Group

"What's that gorilla doing up there?"

"That's a self-image. Betty sees herself as a gorilla. She's working it through."

"Is that a good one or a bad one?"

I had come to group early. I sat near a pleasant looking man who was explaining things to me.

"It was good at the time," he said. "It doesn't work for her now. It helped her when she was a kid. She had to baby sit her two brothers and cook and clean. It helped her to think she was a gorilla. Made her feel strong and capable."

"Did she know she saw herself as a gorilla?"

"No, that's why we come here - to find those things out - to be aware. Otherwise we go around uncomfortable-like. Gorillas don't deal well with intimacy issues, except with other gorillas. She was having trouble with her husband. She didn't know she was talking to him and thinking in gorilla".

I could have sworn I was in Sardi's, the famous theatre restaurant. The room had an air of quiet elegance. The wall-to-wall carpet was deep red. The tablecloths were of white linen and the crystal glasses and silverware had the initials FFT. There were rows and rows of framed illustrations covering the walls.

"Oh," I said. "I see." I sank back into my chair. I wondered what kind of an animal I thought I was, or would be. Maybe a giraffe? But giraffes don't ever seem to be angry and frustrated and nervous, like I feel. That's probably why they have such a long neck - to keep their head above their feelings.

A waiter and waitress scurried back and forth. Our table was not quite ready. The crystal water glasses, and the water, had yet to be set; so did one rose, to be placed in the center. There were small tables along the sides of the walls. I guessed that was in case of an overflow.

I asked the nice fellow if he knew some of the illustrations.

"Those are inner images," he said.

"Pardon me?"

"We experience the world indirectly. We perceive images of it, of other people, and ourselves. Those on the wall over there? They're self-images. They reflect our inner perceptions of self. We can also project these images outward - onto the world. Mostly they are different versions of prince and princess, and their opposite - variations of paupers and frogs. The others are parent images: a wide array of good and bad mother or good and bad father."

"Does that mean there's a right and a wrong way of seeing things?

He said, "Oh no, everything is accepted here."

"Then why do you call them, 'good and bad'?"

"It's short hand really, it's one of those paradoxes."

"Pair of boxes?"

"Yes...well sort of ... eh...no."

"There sure are a lot of them."

Five more people arrived. That made eleven of us. The Doctor sat in a chair outside the circle of the table. There were no menus. I was told that the Doctor uses all the ingredients of a problem and creates a dish impromptu- something nourishing. The secret being that there is something healthy in everything.

The first person to share was the fellow I had been speaking with. His name was Max and he was a professor. Max had a dream that he could fly. He found himself flying up and around the main floor of Saks Fifth Avenue. The Doctor was sympathetic and warm, encouraging Max to talk further. The gist of it was that Max had a wife in real life and she spends a lot of money. She goes overboard and runs into debt. Max is wishy-washy about talking to her about it. The Doctor said Max's dream was an unconscious attempt to try and resolve the situation. He's working on it. But he's flying around the issue.

The Doctor rushed to the kitchen with the ingredients of avoidance, fear of confrontation, and negotiating skills. In a couple of minutes he returned. He set before us a piping hot dish in the middle of the table. I assumed this was to be the main course. It was - Sense of Self Soufflé. Light and airy like flying, with substantial protein qualities at the same time.

How might Max's dream pertain to our own situation? The Doctor asked us. He didn't call on me, thank goodness. He didn't call on Nan either.

Nan hardly speaks. The Doctor explained to us that she had been very angry with her family. She had felt her sister was getting all the attention. When she was about five years old, she went to the circus. She became enchanted with a sword swallower there. From that day on, she pretended she was a sword swallower. Her anger became the sword she turned inward. To speak would have meant death. She remained silent. She found a way to stay within the security of her family, and swallow her rage at the same time.

The illustration of the sword swallower was on the wall, just above where the Doctor was sitting. Max was relating a dream - Nan lived a dream. This is like theater. I'm not sure I understand it, but - oh here comes a side dish: Vegetables Flambé. It's festive and showy much like a circus, in fact.

The Doctor said there was just time enough for another woman, Davida, to talk. She wanted to share the fantasy she had, while free-associating on the couch. I can't imagine being relaxed enough to lie down on the couch. Davida scared both the Doctor and herself. She saw her mother coming towards her. The mother was getting bigger and bigger - filling up the room...and then she took the form of a spider. That would make Davida a spider too - a daughter spider.

Davida was a grade school teacher. She and the Doctor explored how she might act with her children in class if she identified with the image. She might be controlling as if catching them in her web rather than creating a climate of trust in which they felt safe to explore and learn. If she projected the spider image onto the classroom, she might feel caught in her job as a teacher and resentful and want to quit even. Whatever the dynamics, a spider in my way of thinking isn't warm and fuzzy although Davida seemed like an interesting and attractive person.

I found out later that Davida had been a girlfriend of my husband's. I thought my giraffe was a much better choice than a spider. Perhaps my husband would agree.

We were served cotton candy for dessert. I guessed the sticky candy was to be like the makings of a spider's web. People talked about their control issues and about trying to catch others in their way of seeing the world - their "web". I didn't have enough self-control to join in the discussion. I was overwhelmed: animals, insects, levitation through department stores, circus acts, all this going on inside the most normal looking people. Show-biz paled in comparison.

We were almost at a close when Sid, the foot doctor, insisted on reading his latest poem. He and his wife continue their ways at home - screaming and yelling. Part of him yearns for harmony, which he fufills in his poems. He read it. It was good for a foot doctor. Maybe someday I'll write a poem about Sully's big toe. Poems of Perilous Podiatry!

The waiters picked up the prix fixe at each person's setting. Everyone got up to leave. I was grateful the Doctor ignored me. I couldn't have stood the attention. I felt energized by the others, and I enjoyed my meal. Especially since there were no calories to worry about.

Going out the door, I tripped over something shaggy that yelped. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said. I asked Max, " What is that dog doing in the corner by the door?"

"That's one of the Doctor's images, - a raggy shaggy dog," said Max.

"But it's real".

"Yes." Max said, "Sometimes images and reality are one and the same. That's the paradox". "The idea," said Max, "is to create a strong sense of self and change the images that are no longer working for us."

"But what if the image and reality are the same?"

"It can make it more complicated or it can make it easier. That's the fun of it."

I wondered whether I'd ever be able to put my feelings and ideas into those pair of boxes.

"You're coming back, aren't you?" Max asked.

"I guess so," I said. "What do the initials FFT on the silver and glassware mean?"

"It's the name of our group: ' Food For Thought.' Hurry or you'll miss the elevator."