back to school

not school as in uniforms and satchels, but school as in university, yeah these americans are crazy. you don't pass out of school or college, but you pass out when you have one too many drinks or get dead tired. know about clean dirt? an oxymoron? not quite. dirt refers to dry mud, soil, earth...yaane ke mitti. so now you know what clean dirt is!

anyhow not to get side-tracked i was writing about being back at school. a master's program in counseling psychology. i have a master's already in clinical psychology but since that is from india it does not count for much in this narcissistic zenophobic country. to get a license to practice as a psychotherapist i will need to clear the marraige and family therapy licensure requirements, part of which include so many hours at school, so many hours of individual psychotherapy, and so many hours of supervised psychotherapy with clients. i completely agree with the latter two requirements so that is good. and i am on the path so great!


life has become more interesting and time passes quickly, with classes to attend, reading to do, assignments to complete, papers to write and so on. the best part is having a clear purpose.
sharing of oneself, talking about feelings and private thoughts and generally opening up to others is not always comfortable but is nevertheless enjoyable on the whole.

i found a beautiful poem on psychotherapy that i shall share here

The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow.
If you have been opened by life's betrayals
or if you have become shriveled and closed from the fear of future pain!
I want to know if you can sit with pain; mine or your own,
without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own.
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the "story" you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bare the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithful and, therefore, be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not present everyday.
And, if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure; yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes"!
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where, what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer
i found this at http://www.joanfenoldmft.com/poetry.html