The master and the elf

(SAMI was a residential treatment center for mentally ill addicts. It had no budget, and no supplies. It also had elves and masters…)

Once upon a time there was a Zen master who ruled over a very chaotic kingdom – SAMI-land – which was frequently at war with surrounding regions. Although he was only one man, he managed to temper the impulsivity and absurdities of his followers simply by breathing and being himself. He had spent no shortage of years being impulsive and absurd himself, and since he had grown to be a master, he held space that others might come to see the same in themselves. He had faith in the face of darkness, for he had spent many years in darkness, and had emerged whole and holy. He was, in short, imperturbable.

Nonetheless, the master was only one man. His Lords and Legion in the Motherland frequently misunderstood the needs of his land, and there were nights when, despite his best efforts, he was unable to clear his head and be truly present to his family. On those nights he would run miles and miles, letting his loneliness and frustration leave him with his sweat, eventually calming himself for another days battle. “If only I had some help in this war” he thought to himself, although he would never ask, or admit to the need aloud.

Shortly after that prayer, the Motherland sent to him – as if by magic – the requested assistance. But…. it came in the form of a small magical elf. She was 180 degrees from a master, but he withheld judgment and maintained an air of curiosity. “Elves and Masters, they need to spend more time together” he told himself, and as he believed – so was it true for him. He built a friendship with the Elf. It wasn’t hard to do, for she brought to his kingdom the same passion for promotion and protection of the people that he felt, although her ways were vastly different than his.

Eventually, inevitably, there was a battle, and enemy troops invaded the land of the Master and the Elf. They sent word to the Motherland, but no assistance was sent, and they resigned themselves to fight alone.

Stationed at the front line of battle, and with minimal supplies or assistance, they fought side by side to protect SAMI-land. The Master would calm himself and then project that calm imperturbability out into the enemy camp. The Elf would conjure up all of her life force, center it in her solar plexus, and WILL things to be different. Together, and very likely with the grace of God/dess, the enemy was driven back, although not destroyed.

Master and Elf sat together after the battle, drinking warm cups of coffee. They reviewed the battle and their strategies, and speculated about what had worked and what hadn’t.

“Do you realize Elf”, said the Master, “that apart we are very different creatures, but together we create something greater than ourselves?” “I think it’s called ‘synergistic’”, Elf replied, “it means we’re bigger together than we are apart.”

Master nodded then, in silence, and they sat for some time, contemplating the way of things, and the way of each other, and the process that they together trusted.

Eventually, Master was called to a new battle station, and Elf promoted to care for SAMI-land. Their final meeting was held in the small cluttered battle tent, on the edge of enemy lines. They sat in silence, as was their way, and then spoke of daily things… the sun rising, the children playing, the green of the corn and the slight chill in the air. Then, without formal goodbye of any kind, the Master moved out into the world, found his solar plexus, and willfully projected his life force into his new position. Elf breathed and practiced projecting her imperturbability as she watched him walk away.

Of course, they met many times after that – in regional gatherings of strategy…. And Elf had magical delivery-owls, and Master had telepathic lines, so they spoke regularly. Blessedly though, it didn’t matter if they spoke or not, or if it was a month or a year. Their time together in the battle of SAMI-land had forever cemented them as kindred.

And as they believed, so it was for them.

They, and their lands, lived pretty much happily ever after.

A fishy moment in therapy

A client arrived for our session with a lovely angel-fish in a baggy. No longer allowed to have a fish-tank at home s/he wondered if the fish could live in my tank, rather than facing execution-by-toilet.

A boat-load of traditionally trained psychotherapists instantly filled my thoughts with a cacophony of reasons why this would be ‘bad-therapeutic-form’ – it was a sign of transference, I was being cast in the role of ‘mother’ to the fish, and albeit to the client, the client was seeking special status in my office and caseload, and what if the fish brought a bacteria and killed everyone in the whole tank? What if the fish died?!?!

Breathing deeply, I called on my two psychotherapy spirit guides. They’re not dead, so I don’t really call on their spirits, but I call on the spirit in which they have conducted psychotherapy throughout their illustrious careers. One is a dear mentor and professor, Dr. Sid Berkowitz, and the other is the existential psychologist Irvin Yalom. Both believe that the relationship between client and therapist is the most powerful tool of healing available in psychotherapy.

