Judith Sarah Schmidt PhD

All real living is meeting (Martin Buber)

In recent weeks, a poem by William Carlos Williams keeps calling to me, whispering itself in my ear.  It goes like this:

So much depends upon

a red wheel barrow

glazed with rain water

beside the white chickens

l  (1923)

I enter the waking dream of being in the poem’s landscape. I stand there, outside a barn, in a soft light.  It is hushed, the beginning of day, no one stirs. Just the red wheel barrow, glazed with rain water, beside the white chickens.  Red like the apples and the radishes that might be growing down the path in the garden.  Red with life and touched and made to shine with the sweet rain water that has fallen on the wagon. And there are the white chickens, their heads bobbing up and down.

There is something about this scene that stirs my heart with a sense of poignancy.  There they are beside one another, the radiant red wheel- barrow and the rain water and the white chickens. The poet’s eye has captured this cameo image of a moment in time.  This moment, like any moment, is fleeting and can and will shift.  A farmer may come out of the house. The dog may run onto the scene and scatter the chickens. It may begin to rain again.  Anything can and will happen in the next moment. The poet tells us: so much depends upon this moment, upon this scene, which is alive for just this moment.  Even if it repeats tomorrow morning, it will not be this moment, this now.

The first thing Williams tells us is that so much depends on this moment.  But, why does so much depend on this moment? The question turns over and over in my mind: perhaps for the very reason that it will never happen again.  It shines in its radiant aliveness into this fleeting now.  What so much depends upon is our presence, our meeting this moment as it shines into existence and we open to it and it finds a place somewhere in our being.

In our witnessing, through our presence, we are in dialogue with the life contained in the image.  In a sense, Williams gave his face and all of his senses, gave his resonant attunement to this scene, leaned into it and in doing so, expressed a kind of gratitude to the life of that moment which now lives on for us in a timeless way. The existential and phenomenological philosophers explain that we are the creatures who come to open ourselves with a ‘thankfulness’ that meets and greets and names the world that is here now, everywhere around and within us.

I notice that it was in 1923 that Williams wrote this poem. 1923 was post World War 1, the worst of wars because men had to kill one another face to face.  They had to be present to face the one whose very aliveness was being destroyed.   In 1923, Germany suffered a hyper-inflation which left their economy in shambles and opened the way for the rise of Hitler.

In the midst of this upheaval, William Carlos Williams tells us that so much depends upon the red wheel barrow and the rain water and the white chickens.  So much depends upon our presence to witness the small sacred moments of life, to witness the gestures we make toward one another for, as another poet, William Stafford tells us “the darkness around us is very dark” and we need to know who we are for one another. It was very dark in 1923 and is as well in our present day.

Perhaps William Carlos Williams came upon the red wheel barrow somewhere in his surroundings.  Or, perhaps the cameo appeared to him from within as an image arising out of dream or reverie. The images we encounter as they arise from deep within us are poetic gestures of our soul. They arise out of some deep hidden knowing of wholeness and holiness carried within us.  They call for our presence, for our own sakes and for the sake of our world. So much depends upon them.

Recently,  I led a dream and imagery training for a group of third year CIL students.  Each of the images that arose in our circle now move in my body and my soul with the vibrations of healing prayer.  With the permission of those in our circle, I share these soul gestures so that perhaps one of them may, like the red wheel barrow and the rain water and the white chickens, find a place within you.

P, who is struggling with illness, is standing at a threshold

where she is shedding the personality she has always

counted on to get her by. What will come to take its place?

She is lost, not knowing.  What comes as a gesture of her

soul is a purple curtain which she can reach out to and touch.

So much depends upon P’s being able to reach out

and touch the purple curtain which is there on her right side.

Only her heart knows why it comes and what healing it carries.

In her garden of flowers, M finds a rosemary bush.

She does not know what it is doing there, for it does not

bloom and is not beautiful like the other bushes. She

would rather it not be there.  But it is.  As she comes

into dialogue with the rosemary bush, she comes

to know how much depends upon it. The rosemary

bush: how straight it stands, and what dignity and

strength it possesses.  M.  sees how very much she

needs these qualities of the rosemary for her life just

now. She is thankful and she rubs her fingers on the

rosemary leaves, making contact with the scent of its

essence.  So much depends on the strength of the

rosemary, not just for M. but for others in our world in

need of strength and dignity and standing tall.

