STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS
 

     It seems self-evident, from the foregoing autobiographical exposition, that both my wife and I have developed with significant self-defeating scripting. In fact, it was this very thing that established our initial bond, the gnawing suspicion that things from long ago in both our lives were affecting our ability to achieve satisfaction from our adult life experiences. One of the most distressing feelings that I have tried unsuccessfully to explain to others, most notably my wife, is that of not really being the person which others seem to perceive from my actions and outward appearance.

     I have occasionally had the alarming sense that my "real self" was a helpless spectator, unable to affect the course of events. This noncongruence between behavior and self-perception is recognized by TA and called ego dystonia. It is my hope in the following discussion to bring to light the operant factors which have produced this internal alienation, and thereby, to discover how a realignment can be brought about. The healthy congruence of self-image and behavior is called ego syntonia. Let us now proceed with my thoughts as to the nature and structure of the two personalities with which I am most familiar.

 Carl

     Carl is the name of a man, my name, the writer of these words. Carl's body houses a spirit or soul called the Dawntreader, whose totem is an owl. The interface between this spirit and the external world is a group of entities collectively known to others as Carl, and which would be descriptively referred to as Carl's personality by an analytical observer. Since I am, at once, the whole and, at the same time, each of the individual parts, a certain logical paradox is created as I describe myself to you, since it is often necessary to speak from two points of view, both subjective and objective, simultaneously.

     We know, from our discussion on page 69, that the portion of the personality called the Adult ego state is usually in overall control, and can easily think from several points of view at once. For the sake of clarity, I will speak mostly from the third person throughout this discussion, as if I were an independent observer. Shifts from singular to plural are unavoidable, depending upon which entity or group of entities is under discussion at the time. I'm sure that you, the reader, can understand that I am also that personality, led by the Adult, that is, at the same time, the subject of the discussion, and may therefore require the use of the first person to express some ideas. This can be slightly disorienting, especially when we cover the Adult ego state, but I shall endeavor to be as clear as possible, and I trust that you will manage.

     It is not without some trepidation that I stand here, naked and exposed, for all of you to see, but I know that, for me, this is the path to freedom. So, here we go (or, here I am . . . as it were?). Judge me as you will.

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The Second Order Parent - (P₂) "Ebenezer"

     After having reviewed my life, it is clear to me that my Parent has suffered considerable developmental difficulties. Its information content has been so skewed toward controlling rather than nurturing that I can remember a time when I would have been hard-pressed to have explained the difference between the two. I thought that nurturing was basically a matter of control, and I was acutely uncomfortable in surroundings where I didn't have at least the illusion of being in control, even when, as with the notion of being able to control the feelings of others, the very idea contradicted reality.

     The small amount of nurturing information present, which I had recorded from my earliest experiences of my mother, was so ancient, scanty, and, possibly, unreliable (in the light of my mother's own difficulties) that I had blocked conscious access to this part of P₂ by the end of adolescence. This partial exclusion of the Parent existed until my early thirties when my experiences with the care and training of horses began to stimulate my nascent nurturing Parent (NP). By mid-thirties, I had begun to contemplate the idea of fatherhood, and with the conception of our daughter, the development of the NP was well under way.

     Before this, in my twenties, I had become convinced that I had no such skills. I shied away from any pets that couldn't be kept in aquariums, and even found myself inept at growing simple houseplants. I had little concept of self-care, and relied almost totally upon my natural tendency toward good health. The worst ramification of the exclusion of my NP was the decision to abort my first child in 1976.

     Far and away, the majority of my parent recordings consisted of critical controlling information, mostly copied from my father. Much of P₂'s content is, I believe, congruent with that of P₁, though devoid of the magical power emphasis present in the latter. Residing here in Ebenezer's crustier side can be found fearful early religious training, condemnation tapes of my parents putting me down for being bad, not being good enough, showing poor judgement, being clumsy, irresponsible, or not trustworthy, being shy or lacking in "common sense." Also, I find many driver tapes telling me I can be OK if: I try hard, am responsible, smart, or perfect and tapes telling me it is not OK to want, to need, or to ask for things, and not to bother people with my feelings.

