Just listening.

Many people come to see me. When they leave they often tell me “It was helpful just to be able to tell my story. To say things I’ve never been able to say to anyone before.” I’m always pleased to hear this but I wonder what they think I do. There seems to be an idea that all  we do as listeners is just that. We listen. In which case why come and talk t us? Why not talk to a pet? Or a rock? Or a tree? These are all capable of listening and of being discrete. (Although some trees can be terrible gossips! I’m always very cautious about what i say around some trees.) When someone comes to me and tells their story I listen. Of course I do. But I listen in  a very particular kind of way. I listen in the same way that I listen to the wind. Which way is it blowing? What usually follows behind this wind? What precedes it? What might the wind be hiding?  Sometimes I simply note that today the wind is blowing from the West. Or that it is unusual today in that the wind is from the North when usually it comes from the South. If I wait it usually becomes apparent why the wind is blowing from any direction. So I sit and listen to the wind in my cave. When there’s a space I might comment on the wind to my visitor.I’ll invite them to listen to the wind with me. Then we can both think about why this might matter and what it might signify for both of us.

Sometimes my visitors are taken aback “I thought the wind was from the South. But you’re right. It from the East. How strange. I’d always thought that wind was Northern. I wonder how I came to think that?” So the story continues. Who told them that this wind was from the North? Why do they think this might have arisen? What might happen next? How does it feel for them that I, a dragon, am challenging something they’ve long believed? With care and gentleness, we make sense of the stories. “If I’ve been wrong about the wind, what else  might I be wrong about?” is a question that often follows. And so the journey continues until we find a foundation which is solid.One of your writers suggested that when we shake everything that can be shaken, what’s left standing is God. Or the Ground of our Being. Then the work of re-construction can begin and something new gets built.

And all this comes from just talking. And, being heard. (And listening to the wind…)

Still nodding too soon

I spoke last time about  my visitor who came to se me specifically because she was afraid of dragons. I noted how well I thought we had got on and looked forward to a long and helpful relationship.I should have known better. Another dragon passed me a note from my visitor, addressed “To whom it may concern” .In this note she complained that I was insensitive, rude and-worst of all-a dragon! Furthermore she would not be coming back and could my companion recommend someone else-preferably not a dragon- whom she could see. (This was a difficult question to answer. In the end we sent her a list of other creatures in the area whom she might like to contact. Bears are fine so long as they aren’t hibernating. Squirrels and such like find sitting still for any length of time almost impossible. Most other creatures have their drawbacks. Which, of course, is why we dragons do the work we do. But I hope she finds a creature to suit her taste-if not her needs.)

We talked about her amongst ourselves, trying to think about what had occurred.One of the problems is, of course, that my visitor has made it impossible for she and I to think about things. By her action she has successfully avoided dealing with her fear of dragons. And has denied me the satisfaction of  helping her in any way. She has robbed us both but in such a way that she appears as a victim of yet another cruel dragon. Thus preserving her view of herself as the one who has been hurt. She also avoids the issue of her own cruelty both to herself and to others. Had she stayed with me we might have done some healing work around  her past hurts by dangerous dragons. (There are still a few renegades around who will ravage maidens, burn villages and generally behave very badly. We here are not that sort of dragon!) By leaving she keeps herself where she feels safe, portraying herself as weak, poor, hurt and abused. By staying we could have looked at what she gained from this role. As I say, she robbed us both.

“But why does that matter?” asked one of our dragonets,”You know you weren’t horrible to her. That’s her problem, not yours.” (I would never have spoken to my teachers like that. Young dragons today…) It was a good question. “Are you always kind and good to everyone?” He looked st me. I looked back. Hard. “Not always, no.Sometimes I’m horrid.But sometimes I’m kind.”

“Yes” I said. “And you know the difference. You know when you’re being horrid”

“Sometimes I’ll be horrid just because I want to. Sometimes I just want to be nasty.”

I was pleased by this. It showed all those years with me hadn’t been a waste.  “You’ve made the important point.You can be  horrid sometimes just because you can. Or want to  .Or need to be. My visitor was dangerous because she couldn’t let herself know about her ability to be horrid. It was safer to complain about my horridness. That way she could always be the person who was hurt. That made  her dangerous. If she can’t be horrid it means everyone else has to be horrid for her. There has to be a balance. Ying and Yang. Black and White.”

