Sometimes I would sit in Bob's office without a single thing to say. Silence would fill the room as I sat facing him. He sat in a low black leather chair with his mug of iced water on the floor by his feet. I was poised, upright on the sofa where some days T would join me for a couple session. Bob would look at me with what seemed like a kind, accepting gaze, and I would sit there at times looking up at him and then urgently examining my shoes and the rug upon which they lay. Nothing to say.
Blank. Empty. Silent.
And he would wait.
We had already had the conversation about these 50 minutes together being mine to do with whatever I chose. I was allowed to sit there in silence for the full fifty minutes if I wanted. I knew that. And yet I would start to feel guilty, shifting in my seat, eyes wandering up from the floor, examining in detail all the pictures on the wall, ornaments on the shelf behind Bob and even his mug of water by his feet. After awhile a sentence would escape through my lips almost out of my control. It just slipped out into the open and there I was once again revealing thoughts, feelings, or stories of the week gone by. Before I knew it we would be engaged in dissecting, exploring and connecting events to past times, memories of childhood or different periods of life. Over and over again I would almost gasp with wonder as Bob like an artist at work, would chisel and shape my feelings and thoughts into what seemed like a sculpture of meaning and relevance to my developing understanding of who I am and how I came to be me.
In the end those interminably silent moments were loaded with wonderful inner jewels to discover and uncover.
This morning, I sit in front of my computer, coffee at my side, Ada curled up in Charlie's chair close by, plants beaming with energy after being watered and misted, some even flowering with purple and pink blossoms into the morning light. I sit in front of my computer staring at the Tamarika-blog screen with nothing to say.
Blank. Empty. Silent.
And I wait.
Feelings of gratitude and relief wash over me as I realize that my blog has served a wondrous purpose this past year, reconstructing my emotional life, and giving me the gift of companionship as others accompany me on my navel-gazing investigations. Blogger companions not only support, and accept me, or share their own stories and memories. Indeed, they bear witness as I process my inner life with myself including sometimes joyous or even painful revelations.
I realize that my blog has served a Bob-like purpose for me this past year helping me explore, dissect and connect events to past times, memories of childhood or different periods of life. After all I left Bob just as I was beginning to smash down the wall of illusions and realities that had helped me survive as a child. I was starting to understand - really understand - finally, deeply, how those old, worn-out survival skills and trusted paradigms were no longer necessary, relevant or even helpful for my maturing adult life. Words start to jump out from my silent mind, fly through my fingers up onto the screen. Back in December 2004, I was torn away from an important therapeutic milestone. Or, at least, that is what I realize now as I sit in silence this morning with nothing to say.
Please return the picture of YOU...any one of YOU..though I like the smiling one the best. We need the visual YOU to accompany the textual YOU. As you so willingly reveal what is inside, please be comfortable showing us the outside too.
Posted by: Cheryl | February 26, 2006 at 09:52 AM
Tamar, thank you very much for this, for your honesty and willingness to share yourself, and for your kind comment at my place. Sitting comfortably with this silence, holding the intensity - being willing to be silent, it's sometimes very challenging (for this Gemini anyway!). But as you say, there are treasures to be found within it. And I have found like you that blogging can and does go very deep indeed into my own processes - too much for comfort sometimes - and this has been a huge surprise and learning curve for me. It can be powerful. And yes, we are on a similar wavelength today I think ......
Posted by: mary | February 26, 2006 at 11:31 AM
Hello there, Cheryl friend. Here's an updated photo ... one I can live with for awhile. A huge hug for you, my dear friend, for you have borne witness to so many of my travails.
Ah Mary, a sister Gemini ... yes indeed. It is a challenge to hold still with silence ... with the intensity ...
Posted by: Tamar | February 26, 2006 at 11:49 AM
Oh Tamar...you HARDLY have nothing to say. Your post today is beautiful, poignant and real. I love the journey you've made...with all of us....on your blog. This journey is as important for us to make with you as it is for you to have made it. I look forward to much more...
Posted by: Joy | February 26, 2006 at 12:31 PM
I wish I could say nothing as beautifully as you do.
Posted by: Milt | February 26, 2006 at 05:28 PM
I love this photo just as much as the smiley one. And this is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read about having nothing to say! You absolutely capture the utter vulnerability of having no chatter with which to fill the air, fill the silence, structure the relationship - and the real, warm, gentle communications that can come when we are prepared to be in the naked discomfort of that moment.
Posted by: Jean | February 27, 2006 at 05:43 AM
"...to smash down the wall of illusions and realities that had helped me survive as a child. I was starting to understand - really understand - finally, deeply, how those old, worn-out survival skills and trusted paradigms were no longer necessary, relevant or even helpful for my maturing adult life."
Words I need to apply to myself and remember, too.
I think I like this picture best of all because it seems the most honest. (I could be projecting about this.) But more than that, I like the changing of pictures. Of course, on my blog I don't have a picture at all.
Posted by: Richard Lawrence Cohen | February 27, 2006 at 09:43 AM
Joy and Milt,
Thanks so much for your very kind words, and for being on this journey with me.
Jean, I like this photo too. And Nappy 40's comment made it feel even more acceptable for me. Oh Jean, I love how you say, "the naked discomfort of the moment." You have such a way with words. Always!
Richard, I think that's why I like this photo too. It feels more authentic than the others. Good luck with the continuous hunt for self ...
Posted by: Tamar | February 27, 2006 at 07:47 PM
"..starting to understand - really understand - finally, deeply, how those old, worn-out survival skills and trusted paradigms were no longer necessary, relevant or even helpful for my maturing adult life."
These words touch me. I know that fear of being vulnerable in a world that taught me to be guarded.. and then the clear clarity of feelings that comes in moments of honesty with myself that often to my suprise encourages vulnerability and honesty in others.
thank you for these words today, reading them reminds me and returns me to myself.
I like this photo and the smiley one; like the way you wear your hair in this one, both show you, different phases of Tamar.
Posted by: ainelivia | March 01, 2006 at 06:59 AM
So nice to hear from you again, ainelivia. Your words are meaningful to me, and thus I feel supported too:
"that fear of being vulnerable in a world that taught me to be guarded."
Posted by: Tamar | March 03, 2006 at 09:51 AM