A sleepy start to this morning after a night of deep sleep only interrupted by two or three brief risings to consciousness; a splatter of rain, dream murmurs. Even the alarm only woke me for seconds, enough time to turn it off, before I submerged once more, slipping back into sleep and dreaming of riding a motorbike on a circuitous journey of a version of South London; a place I should know but got lost in; a labyrinth. And who was the woman riding pillion?
The mortorbike was a small ride to work model which reminds me of the 150 MZ I bought after college for getting round (yes, South London). My work was freelance and in various parts of South and Central London. A time for me when the world seemed full of open doors; yes, yes, do come in.
Today feels like a day off, what I could call a Christmas Day feeling; as though I've woken up and been given the present of a day off, a glimpse (promise?) of freedom.
Worlds open, worlds close. In those days of the early/mid seventies when I was commuting on the East German motorcycle (presumably no longer in existence) my personal trajectory into psychotherapy and group work was aligned with the zeitgeist wave towards greater individualism (not only kings and toffs!) coupled to the market brought a diminishing of the collective, the unions, and what became Old Labour.
The effort of psychotherapy was the freeing of the individual from whatever might be holding her/him back. Women in particular were able to make good use of it as feminism charged the batteries and gave us a new way of seeing gender.
The way was opening for Mrs Thatcher to enter the stage with market led, low tax, down grading of the public sphere, small government. We were all going to become small business persons and those who wanted to stand in the way – the old industries, the unions. socialists of all persuasions, were smashed.