My dragonet was quiet. “Are you saying I can be horrid if i feel like it? You tell me of when you think I’m being nasty. Now you’re saying its alright. I’m confused.”

I sighed. “These things are hard to think about. It’s getting late. We’ll talk some more later.”

“You always do that. Leave me to do all the hard thinking by myself. Now who’s being horrid?”

Nodding too soon.

A visitor came to me recently. She began by telling me that she was scared of dragons, having been treated badly by them in the past .I nodded and listened .She told me that usually when came to see dragons she came with a with friend. (Although whether that was to protect her or the dragon was unclear.) Or arranged for the dragon to have another creature with them when she visited. I nodded again. (I do that a lot. It’s a way of saying “I’m listening. Do go on.” ) She then told me how worried she was about coming to see a dragon by herself. But that she need help and thought that I could be useful. I nodded again. She stopped talking and I sat and nodded again. She than began to tell me about her life. That she  had been badly hurt in the past by dragons. “They just treated me like a child’s toy. They had their fun with me and then threw me away when they’d finished.” I nodded. “Well, I’ll show them.I don’t need them. I’ll do things on my terms in the future.” I nodded again. (There wasn’t much to say.) She carried on to tell me that she was going to prove to everyone that she could be a good mother and a good person. Regardless of what anyone else said. (At this point she looked at me very fiercely as if daring me to contradict her. So I nodded again. She went on talk about having “messed things up a bit” with her first baby. And that she was going to get it right this time with her second one. She’d got what she wanted from the man who had impregnated  her. She liked him but knew that they couldn’t have a future together.He was already in a relationship and had no plans to leave it. But she was grateful to him for getting her pregnant. I nodded once more and commented that she was going to face a difficult time in the future but that she sounded determined. “Yes” she replied. “I know that. But I know I can do it.” I nodded. I then wondered how she was feeling sitting alone with me, a dragon. “Better. I was very nervous at first but since I’ve been talking, I feel safer. I think I can trust you.” I nodded. We carried on talking. I tried to think with her about whether a second pregnancy was entirely wise. “Probably not. It’s going to be really difficult. But I want my little girl to have a brother or sister.And this way they will. I know you think I’m mad. But I don’t mind.” I nodded and said that she clearly wanted to prove a point about her ability to be a good mother. I wondered who in particular she wanted to show off her skills to as a mother? “Everybody. You can say what you like. It won’t make me change my mind.” I agreed that her determination was apparent. I suggested that she might find it helpful to come and see me regularly .That this might give her some thinking space during the coming months. “Thank you. That would be helpful .I’ll come  back next week.” I nodded and said goodbye.

I went back to my cave feeling pleased .I thought I had nodded well and appropriately. Conveyed my empathy. Had not told she was completely crazy and, possibly delusional. I had not snorted fire and smoke at her. I was pleased that she had had a good experience with a thoughtful and caring dragon. I nodded to myself that this was the case. I looked forward to exploring some of  her difficulties with dragons and supporting her through her pregnancy. (I fantasised that  she might give her child my name as a “Thank you” for the ways in which I had been able to help her. What actually happened was rather different. That story will have to wait…

Mis-speaking

One of the joys of being a dragon is our longevity. It is not too unusual for us to live for a thousand years. This means that we try to give things time. We give dragonets time to grow up .We expect them to make mistakes but to learn from them. (We do step in sometimes. A creature weighing several tons, 100 foot in length and breathing fire does need some supervision!) This longevity contrasts with our visitors who live much shorter, faster lives. (I have remarked before on the number of years that I was given to learn to listen. So we tend to want to allow conversations to grow and develop. This way misunderstandings, miscommunications can be thought about. Sometimes this doesn’t happen. We find ourselves trying to say too much, too soon. This is often because we feel the pressure from our guest to “Do something. Now!” Usually we manage to sit and think about this demand and ask our guests about their hurry. Sometimes, though, we feel the pressure to speak and act on it. When this happens things become very much more difficult .Like being caught in a quicksand. The more we struggle the more enmeshed we become.