     My father and mother attempted to present a unified front to the children, but there was so much divergence in their approaches to life that, among my Parent tapes, there is considerable discord and incoherence. Early masculine instructions in the not-OK'ness of others (prejudices), such as misogynistic notions, still clamor for attention, and in fact, once heavily contaminated my Adult. Much of this information did not favorably withstand the test of logic or suffered when scrutinized in comparison with my observations of external reality. I was able to free my Adult of much of this faulty programming, but I developed such a sinister distrust of my upbringing that my Parent ego state became fragmented and partially excluded from my personality during young adulthood. Efforts to draw upon that information had such distressingly inconsistent results in my relationships that I tried to rely completely upon my intellect for many years.

     It is interesting, but of little comfort, to note that I am not alone in this type of personal crisis. In his beautiful, scholarly, and compassionate work, Finding Our Fathers, Dr. Samuel Osherson, of Harvard University, quotes numerous sources in saying that the 1960's generation of men, now in power, are plagued by things such as paternal deprivation and father hunger, coming into manhood carrying a "wounded father within," and says further that, "the physical or psychological absence of fathers from their families is one of the great underestimated tragedies of our time."⁴ A study by Shere Hite, of 7,239 men, is quoted showing that almost none were close to their fathers, and another study, by Jack Sternbach, found that:

     Whereas this type of parenting may have been more successful in past generations, our generation, facing changing expectations regarding gender; having been presented a traditional picture of masculinity, yet now having a different role expected of us in our own families, are caught in a double bind between wanting to be different from our fathers, and unconsciously, trying to live up to their images.¹ Osherson discovered the end result to be, that we are carrying a burden of "vulnerability, dependency, or emptiness within" while "still grieving and reliving a time when going to mother . . . was inappropriate and [when we] couldn't or wouldn't go to father with the confusion, anger, or sadness [we] felt."¹

     I suppose it's a fantasy, but wouldn't it be wonderful if our fathers (or our wives) could read such things and understand? So much pain and misunderstanding could be avoided. I think the gift of high intelligence has been a dual-edged sword, slicing back upon me in this regard. I believe that I may have sensed the inherent wrongness here very keenly indeed, and, not having anyone to understand, have thrashed about all the more fiercely under the blade, dealing myself grievous harm with the resulting hamartic scripting.

     The picture is changing however; the righteous, mean, and petulant old Ebenezer has seen the ghosts of Christmas and taken heed. My Adult, Albert, in concert with my emergent nurturing Parent, has been sifting the works of learned women and men, whose genius has yielded up the seeds of truth and wisdom from which a framework for effective living and relating is being synthesized and pumped into my fragmented Parent ego state. These people, whose work I have accepted as having validity for me, are giving me a body of new tapes, stored in P₂ under the heading of "other parent figures," which are acting to bring the useful early material back together as a coherent whole, to provide the adhesive and fill in the gaps, while corralling the inappropriate information into a file marked "disregard." In many ways this book represents the struggle of my ego states for growth and emancipation from tyranny. My nurturing Parent is getting much stronger theses days. Through NP's efforts toward the writing of this work, it is catalyzing self-healing and learning to trust, while extending nurture outward toward my loved ones and, from there, to you, my brothers and sisters.

     At times a voice inside still shouts at me about the terrible harm that is accruing for our daughter, both from my absence and from Allyson's anger and resentment, which I'm sure she believes she can hide from the child. I want to scream, "look how smart she is. Don't you know she can read your emotions? Don't you think she might wonder about and possibly blame herself, in that part of her that cannot speak, for the apparent loss of her father, her friend? Didn't you when your parents split? Surely you cannot want her to suffer, as we have, over parental mistakes, and then, someday, to repeat them?" Tempering this is the conviction that I must trust that my partner is doing what she must for her own well-being, and that, no matter what happens, I will be there as soon as I'm allowed, and I will be ready. Below is a diagram of how I imagine my Parent to have appeared at the most dysfunctional point in its development.

     Albert is a gifted thinker and a trained scientist. When operating on his own, his powers of logic, analysis, deduction, calculation, and prediction are of the highest order. However, the same recent clinical testing which showed intellectual functioning in the very superior range, along with my own subjective observations, points to the fact that reason and rationality suffer when my Adult must consult the Parent for guidance, or the Child for emotional interpretation. Cause and effect thinking has not been consistent, highly charged emotional situations have, initially, produced apprehension and confusion, and judgement has, at times, been impaired. The Adult/Parent and Adult/Child interfaces have been fuzzy and overlapping. Total boundary breakdown and paranoid psychosis, sometimes requiring months for separation and reestablishment of interface integrity, has occurred under the influence of megadoses of amphetamine. Small amounts of mindlessness scripting have led to errors in computation and prediction, as evidenced by the succession of crises characterizing my recent history.