L. is afraid of how dark the dark can be.  As a teen,

she entered and became lost in the dark void.  Kabbalah

tells us not to enter mystical exploration until we are

at least forty years old, for the forces of light and dark are very

powerful and can shatter our container. Now, L comes to

the dark again. This time, we hold a golden cord to her,

like the high priest when he entered the holy of holies

was held at the ankle with a golden cord so that he could be

brought back if he was pulled into the vortex of light.

L. takes her teen self, who is still afraid to be sucked back

Into the dark, into her heart.  At last, someone comes to

find her and pull her out of a dark that is too dark. Slowly,

now, there can begin a dialogue with the spiritual and

psychological life that belongs to the nature of darkness .

So much depends upon this: that someone comes to form the

container with which to hold and know the dark, to be

in dialogue with it, for the dark around us and within us

can be very dark.

N., is called to go to Poland, from whence her family

came in 1905.  The women in her family are without

feeling.  They have their work to do but the juice of life

is not for them.  N. wonders: was something of life left

in Poland?  She journeys there in imagination.  She

comes to a farm, with a house that was once grand

but is now neglected.  In the kitchen, there is an old

woman.  Is this her great grandmother?  N. can see

that in the eyes of this woman there is a memory of life.

The woman gives her a red radish from the

garden, a gesture of her remembering the

red of life.  They sit together.

So much depends upon N’s soul journey to Poland

and upon her sitting with who is perhaps her great

grandmother.  In all of this there is the possibility of the

redemption of life that has been lost. Not only for N

and her personal legacy of ‘life is not for me’ but

for her ancestors as well and for those in our world

for whom the life force has been silenced.

At the agency at which she works, C.is horrified to hear

that she will have to lay off many people.

She recalls how her grandfather chose to send his sons

to medical school rather than send money to those

living in severe conditions in his homeland. How could

he have sacrificed his country folk and just taken care of

his own family? How can she be doing the same! How

can she live with herself?

C. goes on a walk with her dog, takes a turn she

never took before and enters a clearing in which two turkeys

stand like statues watching over their nest of eggs.

C. invites her grandfather to come to this spot and together

with the turkeys, they sit on the ground with tears of broken

heartedness for the things we sometimes need to do that

we never thought we could or would do.  C’s anger toward

her grandfather melts and her desire to know how it was

for him back then and how it is now for the turkeys who

may not be able to protect their nest. So much depends

upon our facing the difficult and sometimes impossible

choices we must make in this life, for doing so gives us

a sense of humility and companionship with other frail humans.

As I come to the close of my sharing, I want to say that I believe that not only does ‘so much depend upon’ the red wheel barrow and the rain water and the white chickens.  I want to say that I believe that our very world depends upon our giving the face of our presence to that which calls out to us; that which calls from the outer world and that which gestures toward us from within our own soul.

Martin Buber shared in his writing how it was that the ‘ I and Thou’ became the foundation stone of his work.  He tells us that on one particular morning, he was sitting in his study, pouring over a very scholarly Hebrew text.  There was a knock at his door.  A young student entered Buber’s study and asked for some of the professor’s time.  Buber, with his head still bent, explained that he was very busy doing something very important and would not be available until later that afternoon if the student would like to return.  The young man never returned for he left Buber’s office and committed suicide.  Of course Buber was devastated, but he did not stop there.  He understood that if he had given his full presence to the young man for even one small moment, he would have heard the distressed call of the man’s life and death struggle and he would have been able to respond.

Wrapped within the I-Thou that was born out of Buber’s terrible learning, is the beauty of the ‘call and response.’ Buber tells us that each I and each Thou is unique; each giving and receiving is unique to this moment that will never happen again. Out of his heartbreak arose the sacred code of Buber’s soul: the vision of a world of dialogue and presence for all creation. It feels important to name this as a vision of a way of being in the world.  A vision is never fully realized but is always there to light the heart’s way and to call us back when we lose our footing.

So much depends upon our being present to the life force that moves through everything and everyone: in outward life, for plant and animal and human being; in inner life, for the image which is itself a world. May many worlds and many moments call to us for our presence and may we respond with our full- hearted attention, for the sake of our own wholeness and for the wholeness and healing of our world.

And to all, wishes for a year of inner and world peace.

Alexis and Judith

Interview with Alexis and Judith

1. How did CIL start and what made you start it?

Alexis:

I loved doing my PhD, but it was Humanistic Psychology that generated my heartfelt desire to help people move through times of distress into their personal growth. Wanting more knowledge, I found first Al Lowen and then John Pierrakos and their models of deep body work. While I was teaching with John, Judith and I connected. She and I had an immediate rapport as perennial students who loved and still love to read, study and teach, and as women who could teach and inspire one another. Through her, I learned imaginal work, which is the way I prefer to work with dreams to this day.

