes what is left behind is sweet and savory and beckoning and valuable. Sometimes it is not.

If people lived in the moments of life, at least aware of all that is within it, while knowing that the audience of the future will stand in some kind of judgment—would people live today as they currently do? Some would and some wouldn’t, yet the hypothetical is truly unknown. So is the future.

Anonymity changes people’s behavior, sometimes to a significant degree. What people perform in the presence of others may look like character—but removing the looks may change the character. Living in the present is good and ignoring the discriminating eye of tomorrow is not.

Living for today is a cliché that is likely about precious moments rather than some assumption of ignorance about tomorrow. A self-consumed life is one that must exist only in the gettings of now, while a life of respect for self sees the impact of what happens now—onto and into eternity.

Living for today is not as simple as a cliché makes it sound. In the fullest of moments, people are currently aware of all aspects of self—their past is known; their future is anticipated; the parts of them that are spiritual, physical, and mental are acknowledged, and similarities with the human race are experienced—in the midst of differences. When mindfulness of presence is unknown, the fullest of moments are potentially missed until the friends of hindsight and foresight kick in. As humans, the key selective advantage appears to be the intellect of seeing the past and the future while connecting the timelines as contributions for today.

Functional living, an opposite of dysfunctional living, is a complicated conglomerate of parts and pieces that coexist and therefore have the potential to thrive. When a person is all in, here, and accounted for in an encompassing way, there’s seldom anything as wonderful as the present.

"It would be easy to get caught up in our importance, confused by the notion that the attributes of worth are synonymous with legacy."

The present consumes aspects of the intangible. The past, the future, a belief, a value are not three-dimensional objects, for example. Yet they all play key roles in every moment. Our minds and our bodies are also parts of the whole picture that make life’s moments what they are; to take all human intimacies (past, present, future, body, mind, soul) and combine them into a conscious lifestyle—while also accepting and embracing them—fosters growth. A key goal in life is to do more than just breathe; it must be about living.

Legacies are built by the very people who live them (however simple or however great the legacy reaches is a matter of interpretation). The most functional legacies include the wondrous stories and powerful messages of some mysticism, some present and absent family and friends. A worthwhile legacy contributes to the betterment of all else and all others, made better by the alert and aware and conscious legacy makers.

It would be easy to get caught up in our own importance, confused by the notion that the attributes of worth are synonymous with legacy. Making a lasting impression on the universe is all well and good, but legacies are much stronger and much greater than some claim to fame. Legacy leaving is not the sole or even most reasonable goal; a life well-lived (which will indeed leave a legacy)—that can be the greater goal.

Wouldn’t it be something if living a legacy mattered more, not in the design of it for one’s own sake but in the living of life with a greater passion that connects humans more intimately to that which they love? An affinity for some spiritual part, a personal part, an environmental part, for certain people, certain institutions, even something in the abstract, maybe an object; these can all be loved. A selfless legacy is something much greater than boastfulness, and it is something more similar to value and worth.

Hopefully, as the people of tomorrow look back, what they see will be memories to embrace rather than ruminations to regret. In regards to the future, there are benefactors to a heritage that teaches; that’s the real power for today.

Legacy is that which says your story really matters and has everything to do with living life. The living of life and the foundation of a legacy are virtually inseparable. In a simple reality (as harsh as it can be at times), legacy living is rooted in two of life’s most normal and routine experiences—in birth and in death. Childbirth is full of moments that people seldom forget. The same can be said about the moments of death. A newborn is precious and usually a child is a welcomed arrival. Plans for the future take hold even before the delivery occurs. And as people pass away, their departures are equally precious—what was, is remembered, and what has been lost—is desired. These are realities, in the mind’s eye, and maybe in the center or core of being—maybe it is the heart-mind connection too.

The precious moments of now, meet tomorrow’s potential and opportunity, and ultimately, today becomes past—where everyone will eventually see.

What will your legacy be?

* * * * *

The Story

Neighbors and Friends

A drive through neighborhoods can be telling. Getting to know who lives in the neighborhood has, for me anyway, been a real eye opener.