     Albert's intelligence is one of my greatest assets, and I am systematically sorting, exercising, and restoring autonomous function to him. I am replacing disorder and confusion with confidence and harmonious function by repairing and balancing my Parent, and by deconfusing and liberating my Child. I am also building well-defined perimeters where these ego states interface with A₂ by becoming aware of which is in the executive at any given moment, by recognizing the effects each has upon my personality as a whole, and by making conscious choices for my behavior rather than allowing it to be the haphazard result of vague impulses arising from conflicting forces roiling within. The research and concept development for this book, along with the work involved in its actual physical realization, is, to a large extent, the fruit of Albert's labors. It also occurs to me that this work is, in some romantic way, intended for my partner, my wife and friend, in fulfillment of vows and promises, and to vindicate the faith and trust which I have asked of her during the dark night of my soul, from which I am emerging. This is, in part, Albert, trying to hook her Adult to demonstrate the depth of my conviction, and to paint for her a picture of the wondrous possibilities that can exist for our family if it survives this necessary final crisis. With balance and harmony established within my Child and Parent, Albert is capable of formidable accomplishments indeed, and is limited only by my imagination.

     Now we shall take a walk down a dark and winding stair to meet some little fellows who have been living in the basement. They are the original tenants.

     Sherman is named for a character appearing in one of the old Captain Kangaroo cartoons who was a curly-haired boy and whose companion was a small white dog, called Mr. Peabody, that wore glasses and was a genius. Sherman embodies the essential OK'ness, courage, awareness, and spontaneity, with which I was born. My Sherman is also a prince, heir to the spirit of great Celtic kings, poets, and teachers. He is the indefatigable driving force that has never let me give up, no matter how great the odds or how fierce the resistance. He is the wellspring of the sometimes-distant, but always present potent suggestion and fervent hope that the world is really a good place, and that everyone, including myself, is OK. I have had great difficulty staying in touch with this beautiful and precocious youngster due to the powerful opposition of the injunctional programming elsewhere within the overall domain of my Child ego state.

     Sherman seems to be more than one person, actually. There is a free and loving infant, both intimate and aware, curious and trusting by nature. Also within the natural Child (C₁), is a slightly-older boy that is confused. Something happened to his world when he was around two years old that frightened and hurt him. He is vulnerable in his OK'ness to the assault of the primitive Parent. He needs things from his father which the father will not provide and blames himself for this. This has resulted in fear, doubt, shame, and guilt. He is not sure who, if anybody, is OK and, in his frustration, feels angry at times. He needs love and affirmation of his OK'ness, lovableness, and right to exist.

     Almost no one, other than my wives and my daughter (and, of course, my mother), have seen much of Sherman. I can release him with drugs but, soon thereafter, the drug begins to hurt and confuse him. When I do make normal contact with him, he is a source of joy and wonder. This tiny boy is playful, and sensual. He fascinated and delighted with bodies. Sherman has a vivid holographic imagination and can fantasize so intensely the colorful characters and exciting adventures that his partner, Mr. Peabody, creates for him, that they often become real. It is important that I work to disclose this child to others, to support and affirm him, and his right to exist as a precious and cherished part of me.

     Peabody is an interesting and resourceful little guy that, when unencumbered with the arbitration of the existential tension within my Child ego state, appears to be a creative genius. He is intensely fascinated with words and sounds. He shares a hidden place with some little friends that he calls Sherman. He is their guardian and looks after them. Also living down there, is a bigger boy, called Eddie, who is something of a bully sometimes, and shouts at them a lot, saying that he has heard that they are not really OK. This bigger boy has some frightful notions, like maybe none of them have a right to be here, that they are bad and probably not of much use and, worst of all, that they might not be loved or really even worth being loved (says that's why father never took much interest in them). When they hurt, Eddie says they should run away; escape the pain, like mother did, but Peabody is not so sure. He's tried that and it can be very scary and hurt a lot, too.

