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Notes from a Workshop with Bert Hellinger in Washington,
DC,
August 2-4, 2002
“Ready or not, here I come” is the chant from a traditional
children's game. And these were the words that came into my mind
as I sat down in the cavernous auditorium in Washington, DC, waiting
for the workshop to begin.
I had already heard that Bert's current work was causing some
commotion not only among neophytes, but also among those who have
followed it for some time. So, frankly, I was curious. What could
rile even those already well acquainted with Bert's brand of controversy?
As people slowly filed in with their notebooks and coffee, I wondered
too about the expectations I was quietly harboring that might cause
me to be disappointed or disturbed by his recent exploration. I
was sure they were there, even if I couldn't at the moment locate
them.
Ah, these expectations came into focus more quickly than I had
anticipated. Of course, Bert never wasted time. I had seen scores
of constellations, had worked hard to understand how they were
anchored by certain insights into “the orders of love,” had
grown accustomed to tracking the relationships between current
symptoms and past deeds, had settled into the neutrality of destiny,
had started to find a vocabulary to describe the work ... where
was it all?
Those who sat next to Bert in this place at this time were facing
a crossroads not only in their own growth but also in the evolution
of the work itself. They were not necessarily going to be asked
to select representatives for their family of origin or their current
family. Perhaps they wouldn't even be asked to state an issue.
Bert might have the client and another entity, say, a parent or
a particular fate, face each other. Or he might sit silently, while
the client moved through various stages with his or her partner,
unimpeded by any apparent intervention. Simple (if not easy) statements
might be left hanging in the air for a bit of forever. The “process,” it
seemed, had gone underground, and what we were left with were the
small, bold gestures that remain on the surface.
As I walked back to the hotel the first night, having become completely
lost on what should have been a five-minute journey, the paintings
of Robert Motherwell came to mind (perfect name, I laughed to myself).
When I look at his paintings (or those of any of the abstract expressionists),
I have the feeling that if I turned the painting over I would see
the rest of the landscape, the teeming life forces that the canvas
just can't contain in an image. What seeps through – the
painting that is shown to the world -- is what the viewer can tolerate
as the artist attempts to express something monumental. Somehow,
this seemed relevant as I tried to find my way into the first day’s
experience.
I returned the next morning the trusting skeptic. For the next
two days, quick, almost-violent revelations …slow gentle
unfoldings … generations desperate to break through … others
still held by something more expedient than truth ... people roughly
dismissed … others sweetly welcomed ... a tough guide, unapologetic.
As clients walked into and out of the space, they seemed undifferentiated
on some level. Not that there wasn't poignance and dignity in each
story, but that with the drama of the constellations no longer
visible, it was more difficult to name the experience of witnessing
the work, nearly impossible to delineate "steps."
As I watched, Motherwell came to mind again and again.
Perhaps as Bert moves deeper into his work (rather than away from
it), he is, among many things, the artist. “Soul work,” as
he calls what he is doing now, is the expression or revelation
of something monumental. In the gesture, the sentence, the image,
the seepage – whether beautiful or ugly – there is
the reflection of a monumental force. Sometimes a single stroke
on the canvas is what we can tolerate of the artist’s vision.
The vision, of course, doesn't belong to the artist; he or she
is a kind of channeler for the soul in all of its madness and grace.
And rather than a grand title, "artist" is someone who
is humble in a very deep sense, in constant awe of the canvas where
what can be tolerated is seen, providing just a hint of what is
beyond. The soul in all of its madness and grace.
In the game of "Hide and Seek," the seeker stands with
eyes closed and waits, counting off the isolated seconds. After
some time, he or she calls out: Ready or not, here I come.
Copyright © 2002 by Suzi Tucker
Written and Video materials
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