Independence Park I
I have been interested in becoming a psychotherapist since I was 20 and did volunteer work in a state mental hospital, but it took me until I was 51 to take concrete steps in that direction. Though something in me felt it was my calling, I avoided that path because I was not sure I could handle the impact of the emotions of 20 or 30 people a week. Carrying people's feelings with me has always been an issue, and it was only after sufficient difficulties had occurred in my own life that I felt I could handle whatever storms found their way into my therapist's office.
Even in my 50s, though, I have often found myself emotionally exhausted by the end of the week, and it has been a project of mine to find a way to stay balanced and centered in the midst of my work. Photography has helped, as has meditation, and so has processing my own responses. But I have felt that I was missing a critical ingredient. For years I have been using the image of the rocks by the seashore as a metaphor for how I want to be in a therapy session -- feeling the water wash over me, but not dislodged by the endless current. However, rocks are (as far as I know) inert, and so this metaphor never quite worked for me. Now, I think I've a metaphor that does what I need.
In a recent Focusing session (more on this later, but for a quick introduction to Focusing go to YouTube.com and search for "gendlin focusing"), I tried to find out what the part of me that grows tired when I do counseling needs. I found myself thinking of gyroscopes.
As a child, I was fascinated by these amazing devices, which can be pushed in any direction but, as long as they keep spinning, always right themselves. In the Focusing session, I found myself imaging a gyroscope made of light, a tiny spiral galaxy spinning inside my belly, supplying me both with energy and eternal balance. I soon realized that my own belly, though larger than I might like it to be, could never contain such an object, and so I called on an image of the big-bellied Buddhas one sees smiling in Chinatowns. I imagined my own belly to be of this more substantial size.
The image of the big-bellied Buddha with a spiral galaxy gyroscope spinning inside comes to me often during the day, and each time I recall it, it becomes more real, and more stabilizing. Now, more often than not, I am energized by the end of a work day, and I have this image to thank.
I think we can all use a Spiral Galaxy Buddha Belly Gyroscope, or something very much like it, to stabilize us as we go through life's ups and downs. We need to move in life's direction, but we need to find our way back to center, too.
I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce a photo series I've been working on for the past couple of years, which has also been a steadying influence. One form of meditation I do is a morning walk, close to dawn, to Independence Park near my home. Independence Park is the first place north of Boston where the Declaration of Independence was read. I find the islands off the harbor (Great Misery, Little Misery, Baker's Island, and several more whose names I do not know) provide a peaceful setting for photographic studies of the sea, the sky, and the changes they reflect through time. Like my work with mandalas, creating these images, too, feels like a silent, deep communication with forces much larger than myself.
I hope you enjoy them, and I wish you well in your own pursuit of centering devices.
More anon,
- David
David J. Bookbinder, LMHC
Discussion:
Art, Healing, and Transformation group
Flower Mandalas Project group
Cultivating Creativity group
Request the 15 Flower Mandalas screensaver: Fifteen Flower Mandalas
© 2009, David J. Bookbinder
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