     Peabody gets terribly tired, upset, and confused by the angry voices around him, the conflicting feelings which cry out for attention, and all of this leaves him uncertain sometimes about the grown-up world out there. Intuitive, bright, and highly developed, he often retreats to his magic laboratory where he creates wonderful fantasies for his little friends called Sherman. Together they have been a poet, a pirate, a cowboy, a wizard, a medicine man, a prince, a starship captain, a writer of stories, a singer, a musician, a vampire, and many others. His daytime job is to figure out the strange world out there and the big people in it for Sherman and Eddie.

     Of course, since the bigger guys, Albert and Ebenezer, moved in upstairs, they do most of that kind of work these days, but Peabody still wants to be important too. He thinks differently than they do, faster and better sometimes, and often has some very bright ideas. Some of the ideas that he came up with to get some peace and quite down there, so he could think, didn't work out so well, however. Taking that drug was one of those ideas. He thought it would be quite fine indeed to make a magic potion that would bring Sherman pleasure, make himself big and powerful, think really fast, and silence the angry voices. But it wasn't a magic potion after all; the stories were lies. It was really a poison that makes him crazy, and he is lost to me when I take that stuff. I shudder at the memories of the hateful confusion that amphetamine can cause for the Little Professor within me. I also believe that I, in my own confusion and haste to grow up, inadvertently locked the basement door from the outside. I suppose that I would occasionally hear them down there, but I thought that they were no longer useful and paid little heed, hoping they'd eventually go away.  A bad move on my part, since I forgot that I don't have all of the controls for this ship up here. After a while, all they wanted was to come up and play. They came up all right, but the whole basement came up with them, smashing everything in the way and leaving quite a dreadful mess to straighten out.

     Peabody has so much to think about and a lot of it is over his head. Yet, I depend upon him, as much for my intuition as for my creative self-expression. I sense his tension now, and I know that I am acting out the script he wrote for us. At the same time, I sense his desperation for answers, for peace. I have found that I treasure this little man and have given up the poison so that he may thrive. One of the goals here is to ease his confusion; relieve the unfair responsibility that is really Albert's, and bring peace to the Child within me. It seems we may be well on our way.

The Primitive Parent - (P₁) "Eddie"

     The understanding and emancipating of this young man, the Parent within the child inside of me, is central, not only, to my survival, but also to my fulfillment as a person, the actualization of my human potential. Though, at times, he has provided behavior that deserves the names of "ogre" or "pig-parent," it is important to realize that he is actually the conscience of the bright young boy that I was, and who still exists within. Due to the unreliability of my second order Parent (P₂), this boy believes that it has been his duty to care for all of the various aspects of me throughout my life, and he feels angry, afraid, and confused over why he should have such an enormous responsibility (the total welfare of a grown man) for such a little boy. He is idealistic, loyal, strong, and determined. He has tried to be valiant and courageous but the game has gone way over his head and become frightening. He accepted his post so long ago with noble purpose and with the promise of relief which never came. He is tired unto death, but has refused to leave his post until the calvary arrives and the word is given to stand down.

Note - as I am writing this, trying to capture this flood of empathetic insight, I feel his pain and I am crying bitter tears. I want to comfort him, to tell him that I am sorry that we took so long to hear his cries of desperation, but that his long and lonely vigil is now over, and that he has been very brave not to have given up. I want to reassure him that the rest of us have it figured out now, and that his world will soon be brought into the harmony and balance that was promised. I want to hold him and tell him that he can rest now, that he has earned that long-awaited dream sleep of healing, and that, when he awakens, he will be back in the happy world of a contented little boy with only a child's responsibilities to concern him.

 

     He is a thin and gangly boy; quite caring and concerned about all the important things in the world like animals, his baby brother and sisters, his friends, his parents, his toys, and something called his future. He believes himself to be clumsy and unattractive, but in truth, his awkwardness comes from trying to handle tasks too great for him, rather than from personal ineptitude, and it is only his behavior that has affected his attractiveness. His name, of course, is Eddie, for this is the name that I was known by in childhood, and to my mild chagrin, the name still used by my parents and siblings. Eddie would like to change his name since Mother and Father are usually addressing the older guys upstairs when they use that name, which can be confusing. We (the guys upstairs) have a surprise for him, for, when he awakens from the well-deserved rest that he will shortly be granted, he will be "Timmy" and we will get him a dog that he can call Lassie (or whatever he likes). He will be free to pursue all his Hardy Boys and Tom Sawyer adventures, crusading for justice and righting the wrongs of world; free forever to live out his favorite shows like Johnny Quest or Lost in Space or anything he chooses.