By the early 80′s, after leading several groups together in the study of object relations, we knew we wanted to work together and teach in our own learning environment. And so, we began to develop a three year curriculum starting with what is known about very early infant and childhood development and integrating that personal foundation with spiritual and transpersonal development.  Our intention is always to bring integration, aliveness and wholeness for ourselves as teachers and to our students.  The general template of our integrative curriculum has remained in place through all these years although topics have evolved each year as new research and ideas emerge, particularly in the area of neuroscience.  For example, we have been teaching the work of Daniel Stern and Ken Wilber since CIL’s inception and have added the work of Dan Siegel, Allen Schore and Pema Chodron.

Judith:

My doctoral dissertation, ‘Psychotherapy as Paths of Being’ addressed how, when we enter psychotherapy, we are not only entering a path of healing but also a path of how to understand and be in the world.  This is true not only when we are immersed in a psychotherapy journey, but it is also true when we enter upon a professional enrichment or training journey.

After earning my PhD, I found my way to the Core Energetic Institute. I had been inclined to enter a Jungian therapy but because my body was speaking, I found my way into a more body based psychotherapy.   I guess there are no accidents, since, aside from grounding in my body and facing the trauma that lived there, I met Alexis who had come to the Institute several years before me and was already a teacher there. I smile remembering: boy, she was good!  And still is!  I don’t want to repeat what Alexis has already shared, except to echo that we found in one another a quality of excitement, even wonder, for the study of Winnicott and the British and American object relations people.  Don’t forget, this was the early 80′s and these people were not yet in the forefront. And so, there we were, out on our own, in long periods of study, discussing, bringing together, synthesizing, making our own personal and professional meaning of it all; and we are still doing that. In the late 80′s, I found my way to Jerusalem to study Waking Dream Therapy with Collette Muscat and that opened a door into my personal healing home.

I still recall the day that CIL was officially born: We were sitting on the dock at a friend’s beautiful lake, our feet dangling in the water, having a discussion, maybe about Winnicott or Wilbur and, then a long silence, each of us in some kind of reverie.  And when we looked up, we had both returned with the same thought: why don’t we begin our own institute.  And we did.

2. What do you believe to be something that the CIL program offers to students that is uniquely valuable?

Alexis:

We offer the interweaving of experiential learning and theoretical ideas across the spectrum of consciousness.  We know that the inner spark within each person wants to grow and develop through the life cycle.  When studying a theory, we apply it to each person, to their life situation and their clients.  This is true whether we are talking about Winnicott’s ‘there is no such thing as a baby’ or the multigenerational work of Pesso or Hellinger.  All of our learning circles involve the spiritual: every teaching is held in meditation, breath, mindful awareness.  While our teachings are psychologically oriented, they are always infused with a sense of the sacred, with reverence for the I-Thou relationship and all of life.

We use many ideas and techniques that have been developed throughout the history of psychotherapy: insights from Freud, empathy from Rogers, injunctions from the systems thinkers, imaginal and spiritual work from Jung and others, body work from many sources, structures from family therapy, mindfulness from Buddhism, as well as current information from neuroscience.  However, we have developed our own process which we call the Practice of Presence, a synthesis of empathic immersion with the Other while staying true to our own sense of self and what is needed and wanted in this particular moment.

Judith:

I recall how, when we were forming CIL, I had a rabbi in treatment with me.  I asked him, “What is the meaning of havannah, translated from the Hebrew as ‘intention’?”  “Oh, havannah is everything.  Let me give you an example: when a rabbi wants to pray with his people, he first goes into a room to pray that he should be able to pray, that he should manifest his deepest heart’s desire, his intention.” I was very moved by this and after sharing it with Alexis, we decided that we wanted our institute to carry that spirit, that vision of deep intentionality. We have remained devoted to hearing from our students, both in their spoken words and in the unspoken field of resonance what of their heart’s desires they want to unfold in their CIL experience.  In this way, I see the foundation of our program as the Practice of Presence and I treasure when I see it live and breathe between us in our learning circles, pulsating like a group heart. The Practice of Presence focuses on repairing the inevitable breeches in the I-Thou field bringing light to shadow.  This foundation of deep personal process creates a unique living -learning community of trust, intimacy and safety in each of the three-year cycles.

3. What do you each wish for every student of CIL to carry with them upon completion of the program?

Alexis:

Our intention is for each person who participates in CIL to leave with increasing access to their own unique grounded and centered highest calling.  We know from feedback from our students that CIL enriches their lives on so many levels, from being more intimately connected to themselves and others and to their heart’s desire as well as to having a more grounded professional identity.