“What would Sid do”? I asked myself, contemplating the fish in the baggy. I had no doubt that he would accept the fish with open arms (or open tank in this case).

“What would Yalom do?” This one was simple. He would accept the fish, and then engage in a discussion of what sharing the care of the fish said about the relationship between the two of them.

When my inner-Sid and my inner-Yalom agree, I take heed, so I accepted the fish, and we talked about what it meant for our relationship.

Fast forward to a voice mail from my office, on my day off, telling me the angel fish had died, and had been disposed of, (reverently, of course). When the client arrived, s/he noticed right away, and we talked briefly about it at the beginning of the session.

At the end of the session, I checked in again, saying:

“I try never to say ‘how did that make you feel’ because it’s so darn corny, but I’m going to now – how does it make you feel that the fish you entrusted me with died under my care?” The client insisted that s/he was not troubled by it. I persisted. “You said it was quite old, and had lived a long time in your tank. Then, you bring it to my tank, and it dies.”

The client replied, “Yeah, but it lived under great stress in my tank, it was pretty toxic in there. It probably didn’t know how to survive in a healthy environme…. Oh… I just described myself…”

I got goosebumps, which is always an indication of “a good moment in therapy”.

The hour was over and the client went home pondering an insight that I had been trying to facilitate for a long long time.

This is the magic of psychotherapy that keeps me coming back. It can’t be created, it can only be recognized when it arrives in the hallowed-here-and-now.

Sometimes, it’s disguised as a dead fish.

Morally superior to reality?

I was listening to an Ekhart Tolle lecture the other day. He was making fun of the human tendency to assume that we know how things should be, and to be very upset when they are not the way they should be. He used a traffic jam as an example, describing how sometimes when we’re in traffic and it’s not moving, we throw quite a fit, certain that traffic should be moving. The stopped traffic is wrong, and we are right, and in our righteousness we are free to complain and be upset.

Tolle went on to point out the (rather obvious) problem with this tendency. The traffic is not moving, and that is the reality of it. Labeling the traffic jam “wrong” also labels reality as wrong. He called this tendency to make reality wrong being “morally superior to reality”. What conceit we exhibit, assuming that we know how things should be. Such grandiosity, to walk through life assuming that the rain is wrong because we wanted sun!

What a pointless little ride to go on – experience reality, label reality as wrong, be upset about reality, seek a better reality, and repeat as necessary.

And yet, we all do it. Often. Judging self and others seems to be built right in to the human condition. Clients tell me all the time that they believe that their critical-inner-voice helps them get things done, do things right, avoid failure and stay on track. (I actually used to believe this myself, and had a wicked self-flagellation arsenal). We beat ourselves up, and beat reality up, and believe we are getting somewhere as a result. Actually, we are getting somewhere in SPITE of this, not BECAUSE of it.

The next time I am tempted to believe that I am ‘morally superior’ to reality as it is occurring, I’m going to try an experiment. I’m going to pretend that reality is correct – as is – and I am correct – as I am – and we are equals.

I’ll keep you posted.

Womb as weapon?

I heard an interview on NPR the other day, about a group of folks that believe in having as many kids as they can, citing a Biblical verse suggesting they do so. One of the women interviewed spoke of how the group needed to bear as many children as possible – raised in their belief system – so they would grow up and spread the belief system to others.

Then she matter of factly proclaimed, “the womb is a weapon”.

These are five words I just never thought I’d see in the same sentence! The-womb-is-a-weapon.

The speaker went on to complain that “they (the non-believers) will outnumber us without a jihad” (translate – holy war), but no worries, because this army of children would grow up to help them to “reclaim the sinful cities” AND “take back both houses of Congress”.

Three bombs of wrongness exploded in my head simultaneously.

Bomb One – as a proponent of the Divine Feminine, and embodied spiritual empowerment, I view the womb as a sacred vessel, which is about 180 degrees from a weapon.

Bomb Two – there is an implication in this womb-as-weapon theory that the children who are born from these wombs are destined to be instruments of violence and attack – whether physical or ideological – which is not a role parents should be assigning children.

