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Trump’s Eating Disorder (1)

September 29, 2016

Trump impulsively wishes people away by shaming them (indeed he obsessively shames them, especially women but there’s also the imaginary 400-pound man sitting in bed hacking the DNC) by calling them fat.

For an archetypal image, we can’t go much deeper than that. It’s eat or die. Feed our children or they die. Join our neighbors to build that barn, or it’s going to be a short deadly winter. “We are what we eat,” and don’t eat.

Our health or sickness, order or disorder (physical and mental) are determined by, and expressed by, how we imagine that.

So I’m starting with Hillman’s understanding that our fundamental responsibility, and the key to our health—individual and societal—is to attend to soul. As he puts it, we must feed the soul, consciously nourish it, with the best soul food that we can imagine.

We do that by creating images and stories (and I’m adding conversations, because of my literary background). Thereby we consciously participate in soul’s being in us, bringing into full consciousness what otherwise can only be a subconscious striving for wholeness.

As we imagine eating and food, so we converse with soul. Our shame the soul.  If our imagination is sick, we participate in, and reinforce the neurological patterns of, damage and destruction of, soul. We cause its painful, maladaptive pathological responses to the conditions of our human being—what I’m calling its “psycho-pathologies” among all the movements (the psychopathologies) in soul’s total pathos.

While we’re down with depth, imagining food, feeding, and eating, we naturally think of a woman—a mother with her child at her breast.

So now we are ready (on a following page) to think about Trump, his eating disorder, and it’s reflection of our society and politics.  It eats at him, and at us and our democracy.

In the flesh, of course, this gets very complex, because, as projection, as self-denial (in feeling shamed and shaming, for instance), it is constantly trying to hide what it compulsively, impulsively, reveals; and so the agony in the image turns back upon itself.

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