Waiting for the storm to end.

It never ends.

It isn't a storm.

"Say what you see"

says Mr Perls.

"Mr Perls, I see nothing". 

"Untrue!" 

"Mr Perls I see myself.."

"No, oh you see your hands your legs, your feet. You do not see you!" 

"Mr Perls. I see the keyboard in front of me, the screen, my coffee. I hear my son downstairs practicing the drums. Nothing moves except my breathing, my fingers, sound. Nothing. Nothing moves. No direction, no compass, no star". 

"Say what you see"...

Mr Perls is right, and annoying. And if he were really here, he'd probably be trying to get me into bed, or so I heard. My source? My therapist, she was a Gestalt practitioner and had read his letters. Something about him being proud of leaving a smear of blood across the sheets as his hemorrhoids had popped in the night. He was probably in someone else's bed and enjoyed the prospect of the dismay his trail would cause.

Yet despite all this, Mr Perls is a regular contributor to "my inner voice of sanity" parade. Say what you see is a start. 

"And I can't face it Mr Perls. I don't see what I want. I don't see any messages from my husband to me. I don't see his car outside. I don't see him here. I dream that he is by my side and wake up in a slow fade to sadness, or else I wake up in the dark, suddenly cold and so alone...So no. I don't see what I need or want, even though a part of me, the sane part says this is your life, focus on now...stop doing hope, stop doing fear."

"Say what you see."

Perls died fighting, and that seems right, ranting about how they were not going to force him back into bed. He was dying of cancer, drips and tubes and beeping machines and he wanted to get out. Makes total sense. He was determined, and doomed. 

Me and Perls, we fight. Yeah say what you see whilst and ignore; the drips, the fracture lines, the beeping machines, the tragic read out. I hope he got morphine. 

Anyway,  on Saturday I was looking for another therapist, the Gestaltist has moved too far away. 

I asked 

"What do you think of Perls?" 

"Fritz Perls! Horrible man!" 

Said the therapist who has the joy of listening to me for the next few years. [+] I disagree, Perls is like the protectors in Tibetan Buddhism, not nice but on your side. Another Gestalt concept. 'The client wont break'. I'm pretty sure I could break. 

I like the fact this therapist hates Perls.

The weirdest thing is, he reminds me of...Perls!

Say what you see?

One big nothing. 

I don't want to live for myself. 

Perls has a lot to say to me about that. 

But if I say what I see I see that Perls didn't want to to live for him either, so he was in the Big Sur or what ever it was, Eslan, sitting like a Lama on a chair and everyone else gazing up at him in wonder.