Judith:

Alexis and I ask that the final requirement for graduation be for each student to present a project in which they give expression to their individual integration of their CIL experience with their personal and professional lives.  It is truly an inspiration to witness the incredible diversity of what CIL has meant to each of our students.  From paintings to pottery to poetry to scholarly papers, every project bears the fruit of each CIL three-year journey. It is my hope that each person who has learned with us carries the knowing that they can create themselves and their world from their deepest essence.

4. What has been the most rewarding experience you have had being a teacher/leader of CIL?

Alexis:

One of the most rewarding aspects of teaching CIL is my working relationship with Judith.  We share so many theoretical areas like body-work, mindfulness, object relation and neuroscience. Our personal predilections move us to present this material differently.  Judith’s gift is the imaginal world while I am called to look at the internalized family by creating an out-picturing of what has been internalized. I love to synthesize and pass along exciting complicated concepts in meaningful and digestible form.

Another rewarding experience is how different each learning circle is and how each has its own particular aliveness, stumbling blocks, missteps and transformations.  I am fascinated by this continuous unfolding of both the individual and the group; whenever someone understands an old story in a different way, I feel enormous gratitude for the process itself and grateful to be part of it.

Judith:

First comes the reward of teaching and growing myself and CIL with Alexis.  Her clarity of mind and gift for conveying psychological theory inspire me.  As Alexis has mentioned, we each have our distinct theoretical and temperamental predilections.  Sometimes, this challenges us to the Practice of Presence with one another and thus keeps us human.  Our distinct differences also become a strong message to our students: there is no one way, don’t do your life or work my way, be true to unfolding your own selfhood.  This message communicated by our authenticrelationship is deeply rewarding for me. Second, my deepest rewards in relation to our students come from witnessing the embodied healing that arises out of the mysterious and sacred spaces of dreamtime.

4. What are you passionate about?

Alexis:

I am ever passionate about learning and growing, experiencing emerging authenticity starting with myself.  I am a perennial student, loving the discovery of a new book on neuroscience or Buddhist inspiration. As I age, it is increasingly important for me to be generative, to both learn and to give back. I love to translate and integrate what I read and experience in my therapy office into useful tools for people in any walk of life.

Judith:

I am passionate about so many things, how shall I count them?

In my work and in my life, I am passionate about uncovering and nourishing the healing sparks of light with which we create our lives.  I am passionate about writing and am working on a manuscript about my own personal journey of healing trauma using dreams and imagery.  I am passionate about friendship and learning and practicing presence and gratitude.  I am passionate about aging with dignity and grace. And about doing my bit of healing for our world to move from vengeance toward reverance.

5. Outside of CIL and your own practice, what are your favorite activities and hobbies?

Alexis:

I love the old fashioned habits of walking, novel reading, cooking and gardening.  I don’t grow veggies as they are too difficult under the oak trees that surround our home, so I grow shade loving flowers and support my local farmer’s market.  All of my personal relationships are very important to me: husband, kids, deep friendship-and this is where I love to spend time-particularly around a table.

Judith:

I love to see a good movie on the big screen.  I love to read and write poems, and reading a good mystery novel after teaching is great.  Hiking is a joy when my knees are not acting up and sitting under a tree with a sketch- pad is great too.  I love to talk over a leisurely cup of coffee with friends with my dog Bella listening beside me.

Judith Sarah Schmidt Ph.D

The deep resources of healing and wholeness offered by dream and imaginal journeying are central to both my personal and professional practices. I would like to share with you some of my thoughts and reflections on the healing worlds of imagination in times of trauma.

What are images? They are energies felt throughout our body in the form of pictures. Images are embodied forms of energy arising from deep within us. Images are communications that come from deep in the rich soil under our conscious selves. They awaken our felt senses. Images are the language of our feelings without words, our first and pristine language. Images bring surprise to our conscious minds. When we are quickened by an image, possibility can open when our conscious mind tells us there is no possibility.

B.’s marriage has dissolved after thirty -five years. Her husband

has left. She has lost the map of her known life and does not believe

she will have another. She can hardly find the strength in her

legs to walk the few blocks to my office.

We sit together. She tells me that she is on a bridge but will not be

able to cross to the other side. She fears she will fall into the

abyss and die.

“What kind of bridge are you on?” I ask.

“It is a Tibetan bridge, made of rope, without anything to hold

on to. It is suspended over an abyss between the mountains. And

it’s tossed by a wild wind. I am terrified.