From my house, if you go left onto Duval Street, you’ll soon come into a fancy gated community. One of which was where my best friend lived—or who I thought was my best friend anyway. Ben Johnson lived behind the pearly gates of wealth—I’d say he was there about three years ago.

I’ve been in the Duval Street Plantation many times; Ben and I used to run there two or three times a week. I hated running so early in the morning, but Ben had to be in by seven and he seldom got home before nine; that meant a 5:00 a.m. run—or none. In Duval, even at the entrance, you could feel it—now here’s some wealth. Huge houses, cobblestone drives, manicured lawns, three-car garages, alarm systems, tennis courts, and swimming pools; life is good here.

But if you were to make a right from my house, you’d soon come to a road that intersects with Davis Hill. I still have a good friend that lives in this neighborhood: George and his wife, Joan. Good people. I met George at a baseball game where our sons were both playing a few years back. George and Joan ask me over often, and they don’t mind if I stop by anytime, day or night—I don’t even have to call first.

"Huge houses, cobblestone drives, manicured lawns, three-car garages, alarm systems, tennis courts, and swimming pools; life is good here."

The thing about George and his family is that they’re just dirt poor. Davis Hill is nothing like Duval Street. In Davis, the houses are old, worn down, and many have tarps on the roofs to keep the rain out. Crime here is high; George and Joan will visit outside up until a certain time at night—and then they demand that we go inside for safety reasons. Their lights go out about every six to eight months; my wife and I sometimes help with the bill and sometimes not.

Odd thing, my two friends—from different places and two different neighborhoods.

Ben disappeared one day—without even a phone call. I drove by Duval Street, convincing the gate guard that Mr. Johnson asked me to stop by to see if the door was locked. When I arrived, a sign in the front yard said Foreclosure—property for sale. I guess the fourteen-hour days didn’t pay off for Ben. Hell, a phone call would have been nice.

I’ve been spending more time with George and Joan lately; they just keep having us over—and we grill, eat hotdogs and pork ’n’ beans—and play some cards about two times a month. And no matter what the house looks like, and even though I know the utility bill is going to need a subsidy about every six months, George and Joan will never allow my wife and I to bring food or drinks when we visit. All they keep telling us is, It’s our pleasure. Besides, we just love seeing you and spending time with you.

Good people.

_______________

Legacy

Most people’s legacies are born one moment at a time.

A worthwhile legacy contributes to the betterment of all else and all others.

I guess the fourteen-hour days didn’t pay off… Hell, a phone call would have been nice.

ChApTeR 3

The Concept

Memories

The general root of superstition is that men observe when things hit, and not when they miss; and commit to memory the one, and pass over the other.

—Sir Francis Bacon

1561–1626

When considering the longevity of life, the questions are many; if it’s not how to find the fountain of youth it’s something about finding nirvana, a spiritual experience or an accomplishment in some ever living satisfaction.

Life is full of insatiability. Is there ever enough?

It is said that the average man in the United States lives to age seventy-six and the average woman lives to age seventy-nine. In other parts of the world, the high side of life expectancy is eighty-seven for women and eighty-one for men; on the low side of life expectancy, a woman can anticipate living to age thirty-two and men can expect to live to thirty-one.

Sometimes we look at life expectancy as a bank account of time. While still living, it looks as if there’s always more to come, which is true, until either it is known the end is near or maybe suddenly it’s gone.

Does it matter how much time you have left? What will you say about your life as you are placed into your deathbed (if you’re granted such grace)? What will others say about you long after you die (assuming that you’ll be long remembered)? Did you fulfill your dreams; were your imaginations more than mental pastimes? Is your life all that you hoped it would be?

Memorable moments for you are often memorable moments for others. Great memories live longer than lives, in the legends that memories create. So live one.

We humans look up to the greats of all time: the greatest president, the greatest ball player, the richest man, the longest war, the biggest disaster—they all linger in our memories. We either want to have some part of the greatness or we hope and pray that it never happens to us. Yet we remember nevertheless. For most, the progression of living is called aging, and in later stages of it, memories change.

"Sometimes we look at life expectancy as a bank account of time."

