Re: excerpt from Continuuum Concept

[Guest guest]

this is the most inexplicably, indescribable, emotional thing I have

ever read. The only thing lacking is the description of

circumcision(imagine the barbarism). I have long held the opinion that

circumcision plays a major part in emotional development of the male.

Thank God! Thank God! that I have been exposed before I have children.

Amen. p.s. a really good book is Sexual Peace- by Sky

---Ken R wrote:

>

> Hello everyone,

>

> The following, I hope, shows an appropriate contrast to the

description

> of the Efe Pygmies posted here a few days ago.

>

> Ken Ragge

>

>

> >From " The Continuum Concept " by Leidloff cited from Alice

's

> " Thou Shalt Not be Aware: Society's Betrayal of the Child " (used

without

> permission)

>

> ________________________

>

> In maternity wards of Western civilization there is little chance of

> consolation. . . . The newborn infant, with his skin crying out for

the

> ancient touch of smooth, warmth-radiating, living flesh, is wrapped in

> dry, lifeless cloth. He is put in a box where he is left, no matter

how

> he weeps, in a limbo that is utterly motionless (for the first time in

> all his body's experience, during the eons of its evolution or during

> its eternity of bliss in the womb). The only sounds he can hear are

the

> wails of other victims of the same ineffable agony. The sound can mean

> nothing to him. He cries and cries; his lungs, new to air, are

strained

> with the desperation in his heart. No one comes. Trusting in the

> rightness of life, as by nature he must, he does the only act he can,

> which is to cry on. Eventually, a timeless lifetime later, he falls

> asleep exhausted.

>

> He awakes in a mindless terror of the silence, the motionlessness. He

> screams. He is afire from head to foot with want, with desire, with

> intolerable impatience. He gasps for breath and screams until his head

> is filled and throbbing with the sound. He screams until his chest

> aches, until his throat is sore. He can bear the pain no more and his

> sobs weaken and subside. He listens. He opens and closes his fists. He

> rolls his head from side to side. Nothing helps. It is unbearable. he

> begins to cry again, but it is too much for his strained throat; he

soon

> stops: He stiffens his desire-racked body and there is a shadow of

> relief. He waves his hands and kicks his feet. He stops, able to

suffer,

> unable to think, unable to hope. He listens. Then he falls asleep

again.

>

> When he awakens he wets his diaper and is distracted from his

torment by

> the event. But the pleasant feeling of wetting and the warm, damp,

> flowing sensation around his lower body are quickly gone. The warmth

is

> now immobile and turning cold and clammy. He kicks his legs. Stiffens

> his body. Sobs. Desperate with longing, his lifeless surroundings wet

> and uncomfortable, he screams through his misery until it is stilled

by

> lonely sleep.

>

> Suddenly he is lifted; his expectations come forward for what is to be

> his. The wet diaper is taken away. Relief. Living hands touch his

skin.

> His feet are lifted and a new, bone dry lifeless cloth is wrapped

around

> his loins. In an instant, it is as though the hands had never been

> there, nor the wet diaper. There is no conscious memory, no inkling

of

> hope. He is in unbearable emptiness, timeless, motionless, silent,

> wanting, wanting. His continuum tries its emergency measures, but

they

> are all meant for bridging short lapses in correct treatment or for

> summoning relief from someone, it is assumed, who will want to provide

> it. His continuum has no solution for this extremity. The solution

is

> beyond its vast experience. The infant, after breathing air for only a

> few hours, has already reached a point of disorientation from his

nature

> beyond the saving powers of the mighty continuum. His tenure in the

> womb is the last he is likely to know of the uninterrupted state of

> well-being in which it is his innate expectation that he will spend

his

> lifetime. His nature is predicated upon the assumption that his

mother

> is behaving suitably and that their motivations and consequent actions

> will naturally serve one another.

>

> Someone comes and lifts him deliciously through the air. He is in

> life. He is carried a bit too gingerly for his taste, but there is

> motion. Then he is in his place. All the agony he has undergone is

> nonexistent. He rests in the enfolding arms, and though his skin is

> sending no message of relief from the cloth, no news of live flesh on

> his flesh, his hands and mouth are reporting normal. The positive

> pleasure of life, which is continuum normal, is almost complete. The

> taste and texture of the breast are there, the warm milk is flowing

into

> his eager mouth, there is a heartbeat, which should have been his

link,

> his reassurance of continuity from the womb, there is movement

> perceptible to his dim vision. The sound of the voice is right too.

> There is only the cloth and the smell (his mother uses cologne) that

> leave something missing. He sucks and when he feels full and rosy,

> dozes off.

>

> When he awakens, he is in hell. No memory, no hope, no thought can

> bring the comfort of his visit to his mother into this bleak

purgatory.

> Hours pass and days and nights. He screams, tires, sleeps. He wakes

> and wets his diaper. By now there is no pleasure in this act. No

> sooner is the pleasure of relief prompted by his innards than it is

> replaced, as the hot, acid urine touches his by-now chafed body, by a

> searing crescendo of pain. He screams. His exhausted lungs must

scream

> to override the fiery stinging. He screams until the pain and

screaming

> use him up before he falls asleep.

