Breivik Trial

Anders Breivik trial: A 10-week ordeal

By Steve Rosenberg BBC News

For the families of his victims, and survivors, the 10-week trial of Anders Breivik has been deeply painful. It's also been a harrowing experience for the journalists.

On 22 July 2011, Anders Breivik killed 77 people.

The next morning I flew from Moscow to Oslo to cover the story. Once in Norway, I drove to the shores of the stunningly beautiful Lake Tirifjorden.

A boatman took me out on the crystal clear waters and we sped towards the tiny island of Utoeya. We couldn't land - there was a police cordon around the island - but we got close enough to see the body bags which the police had yet to remove.

Over the next few days I heard horrific stories from survivors, and witnessed a nation in shock and in mourning.

Nine months later I was back in Oslo, sitting in a courtroom - just two metres away from the man who'd carried out mass murder. It was the first day of his trial.

I was in the front row of the press section; Anders Breivik was sitting with his defence lawyers at a table right in front of me

Everyone in the courtroom that day was staring at Breivik.

I stared too, partly out of disbelief that any human could do what he'd done and, partly, in an attempt to understand what kind of a person this was. Was he insane or simply evil?

I attended the trial again two weeks later; it was another opportunity to watch Breivik close-up.

What I found difficult was connecting the picture in court with the crime. As the smartly-dressed Breivik sat in the dock, responding calmly to prosecutors' questions, he looked and sounded more like an insurance salesman than a mass murderer.

He was trying to convince the court to buy his story that the slaughter had been a political act. When he described his crimes, his voice contained no hint of remorse. And when he listened to others recounting the bloodbath, his face displayed no emotion.

From time to time he would sip water or scribble notes. Most of the time he just stared into space. It was as if Breivik had built a giant wall inside his mind to stop any feelings from squeezing through and making him crumble.

For the families of his victims, and for those who survived his attacks and who've been present in court, this trial has been a deeply painful event.

It has been an emotional experience, too, for many of the journalists covering it. I'll never forget what happened the day Breivik spoke about his cold, calculated killing spree on Utoeya Island.

“The power of words. That's what I'll remember most about this trial”

I'd left the courtroom and was watching his testimony on a large video screen in the courthouse press centre, just along the corridor. Breivik described what he admitted were "gruesome, barbaric acts".

He recalled how his victims had frozen in panic, unable to run, and how he'd calmly reloaded his gun and shot them, and how he'd tricked other young people out of their hiding places, then gunned them down too.

At that moment, I looked around the press centre. There were rows and rows of reporters, their heads buried in their laptops as they hurried to reproduce Breivik's words - and many of them were in tears at what they were having to type.

Words. The power of words. That's what I'll remember most about this trial.

Over 10 weeks, so many terrifying words have been spoken in Courtroom 250; the words of coroners in the 77 autopsy reports; detailed descriptions of how victims were hunted down and shot; words of pain from their families.

Words which journalists covering the trial have had to type, tweet, despatch and broadcast to the world.

It was often the simplest words which proved to be the most upsetting. Like the brief messages from victims' families which followed each coroner's report.

"Daddy, YOU were the best in the world."

Or this one: "She could have done so much for her family, her friends, her country. Now her dreams are buried deep in the soil".

And this message from the relatives of a 15-year-old victim: "She was a cheerful girl, always there for others. She was one of the last people killed on Utoeya. In a mobile telephone call from there she'd told her family how much she loved them."

I found that sometimes words from the Breivik trial would lie in my mind like timebombs - and only later, back at the hotel, or back home, they were detonated - and the full horror of what had been said and what had happened, would hit home.

If they'd had that effect on me, I can hardly begin to imagine what effect those words will have had on those Breivik had tried to kill, and on the families of those he DID murder.

I remember that when the first week of the trial was over, and I'd finished my reporting, I dashed off to the airport to fly back to Moscow.

Everything that day had been such a rush, there hadn't really been time for me to digest the full horror of what Breivik had been saying.

I'd transcribed his words, of course, and reported them. But oddly enough it was only once I'd made it to the airport, passed security and paused, that I was hit by a sickening feeling about what I'd been listening to.

Suddenly I spotted a children's shop with a beautiful display of coloured pencils outside. I walked up to the display and stood there, it must have been five minutes - just looking at this little island of colour and beauty.

Anyone watching me must have thought I was mad. But at that moment I just wanted to experience something nice, something positive, to restore my faith in the world.

