Seamlessly blending with the air through which it glides, the gull drifts across the sky, then peacefully flaps its wings before floating off once more. Beside me in the garden where I sit, the hedge guards the little birds who await the food their mother brings until they can fly the nest.
My client speaks, and I drift with him in his pain, as attuned as I can be to all he brings: the posture of his body, the tempo, pitch and volume of his words. Sensing my own presence here, as a context which enlightens and magnifies all he brings, I may need to stir myself to align with him once more: perhaps my compassion, for example, drawing me to offer tenderly, “How hard that must have been for you.”
Another client and another stance, as she draws me to stave off her caring role and patiently search the arising cloud to offer the nurture her own mother never gave, reflecting the caring pose she offers me and discreetly verbalising what I know: “You feel the pain that rebuff caused you?” There is space here to speak up for her, to create a safe domain for an appropriate way to bring here the warm embrace of unconditional love and healing. But sometimes I need to pause in the steady flow of our session’s progress, like the gull hovering as if learning to fly anew. “I am feeling a bit lost. Let’s hold still a while and start again. We need some time for this.” Rooted once more in the present moment, we patiently progress to a solution our beginner’s mind allows.
Another client. The sessions are almost done, at least for now. We glide in the atunement a year’s hard word has fostered – a new, more mutual space. I hold my role where teaching is appropriate, but there is more of a dialogue. We recall how we built the nest, what growth felt like and the safe zone it provides. The one small bird that fell from the nest and whose end we mourned patiently over time. The bell had tolled for it and the sound passed through me, as painfully we let it go to tentatively embrace mortality. We reflect on what has been learnt, how my client has grown strong enough to fly alone. Time to let go of past patterns and fly in a new way, even alone at times, true to self, at home in a world we share with all creation.
I am grateful to my clients for the chance they have given me to grow with them, to pace myself, and to be forgiving of my mistakes even as I learn from them; to find joy in my work even in the pain my clients bring; to be more patient in awaiting their moments of enlightenment, and to be firm without aggression. That said, I am glad to return to the nest and receive my own nourishment from colleagues, from family and friends, and, in a special way, from my supervisor.
I flap my wings, and then I am ready to fly again.