     Currently, he feels sad, hurt, and ashamed because he has frightened his best friend, Allie, and she has run away with their new little friend, Ari. She and Eddie had come to be fast friends. In the beginning, she trusted him and expected his help in making a home. She expected help in taking care of little Ari, and he'd promised her a time of support and peace to see to the healing of her own pain. He tried so very hard to do those things, but already overloaded, he got frustrated and angry and yelled a lot. Now, he is lonely. He hasn't learned yet the futility of shame, blame, guilt, and worry, but we will teach him to forgive himself, and to have faith that our special friends will be back. We have to assure him that he is lovable, and that he his loved, since we have been so brutal to him with the drugs. When he was doing what he understood to be right, we shut him down, gagged him, or shut him out because we didn't understand. We do understand now, and this is our message to him:

It is a very brave thing you have done, We hear you now and we are proud. Sleep now, my child, and peace attend thee, For you have earned the right to rest, And to dream the bold dreams of great expectations, For they shall surely come and soon. The word is given, God's speed . . .

     I wonder how well I have succeeded in capturing, in so brief a span, the powerful emotional drama that I have experienced, over the last few weeks, as I have come to see my inner selves. You are witnessing, from a slight remove, the real-time attainment of one of my life's greatest goals, the goal of self-understanding, the casting down of the walls, and the turning on of the light. I can feel, throughout my being, the utter correctness of it all; a feeling which is also evidenced to me by the flood of tears of relief that I have shed this day. This, of course, is what I had hoped to accomplish, but I never pictured it happening so suddenly and in such an overpowering epiphanic vision.

     What an enormously difficult time this child has had, shouldering alone the yoke of responsibility for the rest of my collective selves. His has been the duty to remember and remind us of the crippling, hateful injunctions and attributions: don't feel!, don't trust!, don't cope!, don't bother people with your needs!, don't ask for things!, you don't deserve them!, don't succeed!, how can you?, you have no common sense!, where's your judgement?, be responsible!, use your head!, what's wrong with you?.

     How could the brightest kid make sense or maintain OK'ness in the face of that? How could anybody? Is there any other outcome possible besides disaster in response to a program such as that? Clearly my most crucial battle is now won, and the rest will follow, with ever increasing ease.

 

The Second Order Child - (C₂) "Monsieur Soliel"

 

     Sherman, Eddie, and Peabody, collectively, make up the child I once was and who still exists in the murky depths of the right side of my brain. Together, they are called Monsieur Soliel, which is French for "Mister Sun." His best friend is a girl called Madam d'Lune, or "Misses Moon," and, together, they have brought forth a child of the universe, called Ariana, which is Welsh for "silvery," and whose unique inner selves are in the process of formation at this very moment.

     My inner child is strong, intrepid, and bright. He has had lofty ideas and great purpose. He has been proud of our accomplishments, but he has also been angry, confused, and dismayed by the awful mess in which we now find ourselves. This was not how it was supposed to go. My child has many heroes which he has tried in certain ways to emulate, such as: Superman, John Kennedy, David Bowie, Albert Einstein, Timothy Leary, Huey Long, Eric Berne, and Martin Luther King Jr. These men were visionary leaders, creative geniuses, and great or heroic spirits that dared to make a difference.

     Why has the path led so far astray? Mistakes were made, and being a person of conviction and determination, he has, in his confusion, had us pursue certain illusions doggedly, persistently, and at great cost. Contamination of my Adult with dangerous illusions from the Child such as the perception of drugs as magic potions, has impaired my reasoning and shifted the course of my destiny. All of the entities that make up Carl, the man, are now involved and committed to bringing the ship back to a true course. Each is, in some way, involved with the making of this book. For Monsieur Soliel, it is the quest for happiness, contentment, for the recognition of his importance and right to exist, for the freedom of spontaneous and creative self-expression, and it is the hopeful reach for meaningful intimacy with those that I love.

                     

   

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