I had this recently. Someone came to see me. They were in a hurry. There were matters to resolve. Battles to be fought-and won. Understandings to be gained. I made some observations about this hurriedness. And in my own hurry,I made them badly. My visitor was hurt and angry. I made the mistake of saying more-when saying less would have been wise. The more  I  said, the more I failed to say anything helpful to my visitor who thought that I was refusing to give a “proper” answer. (The thought being that there is a “proper” answer. And that I know it!) I suggested that we might understand what I had said at a later date .I was not clear about what had gone on between us but I believed that time would help us to understand things more clearly. I fear this was heard as my refusing to be honest. That I was blaming my visitor for what was felt to be my error. So I sat quietly and tried to say very little. This was experienced as my avoiding something. We have reached an impasse, I fear. My visitor wants to find another, better listener. One who can give clear, concise reasons for all their words and thoughts. Sadly, I am not going to be that listener. I want time. I want to think about other conversations we might have in the future. To think about how my clumsiness relates to other similar times in my visitor’s life. How they reacted to those past mis-understandings.But that will take time. Which does not seem to be available. So, I shall learn to listen once more and resist the pressure to have instant answers. (Time which, as a dragon, I shall have. )

Did I say that?

One of the challenges of listening is to hear what one is hearing. By which I mean to ask “Why do I hear those words in that particular way?” As a young dragon I was taught about listening by those who had been doing it for many centuries. they would tell me a story and ask me to tell them what I thought about it. Did it make me happy? Sad? Angry? At first I was allowed to say simple things like “That’s a sad story” because it was about something sad. As I grew older I was expected to hear the stories in the stories. So, if the princess as rescued from her tower, would she necessarily just be happy? At first I snorted loudly at this idea. “Of course she’d be happy. She’s just been rescued. Why wouldn’t she be happy?”Then my teacher would tell me to go away until I had learned to think properly. It took me a very long time to understand what I was being asked to think about. I only understood what he meant during my coming of age ceremony. (All dragons who want to become listeners are sent on a long journey to find a particular item that has been hidden for many centuries. This item then becomes our icon. We treasure it partly for its own sake but because it reminds us of the value of listening and hearing clearly.)

The point of this history is to say that as dragon listener, I have learned to hear what I say. So, I had a visitor recently who has come before on many occasions. I know their stories and will link them together for my guest.This often means making connections that had not before been apparent but which present themselves during our conversations. I recently made one of these links and surprised myself by what I said. “Did I say that out loud?” is a phrase I’ve heard used. I gather it conveys embarrassment, mock surprise, and similar feelings. I like that phrase. It sums up my conversation with this visitor. They left deep in thought. I stayed also lost in thought. We were both taken aback by what I said. When we next meet there will be a good deal of hearing the story in the story. I shall have to explain what prompted my comments. My visitor will talk about what  they heard. Together we will create something new. Something that did not exist before we both shared our thoughts. It will be a challenging conversation. But a rich one. That is the joy of being able to listen well. It allows something new to born.

Why am I here?

Contrary to popular belief, dragons don’t lay siege to castles, steal and ravish young maidens, scorch brave knights with our fire or eat our young ( or anyone else’s for that matter!) Mostly we it in our caves and talk. We chat with each other. We talk with our visitors. We listen. People come and find us. We try and say things that might be helpful. We listen more than talk. We sit quietly and speak slowly. (People do get worried when an eighty foot dragon moves quickly. And being a creature who breathes fire is not always helpful in social situations.) So, we sit quietly and wait for our visitors to come. Which they do. They come and go. We wonder about the manner of their coming and going.  From this we learn a good deal about who is visiting us.

Some visitors come because “it’s good for them”. Some because they’ve heard that dragons are good listeners. But for some people coming to see us is complicated. Part of them wants to come. Another part does not. Some other part wants us to be useless. Then they don’t “have ” to come anymore. (And yet another part is terrified lest we are useless.) For these folk, being with us is difficult .So many conflicting voices all telling them something different.

It’s tempting to argue in theses cases. To justify why they should come and visit. To outline all the advantages.( I hear a slogan here. Something like “Accentuate the positive. Minimise the negative.” I must send that to our P.R. dragon. She might be able to do something with it.) Experience has taught us that this doesn’t help very much. So we carry on sitting and wonder with our visitors why they are so torn about being here. “It costs too much.” is common. “I don’t see the point.” is another. “Nothing is happening.” is popular. So we nod. Agree. Think about change and cost and being wanted. Or not. Slowly something becomes clear. The fear of being seen. Of having another hold a mirror and inviting me to see myself.

