Wednesday, March 19, 2025

Psychoanalytic Technique – Contours

The analysand is contained through the medium – Setting, metapsychology and technique. The analyst does not lose himself in the ‘novel’ of the narrative and is aware of the fiction (the dream of the session) and therefore adheres to the manifest text of the discourse trying not to obscure its unconscious frame. In the analyst discourse there is a deconstructive transcendence where the ‘coherence’ of the narrative does not seduce him but rather through negative capability he surfs evenly on free association through suspended attention. Through the working through of the analytic couple, the new links organize the analytic field into new continuously evolving gestalts (There is a continuous oscillation between the paranoid schizoid position and the depressive position). A phobia to get married and fear of frogs might actually in the manifest discourse of a dream stem from the unconscious fear that the frog may wake up to become a prince which is ‘dreadful.’ The analyst throws a weak light on the frame as he allows primary and secondary characters to develop through immersion and through interpretation (interactivity) and therefore cyclic reemergence from the immersion, the provisional gestalt further evolves towards ‘newer’ truths. The analyst discourse therefore calls for the analyst also to erase ‘himself’ where the analysand gets knowledge, however much unlike the university discourse (language superstructures therefore cannot prevail).

Psychoanalysis is not a magical cure or a drug as transference may prove. Transference Love however should not be repelled or repulsed by the analyst as it helps the ‘subject’ in opening up his ‘self’ to another subject. It may if repelled lead to intrusive identification in phantasy like affect changes through an icy voice or the act of bringing gifts to the session which should also be adequately contained. The analyst understands that primitive love, idealization and mature love are in constant interplay and not just a defensive idealization and if not contained might result in the analysand’s psychic death.

The existence of Language may establish truth. The ‘word’ is the hidden center of gravity of ‘desire’ which emerges at the intersection of analyzed verbal forms. The signifier therefore represents the subject for another signifier and not for another subject. The Desire in that sense is that of the ‘Other’ which when extracted leads to a lost object since the signifying function or symbolism is starkly missing. There is a split between the desire of the other and truth. Language existed before man just as thoughts existed before there was a thinker to think them. In language therefore man dwells - parapraxes and jokes, et al. Dreams here are therefore associated networks of knots and reminds one of Bion’s ‘selected fact.’ It is not because of what they signify but because of homonymy. The unconscious then may be structured like language which ironically has a hold on us. The subject’s function in language is a double function. The ‘I’ seems easy to grasp but the subject is mysteriously elusive. The subject is not produced by discourse but rather produces the discourse. (The difference between the sign and signifier gets established).

Nachtraglich and fire at the theater - eureka establishing an earlier truth retroactively where the implied decisive position of the analyst may also risk setting up a power equation raising questions dividing logic and empirical data which implies a ‘transcendence of the subject.’

Sexuality is not simply a motor discharge or promiscuity or a negotiation with the superego – it is not a mechanical automation but is unspecific and intersubjectively human.

Psychoanalysis therefore aims that through the containment of the continuous evacuations by the analyst and by also working through the core fantasies of the analysand, the analysand over a period of time, introjects the synthesizing alpha function of the analyst and is able to play and dream again, hitherto being frozen.

 

Amit Saraf

Sunday, October 10, 2021

 If I only had a brain

 

Oh America!

Where

My talent could dive in the valley of silicon prototypes

 

Where

My sweat could rain buckets of presidents embossed in green

 

Where

 My inventions could shake hands with the elite creating frankensteins

 

If I only had a brain

I would never understand my country’s pain

 

Another Brain Drain!

 

Amit Saraf

Tuesday, October 05, 2021

 Time to Heal


Listening to the crescendo

Much above the confining wall

Thoughts raced like an inferno

Ready for the final call


I kept plucking petals

She loves me 

She loves me not


Her grin was wry

She smiled her goodbye

She had resolved 

We were now dissolved


She hastened to a trot

After signing on the dot

Her tear streaked cheeks

Betrayed her entangled knot


My heart danced

She loves me 

Time will reveal

Both now need to heal


Amit Saraf

Sound of Silence


Broken cups

Bruised lips

Mocking lovers

Haunting past

Justice erred

Silence


Spiritual flights

Intimate journeys

Healing selves 

Transcendence

Equanimity

Silence


Amit Saraf

Meghalaya Contours


My abode amidst nurturing clouds

Satiates ambitious undertones

Green waterfalls drench fertile rocks

Aromatic sunlight bathes shimmering lakes

Pure air amplifies whispered sonnets

Quiet meditative walks adorn contemplative reflections

Buoyant camaraderie uplift human woe


When metaphysical ruminations bubble

Tip the delicate balance

When deep internal yearnings surface

Can the Phoenix rise from the ashes


Amit Saraf 

 Lavender

I found her. Her blue petite top beckoned as her slender fingers curled around Jung's Animus - a rare masterpiece in the isolated city library. Her sparkling eyes made my heart fly like a vagabond kite hoping to eventually anchor itself. 

