Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand, 2010, Vol 6 No 2 Pages 5-19. © 2010, GANZ
Jim Denham-Vaughan & Virginia Edmond
One day Subhuti, in a mood of sublime emptiness was sitting under a tree.
Flowers began to fall about him. “We are praising you for your discourse
on emptiness,” the gods whispered to him. “But I have not spoken of
emptiness”, said Subhuti. “You have not spoken of emptiness, we have
not heard emptiness”, responded the gods. “This is the true emptiness.”
And blossoms showered upon Subhuti as rain. Paul Reps (1971), Zen
Flesh, Zen Bones
Abstract
Can we dialogue without words, or encounter the other in solitude? Silence
in Gestalt therapy has often been associated with obstructive moderations
to contact, but this contrasts with the approach of many religious and
secular traditions, where silence, stillness and emptiness, often solitary, are
highly valued. This paper examines the varied phenomenology of silence
in groups, one to one and in solitary silence. Our hypothesis is that the
practice of attending to silence is a figure-ground reversal from our normal
state. Silence or nothingness, normally ground, itself becomes figure, and
is the infinite “other” towards which we turn, allowing our chattering
thoughts, normally so important to our identity, to become ground. Thus
we venture beyond the normal boundary markers between self and other,
opening ourselves to the reality of our profound interconnectedness with
all that is – an experience which can be frightening or ecstatic. Finally, we
put this into context as one example of “liminal space”, a potential source
of trauma as well as a means of reconnection and healing.
Silence and Dialogue
Verbal dialogues are central to most forms of psychotherapy. We describe our
experience in words, often seeking a shared sense of meaning to satisfy our
need to be “understood”. Within Gestalt therapy however, there has always
been recognition that verbal contact is only one of our range of modes of
contact. “Withdrawal” from contact with others is also stationed as a necessary
and valuable polar opposite. There is therefore, within our theory and praxis,
a place for the non-verbal, inactive, quiet self to emerge. 6
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010.
Nonetheless, traditional Gestalt therapy theory and practice has tended to
focus on the active, noisier, agentic self. Indeed, the classic Gestalt Cycle/Wave
of Experience, (e.g. Clarkson, 1989, Zinker, 1977), would suggest that silence
and stillness (the fertile void) are only an incidental resting point between
different Gestalt cycles.
Yet, we live in a world where deep respect is universally indicated by
silence; we commemorate the dead by a moment of silence. In the face of
another’s tragedy, silence is often the only appropriate response. Writing this
paper, we observed our deepest thinking and reflecting occurred in quietness.
We found we shared a sense of being most authentically in contact with
ourselves, and sometimes with others, when we didn’t need to talk. In this way,
silence and stillness can be formulated as a universal language.
Nowhere is this more apparent than within the Spiritual realm. Here
‘silence’ leading to ‘stillness’ and ‘emptiness’ are highly valued by almost
every major tradition. For example the advanced Yogic practice of Nirbija
or “meditation without seed” is a technique of stillness, while in Buddhism,
Sunyata or emptiness is a core realisation. In Christianity too, the ‘via negativa’
is viewed as the means to transcend the conceptual prison of our constructed
world of words. Dionysius the Areopagite (681 CE) in his Mystical Theology
goes further, advising distancing from all modes of sensual experience:
…in the diligent exercise of mystical contemplation, leave behind the senses
and the operations of the intellect, and all things sensible and intellectual,
and all things in the world of being and nonbeing, that you may arise by
unknowing towards the union, as far as is attainable, with it that transcends
all being and all knowledge.
Silence and stillness then stand on the threshold between the Secular
and Spiritual worlds, practiced and valued highly within both. Yet within
psychology and psychotherapy, there has, until recent integration of practices
of mindfulness and meditation, (e.g. Kabat-Zinn, 2007), been very little to
illuminate the phenomena or guide their integration into clinical practice.