From youth, the memory progression seems to be easy, maybe even flawless. The progression is definable in stages. Short-term memory is a recollection of the very recent. Tertiary appears to be the sorting stage of what’s credible (either by assignment and judgment, experiences that leave marks, or those first times—that can be positively or negatively sorted due to impact). What memories are credible is moved from the tertiary and filed onto the long term; what is not credible is sort of discarded. In long-term memory, the data is stored for some later use.

Ironically, later stages of aging where memory loss can occur kind of operates in the reverse of how memories are stored. In aging, first the short-term memory weakens. The recent events are harder to hold onto, and then the tertiary of credibility begins to confuse. And the last part of memory to weaken, if it does at all, is the long-term. It is the long-term memory which is much more resilient to an aging and atrophying brain, luckily. To the young developing brain, long-term memory occurs as a third stage, from short-term to tertiary and then to long-term. It’s interesting to think that long-term memory is last to develop and maybe last to disappear.

Our memories are often more personal than the record-setting tidbits of the best and the greatest. While ours are not circulated in global communications, the personal treasured moments of living are often much more important. As memory would have it, these are stored for good use, safekeeping, for purposeful storytelling, reminiscing, teaching, and passing along those lessons learned—to those who will listen and hear. Oh sure, such-and-such was rich, and so-and-so was unpopular, but the gold of memories is what makes life more long-lasting. No matter how simple or mundane, in recollection, a memory is often profound for its holder.

To each of us, there are precious memories that matter—the best birthday, the first kiss, the most embarrassing moment, and even that time when Mom told everyone that you still wet the bed.

* * * * *

The Story

Ironic Sermons

Sunday, July 4—the family met for the usual holiday meal and get together where good times are recalled and created. Everyone was there this year. Sandy flew in from Seattle, Jimmy came up from Phoenix, and Uncle Joe and his wife were the hosts. Right after the Sunday service ended, we all drove to Joe’s house, and on the way home, from what I could tell, it sounded like one of his teen children must have gotten in trouble for cursing.

As the families got out of their cars and assembled around the table to gather for the feast, everyone listened in as Joe began one of his great charades pontificating (a fitting act presumably in line with Sunday services of another kind). He spoke boldly of right and wrong, good and bad—the principle of it all was what mattered to Uncle Joe. Clearly, a child’s cursing was bad and wrong; any situation that could have warranted a curse word, at least to Joe, was a violation. There would be no justification, tolerating the fowl mouth of a child.

"At that moment, all the great lessons in eloquent speeches, disappeared."

I’ll never forget that afternoon; there Joe was still dressed in his white ironed shirt wearing a classy tie, and as was customary for the obsessed, he continued his rant while getting out of the car. Here he was teaching his children about the importance of language, and this Sunday get-together would be no quieter, for the important teaching. I’m guessing Joe needed to copycat the preacher, as if that was going to change the cursing habits of babes.

Uncle Joe went on and on about how the use of good speech, an extensive vocabulary, correct grammar and sentence structure, with class and eloquence combined, would impress others. Your words reflect your skills, young man; they show a genuine and pure care for others that will draw people to you. Cursing won’t get you a job. Your mastery of good language—that’ll help you with jobs, with girls [his children were all boys, so this point was intended to hook in the hormonal motivators]. Besides, I’m your father, and I’m telling you right here and right now—it’s just the right thing to do. Don’t let me ever hear that cursing come out of that mouth again. And just to be clear, he demanded, Do you understand me?

Just as Aunt Susie, Uncle Jim, and Grandpa all readily nodded with great affirmations, Kenny, Joe’s youngest, got up to run to the bathroom (the urgency suggested a yelling of sorts, something like "Excuse me, but I have to go right now!"). Kenny was holding a plate full of food and a drink. As he got up to quickly head to the restroom, he tripped and lunged forward.

Kenny slammed right into Joe (the same Uncle Joe who moments ago finished the spiel about how to talk). Food went everywhere. Ketchup, mustard, beans—it was all over Joe’s white shirt and some of it was dripping from that nice silk tie of his.

"Goddamn it to hell!" Joe yelled.

And at that moment, all the great lessons in eloquent speeches disappeared.

_______________

Memories

Sometimes we look at life expectancy as a bank account of time. While still living life, it looks as if there’s always more to come; which is true, until it’s gone.

