February 2006
Yesterday I joined colleagues in my workplace, first to explore the underpinnings of this very project, and second, to explore together its theme.
I noticed two styles of listening. In the first conversation, our talk of postmodernism, modernism, social constructionism, and postmodern collaborative approaches seemed to invite an evaluative listening - listening to assess. I was glad to hear so many of my peers at full voice - grappling, wondering, affirming, questioning, adding. I enjoy and value this kind of listening... I find it invigorating, although it often leaves a 'knot' in my stomach, a kind of disquiet. "This often comes with 'travel'" I remind myself, thinking of Derrida's words. I try to welcome this feeling of commotion.
But we took on a distinctly different listening as we shifted our way of speaking to storytelling and reflecting processes, the two 'forms of speech' I invited to help us explore our theme: the generative, transforming influence of therapy conversation for ourselves, as practitioners.
As our first storyteller began to speak about what she named as "hopefulness" in her young client, and as she looked upward slightly beyond us, trying in her tears to find words, the right words, the very best words, I sensed a new stillness in the room, stillness of 'mind' and body. No one showed any unnecessary movement. Everyone's eyes were intently on the storyteller. It was as though something had come over us all.
By the time we moved into the second story, we seemed unable to contain our 'withness.' Many listeners voiced appreciative 'mmmms' and various other soft and consonant soundings that I will not attempt to spell... Each body turned towards the storyteller, many faces spread into smiles, some eyes glistened, heads nodding as if to say, "So true" - listening to understand. Listening responsively, an embodied, involuntary, relational way of listening that is neither about agreement nor disagreement. It was as if these stories were spoken into an embrace.
In the written journal reflection dated June 29, 2005, now across from me on my study desk, coldly known as "data" in a formal process of inquiry, I find a story written by a postmodern collaborative therapist in our project collective. We could call it a personal story except it is too 'social' to be personal... as all personal stories are.
She tells of meeting with someone, her client, who in turn, told her stories... of adventures, sacrifices, loss, change, loneliness, and profound displacement. As I read, I get a vivid sense of this practitioner's way of listening - she is listening across differences, listening beyond the limits of her family therapy training, listening within a 'common sense' that is in part, not her own - listening to understand - responsive, spontaneous, embodied listening.
As I re-read it, I sit entirely still. I push my chair back, and I wonder, "How am I listening to the voices of my colleagues in this project? How can I convey in writing, a quality of listening that involves my whole being, not just my intellect? How can I listen beyond my own limitations, across differences in time, culture, geography?"
Oh, and Christo... this project is still my great love, and yet, I suspect you are right, "It is a very, very lonely journey." Every 'once in a while' I feel it... a nebulous sensation, neither good nor bad. Not easy either, although it never stays with me for long. I don't believe I can share it with anyone. It was with me yesterday, after the workplace conversation I just described.
And to all of you, for this months' emails 'on the run' and otherwise, dear colleagues, a great big thanks. I will never stop saying it... thank you.
Janice
I noticed two styles of listening. In the first conversation, our talk of postmodernism, modernism, social constructionism, and postmodern collaborative approaches seemed to invite an evaluative listening - listening to assess. I was glad to hear so many of my peers at full voice - grappling, wondering, affirming, questioning, adding. I enjoy and value this kind of listening... I find it invigorating, although it often leaves a 'knot' in my stomach, a kind of disquiet. "This often comes with 'travel'" I remind myself, thinking of Derrida's words. I try to welcome this feeling of commotion.
But we took on a distinctly different listening as we shifted our way of speaking to storytelling and reflecting processes, the two 'forms of speech' I invited to help us explore our theme: the generative, transforming influence of therapy conversation for ourselves, as practitioners.
As our first storyteller began to speak about what she named as "hopefulness" in her young client, and as she looked upward slightly beyond us, trying in her tears to find words, the right words, the very best words, I sensed a new stillness in the room, stillness of 'mind' and body. No one showed any unnecessary movement. Everyone's eyes were intently on the storyteller. It was as though something had come over us all.
By the time we moved into the second story, we seemed unable to contain our 'withness.' Many listeners voiced appreciative 'mmmms' and various other soft and consonant soundings that I will not attempt to spell... Each body turned towards the storyteller, many faces spread into smiles, some eyes glistened, heads nodding as if to say, "So true" - listening to understand. Listening responsively, an embodied, involuntary, relational way of listening that is neither about agreement nor disagreement. It was as if these stories were spoken into an embrace.
In the written journal reflection dated June 29, 2005, now across from me on my study desk, coldly known as "data" in a formal process of inquiry, I find a story written by a postmodern collaborative therapist in our project collective. We could call it a personal story except it is too 'social' to be personal... as all personal stories are.
She tells of meeting with someone, her client, who in turn, told her stories... of adventures, sacrifices, loss, change, loneliness, and profound displacement. As I read, I get a vivid sense of this practitioner's way of listening - she is listening across differences, listening beyond the limits of her family therapy training, listening within a 'common sense' that is in part, not her own - listening to understand - responsive, spontaneous, embodied listening.
As I re-read it, I sit entirely still. I push my chair back, and I wonder, "How am I listening to the voices of my colleagues in this project? How can I convey in writing, a quality of listening that involves my whole being, not just my intellect? How can I listen beyond my own limitations, across differences in time, culture, geography?"
Oh, and Christo... this project is still my great love, and yet, I suspect you are right, "It is a very, very lonely journey." Every 'once in a while' I feel it... a nebulous sensation, neither good nor bad. Not easy either, although it never stays with me for long. I don't believe I can share it with anyone. It was with me yesterday, after the workplace conversation I just described.
And to all of you, for this months' emails 'on the run' and otherwise, dear colleagues, a great big thanks. I will never stop saying it... thank you.
Janice
posted by Janice DeFehr at 8:21 pop.
<< Home