We were fascinated by these complex, and sometimes polar, views of silence
and stillness, and by our various experiences of these phenomena. Within this
paper we have chosen to examine these in depth and also to attempt to articulate
the implications for the theory and praxis of Gestalt therapy. We outline uses of
silence in groups, in individual therapy and in solitary meditation and attempt
to understand why silence is so often still seen as negative. Finally, we propose
a Gestalt explanation of the process of stilling the mind in terms of the “lived
body”, the compatibility of silence as a spiritual practice in Gestalt, and the turn 7
The Value of Silence towards the ‘unknown other’ of the void at the ground of our being.
The irony of all our words on silence is not lost!
Attitudes to Silence within Gestalt Therapy.
Obstructive Silence
Within our literature, it has frequently been noted that silence is not always
beneficial, and can be used to obfuscate as well as to reveal. If verbal dialogue is
our primary means of contact, silence can be a means of avoidance or reducing
connection with another. Shame, guilt and fear can all lead to stonewalling –
removing oneself from a conversation using silence (Lee & Wheeler, 1996,
p12). Equally, a response of silence from another can be the trigger for shame,
engendering a rapid withdrawal from contact. Thus silence is (often rightly)
interpreted in these situations as an active refusal to speak, a rupture in the
relational field, and an obstacle to interpersonal contact. Yalom warns us that
the silent patient is the problem patient, who rarely benefits from the group
(Yalom 1975, p.386). Interestingly however, Yalom does not write about silence
as a group, (or wider field), issue, but focuses on it as a problem with or for
an individual client and thus for the facilitator.
A more subtle form of obstructive silence is the social taboo; subjects never
spoken of, or avoided. Some excellent examples are related in The Collective
Silence (Heimannsberg & Schmidt, 1993) of the refusal to speak about the
Nazi years in modern German psychotherapy and the damaging psychological
consequences of this avoidance.
Connected Silence
Less written about however, is the silence that is not motivated by shame, guilt
or fear, but is the result of, or the means to, genuine I-thou contact. Indeed,
such silence is the sharing of presence, uninterrupted by words.
Similarly, the literature is sparse concerning the experience of silence
in the therapeutic relationship; what is occurring, in process terms, when
client and therapist choose to be silent. We will describe cases where this has
happened.
Least written about of all in the Gestalt literature is the silence of being
present to oneself, by oneself, and of the deepening awareness and exploration
of the ground of our own being through solitary silence. Such practices bear
a dangerous resemblance to Yontef’s description of the schizoid process and
are therefore often subject to misunderstanding at best, or pathologising at 8
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010.
worst (Yontef, 2001). Yet, it may be only in such conditions that the deepest
silence can be found.
Phenomenology of Silence
The experience of silence is clearly therefore not uniform, and is
phenomenological in nature, often being negatively interpreted. We would
suggest that the current emphasis in most psychotherapy literature regarding
the negative qualities of silence may be the result of widespread cultural bias.
Sara Maitland suggests in her book A Book of Silence that ‘the fear of silence is
very deeply embedded in the Western psyche’ (p 128). It is perhaps surprising
to find this also the case within Gestalt therapy, where compatibility with
traditions that use meditative techniques for stilling the mind are more widely
acknowledged (e.g. Kolodny, 2004, p92).
So, we wish to advocate for a much more positive re-evaluation of these
latter forms of silent awareness. Here Gestalt theory and praxis have much
to say about the value of ‘Being’ in the face of our cultural bias towards
‘Doing’. In the next section therefore we propose to look at silence in groups,
in individual therapy and alone, as well as what silence represents in theoretical
terms. We will also examine what happens to us when we allow ourselves to
become still.
Silence in Context.
As we have seen, the silence of avoidance is often about not acknowledging
what is present, while connected silence is the silence of presence; of being
fully in the here and now. To further illustrate this, we will consider silence in
three different contexts - in groups, in individual therapy and in solitude.
Silence in Groups
In his paper The Power of Silence in Groups, John Bernard Harris (1996,
p24-30) expertly outlines the definitions, phenomenology and ways of dealing
with silences in group situations. He proposes a re-evaluation of silence, and
the cultivation in mature groups of silences, both at pre-contact/final contact
stages of the Gestalt cycle and in reflective moments of group contact. In this
way, he introduces silence as an expression of Id functions. Most interestingly,
he analyses the relationship between silence and gender, using Judi Marshall’s
(1984) twin stances to life of agency (male) and communion (female). He
proposes that silence is devalued as time-wasting inactivity or avoidance, rather 9
The Value of Silence than a means to greater communion, contact and awareness,
is a consequence of our male-dominated agentic culture.