There is no way I will ever make over it to the other side!”

Here, with the Tibetan bridge, she has received a powerful image that is cohering around her body’s absolute terror of dissolution. To arrive at this image is a capacity, a resource, that enables her to find herself somewhere in imaginal time and space.   The images we find, the ones that find us, may not be a peaceful. Like B’s bridge, an image may come embodying a force of dread. That image becomes a container to hold the self in the midst of free fall. Once we resource an image, we are able to begin to dream the nightmare of form-shattering trauma.

In the midst of traumatic shock, we are overtaken by anxieties that are disintegrative forces. Winnicott talks about ‘unthinkable anxieties’, of ‘falling forever, of ‘falling apart’. The winds of these anxieties wipe away our capacity to think and sometimes even to hold our selves up, to get to the office of our therapist.

To find expression of our state in an image, even an image of dread, to be on a Tibetan bridge, is to be found and held by some form, to be taken into story and to be storied by the unfolding of the image. To begin storying is to begin to find and to make new meaning. To begin storying is to find renewed agency and thus new beginning.. The image lifts us out from the sheer cliffs of chaos and delivers us into dreamtime where all things are possible.

There we are carried by the energy of the image, as on a river. The image has its intrinsic order and if we surrender, it will take us to where we need to be. The image has its own life, connected to the life force of our body rather than to the logic of our mind. The traumatized self will register dread but the image from down under may, if followed through its energetic arc, carry the possibility of what is on the other side of dread.

During a moment of silence, I watch B’s facial tone, her breathing,

if she can bear this crossing that will be treacherous. If not, I am

ready to bring her out of imaginal space into the grounding

of our contact. I can see by observing her breathing and her facial

coloring that she is holding steady. Her eyelids are fluttering as

in REM sleep. As guide, it is my responsibility to keep her safe,

to assess that she can tolerate being on this journey. Her body

has become quiet. There is a hush in the room. She is there,

in the space of imagination.

My breathing slows into sync with hers. I am there with her.

I say: “take a moment to feel what you’re wearing.

You may want a pair of sturdy shoes to keep you solid on

the bridge. You can have them if you wish. ”

From where she is, she shakes her head “yes”. Good, she is

in imaginal space and still has grounded contact with me.

We are part of a resonant field, wandering together toward

we know not where. I am both her guide and her companion.

Together we follow the image.

There is a paradox. As guide, I follow the image and at the same

time, I contribute to opening the living reality of the image

by intuiting, asking the wondering-along questions. Wondering

aloud but not intruding. Opening, opening, opening the space

and still it is a holding safe ,space.

“You know”, I say, “in imaginal space anything is possible.

What do you need right now to help you get across the bridge?”

A few silent moments and then B. answers:

“The winds are quieter.

They are moving the bridge in a kind of rhythm that I can move with.”

“Yes, yes” I say. I see her breathing slow to the rhythm of the wind.

I hear my voice moving with the rhythm of the wind and the sway

of the bridge and her breathing. This shift in my breathing comes

as a natural embodiment of being sharing the resonant field

of imaginal space with B. rather than out of any deliberation. She is breathing with

the increasingly rhythmic movement of the wind, less shallow, more in her belly,

easier. This is no longer the breath of terror.

The energy of the image is carrying her somewhere other. Her

breathing and the long silence let me know that some turning

of dread is occurring.

Jung tells us that if we follow the full arc of an energy flow, there will

be a turning of that energy. I never cease to be amazed when I witness

this soul turning, which tends to arise as a spontaneous gesture

out of the pregnant silence.

“Where are you on the bridge now?” I ask.

“I am more than half way across. I can see the other side”

“What do you see there?” “I see trees. It is quiet there.

I don’t see any person. I just hear the quiet”.

“And the sky?” “It is blue. The clouds have faded.

It’s late afternoon. I’m so tired.

This is such hard slow work, this crossing over.

I need to go very slowly, one foot in front of the other.”

It is an arduous crossing but B. has her legs to carry her.

We both sigh, a deep sigh.

“Let me know when you reach the other side. When you set

foot on the ground there”.

She will make it there. Soon.

I place my hands together, look up and whisper “thank you,”

to the invisible mystery of creation out of which all healing

and poetry flow. A secret inner place.

“I’m there. I crossed over. I’m here on the other side”.

“What do you find there?” I see her weep.

“A bed of leaves. Waiting for me. A soft bed of leaves.”