One of my visors was a monk. He commented that talking with me was like “Falling into the hands of the living God. Quite terrifying.” We spent a long time talking about this. It seems to link with an idea about being wholly seen. An experience he described as both wonderful and awful at the same time. “I wanted to run way and never come back. But also to stay here and never have to leave again.”

Having grown up amongst dragons I forget how we can seem to people. Eighty foot and two tons of a fire-breathing creature might feel intimidating. Yet our size is what protects our visitors. We know who we are. And how we might seem. Which only makes things more difficult for some people. Sadly.

Awe and wonder

As a dragon I’m used to people thinking all sorts of things about me. I allegedly breathe, fire, ice or poison. (Sometimes all together?) I’m a ruthless killer. A symbol of knowledge and wisdom. Something to be hated. Or loved. Or both. (I’m generally made into whatever shape suits a person or tribe at any given moment. As a young dragon I used to say ”   But that’s not who I am.” Nowadays I’ve learned to sit quietly whilst the person or group in front of me dance around whatever they think I am. Eventually they stop long enough to take a look at what is actually in front of them. Then we can talk about why they thought I would eat them the moment they came into my den. Or deflower their young women-and men. But sometimes someone will visit me and sit and talk about things that are sacred. That have so much value that they cannot be spoken of. Except that they have to be spoken of to someone. The need to share these parts is overwhelming. Yet fear, shame, embarrassment all get in the way. So I become the place where those things can be spoken. I am invited into that place in a person’s soul where very few others may go.

I have had a few encounters like these in my time. I am entrusted with someones most important parts. When this happens I get the dragonish equivalent of goose bumps. All I can do is sit as quietly as I can. And listen. With my whole being.  I end up holding my breath. Like seeing a baby being born. Or watching a very rare and wary creature. One tries to become invisible. I feel myself on holy ground.

Some of my visitors talk of a ceremony where everyday elements of bread and wine are transformed into something much greater. I understand what they mean. Ordinary words have to become a means of sharing something  much greater than themselves. A visitor uses whatever means they have to let me understand something way beyond the words themselves. It is an awesome experience. For both of us. (I keep looking for burning bushes or similar!)

Encounters like this leave me amazed at the capacity of my visitors. Their capacity for wonder. For creativity. For gift giving..

I, too, am changed by these moments.

Thank you.

Who am I ?

There are times when I suffer an identity crisis. In my conversations I try to be present with my guest but not intrusive. I hear what they are saying and try to reflect on this, giving it back as a comment or observation. Timing is crucial. The right comment at the wrong time is unhelpful. Sometimes downright dangerous. I try to be both present in my den but also outside of it at the same time. (We therapists are the original contortionists. Never mind Cirque du Soleil!) I’m listening to what’s being said but also thinking about what impact the words are having on me. What does my guest want me to understand? I learned a long time ago that simply “telling it like it is”  is not helpful. One person commented that she felt as though she had been slapped after  I made a particularly robust comment about what I understood to be happening in the room. So, one learns to be circumspect. Yet it can be difficult to stay in role particularly when someone wants me to be an object they already know. So, a maiden who has been held captive in a castle wants me to rescue her. A knight wants to fight me. An explorer wants to show me how much better he knows the land. My work about helping the maiden to discover she can be loved without being helpless. That the knight can be knightly as a  state of mind that doesn’t mean forever proving his valour. That the explorer can, sometimes,  enjoy hearth and home.The tension , for me, is to balance what my visitors want me to be with what is helpful for them. So I spend lots of time saying to knights “It feels as though the only way you can prove your knightliness is by constant new challenges. New castles to storm. New Wrongs to Right. New maidens to rescue.What would happen if you simply got on with being a Knight?”

I have dragon friends who  give their visitors books with titles like “How to be a successful maiden in 10 sessions.” Or “Vital ways to overcome your fear of dragons.” Part of me is quite envious. To be able to say “You have a problem with dragons? Fine. Here’s your homework. I guarantee you will stop being so afraid of dragons.” That places the problem outside of me. To say “Well, here I am. A dragon. Let’s think about you and me.Here. In this room.Now.” always seems that bit harder. It means we have to talk about us. Rather than the problem being the problem. But I am who I am so it seems unlikely that I’m going to start handing out tracts on “Overcoming your Inner Maiden.”

So, I shall continue to welcome my guests to my den .I’m always pleased that they come and see me. But I shall always continue to wonder “Who is the Me they think they’ve come to see?”