Now this trial is over and Norway awaits the final word - the judgement of the Oslo District Court.

Will the judges declare Anders Breivik criminally insane and commit him to long term psychiatric care? Or will they conclude he was mentally competent at the time of the killings and send him to prison?

Either way, Anders Breivik is expected to be locked up for the rest of his life. So does it matter where?

To Breivik it does. He maintains he's sane, he seeks a prison sentence, to burnish his claims that he is a political prisoner.

So that HIS words, against multiculturalism and Muslim immigration, are not dismissed as the words of a madman.

The Exterminating Angel

A good film. Black and White and of course dated in many ways but what a great dilemma with no rationale. It;s wonderful that Bunuel was so confident to leave the questions completely unanswered. The society Spaniards cannot leave the room. The staff of the house want to leave the house without real explanations. No one can get out and no one can enter, until Silvia Pinal's character Leticia notices they are all in exactly the same positions they had been in all those nights ago when the nightmare had begun. It was interesting listening to Silvia's interview after the film. All of the cast had been asking questions of their characters and the plot but without explanations ever being offered. And Bunuel apparently brought into the film his own bizarre experiences from life, such as  scene when the women emerge from the toilet having seen an eagle 40 foot below them. Apparently this was reference to a climbing trip Bunuel made. Relieving himself over the side of the mountain he witnessed an eagle flying beneath him. David Lynch comes to mind but different too. Both seem surrealists in their unique ways.
I recommend it. And there are many thoughts I had throughout the film, lots of questions. What was probably most expected was the social dysfunction that emerged. The need to blame, despair even suicide, helplessness, greed and underhandedness for self gain. Then there were the odd few with integrity and dignity throughout and natural leaders too. Oh and loyalty to the ones with dignity despite the mob turning against the Master of the house.

Very interesting and definitely worth a viewing.











Have a watch!

Bliss
xx

Dalai Lama in Aldershot

I was there! He was there! It wasn't easy to really make out what he was saying clearly. But I liked his reminder that the Buddha is within and this lifetime is about getting in touch with the Buddha within. Serenity and Grace comes from being in touch with the Buddha within. My words not his. And he talked about mutual respect, peace, compassion and love. All things I really aspire to. But fall short of as son as my fear is tapped into. I have hope that if I keep practising the principles of quiet time. thought and prayer and bringing Buddha and the essence of Buddha, or God, into my daily life then I can be loving, compassionate and peaceful with anyone. I pray to be respectful of everyone I encounter. I think with this I will find grace and serenity and the courage to be me.
What did he say exactly. Maybe someone soon will produce a transcript. According to a friend at Eagle even the Nepalese couldn't make out what the translator was saying. The Dalai Lama spoke in English but I think a combination of his accent and a bad PA system it was very difficult to fully understand. A pity!

The Myth of Sisyphus

He is not poor in health who is great in soul - Albert Camus

What did I notice about me today. Well in comparison with yesterday I was feeling much more comfortable doing my style of therapy. Yesterday and even this morning I was wondering what I thought I was doing?? What the hell do I know? How can I sit and be a therapist? People come along, they talk about the things they want to talk about, I summarise and paraphrase and at times question or suggest. T for example wants to reject every idea and yet comes to me to ask if he can do this or do that? I asked him about asking permission. He didn't own it, he side-tracked it completely. He is certainly not very present or aware of the here and now. He doesn't want to go anywhere near emotions apart from as an intellectual exercise.
I wonder if he would be an ideal candidate for day care with PD. I will pose the question to him.
Oh well anyway, you know the kind of thing.
I went to therapy to get someone else to sort out my life. But that isn't really what happened. I got more information about myself. I got some understanding. That's what helped me to sort out y own life - well to some degree. It's not sorted, it's unravelling. And will be until death to us part - me from life. But the support helps me to manage on a daily basis. I remove addictive behaviours an then I'm left with the feelings and then what. Just get on with it. But sometimes I can't just anything. What on earth is it all about. It's absurdism. Trying to make sense of things that have no sense. Trying to find purpose but never finding it, always looking for it.

