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Awareness & Contact As I sit here, beginning this piece of writing, I’m aware of imagining the contact it might make with its readers; where it will touch them with its edges; whether or not it will linger. I have made some initial scribblings by hand in the notebook that rests on my knee as I type and this has the effect of giving a touch of the second-hand to this more polished version. (And yet up until now, all that I’ve written has been new.) So in terms of contact, the thoughts that follow are not created solely in the here and now. Some have lived a little in the there and then and will be emerging here for a second time. These will likely feel more stale, to me. So what can I say about awareness and contact? I can say I need to be in contact in order to have an awareness of the present situation - where each moment is continuously unfolding and shifting in its precise responsiveness to my contact and awareness of it. That the pattern of my contacting shapes the contours and angles of the situation and that the situation, likewise, shapes and flexes the pattern of my contacting. Only by being in contact with the present moment, and all the simultaneous impacts as we co-create each other, can I be fully in awareness. More simply, If X enters the room, I am equally aware of the impact of his presence upon me - through my body, my sense of excitement (or sinking dread) at seeing him and my hopes (or fears) for what may happen next - as well as my own part in impacting how he responds when he sees me. He will respond differently according to whether I feel excitement and pleasure, or sinking dread and disappointment. So I'll then be relating in response to how he has responded in relation to my responses to him. In this way, we continue to create each other moment by moment. Given the nature of this piece, and the theory that provides its context, I expect through writing it to make some sort of contact with myself. And now I stop and reconsider this - because I'm not sure if that's true. It felt glib. And it came so easily. It fitted with what I needed at the time - the provision of a plausible link to where I was headed. I'm struck by the fact that I nearly missed it; its subtlety blending in almost to the point of invisibility. Did I hope to con the reader also? To construct a bridge between paragraphs that reduced the awareness and contact between us just too slightly to be noticed? I have caught myself out. And yet I do feel more in contact with myself now that I have brought that process into my awareness and, therefore, into yours. Who exactly is the "yours" I refer to in the last paragraph? And "the reader" a few sentences before? Is this writing not also a means of creating a contact boundary with the reader? To me, an invisible, anonymous and unknown guest but, to you, the you that you are right this very now. Do you feel me address you directly? Perhaps you are the only person here at this moment in time? The only visitor to the website. If so, and putting the non-concurrence of the writing and reading aside for a moment, am I not just talking to you? Perhaps my directness here is too much. I listen out for my Centurions yelling "Retreat! Retreat!" as I "sense (their) opposed forces" (PHG,1951,41) which gather to "launch a counterattack against my own effort, interest and excitement" (PHG,1951,42). Further on in PHG resistance is described as a conflict between one part of my personality and another. In terms of contact, I consider here a conflict that I know to be one of my own. It lies between the part of me that is excited by full contact/awareness/excitement/intimacy and the part of me which backs away from what I've come to cynically refer to as a "gooey-falsie". (See Deflection in Interruptions to Contact). Fear of finding myself suddenly snatched up into the latter has made me cautious about stepping towards the possibilities of the former. However, I do aim nowadays to be in a place of open and "creative pre-commitment.....poised between but aware of and interested in the potential situations which extend in either direction" (PHG,1951,44). According to PHG, awareness is made up of contact, sensing, excitement and gestalt-formation. I'd add that I am also in contact with both the what and the how and the other of my actions. Central to this understanding is the concept of figure-formation (I think I may have to write separately about this at some stage.) By raising my awareness (primarily of my pattern of figure-formation) I am in touch with exactly how I shape and create my defences - those defences that do such a good job of dulling my brightness and my ability to be fully me in relation to you. (And that, at their worst, can cause severe mental health problems). By exploring my patterns of inhibition - and the precise mechanics of their emergence - I am already becoming more fully me in relation to my therapist. PHG describes the process this way: "The inhibiting has become routine, a patterned behaviour, just as in reading we have forgotten the spelling of a single word" (PHG, x, 1951). To extend this (relational) metaphor, in Gestalt Therapy we might simultaneously sense the structure of the spelling during the fluency of our reading. I may also need to learn how to spell again in places; to look at the construction of my relational patterning (my ways of being) so I can emerge through my growing awareness to be more fully and more fluently with you. I think it's important to add that the patterns I'm describing here aren't cognitive ones, but are subtle relational shifts that occur at the boundary between me and another. They are movements in relating that other disciplines might refer to as being within the realms of Unconscious, the deeply-embedded and more remote parts of the psyche. In Gestalt, these movements are examined as they emerge into the present tense - into the current and co-created relationship that is in the therapy room. They can only be explored as a manifestation of the both of us, as they have only emerged within this exact configuration of me and you. And, as such, they can be fully encountered, and our awareness of them taken beyond the confines of this particular relationship and into other aspects of a client's world. In writing this, each word I select has its own target; creates its own impact upon the reader - a gentle hum, a ping of interest, a jump. And I'm also aware that this contact with you is based upon fantasy and