>

> At this not unusual hospital the busy nurses change all diapers on

> schedule, whether they are dry, wet, or long wet, and send the infants

> home chafed raw, to be healed by someone who has time for such things.

>

> By the time he is taken to his mother's home (surely it cannot be

called

> his) he is well versed in the character of life. On a preconscious

> plane that will qualify all his further impressions, as it is

qualified

> by them, he knows life to be unspeakably lonely, unresponsive to his

> signals, and full of pain.

>

> But he has not given up. His vital forces will try forever to

reinstate

> their balances, as long as there is life.

>

> Home is essentially indistinguishable from the maternity ward except

for

> the chaffing. The infant's waking hours are passed in yearning,

> wanting, and interminable waiting for rightness to replace the silent

> void. For a few minutes a day, his longing is suspended and his

> terrible skin-crawling need to be touched, to be held and moved about,

> is relieved. His mother is one who, after much thought, has decided

to

> allow him access to her breast. She loves him with a tenderness she

has

> never known before. At first, it is hard for her to put him down

after

> his feeding, especially because he cries so desperately when she

does.

> But she is convinced that she must, for her mother has told her (and

> _she_ must know) that if she gives in to him now he will be spoiled

and

> cause trouble later. She wants to do everything right; she feels

for a

> moment that the little life she holds in her arms is more important

than

> anything else on earth.

>

> She sighs, and puts him gently in his crib, which is decorated with

> yellow ducklings and matches his whole room. She has worked hard to

> furnish it with fluffy curtains, a rug in the shape of a giant panda,

> white dresser, Bathinette and changing table equipped with powder,

oil,

> soap, shampoo, and hairbrush, all made and packed in colors especially

> for babies. There are pictures on the wall of baby animals dressed as

> people. The chest of drawers is full of little undershirts,

> slumbersuits, bootees, caps, mittens, and diapers. There is a toy

> woolly lamb stood at a beguiling angle on top, and a vase of flowers

--

> which have been cut off from their roots, for his mother also " loves "

> flowers.

>

> She straightens baby's undershirt and covers him with an embroidered

> sheet and a blanket bearing his initials. She notes them with

> satisfaction. Nothing has been spared in perfecting the baby's room,

> though she and her young husband cannot yet afford all the furniture

> they have planned for the rest of the house. She bends to kiss the

> infant's silky cheek and moves toward the door as the first agonized

> shriek shakes his body.

>

> Softly, she closes the door. She has declared war upon him. Her will

> must prevail over his. Through the door she hears what sounds like

> someone being tortured. Her continuum recognizes it as such. Nature

> does not make clear signals that someone is being tortured unless it

is

> the case. _It is precisely as serious as it sounds_.

>

> She hesitates, her heart pulled toward him, but resists and goes on

her

> way. He has just been changed and fed. She is sure he does not

_really_

> need anything, therefore, and she lets him weep until he is exhausted.

>

> He awakens and cries again. His mother looks in at the door to

ascertain

> that he is in place; softly, so as not to awaken in him any false hope

> of attention, she shuts the door again. She hurries to the kitchen,

> where she is working, and leaves that door open so that she can hear

the

> baby, in case " anything happens to him. "

>

> The infant's screams fade to quivering wails. As no response is

> forthcoming, the motive power of the signal loses itself in the

> confusion of barren emptiness where the relief ought, long since, to

> have arrived. He looks about. There is a wall beyond the bars of his

> crib. The light is dim. He cannot turn himself over. He sees only

the

> bars, immobile, and the wall. He hears meaningless sounds in a

distant

> world. There is no sound near him. He looks at the wall until his

eyes

> close. When they open again, the bars and the wall are exactly as

> before, but the light is dimmer.

> ____________________________________

>

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[Guest guest]

heidi michaud wrote:

>

> this is the most inexplicably, indescribable, emotional thing I have

> ever read. The only thing lacking is the description of

> circumcision(imagine the barbarism). I have long held the opinion that

> circumcision plays a major part in emotional development of the male.

> Thank God! Thank God! that I have been exposed before I have children.

> Amen. p.s. a really good book is Sexual Peace- by Sky

>

Heidi,

That's the way I felt when I first read it. It is strange the way we

can see something a million times from the " adult " perspective and never

notice anything amiss, but seeing it from the child's perspective just

once is life-changing.

Don't get me started on circumcision. I have some videos of infant

circumcision that I just can't bear to watch again. It is the cruelest,

most gruesome thing imaginable. Here an infant is having one of the

most sensitive parts of his body torn apart and cut off, surgery without

anesthetic for perhaps as long as 40 munutes, and adults act as if it is

_nothing_.

Recently, some medical group that was doing a study on a topical

anesthetic in infant circumcision discontinued the study because it was

simply unethical to subject infants to such incredible pain.

In any case, I think the " Continuum Concept " piece is important for two

reasons, one that we know where most of us come from, and two, that

perhaps someone else will not have to ever be there.

Ken Ragge

P.S. I'll keep my eyes open for " Sexual Peace. "

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