WHAT NOW

I kept a personal diary during some of my difficult life transitions – like a breakup or divorce. Later, in calmer times, reading it back to myself I had one glaring impression: the incredible variations of mood I went through: everything from euphoria to the blackest despair of loss and all shades between; and how endlessly I rummaged around trying to identify the problem; and also trying to decide whose problem it was. Endlessly reevaluating.

As mine did, a diary of this kind will evidence a vast panorama of change, sudden twists and turns of opposite solutions, as each one successively presents itself as final. Each solution lasting only a few minutes. All this goes on in the shadowy backroom of the mind without any perception that the continual succession of ideas contradicts each other, because as each idea takes centre stage, it seems to be the right one – a moment later everything changes and the whole affair is reevaluated.

A rough journey like this highlights the kind of process that goes on in ordinary life, only less dramatically. All difficult problems, great and small, go through the same process of change. It all seems to happen in that unknown realm we call the imagination. Like a psychic incubator it gives birth to a constant stream of possibilities. Feed a problem in and it begins to ferment a wealth of responses.

But new ideas and feelings, new attitudes, don’t suddenly pop up fully clothed; they have a dormant period; and not all novel ideas that lie simmering in the twilight will see the light of day. They are potentially emerging, but may never make it. It is as though there is a selection process taking place below consciousness, ideas and feelings vying with each other to see which will take centre stage, a contest to decide which attitude is ‘fittest’ to survive, which one will serve one’s overall needs and purposes.

As one’s perception of the environment changes, so what seems allowable to surface will change. In a receptive environment feelings can emerge that would normally be censored. Some environments facilitate change, others do not. It is undoubtedly true that in the presence of certain people it is impossible for you to move with imaginative freedom. They give you no space in which to do it, they interrupt the sequences by invading the process. They never allow a silence to think, not do they acknowledge your clarifying moments.

Suppose you just said, ‘I really don’t know what to think about this – I’m confused’. Paradoxically, this is a moment of clarity. You said it, didn’t you? In that moment it became clear to you that you were confused and you expressed it very clearly. Now, instead of letting that stand in its own space, allowing the next moment to emerge from it, they make some suggestion. They might try to solve your confusion. It is then that you struggle to hold on to yourself. Their input disrupts the sequence that was developing. For whatever they suggest, it will not be what is emerging for you in the next moment. You can disagree with them or not, but whatever you do, once you have engaged, your own process is lost – you’ve forgotten that precise feeling of confusion. That’s where you were cut off. That precise feeling was the necessary jumping off point into what would have been about to emerge.

Our inner life, our psychological life, has been described as a ‘stream of consciousness’, an uninterrupted flow of images, ideas and feelings. But in fact it is not at all like the smooth flow of a river. It has episodes. The initial phase is what is just about emerging into consciousness; the second phase is what has become fully present.

The first phase has all the feelings and ideas etc that are hovering in the back of the mind.  It’s like a holding room of possibilities.  When one possibility has moved fully forward it clarifies consciousness (second phase) and has become, clear and sharp. Suddenly, one knows what one is feeling, what one wants to say. One can now express it emphatically and definitely.

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There are some interesting aspects to the transition from internal feeling into expression. For example, you will have noticed that some people’s flow of consciousness is like an open book. When they do stop talking it is only to find some idea that is emerging. They may pause to feel into it because they are not quite sure; or they may pause to find the right word, but once they have it, they say it – then their flow moves on. Listening to them, one is never at a loss to know what is going on; their feelings also, as part of the episodic stream of consciousness, are equally expressed. Their process of change is visible.

 At the opposite end, there are those of whom one rarely knows what is going on. They have a flow of consciousness, but it is never revealed – only perhaps the conclusions they draw from it. This gives no indication of how they arrived there. Mostly, their inner thoughts are concealed; only occasionally they will speak with minimal reference to their internal experience. Emotion too is hidden and muted, so you have to make an educated guess as to what they are feeling. How a person arrives at a certain conclusion tells you more than conclusion itself. Conclusions are tidied up versions of the emotional flow with all the guts edited out. This state is not their fault. It usually comes about because their early life has been one where it was dangerous to reveal oneself. It is very similar to folk who are aware of their flow of consciousness when they are alone. But when other people are present it is as though they go blank. Asked about what they are thinking, their answer is usually ‘nothing in particular’.

Some people need a lot of time in the ‘emerging phase’. When they are searching for what they feel it takes a while. It is as though they have bad eyesight in the dark. Feelings are dim and fuzzy. They can’t recognise them. They need time, a lot of space and patience. It may sound strange, but recognising what you feel is far from a universal ability.

Of course, some people look for deeper feelings and need more time for them to emerge.

Space is perhaps the greatest gift you can give another. Your accurate understanding is vital, but it is useless unless followed by the gift of space where the person can look within. What will follow when they do is their next moment. Not yours, THEIRS.

In therapy each moment of consciousness is a moment of choice and transition: what to relate, where to go next, what idea to follow up, which emotion to ignore, what is too much for me to remember, and if remembered, what is too much to reveal? What’s important and what not? Where do I go from here? Should I say that I don’t know what I am supposed to say?

This is the selection process I spoke of. It must be allowed to take its own time without interference.

In our work it is a profound truism that nothing can replace your own process. Right or wrong. Wherever your own imagination leads you, it has to be acknowledged. You must be allowed to go there. We are not talking about acting out. What you actually do about things is secondary. Of primary importance is being in touch with the flow of your internal life and being able to reveal it how and when you choose. That’s how you move forward. If you are in touch like this, what you actually do about things will take care of itself.

contact: stanrich@vodafone.co.nz

(03) 981 2264