31.08.2015 21:16
Die Wolfsfrau - Die Kraft der weiblichen Urinstinkte von Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Als mir das Buch zum ersten Mal im Urlaub in die Hände fiel (meine Mutter wusste nicht einmal, woher sie es hatte), dachte ich...Auweia.
Der Titel lässt ja stark vermuten, dass das diese esoterisch-feministische "Urmütter-sind-besser-als-Männer" Literatur ist, mit der ich ja nun gar nichts anfangen kann.
Und als ich anfing zu lesen, war ich von dem Schreibstil auch erst Mal überfordert.
Aber dann hat mich das Buch wirklich umgehauen.
Es ist eine Sammlung von Geschichten verschiedenster Kulturen, die psychoanalytisch gedeuten werden. Die sich daraus ergebenden Lebensweisheiten sind (größtenteils) so universell, dass ich mich wirklich frage, warum sich das Buch nur an Frauen richtet.
Mich beeindruckten auch die scheinbaren Widersprüche, die hier vereint werden.
Kraftvoll und mitfühlend, intuitiv und intellektuell, spirituell aber nicht esoterisch.
Das einzige, was mich etwas gestört hat, sind die ausschweifenden Erläuterungen und Wiederholungen. Ich hatte oft schon früh verstanden, worum es geht. Aber die Autorin wiederholt ihre Aussagen so oft, dass ich mich frage, ob sie damit absichtlich ein Mantra erschaffen hat. Ich denke, ich muss das Buch tatsächlich noch ein paar Mal lesen, damit ich es wirklich verinnerliche, und es nicht nur ein flüchtiger Ratschlag bleibt.
Mein Tipp für alle, die Einblicke in das Verborgene und Urtümliche der Seele erlangen wollen. Wer kann, sollte auf Englisch lesen, denn die Übersetzung empfinde ich als etwas holperig.
Wenn ich beispielsweise diesen Ausschnitt in meiner Jugend gelesen hätte, hätte ich eine ganz andere Lebenseinstellung gehabt.
There is probably no better or more reliable measure of whether a woman has spent time in ugly duckling status at some point or all throughout her life than her inability to digest a sincere compliment. Although it could be a matter of modesty, or could be attributed to shyness- although too many serious wounds are carelessly written off as "nothing but shyness"- more often a compliment is stuttered around about because it sets up an automatic and unpleasant dialogue in the woman's mind.
If you say how lovely she is, or how beautiful her art is, or compliment anything else her soul took part in, inspired, or suffused, something in her mind says she is undeserving and you, the complimentor, are an idiot for thinking such a thing to begin with. Rather than understand that the beauty of her soul shines through when she is being herself, the woman changes the subject and effectively snatches nourishment away from the soul-self, which thrives on being acknowledged.
I must admit, I sometimes find it useful in my practice to delineate the various typologies of personality as cats and hens and ducks and swans and so forth. If warranted, I might ask my client to assume for a moment that she is a swan who does not realzie it. Assume also for a moment that she has been brought up by or is currently surrounded by ducks.
There is nothing wrong with ducks, I assure them, or with swans. But ducks are ducks and swans are swans. Sometimes to make the point I have to move to other animal metaphors. I like to use mice. What if you were raised by the mice people? But what if you're, say, a swan. Swans and mice hate each other's food for the most part. They each think the other smells funny. They are not interested in spending time together, and if they did, one would be constantly harassing the other.
But what if you, being a swan, had to pretend you were a mouse? What if you had to pretend to be gray and furry and tiny? What you had no long snaky tail to carry in the air on tail-carrying day? What if wherever you went you tried to walk like a mouse, but you waddled instead? What if you tried to talk like a mouse, but insteade out came a honk every time? Wouldn't you be the most miserable creature in the world?
The answer is an inequivocal yes. So why, if this is all so and too true, do women keep trying to bend and fold themselves into shapes that are not theirs? I must say, from years of clinical observation of this problem, that most of the time it is not because of deep-seated masochism or a malignant dedication to self-destruction or anything of that nature. More often it is because the woman simply doesn't know any better. She is unmothered.