Sisyphus by Titian (1490-1576)

The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labour. If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction in this. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile labourer of the underworld. To begin with, he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Egina, the daughter of Esopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained to Sisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Esopus would give water to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He was punished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Pluto could not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of her conqueror. It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld. And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission to return to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyed water and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls, signs of anger, warnings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling sea, and the smiles of earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him. You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward the lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain. It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock. If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Thus, Edipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment he knows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realises that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: "Despite so many ordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well." Sophocles' Edipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism. One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. "What!---by such narrow ways--?" There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd. Discovery. It happens as well that the felling of the absurd springs from happiness. "I conclude that all is well," says Edipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering. It makes of fate a human matter, which must be settled among men. All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thing. Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling. I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. The garden of Gethsemane - where Jesus is believed to have prayed the evening before his crucifixion. Painted by Andrea Mantegna (1431-1506). There are several sites that are claimed to be the place where Jesus prayed. And Gethsemane is cited in the Bible. Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881) painted by Vasily Perov in 1872. His novels, short storied and essays explore human psychology in the troubled political, social and spiritual context of 19th-century Russian society. Acknowledged as a great psychologist he is best known for his works in his later years such as Crime and Punishment, Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov. Demons, mentioned above, "is an extremely political book. It is a testimonial of life in Imperial Russia in the late 19th century. As the revolutionary democrats begin to rise in Russia, different ideologies begin to collide. Dostoyevsky casts a critical eye on both the left-wing idealists, portraying their ideas and ideological foundation as demonic, and the conservative establishment's ineptitude in dealing with those ideas and their social consequences. This form of intellectual conservativism tied to the Slavophile movement of Dostoyevsky's day, called Pochvennichestvo, is seen to have continued on into its modern manifestation in individuals like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Dostoyevsky's novels focus on the idea that utopias and positivist ideas, in being utilitarian, were unrealistic and unobtainable. (Wikipedia) How very interesting reading this essay by Albert Camus. I have read parts again and again wanting to be able to make sense of the sentiment. At first I felt a sense of hopelessness from the relentless tasks of life. Doing the same thing over and over again because one has to to live. Is it proclaimed and therefore is? In Sisyphus' case he was set this task by the gods and it seems there was no escaping it and so the task became to find contentment within the situation. And their punishment was the result of his disobedience. He did not follow the principles of the gods, he rebelled. By this I mean he was functioning on some different level, not a spiritual one. I relate this to myself. Reflecting on my life, although some things were done to me at a time when I was vulnerable and mould able, in later years I made choices that caused troubles. My behaviour was rebellious, deceitful, destructive and dishonourable. I didn't have this as an intention deep down. I was in conflict with other principles that were loving and caring, truthful and dignified. I had compassion and respect. These two parts were in constant conflict but often the louder voice was the destructive one. Whether that was unleashed through experiences or stronger from the offset, no one will ever know. I tend to think it's a little bit of both. That there is an individual tendency towards heightened sensitivity and when this is coupled with environmental experiences that do not nurture and surround that sensitivity, then there is the potential for another mechanism to be triggered. And often experienced by others as "bad" behaviour. To exemplify this, I think I am a very sensitive person. I can recall being troubled by many things that I observed. I remember being concerned for one of our neighbours sons, Paul H. I was under 4 when I was concerned. I cannot say why I was concerned for him but something didn't feel right. I was also concerned for K next door. perhaps it was my mothers concerns that I picked up on I really o not know. But I felt a need for them. I was sensitive. And I was also sensitive for myself. When my friends were playing with not such nice kids and stealing from me, I was upset that they could do this and I didn't understand. I didn't understand why people would do mean things. I was creative with stories but they were stories of loss and disaster afoot. This was from a young age and all through my play stages. The earth cracking up, being taken away and locked up, being treated cruelly by the master. That sort of thing. Was I born with this bleak and black attitude towards life? Or was this created out of being sensitive and surrounded by anger? A bit of both I am certain but putting into words is difficult. It comes back to the Transactional Model of Arnold Sameroff, nothing occurs in a stand alone position.Everything is interconnected and cannot seemingly be separated.        