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Stanley Krippner, PAST PRESIDENT OF APA DIV 32 (SOCIETY FOR HUMANISTIC PSYCHOLOGY) says of Through A Still Imperfect Lens: "Having known Scott Peck, I was intrigued by the history of this book and why Peck urged its execution. I was not disappointed. The author's "imperfect lens" is skillfully portrayed. His spiritual anguish is painfully frank, without being tawdry. It is inspiring without being saccharine. It moves from the depth to the heights of human existence in vivid prose, taking readers along for the journey. Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride! But it is one you won't want to miss." Talenfeld's book, THROUGH A STILL IMPERFECT LENS, invites the reader to accompany him on an intimate and unflinching journey into the dark and uncharted topography of the human soul

Elliot Talenfeld decided to go way beyond the snippets of growth he was getting while attending the odd weekend self-help workshop. He wanted to live his life fully committed to building and maintaining a community of loving relationships every day. His journey was greatly inspired by M. Scott Peck's book "The Road Less Traveled" and more specifically by this quote from the book, "...any genuinely loving relationship is one of mutual psychotherapy." Elliot has exposed his life and adventure in his new book, "Through a Still Imperfect Lens" which he will serialize on the ATP Facebook group page. The full book is available in print or Kindle versions on Amazon. You can also find all of his correspondence with Peck on his website.

It was in a conversation with my younger brother Earl , not too many years ago, that the root of our emotional problem came into bold relief. Thinking myself to have matured substantially by that time, I presumed to offer my brother some feedback on his lagging psychological development. "I can't seem to make contact with you," I goaded. "It's like you're 'not home,' emotionally. Earl deflected the provocation briefly before retaliating with the following jab of his own. "Don't expect me to feel one way or the other about you. I can't give you what you want. It's nothing personal; I just do not feel." I was taken aback by the incisiveness with which my brother thus cut to the chase, both of our interaction and of his psychological predicament. I asked if he had always been this way, or could he recall ever having had a "feeling"? He responded without a moment's hesitation: "I was about seven

Some time in the early '90s, my brother Earl went through a personal crisis. I found myself advising him, as our elder brother had counseled me, to see a psychiatrist. But in recommending the very one-on-one professional relationship I myself had rejected, I was reminded of a story I had heard at satsang. A woman was at wits end with her young son, who only wanted to eat sweets. Her guru suggested she bring the boy to him; but not for two weeks. At the appointed time, the child was so moved by the guru's words, he promptly cut his candy intake by half. Years later, the woman reminded the guru of the impact he had had on her now grown (and healthy) son. "But I've always wondered, Master, why you made me wait the two weeks before bringing the boy to see you." "When you first mentioned your son to me," the guru answered, "my own sweet tooth was out of control

There was one aspect of my depression that stood apart from the more endogenous illness. As the extended family assembled each year at my sister's house, for Thanksgiving, I would sink into a lethargic state that would last the entire weekend. In particular, it was my Mother's physical presence that seemed to bring on this distinct emotional fog. In the spring of 1989, I was greeting relatives who had flown in for my first son's Bar Mitzvah. When I spotted my mother down a long airport concourse, the degree and suddenness of my emotional shift was startling. I plunged from a state of anticipation and high energy into one of lethargy and depression. Sarah had also come in for the Bar Mitzvah, so at the first opportunity, I asked if she could shed any light on what had just happened. She said only that it had to do with some traumatic incident, when I was 10 or 11

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Elliot Talenfeld resides with his wife Carole in Phoenix, AZ. A former Clinical Law Professor and partner at a major law firm, he also holds a Master of Counseling degree and serves as a Cantor on the Jewish High Holidays.