I shivered as I sat across her. She did not look up. Her delicate cheeks and generous lips boasted of many admirers. As she turned the page, her nail polish tinged in lavender stared back. 

I remember how she used to hate nail polish; that it was a very 'girl' thing. She had been ambitious, aggressive just like 'men.'

She smiled as she continued reading. Her face radiated a peace and warmed up the room. I could not help smiling too. 

I got up and walked to the exit. As I left the building, I saw an elderly woman throwing something into a bin. I peered inside. It was a mask tinged in lavender.

Amit Saraf

 The Place in Between

 

Lunar torches

      heal

stirring mummies

 

Angelic verses

        soothe

repenting sinners

 

Ethereal dances

         unite

tired soulmates

 

Light years away

 

A pure soul

   gazes at

the evening sky

 

Amit Saraf

 I could never imagine

 

 Melancholic ruminations

Obsessive fixation,

Cacophonic thunder

Shivering whales,

Incessant rains

Burrowing rabbits,

Stygian expanse

Blinded owls,

 

I could never imagine

She would visit me

Tonight

 

Amit Saraf

Catharsis


She was lost. 

Lost searching for her handicapped mother who stitched torn kites for her childhood competitions,

Lost searching for her struggling father who sold his motorcycle so she could study,

Lost searching for her childhood friend whose bruised fingers brought her plucked roses without thorns,

Lost searching for her bedridden husband who cried his heart out when she missed her dream scholarship,

Lost searching for her bosom friend who went away forever because of one lie.


He found her. 

Found her by crying with her,

Found her by seeing her world from her eyes,

Found her by loving her for who she was. 


She danced like the whirlwind, 

He swayed hand in hand, 

For in finding her, 

He found himself.


Amit Saraf

 PACKING FOR A DIFFICULT JOURNEY


I will meet her very shortly


I remember that night when I kissed her 

Her knees buckled and

she fell into my arms


Like the setting sun

Falls into the arms of the crimson sky

Entrusting it with its light


I am carrying her favorite handkerchief

Which wipes her tears


Like the orange rainbow

Which heals the distressed clouds


I am carrying her favorite roses

Strewn on our first night


Like shells on a storm stricken beach

When she had cried till dawn


I am carrying her favorite perfume

She relies on it when she wanes in confidence


She wore it on her last birthday

Before she lost her sense of smell


..... 


I see her in the far distance 

Her  beckoning radiance

makes my heart skip

 

Like that of a school boy

Who steals his first kiss


I jump 


The salty waves caress me

Like a mother loving her lost infant 


I see her smiling

With outstretched arms


My soul mate 

We are one


Forever

Wednesday, March 24, 2021

Eternal Reflection

I wandered like a seeking lark, 

Navigating systems and their bias, 

I knew not where the journey ended, 

A golden rainbow or an abyss. 


My thirst for the cosmic secret, 

Abandoned all material fruit, 

I gave up power and position, 

To find the eternal truth. 


I travelled through endless time, 

Muddling through theories of men, 

I staggered and stumbled, 

Till I found the sacred garden. 


I found there a treasure chest, 

And I knew I held the key, 

Inside was a sparkling mirror, 

Which finally set me free.




Sunday, October 04, 2020

 An attempt at Haibun and Haiku


I kept writing her letters. I wrote about the apricot tree below which we used to kiss, the flowing river on the banks of which, with fingers entwined, we had dreamt together of our lunar house. I wrote about the pangs in my heart when she was not with me.

Her parents did not approve of me. They felt I was not successful enough. She was not that strong and was married off to a merchant. I continued writing to her. She never replied.

lovebirds kiss

Mona Lisa auctioned

adorned

 

I heard much later about her suicide. Did she miss me so much? Why did she not reply to my letters then?