Your words reflect your skills… They show a genuine and pure care for others that will draw people to you. Cursing won’t get you a job. Your mastery of good language—that’ll help you.

Did you fulfill your dreams? Are your imaginations more than mental past times?

ChApTeR 4

The Concept

Worth

Outside show is a poor substitute for inner worth.

—Aesop

620–564 BC

The surprises of life are both exciting and troubling at times. Excitement builds as the future holds promise; it’s just more fun when dreams and plans come true. Life isn’t always so easy; trouble appears when days bring challenges and obstacles. Most are unannounced and unplanned.

"‘As expected’ is where boring disappointment begins to cloud dreams."

There are people who wander about proclaiming, Life has not turned out as expected! As expected is where boring disappointment begins to cloud dreams, even as life continues to move forward. In a well share of repetition, day-to-day events become dry and absent of growth, almost insidiously. Creativity is someone else’s task. Failure is not certain, or so the pretense goes, but neither is opportunity; the drill of life suggests that many things, especially plans, are unstable. In constant uncertainty, it is easy to assume and maybe even anticipate that failure is probable at some point. Falling short, especially in the mundane, has gradually become normal.

But even as change is a human normality, it is something that people often resist and many avoid—without end. The avoidance of failure is all well and good in so far as motive would have it, but sometimes the things that tell people they’ve succeeded are not always legitimate indicators of accomplishment; besides, seldom does accomplishment erase frailty.

It might be okay to fail. It might be okay to be willing to fail.

A successful life, a well-lived life, a life that has been full and fruitful is commonly measured by acquisition. A bank account with some extra money in it suggests comfort. The largest house in a neighborhood suggests a good home. An expensive car suggests confidence and class. These lifelong pursuits, especially those that are rooted in avoidance, are not the only reflections of an apparent passion, nirvana, or belongingness. Acquisition, for all it announces to the world, is seldom free.

There’s nothing transcendent or perfect about those things that can be bought and sold; what a purchase reflects is nothing more than a reflection—and reflections are not real. That which we hold in our hands, materialistically, is not life and it is not living. A dream house may never become a home. A great car might be a horrible ride. A fat bank account may be a management nightmare. And for all that is good in houses, cars, and cash, people are not what they acquire. People are not what they do. Abundance is not necessarily the evidence of good.

Something, someone, some ideal, some value, these must matter—they must be more important than the shell of a building or the metal of transportation or the paper of a dollar. How tragic life would be, if that is all there was.

* * * * *

The Story

One Challenge—One Result

Frederick grew up in a small northwestern community, working in the family hardware business. Through his middle school and high school years, his father offered Fred work—in exchange for money to buy a first car. As long as Fred’s grades were at least a B, he could work in the hardware business for as many hours as the store was open. It was a sweet arrangement for the father, because he would have to buy a car anyway; for Fred it was great for the same reason—he would need a car on his sixteenth birthday.

When Fred first started in the business, he performed more basic jobs; he took out the trash, swept the floors, cleaned windows. As time progressed, Fred began interacting with customers, and soon, shoppers would visit the store asking for Fred’s help. When Fred’s father saw that his son was very good with the customers, he asked Fred to work in the construction sales department on commission.

"As long as the money flowed, it seemed Fred could do nothing wrong. And if he did, nobody cared to ask."

Things were great for a while, but as the commissions grew, so did the hours. Eventually, Fred offered customers a kick back for every contract they signed with him. The deal was sealed with a catch: the customer also had to agree to split each kickback. In no time, Fred was making large sums of money, as he was collecting commissions with added kickbacks occurring on almost all sales. Fred was raking in the dough. As long as the money flowed, it seemed that Fred could do nothing wrong. And if he did, nobody cared to ask.

Fred was happy. Fred’s father was happy. The business was expanding. The family was confident in their futures.

There was one problem: the kickbacks were illegal on many fronts. When Fred was eventually caught, just after his high school graduation and with his college already paid for, millions of dollars had been transacted illegally.

Contractors were in violation of licensing board regulations. The business was marred in damage control that created an exodus of the previously loyal. The IRS put the question of