speculation. I know nothing of how you're actually receiving what I'm offering. We cannot co-create each other moment by moment in cyber-space like this. I can only bat on regardless - assuming you'll close down the window if you're not still glad that you're here. I'm exploring this idea further, leafing through Hunger & Aggression (Perls,1947) and, instead, find myself reading on through the text towards a tangent. I am engrossed within this train of thought until page 13, when suddenly my reality shifts and I find myself considering (in accordance with the historical invitation there) my use of electricity to be a form of contact and exchange with a god; his energy, a source which he allows us to tap into and transform into wattage. My contact with the world I know tilts a little. I have a sense of stepping into an alternative reality and of shifting my awareness of my own world - to one where my consciousness would have only been able to embrace this single belief and to a time where God really was felt as a presence. As though I have entered the age and psyche of a mediaeval person. The sky feels, momentarily, lower. I return to the sentence that follows - "An interesting example...." (Perls,1947,13) but I cannot make contact with it; I cannot reconnect. So now I'm aware that I'm keeping my focus on all of the room that surrounds the book. Not only can I no longer plunge into the profundity of the images and thoughts that are accessed through the sentences at the surface, I cannot even focus upon the written word. When I am in contact with the ideas in the book, I no longer see the image of the sentences or the patterns of the letters. Although they are figure up until the point of entry, they then immediately become ground to the point of disappearing altogether. I am underneath them; in the world beyond them; like a waterbaby's oblivion to what lies above the water; the "everything eliminated" (PHG,1951,56) of the (back)ground to an emerging figure of interest. As I try to re-access the written ideas I can see the shape of the letters but I cannot break through the surface; I cannot get beyond the superficial. The opened book is entirely contained within the field of my gaze. The desk upon which it lies and the surrounding chaos of papers are also within the frame. If awareness is the defined beam from a torchlight, then the beam here is not sufficiently differentiated from its surrounding shadow (Harris,1989,19) to highlight anything at all. The lack of differentiation between figure and ground stops me from entering the book. Or do I stop myself, via a fear, and subsequently experience a lack of differentiation? As I wait, unknowing, I catch myself in the posture of a war veteran on the alert for snipers at his civilian desk. I'm not filtering anything out of my immediate awareness, as anything may lurk in the shadows. I try to focus my attention on the book and my attention seems to bounce off it; like light bouncing off steel in the sun. I realise I am stuck; experiencing a block in the contact cycle (Harris,1989,24). I am no longer contact-able. But unless I go back again, the rest of the book will remain closed to me and I'm hungry to know more. Several days later I'm sitting in a pub with some friends - one has brought along her brother who has returned from the Gulf. I'm aware of his held-in feelings, almost bursting against the edges of his skin. He is in himself deeply. I am alongside him, and also in-deeply with the rest of our circle we, now several drinks into the evening, share stories from the week and do the thing that we always do with the banter. I'm in a place very like when reading the book before I interrupted myself with my fear. There is a bang on the table behind us which falls with the soft heaviness of a thud. It is neither too hard nor seems, to me, to be too "in our faces". I am immediately pulled towards my friend's brother as his eyes open suddenly, his body jerks to attention and all his awareness is funnelled towards the table behind me - it has become figural for him and he has become figural for me. Both he and I aren't filtering anything out. I'm aware of the thud, of his sphere and have left the "underwater" of the group conversation. They have become like the book when I became aware of it lying on the desk. I'm alert now to the sounds beyond our immediate circle; the clatter of cutlery being cleaned in the kitchen round the back of the bar; "American Pie" being softly and sluggishly adapted by the sleepy gaggle at the next table and the swerving of headlights in the car-park. I'm aware of us sitting in the pub with the hidden snipers but am equally aware of how we're sitting within the bigger picture. A different kind of get together - this time in the workplace. A meeting within a hierarchy and we all respond differently. I'm unconvinced by the role-playing that my peers are displaying towards the VIP at the other side of the room. I'm equally alarmed by her beckonings to ride into her sanctum upon the saddle of her smile - placed at the end of each of her spoken paragraphs. I don't want to be beckoned this way, preferring to offer my seat to the (plenty of) others queuing up to sit upon the back of her unspoken invitation. And if words are arrows; tools to create contact, then I'm witnessing the throwing of limp tissues; not falling far from the thrower and not creating any impact even upon the floor. I feel self-conscious. I'm aware of my refusal to be cast in the role she's apportioning to me but am also aware of my inability to change the whole scene single-handed. And I feel my self sag; diminish a little in response to the situation. I'm now aware of trying to soft-foot towards an ending - a suitable summary; a timely conclusion. But I could also just suddenly cut off my contact here, giving little warning; little in the way of goodbye signals, clues and wind-downs. (Apart from your sense, from the softened and unfocused part of your gaze, that the references are looming!) I'm aware that just going may be exactly what I need and also aware that my sudden withdrawal may be untimely to you. So..... References: Perls, F.S. (1947) Ego, Hunger and Aggression. New York. The Gestalt Journal Press. Perls, Hefferline, Goodman (1951) Gestalt Therapy: Excitement and Growth in the Human Personality. London. Souvenir Press. Harris, John. (1989) Gestalt: An Idiosyncratic Introduction. Manchester Gestalt Centre. copyright Sarah Fallon 2002. |
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