Another cultural context in addition to gender is age of the group.
I (Virginia) am facilitating two groups at present and notice a different
experience of silence, which I think relates to the age of the groups. One group
has been together as a training group for three and a half years and the other is
a new group, six months old (a therapy group with a small amount of teaching
of Gestalt theory). In the mature group silence ebbs and flows and feels part
of the texture of the group; I find it difficult to think of it as figural or separate
from the whole group experience. However in the new group silence itself is
very much a figure at times. This group talks, laughs and engages vivaciously
with each other in the breaks (where known social rules apply) then returns to
the formal group and is silent. The discrepancy is more noticeable to me than
it has been with other groups I have facilitated (I am also more interested and
aware of silence myself). The silence seems often to be uncertain, wondering
what can be spoken and what can’t and group members have sometimes said
‘can I say...’ Silence is uncomfortable but risking getting something wrong and
feeling shame is worse. Members are present and engaged with themselves,
it is not the silence of absence, but of hesitancy to engage, and I suggest this
is characteristic of new groups.
We, sadly, still find ourselves agreeing with Harris (1996, p25), that silence
is often seen as problematic in Gestalt groups. When I, (Virginia), participated
in a large analytic group, it was seen a little differently. The facilitator did
not suggest there was a problem with silences, but instead speculated on the
meaning. Silence was seen as group behaviour rather than a group problem.
Thus, this unspoken group behaviour is the figure of interest and topic for
interpretation and enquiry, rather than the silence itself. In this particular
group I had a profound experience of silence that felt alive and full; as if I was
surrounded by warm thick air which held me and my fellow group members in
something very hard to put words to. It seems useful to consider this possibility,
that silence can be a containing and bonding process, in Gestalt groups, as well
as the possibility of seeing silence as part of the phenomenological experience
of the group rather than as a problem or failure; approaching silence in groups
without judgement.
Silence in Individual Therapy
I (Virginia) have had two experiences with silence in individual therapy where
the considered use of silence has enhanced the relationship and provided the
client with something important (permission was given by both clients for this 10
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010.
to be written about). The first of these was with Leone, a woman in her 30’s,
whom I had been seeing for two years. It had become increasingly clear to
me over the previous months that I regularly talked too much in our sessions
and that Leone would answer my questions and observations and go along
with me but that she often felt dissatisfied and missed. I would often realise
after the sessions were over that this had happened again. Over time we talked
about this and I got better at not getting caught in busyness and mistaking her
compliance for more real contact. In this process Leone also became more
able to be aware of what she wanted separate from the signals she was expert
at picking up from the other. This was the background to a session where she
had again talked about how therapy was not always meeting her needs and I
had acknowledged my part in that. In the closer connection that followed this
I asked her to notice her body process and she became sad and tearful. From
here we stayed in silence for about 20 minutes. During this time we had a
lot of eye contact and the silence felt active and alive. I felt very present and
conscious of the importance of remaining so. The connection between us was
of the kind that we didn’t seem able to reach through words; silence freed her
from her historical solution to not getting something right which was to try
harder. It enabled a sitting in her own experience with me sitting in mine and
no need to attend to anything more than our connection.
The second experience is different. Ruth is 50 and I have been seeing her
for 5 years. During that time there have been frequent silences as she ‘freezes’
as we call it. When this happens she becomes physically immobile, withdrawn
and often unable to speak. She doesn’t look at me. For a long time I would drift
myself at these times - think about other things; be somewhat present but not
fully attentive. After my experience with Leone I began to think about this and
to wonder how my inattentiveness may be affecting what happened. I began
to stay present when these silences occurred. I cannot say for sure what part
this has played in the mutually acknowledged deepening of our relationship
and what is attributable to other relational experiences, but I believe it to be
a factor. Recently we had an explicit experience where Ruth asked me to be
silent during a session and we sat in silence for about 15 minutes. She did not
look at me and later described the silence with me present as a way of being
(as opposed to doing) and feeling in touch with her whole self, that was not
usually possible. We were not connected with each other in the way Leone and
I were and I didn’t feel the intensity of the connection; I also took longer than
Ruth to relax into doing nothing but staying present. Once I did I felt calmly
present and bathed in a kind of peace that I have sometimes noticed in very
rich group silences.