Bomb Three – with words like “reclaim” and “take over”, there is an assumption that these children will automatically embrace the part they have been bred to play, with no regard for their individuality or free will. One can only hope they rebel and grow up to be peace loving, Prius driving, politically active hippies.

Whew.

I looked this particular group up on the good old Internet, and ended up visiting multiple sites exhibiting all that is dangerous about Patriarchal Institutions. They touted themselves as light-bearers, and struck me as perfect spokespeople for the Dark Side of the Force.

I’m not judging, I’m just saying….

Yet I am aware that if I can’t find compassion in my heart for others with differing opinions, then I am part of the problem, not the solution.

Most of the time, I can get there. George Bush has been my biggest challenge, and I even found a tiny little piece of empathy for him. But ‘womb-as-a-weapon’ is going to be tricky!

If I assume that my judgment of others indicates an unowned piece of my Shadow-self, then I too have an inner-fundamentalist freakazoid who is completely certain that she is capital R Right in her beliefs.

It’s true. I do.

I am completely certain that I am right in many of my counter-culture beliefs (a list of which I will spare you), and am often a burr in the butt of the Establishment. I can’t be any other way.

I suppose the womb-brigade is no different.

I’m guessing that somehow, on some level far above my comprehension, we must balance each other out? Sort of an “Il mondo è bello perché è vario” thing (the world is beautiful because it is multi-faceted)?

Curiouser and curiouser.

(Originally posted 3-27-09)

From Voyage to voyage…

The clinic I have built my career in (Voyage Counseling) is going out of business. I have approximately two weeks to find a new home for myself and my clients.

It’s always interesting to be on the crisis side of an issue that I spend most of my time counseling others about. Gives me a full 360 degree perspective of exactly how good my advice is. So what would I tell someone who had two weeks to rebuild their career?

1 – Make a to-do list, and take it one item at a time.

2 – Spend time visualizing EXACTLY what you want, in vivid detail. Maybe even make a picture-board of it.

3 – Consider this an opportunity you might not have otherwise taken, and be grateful for it.

4 – Mine the lessons as if they were gold, there is much to be learned about self, others and the kindness of the
Universe in times of transition.

5 – Be curious. Curiosity is the BEST energy to approach the unknown with. It is open, cautious, friendly, and
non-attached to outcome. Find a Curious George shirt and wear it.

6 – Refocus on what really matters. When people on their death bed are asked what they regret, they say “working
too much and not spending enough time with family and friends and hobbies”. Take this time to connect with
loved ones. Let them help. Make gratitude lists.

7 – Change is certain. This too shall pass.

8 – Beware of fearful thoughts posing as logic.

9 – Remember that intuition is often the calmest and quietest of the inner voices, while fear is often the loudest. Listen to the small still voice within.

10 – Bust out the tools of faith, whether they be prayer, ritual, meditation, invocation, consecration or creation. We
are far more powerful than we realize.

This is a good list. I can do this.

I don’t know where we’re all going today, but I don’t need to. We’re off on a grand voyage, and it will happen one breath, and one to-do-list-item at a time.

(Originally posted 4-20-09)

How the Light gets in…

I saw Leonard Cohen perform last night, and he did the song Anthem (click to play).

Ring the bells, that still can ring….
Forget your perfect offering…
There is a crack, a crack, in everything….
That’s how the light gets in….

When I first met my husband, one thing that struck me was his fondness for imperfect photos. The worse the photo, the more he loved it, because it was “real”. He also introduced me to Leonard Cohen, and to this song.

So I’ve been thinking about the idea of imperfection being attractive. In contemplating the people I love the most, and identifying what it is I love about them, I see that in all cases, what I love the most is somehow related to their “cracks”. Their woundedness, and the manner in which they overcame that woundedness, is a major factor in their personality development and self-expression. I don’t love them in spite of their cracks, I love them because of their cracks.

Thinking of my own imperfections as attractive is a bit more difficult, but that’s ok. I have plenty of bad photos to practice with.