B. has not wanted to sleep in her marriage bed. Nor has she yet wanted to

be rid of it. On the other side of the bridge of terror, she has come to a

place of rest that she had no idea would be there for her. Here, in this

in-between place, she has all the time in the world to feel her grief and

raging winds. Until she finds her legs. Slowly, she will find both a way

to bear her wounded self and a way to go on.

What feels sacred to me is how each one of us would have had our own image arise from out of our private unique mysterious being. From this place, our images surprise us, come to help and heal and even save us. It is for us to bow and to follow our images to where they want to take us. Such a crossing into the journey of imagination may not be peaceful, as it was not for B., but the embodied self will find it peaceable, knowing it to ring true in our cell and tissue and breathing life.

In the practice of guiding imagination, there can be no interpretation, no taking apart what comes to sit whole in the body and the heart. I do not ask B. how she

understands her bed of leaves. I do not speak of the connection I make between the bed of leaves and her marriage bed. I ask only about the bed of leaves.

“What does your bed of leaves look like?”

“it is soft and warm and safe, like eiderdown.” “Where is it?”

“It’s in a circle of birch trees.” “And where are you?” “I am resting

on my bed. I can sleep and cry in the good silence of this place. I am

watched over by some presence that I cannot see. But I can feel it”.

What rests anew in B’s heart is wrapped in wholeness and must not be taken apart by an analytic attitude. Here the difference must be weighed between the analytic attitude of taking things apart in order to understand them and the synthetic attitude of holding things in their wholeness and waiting for them to ripen into meaning in their own time and to unfold into the existence of the journeyer. The journey into imagination is a wandering without straight lines, asking us to be receptive rather than directive.

Buber teaches us of the I and the Thou. In the practice of guiding imagination, there is a two-fold I-Thou to be held. The Thou-ness of the journeyer, to be at her side, beside her moment to moment following along the pathways of the image. And an I- Thou in relation to the image itself. The bed of leaves has its own life, its own essence, calls to both the journeyer and the guide to be met and known for its own nature.

Whenever we are encountered by an image, found and called by it, it is usually simple and real because it is rooted in the senses, carrying its own sense, its own meaning, slowly bringing the journeyer to fathom that meaning and to unfold it into her life.

The Tibetan bridge, strong winds, a bed of leaves: each, like music, holds its own moving vibration. Through this experience, something in B. opens. A seed is planted, the seed of moving from despair toward the possibility of new hope. Several meetings later, B. tells me that she has let go of her marriage bed and is now sleeping on a soft mattress on the floor. On her bed of leaves. She tells me that she will wait until the time is right for a new bed. What is right for now is to sleep on her bed of solace that waited for her on the other side of the bridge of terror. In the safety of that place, and in the safety of our relationship, she will have time to let open the wails of her grief and her rage.

There will be many more waves of terror to ride, more bridges to cross over in the years of our work together. The crossing of the Tibetan bridge will be one of many images that will be strung together over time to form the inner landscape of her journey. Only in looking back over the landscape, does it become possible to see how the images that appear along the healing way reveal a profound sense of inherent order and wisdom in the depths of our being, under all the layers of the trauma body. There is something, some spark, within most of us that just will not be extinguished and waits patiently to be ignited.

In the Gnostic tradition of alchemy, there is, in the process of transforming lead to gold something called ‘the bath’, the immersion in the alchemical crucible. The image can be seen as an alchemical crucible in which the wounded self immerses and is bathed. Such is the sleeping upon leaves: an immersion of the trauma self into a healing image vessel.

From the perspective of neuroscience, this bathing soothes the activation of the trauma body, quiets the sympathetic nervous system and allows for the quieting of the parasympathetic system to come on line. The amygdala, which is the fire station of the brain, on red alert to ring the four- alarm bell, is quieted. Over the course of bathing in the imaginal crucible, new pathways are laid down in the brain. New capacities for self-soothing, self-reflection and self-creation emerge.

Out of this is born a sense that something unseen and abiding dwells deep within, some hidden Source, out of which some resource arises when there was none to hope for. Water appears out of the desert when least expected. Some trust is borne in the hidden sources of the Self. This is called faith. Jung tells us that this recognition is the beginning of our individuation process in which the ego, the conscious, knowing, directing self is no longer at the center of our identity. Rather, the ego steps to the side and bows like a servant to the Self, the guide deep within the center of our being which is a part of all Being. The ego as faithful servant will remove the marriage bed and find the mattress and eventually the new bed, will help her legs to hold to the ground, will serve the compass of the Self.

