Nothing Out There

I'm excited about an art print I just bought. It's beautiful, eerie and emotionally satisfying to me on many levels. Here's a look:

The caption says, "there's nothing out there. i do not hear what you hear."

It's enough to be enraptured by it -- it doesn't really need explanation or deconstruction, but I'd like to share my thoughts as a metaphor for therapy.

The scene suggests an assertion that someone hears something outside.

Instead of being told that there's nothing to be afraid of and to just go to sleep, the person who heard the assertion, the listener, honored the assertion. How many times as a child were we dismissed? Now... sometimes, perhaps even oftentimes, we were lying. We hadn't really heard anything, but we wanted mom or dad's attention for a while longer. Still... once in a while, we were earnest, and at those times, it hurt to be dismissed. So that's the first beauty of this piece: being heard.

Then, the listener checked it out. Went outside. Listened, under the starry sky. They didn't say they would and then either pretend to, or do so in gesture only. They did what they said they were going to do. That's the second beauty of this piece: congruence.

Then, they respond honestly. "I do not hear what you hear." This sentence tells the truth without diminishing the original assertion. It doesn't say, "You didn't hear." It says, "You heard, but I don't."

It's also truthful and respectful. It doesn't say, doubtfully, "I don't know, I don't hear anything," in that slightly condescending way that we habitually use. It doesn't say, "Well, maybe I hear it, but it's just the wind in the trees." It doesn't presume anything. It also doesn't sugar-coat the truth. "I do not hear what you hear." It tells the straight truth. It doesn't diminish the person's own experience, that they don't hear it. This is the third beauty: respect.

The final beauty is that it's comforting. On a dark night, "There's nothing out there," especially told with such congruence and respect, is credible. It's believable. It's calming. It's permission to sleep soundly, feeling heard, loved and safe.

This is only my take on the piece, and I'm sure it says way more about me than about what the artist felt or intended. To some, perhaps it speaks of fright and isolation. But that's the great thing about art. It can be many different things at once. Paradoxical. And, not.

Also, for me, it feels very similar to the therapeutic process. Therapy is a place where people can talk about the metaphorical things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, in their lives or in their own heads, and rather than being dismissed, the therapist will check it out, listen and reflect what they experience to be true without diminishing the client's experience.

At least, this is how I hope people experience therapy.