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Distraction Therapy – Recursive Thresholds
Why are we’re drawn to Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man”? Surely not simply for the elegance of its verse? Perhaps for the deeper psychological and symbolic questions it continues to provoke. Is Jaques’ melancholic speech in As You Like It a fixed narrative of human decline, or is it a mirror held up to the roles we perform without question? Does it offer a diagnosis of life’s stages—or an invitation to reflect on how we interpret change, growth, and meaning?
What if the seven ages aren’t milestones to be ticked off in a linear script, but recursive thresholds—phases we pass through, revisit, reinterpret? From infancy to oblivion, are we truly moving forward, or circling back with new awareness each time? When seen through the lens of depth psychology, the speech becomes more than a literary flourish: it reveals a model of development rooted in symbol, myth, and inner transformation.
Consider the caduceus—not just as a symbol of healing, but as a map of dynamic movement between opposites. The intertwined serpents spiral upwards, embodying the motion of development as a hermeneutic process. This is not linear progression, but a rhythm of return and reconfiguration. What if this is how we truly grow—not by ascending a ladder, but by revisiting stages with new insight, building complexity through integration?
Metamodern theory embraces this approach. It recognises that learning and understanding are emergent processes, not endpoints. Meaning arises not from accumulation alone, but from interaction—each part transforming the whole, each whole reshaping the parts. Identity, in this view, is not a destination but a living, evolving practice.
What if we treat radio itself as such a practice? Not a stage upon which fixed roles are performed, but a space in which meaning is made through dialogue, return, and resonance. We’re interested in the unfinished, the layered, the ambiguous. What might it sound like to compose with contradiction, to listen with openness to what hasn’t yet resolved?
If the seven ages are more spiral than sequence, more question than certainty, then how might we rethink the stories we tell about ourselves and each other? What new forms of creative practice become possible when we abandon the script—and tune into the spiral?
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By Radio LearWhy are we’re drawn to Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man”? Surely not simply for the elegance of its verse? Perhaps for the deeper psychological and symbolic questions it continues to provoke. Is Jaques’ melancholic speech in As You Like It a fixed narrative of human decline, or is it a mirror held up to the roles we perform without question? Does it offer a diagnosis of life’s stages—or an invitation to reflect on how we interpret change, growth, and meaning?
What if the seven ages aren’t milestones to be ticked off in a linear script, but recursive thresholds—phases we pass through, revisit, reinterpret? From infancy to oblivion, are we truly moving forward, or circling back with new awareness each time? When seen through the lens of depth psychology, the speech becomes more than a literary flourish: it reveals a model of development rooted in symbol, myth, and inner transformation.
Consider the caduceus—not just as a symbol of healing, but as a map of dynamic movement between opposites. The intertwined serpents spiral upwards, embodying the motion of development as a hermeneutic process. This is not linear progression, but a rhythm of return and reconfiguration. What if this is how we truly grow—not by ascending a ladder, but by revisiting stages with new insight, building complexity through integration?
Metamodern theory embraces this approach. It recognises that learning and understanding are emergent processes, not endpoints. Meaning arises not from accumulation alone, but from interaction—each part transforming the whole, each whole reshaping the parts. Identity, in this view, is not a destination but a living, evolving practice.
What if we treat radio itself as such a practice? Not a stage upon which fixed roles are performed, but a space in which meaning is made through dialogue, return, and resonance. We’re interested in the unfinished, the layered, the ambiguous. What might it sound like to compose with contradiction, to listen with openness to what hasn’t yet resolved?
If the seven ages are more spiral than sequence, more question than certainty, then how might we rethink the stories we tell about ourselves and each other? What new forms of creative practice become possible when we abandon the script—and tune into the spiral?
Source