On my journey over the past thirty years as an imagery therapist, I can say that being a guide in imaginal space and time is a disciplined practice demanding the attention of a focused heart to the heart of the other. Usually, there is immediate inner feedback when focus is dropped either because I am tired or preoccupied or in some other way un-centered. In such moments, I may impinge on the journeyer by asking an untimely question or my analytic mind may be making some ‘smart’ mental connection. Internal feedback will come to tell me that I have missed the mark, am no longer traveling along- side the journeyer. We two have become an I and an It rather than an I and a thou. There is an unease deep in the belly of betrayal to both the life of the journeyer and to the life of the image. But, like every other relationship, once known, there can be repair. Gestures of repair become both part of the personal relationship between guide and journeyer and between the guide and the integrity of imaginal space and time.

It is through witnessing countless imaginal journeys, my own and others, that I have come to have a deepened faith in how such experiences can guide beyond the old rigidified self or the chaotic self of the trauma body. From imaginal experiences we receive the possibilities of our becoming. The vibrations of the imaginal field cohere to become our soul songs, guiding us to go on, to be fruitful in whatever ways we are called to be, and to help complete both the creation of our self-hood and of our world, for our images belong to the inter-being of all that is.

Alexis Johnson, PhD

A few weeks ago I heard from a CIL graduate who wrote about starting another program and then added   “I always miss the CIL training – it is the best and safest and most supportive I have ever done.” That got me to thinking about safety and space and what promotes transformational change. I love theory and deeply understanding concepts and ideas. But both in private work and in groups, theory, like all information, has a very limited role in promoting growth and development.

I first heard of the concept of ‘space’ in psychotherapy while reading Winnicott. Space in therapy cannot be talked about without talking about boundary as well. He said in a talk to other professionals: “What we do is to arrange a professional setting made up of time and space and behavior, which frames a limited area and we see what happens.” As I think of it, the boundary is my understanding of human growth and development, my theory of therapy, and the space is where we ‘play’ in my office. Coming as I do from both a conservative analytic background and a more expansive body oriented/humanistic/transpersonal background, my theory boundary informs my role in that play space.

So space is literal – my office – and much more than that. It is the place of the meeting of two heartminds, the space between. I like attending to both. I want my professional space to be welcoming, seating to be comfortable. I need plants – the green of aliveness and I even hope they give us more oxygen in the room. In NYC I need flowers – again some aliveness and color – not to focus on, but to subliminally remind both of us of beauty and hope.

The place of meeting of two heartminds is the crux of the work. If there is enough ‘space’, there will also be the beginning of safety. When someone decides to enter therapy, he or she is most often feeling upset about something and this upset registers in the body as tightness, construction. When he is constricted, he cannot breathe properly, he cannot think creatively, and he cannot hope for change, for something better. He is in a world of no space, no options, no freedom. Coming into the office, coming into therapy is a hoping for hope, a hoping for change.

Space can only be constructed with a boundary. But a boundary does not necessary lead to space. Boundaries can also construct, limit. I can create a boundary and then use the created space to inform, or educate, or advise. When I step too far into the space, freedom is curtailed. Some freedoms have to be curtailed – time, for example is a real boundary and both in groups and in sessions, I like to keep very close to the agreed upon time. There is safety in that as well. We all know when something will end and that time must be respected. But I don’t want to boundary topics, or deep emotions, or shameful thoughts and ideas. There must be freedom in the space to explore whatever is inside and wanting expression.

A comes into my office each week longing for support, longing for a mirror that she is OK, that her feelings are OK, and her dreams are both OK and can be realized. Like many young adults in NYC, she is a struggling actress, still supported by her parents. She seems to have little internal safety, having grown up with a very critical father and a very compliant mother. I know at our first meeting that my job is to establish what Erickson called basic trust, because this young woman does not trust herself, her family and has never created trusting relationships. I must give her the space to find her own feelings, impulses, gestures. At the same time we must create a dialogue encompassing an I-Thou relationship in which I am real, authentic, alive to my own feelings. This is the space where change can happen for her.

B comes to my office each week not wanting that kind of support and interaction at all. He wants to talk to himself, out loud, to find his own center. The quality of our relationship is almost non-verbal. I say very little, attend very deeply. He is an older man with health and relationship issues pushing him into despair. We both know that there is no hope for external change. His health will continue to deteriorate and his marriage will never support his own development. What he needs is to be witnessed. The change that slowly emerges by the end of each hour is an inner change, the knowledge that he can meet each day with dignity, that he is worthwhile, has meaning and the help he still gives others is valuable.