Gosh I am a long way off Camus' essay. So Sisyphus who apparently emerges from a lowly life into the life of the gods, seems to bring with him a degree of rebellion. He is testing the limits which sounds quite childlike. He is given responsibility and living but takes things beyond the principles by which the gods give everything. So then there is the question are those spiritual principles the right ones? Within me yes they feel right but every so often a naughtiness descends that can take me away from following those principles, wanting what seems to be a freedom and a lot of fun. It can be but there is a price to pay. Whereas following more Godly principles seems to bring tranquillity and gently arrives rather than is something strived for and gained. So Sisyphus is be4lieved to have worked against the gods in different ways but ultimately it seems his disrespect for them earned him the thankless and endless task of rolling the rock to the top of the mountain and then have to start all over again. It's similar to me. I work, I earn some money, I pay bills and then I need to work again to get the money to pay the bills. In between time there doesn't seem to be a lot of pay off. I cannot afford to do the things I desire, as with Sisyphus he has not time for rest and he cannot let go of the rock because his task is to get it to the top of the mountain before it can roll down again. I do not understand the relevance of his wife throwing his unburied body into the square thus ending up in hell. He tested her love by asking her to do this and she obeyed. Is this not obeying him or should she have disobeyed in the name of decency and respect for his body? To me it is a body and the soul had left already so what matters the body? However, there is something quite important about respecting the vessel for the soul. Honouring it's toil and the job it does. So perhaps she should not have obeyed and instead heeded more the respect for the man she had loved. She had no backbone perhaps to stand by her principles? I'm not sure. If it was this unquestioning obedience that he wanted to return to avenge then I understand. But his desire to return to earth was it to punish his wife? Coming from hell I guess that is what it would do to you. Hell would breed resentment so there is a need to stay out of hell. And the warning is perhaps not to put people to the test, they are bound to be fallible and therefore what I sow I reap. He asked and she obeyed. The consequence was dear and dire. Yes I can relate that to my life. Principles I crossed, such as terminations of pregnancy and promiscuity and dishonesty and excess of many things like spending and self-centredness and thoughtlessness. These attitudes and the associated behaviours have all resulted in a high price. I pay the price of an increased rift between me and my dad. I pay the price of never being able to make up for the worry that my mum went through and the fact that she couldn't really trust me. I have not been able to settle with any man and I have not achieved in a way I would have liked. I have no family. I have lost reality with honesty. I have been in a heap of a mess. High prices to pay for the many years of fun and hedonism. Fond memories exist but looking at the greater picture would I do it all again? Part of me says yes but the other part says I would go back and learn somehow to do it differently if that were possible. I don't think it's all out of me just yet as there is that urge to say - "bring it on". I would pay the price for some more if I could have it now. And I can but I am also aware of the risk of it getting worse rather than still being fun. So Sisyphus returns to earth and suddenly likes what earth offers. He hides from the gods until eventually they catch up with him. I was ducking and diving for a while but all the time could feel the hounds nearing until the breakdown occurred when I could feel their breath on my neck and their saliva running down my back. The sound of their pants was in my ears and I cold hear nothing else. I had to surrender or there was certain death. Sometime I welcomed it to get me out of the current futility that I saw. And being conscious of the futility, fully aware is the thing I grapple with. At times I have total contentment with the way things are. Me and my interactions, the need for work and the things that I can and can't do. But the contentedness comes when I am acceptant and grateful for the things I have got internally and externally. When the futility takes over then the discontent arrives with it. Of course this myth is an analogy with my life. I am struggling at this time with not only being short of funds for things other than basically covering costs, and at times I can be expensive because of choices. I am also finding it difficult being with L's personality at work. It challenges me sometimes more than at other times. At the moment it is challenging. Now there are day when this can really get me down and I want to run, to do something completely different. These are the days when I am not drawing from the inner gains. The knowledge I can get from this situation day in and day out is extraordinary. But I don't want to hang around and do that. BUT God is making it so that I have to. I feel jealous of other people who are making moves to achieve. I like it better when there are others in the doldrums just like me right at this time. Sometimes I taken steps into things I'm pleased about and other times I feel stuck. It doesn't expose me as the failure I feel that I am. There's the defect of self-hatred speaking out loudly in that last sentence. This is mental illness. And I truly have it in monumental quantities. Not that mental illness is quantifiable, I don't believe in such a way. It can not easily be said that this person is worse than that person. Often the physical behaviour is what people are judging against. Mental illness shows as unpredictable and sometimes as different from the norm. So I think this breeds fear in others and indeed from within. But once again it can all seem futile suddenly when I see it only at the level of