Clearly this silence served a different need from the previous one above; 11
The Value of Silence
silence could be described as the ground and Ruth’s sense of being the figure.
With Leone silence itself, and connection through silence, is the figure.
Julianne Appel-Opper (2009, p61-64) describes her experiments with
not speaking when working with clients, in order to let herself be physically
impacted by the non-verbal communication between the living bodies of herself
and client. Citing Merleau-Ponty, she observes a deep level of contact being
reached where a client’s ‘lived body’ could more clearly communicate past
traumas through physical movements alone.
A Theoretical Formulation of Silence and Stillness: Why Less is More.
In The Healing Relationship, Richard Hycner and Lynne Jacobs (1995), stress
the importance to genuine connectedness of a ‘turning towards’ the other, with
one’s whole being, and a turning away from personal concerns that are separate
from this occasion and this person. This they call ‘presence’, which is difficult
to define, but its absence is readily apparent. Presence is more than a ‘quality,’
it is an existential stance: bringing all of myself to bear in this moment with
this person (ibid. p.15).
An essential pre-requisite to the process of establishing authentic presence,
is therefore also ‘bracketing’, the placing of interfering experiences and
understandings in abeyance, in ground. Only by being open to what is emerging
between us; to uniqueness, to being surprised, bracketing prior expectations,
can genuine contact unfold. Thus absolute authenticity and a willingness to be
open would seem to be essential to genuine connectedness.
Silence is by no means precluded from constituting an emerging dialogue,
provided it is a genuine responding and not based on the wish to protect oneself
from self-expression (ibid. p65). Being present in silence however, requires
an awareness of being embodied, and a connection to the solid actuality of
our physical selves as well as a genuine responding to the other. It thereby
seems as if genuine responding to the other is dependent on our connection to
ourselves, our self-support.
In clinical praxis therefore, Silence and Stillness can be essential procedural
competencies within the process of becoming present, both to myself and for
the other. Indeed they are foundational to an emergent dialogue, creating field
conditions supportive of a bracketing of interfering thoughts and experiences,
and an authentic turning towards the other.
Solitary Silence
In a group or in individual therapy, the physical presence of the ‘other’ person 12
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010.
is obvious, but what happens to us when we are alone? Is there an ‘other’ who
is being turned towards in solitary silence? If so, who or what are we talking
about?
Sartre’s (1956) notion of ‘negation’ might be helpful here, for in Being and
Nothingness he states that the foundation of all phenomena is their negation,
their absence. Phenomena are founded not upon being, but on non-being. The
power of negation is an intrinsic feature of the intentionality of consciousness.
Nothingness lies at the heart of being - according to Sartre. In layman’s terms,
I define what is present by what is absent; the notes form a tune due to spaces
in between, the figure emerges and stands against a ground: nothing is ever
in isolation.
It is in turning towards the spaces between our thoughts; the ‘nothingness’
at the heart of being, that we reverse the normal figure-ground relationship.
Silence becomes the focus that allows us to become attuned instead to that
which lies beyond the ‘notes’ of our own chattering thoughts. They are not
suppressed, but acknowledged and then let go (back into ground). Thus through
a reversal of the usual focus on an emerging figure we re-direct attention instead
to a structure of ground, which then becomes figure, to be in turn released,
continually refocusing our sharpening awareness toward the ground of each
more nebulous figure as it emerges.
As our perceptions become more subtle, the boundary which defines self
and other becomes more diffuse – expanding out into the wider phenomenal
field. We lose our sense of a separate boundaried self to experience ourselves
as indivisible from the greater field. This is the sublime emptiness of Subhuti.
