Happy Birthday to Dr. Arthur Janov!

In recent years, my dreams have been my constant companions. My brain has, in a dream, established connections between perceived / actual experiences, desires and needs in my subconscious. These dreams interpret my abilities and inabilities, and they go to, in reverse fashion, as far as  painful traumas, which allow me to experience the liberating, euphoric happiness once I have re-lived a life-threatening pain.

During many years I was confused by the many theoretical interpretations and definitions, from different starting points and circumstances, developed by psychologists and neurologists. Nowadays, I have no other ambitions than to let the dreams be a part of my life. The definition that matters is the emotional improvement and the relief I feel, not least because I quit / are unable to act out non-real / neurotic needs. I let others, with scientific aspirations, take care of the technical definitions.

Arthur Janovs forthcoming 90th birthday and his and his wife’s presentation of the musical “The Primal Scream” has been rolling around in my head for some time. I have not succeeded in arranging something to show my appreciation or participation. However, suddenly, the night before I left on a trip to Sweden, my ambition resulted in a fascinating dream.

In the dream, I find myself in a huge floor, which appears to be a compilation of the unreasonably many apartments, I lived in during my life. In the center of the floor there is a large living room, in which Art Janov appears, along with  guest ensemble from LA. playing The Primal Scream. I want to enter into the living room, but I’m not allowed in and I cannot get to the stage where Janov is sitting while actors dressed in white presenting their soft, low-tuned musical.

The conductor / director asks me to arrange coffee for everyone. I go to the kitchen while I, in the distance, follow the show. I’m unable to organize coffee preparation and serving. Everything turns into chaos, and I panic and feel cramping. I would ask Janov for help, but a mixture of shame and failure prevents me. Meanwhile, patients to Janov filling a large part of the complex floor conglomerate. It amounts to some 40 patients who all want coffee urgently. I’m considering, in my paralysis, to ask a nearby restaurant to organize the serving of coffee. My oversized kitchen is a myriad of utensils, coffee varieties and water flowing together in a frustrating chaos with myself, and I realize that I can no longer keep my inability at bay. 

I move to my bedroom and lie down and give up my intentions to organize coffee. A numbing feeling of isolation, immobility and cramping dominate me. This condition is changing partly from dream to reality. Suddenly, my cramp and pain is released, and my breathing becomes normal. I am full of desire to write a poem to Janov as a tribute to his 90th birthday. During a few hours between dream and awake my brain is exposed to a poetic cross draft of memories, emotions, and verbal constructions. Finally, after some editing and modification, the following birthday poem became the result:

Happy Birthday  Dear Arthur, Happy 90 To You!

Epileptic Journey

From my early childhood

I was activity addicted

sentenced to a pattern of life

mimicking my birth process

In business I acted out

and even had successes

I over-taxed mind and body

whilst drugs and defenses

kept me disconnected

My defenses leaked

fits and hallucinations;

I was a prisoner of pain.

An avant-garde Scream

became a Janovian stab

at life’s Gordian knot,

and at the CBT model

Referring to your own

and others’ suffering

you avoided categorically

to give cunning advice,

your modest guidance

brought me to a point, 

beyond my symptoms,

to the Journey of my life

You made me slowly free,  

to at front row seat;

watch neurotic dramas

which save and distort our lives

Jan Johnsson