Als mir das Buch zum ersten Mal im Urlaub in die Hände fiel (meine Mutter wusste nicht einmal, woher sie es hatte), dachte ich...Auweia.
Der Titel lässt ja stark vermuten, dass das diese esoterisch-feministische "Urmütter-sind-besser-als-Männer" Literatur ist, mit der ich ja nun gar nichts anfangen kann.
Und als ich anfing zu lesen, war ich von dem Schreibstil auch erst Mal überfordert.
Aber dann hat mich das Buch wirklich umgehauen.
Es ist eine Sammlung von Geschichten verschiedenster Kulturen, die psychoanalytisch gedeuten werden. Die sich daraus ergebenden Lebensweisheiten sind (größtenteils) so universell, dass ich mich wirklich frage, warum sich das Buch nur an Frauen richtet.
Mich beeindruckten auch die scheinbaren Widersprüche, die hier vereint werden.
Kraftvoll und mitfühlend, intuitiv und intellektuell, spirituell aber nicht esoterisch.
Das einzige, was mich etwas gestört hat, sind die ausschweifenden Erläuterungen und Wiederholungen. Ich hatte oft schon früh verstanden, worum es geht. Aber die Autorin wiederholt ihre Aussagen so oft, dass ich mich frage, ob sie damit absichtlich ein Mantra erschaffen hat. Ich denke, ich muss das Buch tatsächlich noch ein paar Mal lesen, damit ich es wirklich verinnerliche, und es nicht nur ein flüchtiger Ratschlag bleibt.
Mein Tipp für alle, die Einblicke in das Verborgene und Urtümliche der Seele erlangen wollen. Wer kann, sollte auf Englisch lesen, denn die Übersetzung empfinde ich als etwas holperig.
Wenn ich beispielsweise diesen Ausschnitt in meiner Jugend gelesen hätte, hätte ich eine ganz andere Lebenseinstellung gehabt.
There is probably no better or more reliable measure of whether a woman has spent time in ugly duckling status at some point or all throughout her life than her inability to digest a sincere compliment. Although it could be a matter of modesty, or could be attributed to shyness- although too many serious wounds are carelessly written off as "nothing but shyness"- more often a compliment is stuttered around about because it sets up an automatic and unpleasant dialogue in the woman's mind.
If you say how lovely she is, or how beautiful her art is, or compliment anything else her soul took part in, inspired, or suffused, something in her mind says she is undeserving and you, the complimentor, are an idiot for thinking such a thing to begin with. Rather than understand that the beauty of her soul shines through when she is being herself, the woman changes the subject and effectively snatches nourishment away from the soul-self, which thrives on being acknowledged.
I must admit, I sometimes find it useful in my practice to delineate the various typologies of personality as cats and hens and ducks and swans and so forth. If warranted, I might ask my client to assume for a moment that she is a swan who does not realzie it. Assume also for a moment that she has been brought up by or is currently surrounded by ducks.
There is nothing wrong with ducks, I assure them, or with swans. But ducks are ducks and swans are swans. Sometimes to make the point I have to move to other animal metaphors. I like to use mice. What if you were raised by the mice people? But what if you're, say, a swan. Swans and mice hate each other's food for the most part. They each think the other smells funny. They are not interested in spending time together, and if they did, one would be constantly harassing the other.
But what if you, being a swan, had to pretend you were a mouse? What if you had to pretend to be gray and furry and tiny? What you had no long snaky tail to carry in the air on tail-carrying day? What if wherever you went you tried to walk like a mouse, but you waddled instead? What if you tried to talk like a mouse, but insteade out came a honk every time? Wouldn't you be the most miserable creature in the world?
The answer is an inequivocal yes. So why, if this is all so and too true, do women keep trying to bend and fold themselves into shapes that are not theirs? I must say, from years of clinical observation of this problem, that most of the time it is not because of deep-seated masochism or a malignant dedication to self-destruction or anything of that nature. More often it is because the woman simply doesn't know any better. She is unmothered.