pushing the rock up the mountain only for it to roll down and start all over again with the agony of the journey upwards. Only momentarily getting a sense of achievement and able to enjoy the scenery at the top of the mountain.If, however, I can observe the entire experience, each journey up the mountain brings it's own variety. And if I observe myself in the situation, it's not futile, it's an experience, it's growth, it's strengthening and all contributing towards the next lesson. Nothing then is futile because everything comes from within. As the Dalai Lama said on Thursday, oh yes I was there in Aldershot when he visited. He said that the Buddha is within, it's not something external. It is my path to reach that internal Buddha and on the occasions when I do I feel grace and serenity. In those moments the external does not matter at all. Acceptance. Today I am agonising about things that seem unsaid from my sponsor. I get a sense that she strongly objects to therapy. Now this affects me on several levels. It's also interesting as it's upsetting my internal sense of self when actually I feel very comfortable that I know where I am heading. My practice is not only to bring about self actualisation but more importantly about the person finding the way to move forward, and take action for themselves. To move away from dependency on historical voices and messages, to move away from dependency on therapy and individuals and to achieve a sense of self worth and faith. It seems to matter what she thinks and this morning I have become aware I was being quite underhand or manipulative when I started trying to express what my style of work involves. I wanted her to realise I was good and to be on side against L actually. I realised this and didn't like my manipulation. IN the same way I didn't like the way I manipulated a public arena on Tuesday during supervision to expose L for her exaggeration and deceit. My dad used to be like that. He would make statements to damn me or mum or another person and it would be actually unfounded, merely a manipulation of information or facts to try and control the situation. So with compassion I wonder what it is that leaves her in such need of this. If only she could be comfortable with the fact that she's the boss and no one is questioning that, then she wouldn't need to control the people and they way they are. However, me me me. I made a comment that I had called B (the person she had said made a statement about people arriving without having the foundations of recovery). The implication was that we were not doing a good job even tough she did add it wasn't directed at us. So my opening statement made it sound as if I had called specifically to enquire about her comment. I said it on purpose as an exposure because B said he was not referring to us. She went quite mad at me, saying that I could have asked her, that she felt let down by me and ended by saying she didn't want to talk about it anymore. Others seemed as confounded as me by her reaction, implying that we cannot be curious and cannot speak to other people. I did later apologise saying that I was sorry that she had felt offended and that it had not been my intention. I clarified that I was speaking with B about another situation and raised the question out of curiosity and made it clear I knew he wasn't referring to us but wondered what he thought needed to be done. She just looked at me. Later apparently S made a comment to her privately about her reaction and L commented back that there is history between us. Well there certainly is. Now here is my struggle. I felt very down the following day. S and L were working cheerfully together. I felt out of it. I can relate to that with childhood situations, even with my mum and dad being together and feeling as if they were against me. The same happened and is a fear in friendships. Just this morning, M mentioned that S had called her and suddenly I felt left out. My first inclination is to pick up the phone and have a chat as if by chance with S. Crazy. Just sit back observe and trust. I can be at peace within these struggles. At other times I can see only futility as yet another situations presents itself to me as a problem to be overcome. At least my problems are varied. poor Sisyphus had the same struggles and pain day in and day out. I am certain though with each roll of the rock up the hill he must have been physically stronger and wiser, knowing better and better each time how to overcome little difficulties and developing strengths to manage the struggle. So here I am thinking about that. I know that I can keep my mouth closed and observed. I know it has worked. I know that I could not be so devious, spiteful and manipulative when I use information. I know it is possible to feel OK n myself and confidant that I am doing my best and my best is enough for today. I am learning and growing within myself and how to handle different situations. I am gaining knowledge to help deal with things that can be tricky. Back to my sponsor. I get a strong sense and from what she's shared to be frank, that therapy is not something she believes in. And so going on a workshop with my therapist seems to have triggered a disappointment or something in her. She feels a little distant and maybe even cross with me. Now I do believe in therapy and for more than simply self-actualisation as she said in the AWOL. It did feel as if it was directed at me. Do I speak with her God? I want to sort it out in a phone call this afternoon. I want to find out if my sense is correct. What do I do God? Now there is a part of me that thinks just sit back and observe. See what happens over the next few days about this. Stay out of my fear and then the ways in which this manifests in codependency. Observe, observe, observe. But at the same time don't try and manipulate. This sense of insecurity drives me to be deceitful and underhand. I don't like it in me. Do I talk to others about this self realisation and find out what others might do? This is when I'd prefer it that people don't know who my sponsor is. I suppose I could talk about it without using the term sponsor. I could talk about it as a third party whose opinion matters to me and with whom I have a lot of contact. Hmmmm - please show me God what is the next best thing to do here. So as I've written this I see more and more what Camus was bringing to my attention