Des Kennedy, citing Merleau-Ponty, concisely sums up this idea in a review
of a book by Spinelli (Kennedy, 2008, p88).
The power and secret of Gestalt therapy lies in its being a dialogue between
people at the pre–reflective level, that is to say at the level of the lived body.
This pre-reflective level is that sacred ground of primordial silence in each
of us, beneath the chatter of our words. My lived body is that pre-reflective
level and carries the key to what I have become as a human being. And
unless we embark (remonterons) upon that exploration, says MerleauPonty,
our view of our human being will remain forever superficial.
The Relationship with the ‘Other’
The experience of solitary silence might therefore be viewed as a turning
towards the ‘nothingness at the heart of being’ as Sartre describes. In Gestalt
terms, this ‘Other’, this ‘fertile void’, however is not zero, but is the ground 13
The Value of Silence of complex sedimented connections and experiences from
which our present self arises. So the ‘nothing’ is anything but an absence. It includes all that lies
in pre-awareness (or the pre-reflective level referred to above): the boundless
field of which our lived-bodies are seamlessly a part.
We are relational beings, primed from our beginnings for connection,
and in a group or in individual therapy, relationship with others is inevitable
whether in silence or not. This begs the question however of what happens to
our relational expectations when we are solitary? In writing about the silence
that comes with solitude there is frequent reference to an ‘Other’ who is related
to, and perhaps fulfils the relational needs, at the time. Morton Kelsey in The
Other Side of Silence writes:
[In the silence] I encountered an ‘Other’ with whom I could share every
experience of confusion and anxiety, hope and thanksgiving, of sorrow, joy,
discouragement and renewal. The ‘Other’ of whom I speak has sometimes
been a vague presence and sometimes a burning reality that brought relief
from tension and misery, or again at times a wisdom offering specific
directions and guidance that rescued me from intolerable situations. And
at rarer moments this ‘Other’ gave a joy and fulfilment that made the whole
business of life worthwhile. (Kelsey, 1976, p10)
There is something reminiscent of Arnold Beisser’s (1970) Paradoxical
Theory of Change, in this sharing of every experience, which thus transforms
it. In Kelsey’s description, the ‘Other’ has the flavour of a loving parent or
mentor, an image of a nurturing God - an ideal, infinite ‘Other’ who, like silence
itself, listens with perfect acceptance and with the calm wisdom of detachment,
and in so doing provides what actual others may not. It is this ‘Other’, who is
also all that lies in pre-awareness that I place in the empty chair opposite me.
By contrast, for Emmanuel Levinas, (1968), it was the alterity of the altogether
“Other” – that which is ever-present, but unknown, alien, strange, terrifying
and sublime: utterly different from us – seen in the unpredictability of other
people, or indeed of ourselves that forever eluded comprehension.
God is in one sense the Other par excellence,” the Other in as much as
Other, the absolutely Other. To the contrary, my neighbour, my brother,
man, is infinitely less other than the absolutely Other, and in a certain
sense, more Other than God. (Levinas, 1968, p. 36)
This ‘Other’ of silence can therefore be nurturing or terrifying, and in its
Dionysian “Otherness” may by some be seen as delusional. Sara Maitland 14
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010.
(2009) articulates the dilemma of modern society in its attitude towards the
‘Other’ as God.
So, a modern narrative will say that anyone who lets the (divine or
delusional) Other too far in, who weakens their own boundaries, or has
them weakened, is ‘mad’, as we see extensively in modern psychiatric
discourse. While a religious or spiritual narrative will tend to sense that
those who will not consent to be used by the forces of the Other are the
mad ones. (p. 253)
The turn towards the ‘Other’ in the practice of silence is also to become empty,
open to new perceptions. It is to turn away from our fixed understandings and
reified self image and enter a transition state full of dynamic possibility. Such
is known as a liminal state - a state devoid of preconceptions; of surrender,
with total presence, on the threshold of something new.