(Originally posted May 10, 2009)

The Therapist is a Client

I’ve been working with a personal trainer for the few months, and am struck by how many similarities it shares with the therapeutic process. When a client comes in for therapy, they know they want to change, but don’t know how to do it. I educate them, mostly about thoughts, feelings, and the mind’s power to work for, or against, a goal. I give them psycho-educational tools of change, and when they can use the tools proficiently without me, they go off on their own.

This is exactly what is happening to me as a training client. I knew I wanted to change, and had years on my own to prove that my way wasn’t working. My trainer, Christine Hardy (link here), is educating me, mostly about muscles and food and the mind’s power to work for, or against, a goal. She’s giving me physio-educational tools of change, and when I can use them proficiently without her, I’ll go off on my own.

My first few weeks of training were rough. I had to change enormous sections of my life – most notably diet, time management, and physical comfort. Knowing what I needed to do and having a guide on the path were great, but I could see how long the journey would take, and I was overwhelmed with the enormity of it. There were days that I could barely move, days where I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and days where I swore if I saw another bowl of oatmeal I would lose my mind. Results seemed far, far away.

My clients feel this way too. Once we identify their part in whatever is troubling them, they have to make enormous changes – most notably in the thoughts they think, the reactions they have, and the choices they make. They want to do it, and they know I’ll guide them, but the journey looks to be long, and they are frequently overwhelmed with the enormity of it. I know they have days when it all seems too big to fix, days when their mind is out to murder their ass, days when feelings seem to run right over rational thought. Results seem far, far away to them too.

Being a training client is helping me to be a better therapist. It’s making me more sensitive to how vulnerable it feels to trust someone to guide you in an area you’ve never been.

Christine is certain that her diet, weight regime and cardio plan will produce the results I am looking for. I am not. Progress is slow, and I hurt almost all of the time. Likewise, when I have a new client come in for depression, or anxiety, or grief, I am certian that psycho-education, new coping skills and other treatment goals will produce the results they are looking for. They are not so sure.

Since beginning this training, I have been spending more time telling my clients about the journey they are undertaking, and what they can expect in a day, a week, a month, a year. I have been reminded of what it’s like to need hope, concrete measurable hope, and now I am offering more of this to my clients as a result.

Christine and I do pretty much the same thing. We help people move beyond their limited ideas about themselves. We teach them new, more effective ways to reach their goals. We challenge them when they think they can’t go on, and hold the faith for them until they can hold it themselves.

I wouldn’t have thought that lunges and sit ups and kickboxing and waaaaay too much oatmeal could take me on such a therapeutic journey, and I’m grateful for the experience of being “the client” again.

I confess though, that I’m a little jealous of her ability to say “get your head out of your ass”, when I have to say “let’s see if we can change that self-defeating behavior”.

(Originally posted Feb 3rd, 2009)

I was gone, but I’m back now. Darn!

I had a transpersonal experience the other day, in which 90% of my ego seemed to vanish, and I felt as if I had no ‘edges’.

There seemed to be a plane of energy, intersecting at my heart, rippling everywhere at the same time. Because it went through me, I also went everywhere at the same time. I felt completely present, without angst or craving, in a blissful state of beginner’s mind.

I was a passenger in a car as it was occurring, listening to some good Van Morrison, looking at the sunlight on the lake and the lush foliage of summer. Each passing moment seemed perfect.

Then, my eyes fell on something that triggered a thought about something anxiety provoking. I could literally feel the energetic constriction, as my heart tried to close. I countered the contraction with deep breaths, and re-focused on the rippling plane of energy. This happened several times, the opening and closing of my heart, the expanding and contracting of my energy field.

Last weekend I heard an NPR interview with Thich Nich Hahn. He was talking about how the world needs people to keep their hearts open in the presence of suffering, for this is how compassion is generated. I had a new knowing of what open feels like, and of how easy it is to close.

F.E.A.R (false evidence appearing real) is the opposite of that open-heartedness… I could feel it constricting the compassionate, peaceful perfection of the hallowed-here-and-now. Rather than being one with everything, fear wanted me to believe I was alone and in danger of loss, abandonment and judgment.