 

quiet cemetery 

The eclipsed moon

screams


Saturday, October 03, 2020

 

Experiments with ‘Setting’

1. From my window I could see the rickshaw puller whose wrinkled face boasted of the numerous years spent ferrying ungrateful passengers. He was staring at the tall pole beaming down a blue light on the narrow lane separating the cluster of one-storied houses from the railway line. Fruit and vegetable sellers thronged the tiled pavement alongside, shouting bargains. A car horn blared and retreated in surrender as there was no way it could enter the jammed lane. The sweet shop at the corner was doing brisk business. Even the numerous flies pecking at the goodies could not deter the sweet tooth of the jostling crowd trying to grab the free taste on offer. A young mother sat in anticipation outside the shop with a copper bowl wiping her brow and cheeks which sometimes dripped with sweat. I noticed that she did not do the same for the baby on her lap. The local trains regularly stopped at the Borivali junction ensuring that the lane at no time of the day could boast of peaceful anonymity.


2. The bright buttons on his tweed coat stood out in his dimly lit study revealing an adventurous side to his normally sober countenance. The grey clock on the wall never chimed as if time had come to a halt. The dust in the corners of the room gleamed with a history of years passed without glory. His chair had no wheels and it stood like a rudderless boat on a stormy night waiting for the inevitable. 


 

Shangri-La

 

Noctilucent twilight elopes with mischievous moon,

Madagascan lovebirds drink into oblivion,

Dilettantes drown in the crescendo of a chameleon poet’s whisper.

 

Breathe

Marigolds in the familiar marsh smell of lost love,

A waning moon sighs with forlorn reminiscences,

My bleeding heart buries catatonic souvenirs,

No onlookers.

Superhuman effort cannot salvage a ruined promise,

Hopes crashed against unyielding ice,

Magical pacemakers exist only in fantasy,

No onlookers.

The past unfurls a saturated fragment of a perfect world,

The future is a sweet illusion of Satanic promises,

The present is the eternal lover,

No onlookers

I died and am still unborn,

I embrace my reflection,

Ecstatic in the here-and-now,

No onlookers.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Experimental writing

The freezing water quickly filled right up to my ears making it difficult to breathe. Shivering, I tilted my ear to gasp a few gulps of air. My other ear, submerged, started to hurt. My right hand weighed like lead as I groped around the pointed tips of the stalactites. My fingers reluctantly released the broken torch. Almost blinded, I jerked my left leg forward. In an instant, the ground beneath me gave way and started sucking me in...

'General, we are going through extreme turbulence. Please keep your seat belt fastened.'

The loud crisp voice jolted me out of my slumber. I tried to lean forward but was pushed back by the seat belt. Bright light filtered from the window pane. I blinked. Instinctively, my right hand went to my coat pocket, searching for the letter.

Whispering Eyes

Whispering Eyes
You tell me you are happy and full to the brim,
You tell me you won’t budge,
And have always lived on your whim...
I don’t believe you,
I know,
Those are just lies...
There is only one place I know where to look,
And that is,
Into Your Eyes...
I look into your eyes and what do I see,
I see a child who is crying,
A child who wants to be free...
I look into your eyes and again I see,
Hope, Love and Laughter,
For a world full of glee...
I look into your eyes and this time I see,
You are calling out to someone,
One who broke your heart maybe...
Your pain engulfs me and I take a walk,
I try to tell you something,
But I just cannot talk...
Your eyes haunt me and make me want to cry,
They show me a world,
That can never fructify...
I no more look into your eyes,
For I am sad,
And that’s not kind...
It’s not your fault,
Maybe,
You never knew my mind...

The Fairy Dairies

The Fairy Diaries
When reality began to fade
And delusion seemed to overtake...
Love bloomed larger than life
It was just a mirage...
Caught in the whirlpool
The mind whispered - “Escape”...
But the heart waved its sword
The soldier stood at the gate...
The enemy came as expected
No mercy, just hate...
The soldier was wounded
But he stood steadfast and straight...
The battle raged all night
But he was on a date...
The battlefield was littered
She was now safe...
He peered with his exhausted eyes
The mermaid had crossed the sea...
Beyond to the far side
There was just no way to see...
He trudged along whistling
Singing - Do Re Me
Delusion or Reality
It was the only way to be...

Poem - Of Dragons and the Afterlife

Of Dragons and the Afterlife 

Structural fallacies
Starry swims
Chaotic Melancholy
Gratifying Alienation

Restricting Routine
Molesting Reality
Indifferent love
Atlas shrugs

Heroic glimpses
Electrocuting insights
Neural wars
Thumping thirst

Curtains yanked
Beaming Rivers
Lover's caress
Buoying spring