Liminality and Silence
So far we have examined the encounter with the unknown ‘Other’, and the
softening of the self-other boundary through the use of silence. Such a letting
go of rigid self concepts leads to liminal space - a state of uncertainty and
openness which leads us to the threshold of new possibilities, events, lifestyles
or states of mind (Denham-Vaughan, S., 2010). As Frank Staemmler, (1997),
notes, cultivated uncertainty should be a Gestaltist’s fundamental attitude. It is
only by holding one’s own opinions and judgments lightly, that we can remain
in contact with ‘what is’ and allow new interpretations to emerge.
As Staemmler points out however, uncertainty is uncomfortable and indeed
undesirable when the confidence of the patient is required. As Peter Philippson
(2009) stresses in his book The Emergent Self healthy self functioning emerges
within the dialectic between rigid predictability (certainty) and unpredictability
(uncertainty). Liminal space can therefore be traumatic, and relationally
disturbing, precisely because it lacks structure. This is always a consideration
when working clinically; more fragile self-process is likely to require increased
structure, agentic activity and direction.
Liminality, Uncertainty and Trauma
An extreme example of liminality is experienced in trauma. Doris Brothers
(2008, p36-37) describes trauma as the destruction of the “systematically
emergent certainties” (SECs), which organize and underpin our relational 15
The Value of Silence world. Trauma plunges us into chaos, disorientation, terror and shame as
our previously clung to certainties are revealed as unreliable (ibid. p. 49-51).
Such a description is remarkably like the experience of the ‘Otherness’ of
prolonged solitary silence. Brothers likens trauma to barren exile in the desert,
also the place of solitary silence sought by the Desert Fathers. In attempting
to re-establish a sense of order and certainty, victims of trauma may sacrifice
complexity and contact in favour of simplistic rules and/or dissociation.
Healing implies a developmental progression towards an increasingly
full, rich, complex, differentiated experience of self that occurs in relation
to another person (or persons) whose self-experience is also undergoing
developmental advance. (Brothers & Lewinberg, 1999, p.261)
Complexity, Communication and Silence
Such may be the depth of trauma that words cannot communicate. In
progressing towards that full, rich complexity, there may be “that which is in
some sense known, but not yet available to reflective thought or verbalization.”
(Preston 2006, quoted in Brothers, 2009, p.5). At these points, silence may be
the only fitting phrase to articulate. Indeed, Brothers movingly describes how
her initially difficult relationship with a dying client ‘Len’ resolved, as they
learned to sit together in silent stillness.
What happened to Len and me during these moments seems to defy
explanation. It is as if we both simultaneously found the courage to drop all
artifice with one another - and ourselves. As we sat in the stillness I seemed
to see Len clearly, vividly, distinctly, and I felt seen by him in just that way.
At the very same time, I felt that we were mysteriously and invisibly joined,
not only one with another, but with all the world. (Brothers 2009, p157).
It is the extreme uncertainty of liminal space that characterizes trauma,
and yet, it appears, the gentle encounter with silence can reintroduce us to the
“increasingly full, rich, complex, differentiated experience of self that occurs
in relation to another person” (Brothers & Lewinberg, 1999, p.261).
Conclusion
Words allow us a certain level of dialogue and contact. However, there are all
too many times when verbal contact is insufficient to effectively communicate
our lived experience. At the physical level of the lived body, non-verbal 16
Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand 2010. Communication may be more profound,
and the deepest level of connection,
may only be possible in total stillness and silence.
Such silence takes courage, and involves a willingness to let go of our
preconfigured interactions (“all artifice”), and to enter a liminal state where a new
state of connectedness can emerge. Stillness is where we become conscious
of the interconnected ground of our being, of the subtle pre-awareness of our
lived body and of the undiscovered potential of our alterity.
Connected silence is to be present to the unknown ‘Other’ – the ‘nothingness’
or ‘void’ forming the ground of all perception, which contains all that is in
preawareness and the as yet unrealized potential of the field. Remaining present in
this void is not always easy, the experience of ‘nothingness’ has been likened
to entering a “Cloud of Unknowing” (Anon, 1961) or a “Divine Darkness”
(Dionysius 681CE).