Both of these situations require space to unfold, the former within a dynamic dialogue and the latter within the energy field created by deeply attuning to the ongoingness of his being.

When I can create safety within the healing space, anxiety and despair can soften. Porges coined the term ‘neuroception’ to describe how the nervous system is constantly scanning for danger. Danger to us modern human beings is mostly psychological – where will I be misunderstood, de-valued, shamed? Where there is safety, new possibilities unfold, a risk can be taken, a need or a feeling can be expressed. Perhaps the worst feeling in the world is the feeling of being alone in the face of psychic danger – Winnicott’s unthinkable anxiety. By creating interpersonal safety, we can walk side by side into the danger, into the feelings that threaten to destroy the cohesiveness of the self.

April 14, 2012 – 10:00am-5:30pm

Stone Ridge Healing Arts Center, Stone Ridge, New York,

with Alexis Johnson, PhD and Judith Schmidt, PhD

The day will come when we shall harness…the energies of love.  And on that day for the second time in the history of the world the human being will have discovered fire.  Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

How we love today is deeply affected by our childhood experiences.  Our first love attachments root us in relating securely in some ways and insecurely in others.  As we become familiar with our earliest Love Maps formed between infant and (m)other, we will find the ways in which our current relationships- both personal and professional – reflect these earliest bonds.  Some of our Love Map serves us well; other aspects may not serve us at all.  Once we begin to understand the nature of our attachment patterns, we become empowered to create a new Love Map and to earn more secure, healing and loving relationships.

This experiential workshop will focus on our own attachment patterns, preparing us to focus on our clients in new ways:

• Attachment theory: insecure attachment patterns can keep us ‘dealing but not feeling’ or ‘feeling but not dealing’.
• Winnicott: interruptions of going-on-being cause strain trauma and False-Self strategies of coping, forcing True Self into hiding until the safety of healing relationship appears.
• Family Systems: trauma is passed through the generations.  Only by facing this inheritance can we transform its impact and alter what is transmitted to those who hold the future.
• Current neuroscience information on the developing brain supports both attachment theory and Winnicott’s insights into how a loving and secure self develops. Both brain and psyche are pliable and primed toward growth and wholeness.
• Mindfulness: how development of Witness Consciousness allows us to identify with our True Embodied Self, enhancing trust and flow within our relationships.

Cost: $150

Location: Stone Ridge Healing Arts Center, Stone Ridge, NY

Register with: Cheryl Qamar - cqamar@hvc.rr.com

Date: Feb. 8-12th, 2012

Cost: $1000

Registration is filled but their is a waiting list

Each meeting will be two hours.  I will talk for the first part of that time, laying out key points of the assigned readings.  The second part of the time will be questions and supervision, applying this information to participant’s patients.

We will meet on 6 Friday afternoons, 2-4pm January 20, 2012  February 17, 2012  March 9, 2012  April 13, 2012  May 11, 2012  June 15, 2012

Meeting 1:  Part One of Gerhardt.  The scientific basis for understanding the importance of early childhood development.  Prefrontal cortex not developed.  Biological systems that manage emotion life are created in social contexts

Meeting 2:  Part Two of Gerhardt:  Shaky foundations and their consequences.  Understanding the stress response.  The relationship between inability to self-regulate and narcissism.  Understanding how early experience affects brain chemistry throughout life cycle

Meeting 3: Part Two of Gerhardt:  the links between personality disorders and a continuum of early abuse.  Discussion of empathy and how it can become lost

Meeting 4:  Siegle’s concepts of presence, attunement and resonance

Meeting 5:  Siegle’s understanding of trust, both at the neurological level and the space between patient and therapist.  Using imaginal exercises to explore trust and safety, danger and rupture.  Learning to use loving-kindness meditations

Meeting 6:  Siegle’s understanding of tracking, at the micro level, the body, the gestures, the metaphors, what is inside and what is outside.  Using Sielge’s Wheel of Awareness to develop mindfulness

CEC’s from NASW-CT have been applied for

This group will meet monthly on Friday afternoons at Alexis’ home in South Salem.

If interested in joining, please email Alexis: alexisajohnsonphd@gmail.com

September 7th, 8th, 9th 2012 (With Judith)

November 9th, 10th, 11th 2012 (With Alexis)

March 15th, 16th, 17th 2013

June 7th, 8th, 9th, 2013

The program will be held in four 3-day weekends over the academic year.  More details will follow.

If you are interested in learning more, please email Alexis Johnson: alexisajohnsonphd@gmail.com or Judith Schmidt: jschmruach@aol.com