Evocations

Evocations  by Dr Elizabeth McCardell, M. of Counselling, PhD
Aug 2012

      Not so long ago a friend came to visit for the first time and commented on the near absence of photographs in my house and wondered aloud whether perhaps I had something to hide. I replied that for sure, I had few photos, but that did not mean my house is empty of presences. I am surrounded by gifts from friends and family and all the gifts are rich with stories. Indeed, I live in a multi-storied house.
 

     There are the ornamental teapots chosen by an old friend and her daughter, each painted differently. There is the carapace of a large black beetle and a bronze dove feather given by another lovely friend who knows my delight in the natural world. A small orange glass bottle from a woman with whom I had a like me one moment, dislike me the next type of friendship, sits among the exuberances from others. An exquisite red Norwegian porcelain vase stands wonderfully next to a miniature snow covered pine tree. The little tree is actually a Christmas decoration that I never put away, because I like the evocation of a northern hemisphere winter scene. There is a shell given to me by a mentor who encouraged me into my current profession. Those who have seen my business card know I use the image of the whirls of a shell. It is my mentor’s shell gift that inspired me to use the image to speak of what I am connected to (sea pictures are always close to my heart), and secretly, whom I am connected to, for there is a lineage here, a Tao of relationships. 

     I have bought very few things in my life and, apart from the treasures of musical instruments, mountains of books, and necessary household items, the rest are gifts from those who have cared for the me-ness of me.  No photo gives me this, for photos, in the main, are studied little numbers that hardly ever capture vivacious life as it happens.

      A multi-storied house is, as the name suggests, a multi-narratived dwelling. A multi-narrative is a story told from many perspectives. The gifts that surround me are rich in story. My red vase is not just a vase. It speaks of Norwegian birch trees in winter, it hearkens silence and close listening, of strength and fragility. The giver of the vase is a very talented counsellor who works with the bereaved parents of sudden infant death syndrome children, listening closely to their fragility and profound loss.

       The black beetle and feather came to me from a dear friend for whom the connection with the natural world is a deeply spiritual one, something we share. Together we have worked on polishing her first novel, a book in which the voices of people and wolves intermingle with the deep voice of rock, water, air and twig.

      We are all multi-storied beings. There is nothing within us nor around us that has a single strand of meaning and thus no single line of interpretation and misinterpretation (for we do not always get it right). No single story means we have a complexity of possible ways to respond to the same thing. A glass bottle evokes in me memories of hours spent in the back shed at home (I was about 15 at the time) working over a Bunsen burner with pieces of glass, melting and twisting them into fabulous shapes. The wizardry of moulten glass – at once liquid and solid, a substance that could be shaped but felt under pressure as hard – mesmerized me. The orange glass bottle given by a former university colleague contains for me these two contradictory motions of emotion: of hardness and softness, of resistance and fluidity, of dislike and like. The coloured glass parallels the red/orange of my colleague’s hair, and so on.

      Our capacity for evocation means that everything we bring into the therapeutic space sings to a multiplicity of songs upon the breathe of pain, according to our feelings and memories and ancient and not so ancient embodied experiences. The fluidity and resistance to what is brought can be shaped into new ways of seeing. There is always that possibility. Sometimes the old way of seeing ourselves and our relation with others dominates and dominates and dominates and seems resistant to change, but with support and challenge (and this is what I offer my clients, as a glass worker provides the alchemical substance of glass), shifts in awareness and understanding can begin. 

     I saw a client recently who had resumed the alchemical work that is counseling several months ago, following on from earlier work she had undertaken in Sydney. I knew as soon as she came into my room that she was different; she was self assured, she was fluid in her movement, her face was relaxed and rested (she’d suffered years of insomnia), and when she said she thought this would be her last session I felt the two contrary-flow emotions of  “I’ll miss you,” and “Yes, it is right, this is the ripe time to complete this work, at least for now.”