Needless to say, I certainly preferred the feeling of being “without edges”, firmly planted in the eternal-moment. It was astounding how quickly that moment was lost in fear thoughts, most of them about the non-existent future.

So for a few glorious minutes, I was 90% NOT me. Thank goodness I’d lost myself! The remaining 10% recorded the experience as both a psychologist and a priestess, so that I could remember and review it later.

But soon enough, “I” was back, ego firmly ensconced in the driver’s seat (passenger seat, actually), sights set on the to-do list that leads to the future.

I’ve always wondered why people meditate, but if this is where they go, even for a few minutes, I understand the value in a whole new way.

Van Morrison has a song about the search for enlightenment, and how often it is futile… (click link below)

I guess I got to experience it for a moment or two because I wasn’t searching… which means I can’t really “find” it again… I just have to wait and hope that maybe I’ll disappear again sometime soon.

Enlightenment – by Van Morrison

Chop that wood
Carry water
What’s the sound of one hand clapping
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

Every second, every minute
It keeps changing to something different
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

Enlightenment, don’t know what it is
It says it’s non attachment
Non attachment. non attachment

I’m in the here and now, and I’m meditating
And still I’m suffering but that’s my problem
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

Wake up

Enlightenment says the world is nothing
Nothing but a dream, everything’s an illusion
And nothing is real

Good or bad baby
You can change it anyway you want
You can rearrange it
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

Chop that wood
And carry water
What’s the sound of one hand clapping
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

All around baby. you can see
You’re making your own reality. everyday because
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is

One more time

Enlightenment. don’t know what it is
It’s up to you
Enlightenment. don’t know what it is
It’s up to you everyday
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is
It’s always up to you
Enlightenment, don’t know what it is
It’s up to you, the way you think

(Originally posted 6-13-09)

The Hardest Part

You know what the hardest part of being a therapist is? People always ask “how can you listen to people complain for hours on end?” thinking that is the hardest part of the job. It’s not.

Complainers have no intention of taking responsibility for themselves and bettering their situation, they just want pity. My clients don’t complain. They share issues they are struggling with, take responsibility for their part, and learn new ways of being. Then they grow, change and graduate. Guiding and cheering is certainly not the hardest part of my job.

The hard part is that they are all wonderful. It wasn’t always this way – I’ve worked with many a demographic over the years – but after ten years of private practice, I’ve developed quite an amazing clientele.

There is a saying among therapists, when describing a certain type of client – we will say something like, “She’s the kind of client I’d be friends with if I hadn’t met her here, you know what I mean?” – and this signifies that we feel a kinship with the client that would lend itself well to a friendship, and we must work extra hard to maintain appropriate therapeutic boundaries.

THAT is the hard part.

I have met so many wonderful people over the years, people who would enhance my personal life enormously. I’ve met women whom I am certain could be my best friends, and mothers who are so kind and generous with their own children that I want them to adopt me, and men who are so sensitive and open in sessions that their kind hearts just shine through… Kids too, really wonderful children I’d love to follow for the rest of their lives, because I am certain they will do amazing things, and I’d like to watch….

The more analytically trained therapists would NEVER admit to liking their clients (whom I believe they might call patients), it’s considered “counter-transference” and very bad form. I didn’t admit it for many years myself. One good thing about age is that I’m beginning to care less about what others think, and am trying to tell the truth faster in all things. So now I just flat out admit it – I like my clients! I want to be friends with many of them. I want to go shopping with them. I want to ask for help from them. I am far from traditional, and when I meet others with similar values and philosophies, I want to keep them!

I won’t do any of these things, of course. It’s bad protocol, it’s not allowed, and most importantly, it is not in the best interest of the client, who needs a solid ethical therapist with good boundaries, and a safe therapeutic environment, now and forever, a-men (and a-women).

I know therapists who have turned clients into friends (and sometimes more than friends), and it rarely ends well. While there are a few happy endings, they won’t be mine.

So I’ll keep the boundaries good and strong. Inside those boundaries, we will meet in the sacred “I-Thou” space of enormous intimacy, where all true healing occurs. Outside the boundaries, we won’t meet at all.

That’s the hardest part of the job.

(Originally posted March 18, 2009)

The First Entry

…doesn’t have to be profound.