Nature, The heart & Relationship

Some years ago I took a course on Gestalt Therapy, and I recall something my teacher had said which stood out to me. I’m paraphrasing now, but he said:

“Back in the days of hunting and gathering, there was no such thing as therapists. We didn’t need it. People had a natural ability to listen so deeply to each other, that most relationships were therapeutic enough in of themselves.”

He went on to explain that in moderns times, therapists and counselors were urgently needed because people do not exercise those deep listening muscles to an extent as it was done in the past. It’s naot that people today completely loose their ability to relate intimately, but the loss is to the extent that there is more prevalence of “mental discomforts,” which includes the feelings of isolation, lack of intimacy, chronic anxiety, worry, lack of ease etc.

“Well what about serious mental disorders?” I wondered.

I believe that mental disorders and the prevalence of more benign “mental discomfort” such as those mentioned are above, are related but they are not the same. I saw the former as a inability to be self-sustained. It would lead to the death of a person of it didn’t get addressed or helped. The latter is more of a “rock-in-your-shoe” type of discomfort. In other words, its possible for the person to resume their day-to-day. It doesn’t pose a an immediate danger to the person and those around it.

I wondered if perhaps cruel nature itself selected for healthy-minded individuals in the old days, resulting in a much less prevalence for serious mental health disorders. I couldn’t completely negate the usefulness of the role of a therapist today either.

I had to investigate more closely. For three years I’ve been running a personal experiment of sorts to see whether I could decrease the amount of mental discomforts I’ve been all of my life.

The Feeling of “Home”

It all started when a mentor gave me a very simple exercise during class. He said go the same natural spot every day. That was it. I had so many questions. Like “What for?” How long? I didn’t realize it at the time, but most of the answers to my questions were transmitted through his body-language. I was too much in my head to notice any of it. Alas, I did as instructed because I had faith in them and in their teaching style.

I went to my spot every day when I could. Sometimes it would be mere minutes, sometimes and hour or two. I’d watch the sunset, and sometimes I’d watch the sunrise. I watched the snow fall, and the snow melt. I watched the birds come alive in the mornings, and then I’d watch them quiet down for the night. I watched the foilage change colours, slowly across time. I watched the moon and sun tag in and out. Sometimes I was feeling very lonely, and had nobody to talk to. So I started talking to the jack pine, who would support both my back and my feelings. I held reverence for her, for she became a magnificent being capable of withstanding the forces of nature, and of man.

One day, out of the blue, a feeling I had not felt in over 25 years washed over me. I didn’t know I missed this feeling. Tears started streaming down my face. If I could give this feeling a name, I would call it Home. It was a feeling of coming home to familiarity. When I checked inside, I felt abundant, safe, and that nothing needed to be different in my life. Somehow, everything seemed perfect just the way it was in those minutes.

It was then I learned what makes the feeling of “Home,” and what doesn’t. Home is not a house, a specific location, or even people. Rather it is relationship to one’s environment. It is engaging in relationship with the house, with the location, and with the people. To engage with them in relationship is to interact with them, to learn about them, to care for them, to be curious in how those things express and change themselves over time.