Silence can, of course, also be awkward or fearful or embarrassing or boring
- a void to be filled. At the same time, silence as a response is refreshingly
disarming in accepting whatever we bring. There are no arguments to be won,
or opinions to be defended. As we have shown, silence is also reliably always
present, as the ground of our awareness. Herein lies both benefit and danger –
silence is restorative, but without our authentic presence and the willingness
to remain open, it can easily become a dissociative and defensive retreat from
conflict or shame.
However, if we learn to remain present in silence, we can become aware of
increasingly subtle aspects of our phenomenal field expanding and diffusing
our sense of the self-other boundary which defines us. Eventually, more by
grace than through willpower (Denham-Vaughan, 2005), the illusion of our
separateness as a self becomes dispelled, and we realise the interconnected unity
of our existence. In this way, through silence we can experience relatedness in
its purest form with that which we might normally consider as ‘other’.
Standing on the bare ground, — my head bathed by the blithe air, and
uplifted into infinite space, — all mean egotism vanishes. I become a
transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal
Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. (Emerson, R.W.,
1849).
The jury is still out as to whether Gestalt constitutes a spiritual practice,
though attempts have been made (with varying success) to bring out
Gestalt’s spiritual side. A number of Gestaltists look to Buddhism as the most
complimentary spiritual practice (Kolodny, 2004), yet there appear to be a
number of conceptual incompatibilities between the two traditions (Bennett, 17
The Value of Silence 2009). It would appear therefore, that Gestalt therapy
provides all the necessary concepts, but has not yet the explicit meditative
practices of other, formally recognised, spiritual traditions. Our hope is that
by an increasing focus and development in both the theory and practice of
silence and stillness we may more explicitly develop compassionate relational capacity,
a sense of interconnectedness and transcendence of the self-other boundary.
In this way, Gestalt may find within itself a spirituality that is both secular and religious,
humanistic, universal and yet uniquely our own; we might find, just like
Subhuti, that blossoms will start to rain.
Acknowledgements
We would like to extend out thanks to Dr Sally Denham-Vaughan for introducing us to each other after meeting Virginia at the Pacific Gestalt Institute Winter Residential in California. Sally realised we shared a common interest in the phenomenon of silence and, although we have never met and live on
opposite sides of the planet, took the time to set up a “meeting” via e-mail. We would also like to appreciate Sally for her editorial input to an early draft of this paper. Additionally, we are both very grateful to Dr Lynne Jacobs for her extremely helpful input in reading and commenting on a final draft, and
for being so unfailingly supportive of our intentions to write.
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Jim Denham-Vaughan, M.Sc., C.Sci., FIBMS,
I am a Fellow of the Institute of Biomedical Sciences, qualified teacher, State
Registered Biomedical Scientist and Chartered Scientist with the British Science
Council. Having worked as a senior pathology manager in the British NHS for
several years, I currently work as a locum scientist, pursuing a diverse range
of other interests, including Gestalt. I am a member of the World Community
for Christian Meditation.”
simdeva@btopenworld.com
Virginia Edmond MA, Dip. Psych (GINZ), Dip. Tchg, Cert. TEFL,
MZNAP
I am a Gestalt psychotherapist in private practice in Wellington, New Zealand
and also a faculty member of the Gestalt Institute of New Zealand. Prior to
training as a Gestalt therapist I was a teacher of English in the Middle East
and in New Zealand. In the 15 years I have been engaged in training and
practising Gestalt therapy my particular interests have been body-oriented
therapy and, more recently, relational Gestalt therapy. Following my interest in
body-oriented therapy I spent two years in a bioenergetics training programme
and also travelled to Cleveland to do the Working with Physical Process
programme. For the past three years I have pursued my interest in relational
Gestalt therapy by attending the Winter Residential run by the Pacific Gestalt
Institute in California. I am mother of three adult children and have recently
become a grandmother.
Denham-Vaughan, Jim and Edmond, Virginia. The Value of Silence [online]. Gestalt Journal of Australia and New Zealand, Vol. 6, No. 2, May 2010: 5-19. Availability:<http://search.informit.com.au.ezproxy.une.edu.au/documentSummary;dn=121823347700132;res=IELHEA> ISSN: 1834-5298. [cited 15 Oct 12].
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