Organismic growth

"T

oo many therapists think they can make something happen. Personally I like much better the approach of an agriculturist or a farmer or a gardener. I can't make corn grow, but I can provide the right soil and plant it in the right area and see that it gets enough water; I can nurture it so that exciting things happen. I think that is the nature of therapy. It's so unfortunate that we've so long followed a medical model and not a growth model. A growth model is much more appropriate to most people, to most situations." (Rogers & Russell, 2002, P.259; cited in Tudor, 2013; p. 317)

Reading an article yesterday made me see the links between the way in which I work as a therapist, and the way in which I work with plants and animals. In my own garden I cannot make a plant grow; I cannot make a potato grow into a plant (despite many attempts!). But, as Roger's says above, I can give the potato the right conditions so that it can do what it does best: grow. I've learnt that potatoes like to be planted in decent soil, with regular waterings, and plenty of sunlight to promote healthy growth.

In the same way, as a therapist, I cannot make a client grow into the person they want to be (a very arrogant assumption). Rather, it is through the relationship that we (the client and I) have that the client can grow into whom he or she is to be. I try to not be judgemental, and hence open to all aspects of the client, beautiful and ugly. I try to be genuine in who I am, rather than pretending to be a professional expert on their life. And I try to empathise with them and their experience of the world. I will not have had identical experiences to them, but I try to see how the world is through their eyes.

Rogers repeatedly mentions the word "growth", and that we go to therapy to nurture that growth. We are not machines to be fixed, and "made right". We are biological organisms, like potatoes, which need nurturing in order to grow.

References

Tudor, K (2013): Person-Centred psychology and therapy, ecopsychology and ecotherapy; Person-Centred and Experiential Psychotherapies, vol. 12 (4) 315-329

Splitting Wood

I

 have spent the day chopping firewood. The wood came from a willow tree which had blown down in the winds at the end of November last year. I counted the rings near the stump and aged the tree at about 35 years old.

Being outside always makes me feel rejuvenated. It may make me feel physically tired, but mentally I feel more energised and positive. There is much research that has been done on this subject, but there is a difference between reading about the benefits of getting outside, and actually being outside. A difference between learnt knowledge and knowledge gained from experience.

My two invaluable tools for the task are my chainsaw and splitting axe.  I have noticed that hese tools affect my ability to be part of my surroundings outside. My chainsaw is essential, but noisy, and all I can smell is exhaust fumes. I have to wear gloves, use ear protection and wear a chainsaw visor. I feel more disconnected. I then take all the safety equipment off and use my axe to split the logs, and this is different altogether. My senses are more able to tune in to what I am doing. The sound of the axe hitting the log, "thwack-thud", as it cleanly splits it in two. The slightly sweet smell of the wood just after it has been split. The colours of the freshly cut willow: sunrise red, deep orange, yellow-cream, brown.  I take my gloves off to spilt the wood and feel the split logs in my hands. I feel more connected.

All this is done so that we can have a warm house and hot water, as we have a wood-based heating system. But I cannot use these logs for at least a year as they need to season, and that feels like a long time to wait. I am reminded that I cannot bend nature to my will; I cannot burn the logs today as they will burn poorly and not give off much heat. Rather, I have to surrender to nature, and wait until the logs are seasoned, before burning them. Nature teaches me patience...again!

Wisdom from Nature

"C

ontact between man and animals and between man and the natural world breeds, perhaps - sometimes - wisdom." p.422; Bateson, G (1973)

I went walking, at the weekend, up Hoof Stones Height, to the south-west of Upper Gorple reservoir. On the way up, surrounded by the peat, heather, cotton grass, sleet and wind, I saw the remains of a fox. Only its skeleton was left. It left me wondering what its history was. How did it come to die there, on the remote moors? I forget, at times, that there are other species of animal apart from humans, which have lives and histories of their own. I am reminded, when outdoors, that the world is not human-centric, as our culture too often assumes. We are just a part of the overall ecosystem on Earth. Looking at the stars gives me a similar feeling: that I am an infinitesimally small part of the universe. I am almost an inconsequential part of that universe. Strangely, this gives me comfort. I am part of something so much larger than me.

The quote above, simply put, reflects my own feelings about the outdoors. Bateson does not specifically cite what wisdom we will gain. But, I feel, that it is left to each person to discover for themselves, as with my own experience of the fox skeleton and the stars. I am trying to learn to be open to new experiences and ways of being in the outdoors, as opposed to simply being looking at nature as one looks at a lion in a cage at a zoo. We are part of nature, not simply observers (Mabey, 2008).

On a side note, the route that I walked to Hoof Stones Height came from Christopher Goddard's brilliant book of hand-drawn maps and routes: The West Yorkshire Moors.

References

Bateson, Gregory (1973): Steps to an Ecology of Mind; Granada Publishing Ltd.

Goddard, Christopher (2013): The West Yorkshire Moors: a hand-drawn guide to walking and exploring the county's open access moorland; Jeremy Mill Publishing.

Mabey, Richard (2008): Nature Cure; Vintage.