My first private client I saw at the kitchen table in my home for five dollars a session. It was in the spring of 1975.
I asked the Doctor, who was my supervisor at the time, how to help – what interventions would be effective? The Doctor paused and then said for me to be authentically present.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Attune yourself to the kernel of light,” he said.
Kernel of light? That didn't sound Freudian or Existential.
“The main principle of therapy is to establish an affinity with your client.”
I wanted to know more. The Doctor closed his eyes as in a deep trance. In a few minutes he pushed himself away from his desk. Standing with electric energy, he reached over his Viennese dueling swords, which stood in an umbrella stand next to the desk and pulled out a worn violin and bow from the bookshelf.
He turned to face me, adjusted the violin under his chin, and with a nod of his head he drew the bow over the strings. There was a screech. He tightened some of the violin strings and began again. A pleasant warm note transpired and was followed by another and another. Eventually a melody began to sing.
I heard snoring and a yelp. I turned to see the raggy shaggy dog sleeping by the doorway. I turned back to the doctor and instead saw a six-foot Big Dog playing the violin. He was having a swell time. I turned back to the same dog still sleeping. I knew the dog was one of the doctor's images. Is this what Max meant when he said that when reality and the image are the same?
Big Dog swung the violin bow high above his head with flair. The bow became full of light and grew into a walking staff. Big Dog put the violin back in the bookcase. When he turned back towards me' Big Dog had lost his fur. All that was left was a long beard on the face of a wizened old man.
The man bowed and waved the walking staff in a circle. A flower of rubies appeared. He waved the staff again and a flower of emeralds blossomed. Again and again he waved the staff, creating a bouquet of jeweled flowers. The petals sparkled filling the room with radiant light. Pearls were in the center of each flower. I tried to hold one of the pearls up to my eye, to see if there was a secret within.
The pearl crumbled into bits of confetti, as did the rest of the jeweled flowers. Confetti filled the room like a dust storm. When the gust finally settled, the room turned pitch black. And seated by a TV was a handsome man with dark hair. He must have been around thirty-five years old. The only light in the room was from the TV screen. The man was mesmerized by the flickering images.
I heard a voice: “Son, why don't you visit? And another: “Brother I love you; why you keep to yourself.” I heard faint crying: “Darling, just this once, can't you say you love me?” The crying became louder. I heard sobs. “Daddy?” a little voice called. The handsome man turned the TV volume up louder, and kept gazing at the images on the screen.
I felt something wet at my feet. It seemed the room was growing smaller and smaller. I was in a sea of tears. The liquid began rising and the sobbing became louder. I was afraid and I was going to scream.
Then, in the blink of an eye, everything was, as it had been. The Doctor was at his desk, daylight filled the room and the raggy shaggy dog was snoring.
“I wanted you have an experience rather than a lecture,” the doctor said. “Human beings are composed of the Light and the Dark. The Dark can seem harmless enough, even appealing, as you might agree the young man to be handsome. However, you will always know the Dark because you will feel emptiness, and perhaps, fear and dread. Being authentically present with your patients, throughout their Light and Dark will help them. It will give them the courage to become aware so they can process and develop the strength to change.”
“We believe one has to experience in order to “know”. In short, I think you should be present with your patient and not worry about verbal interventions at this time. And it you remember nothing else, remember the highest thing you or your client and all of us can be, is a shitting, pissing, fucking, dying human being. Do you have any questions?”
“I need to process,” I said.
“Good, then we see each other at the same time next week?”
“Yes, that's fine.”
“Watch your step please, Bernie likes to lie in the doorway.”
I gingerly stepped over the raggy shaggy dog that was dreaming and snoring.
Running to catch the elevator, I pressed the button for the main floor and sank against the elevator wall. Was what just transpired in supervision my imagination? Who was the Doctor? I never learned the answer for sure.