The rusted wind chimes blended in with the branches. It took me a few trips to the meditation garden to notice them. I smiled as the tiny dragonflies took form.
Dragonfly imagery is subtly embedded throughout the home and gardens of our new home. The ancient, mythical insects are painted on walls, placed between kitchen tiles, on the bathroom mirrors, and etched into a fireplace mantle.
In my summer evening swims, the imagery comes to life. I watch live dragonflies fly around the pool, land on nearby branches, and dart toward the sky.
I’ve read that dragonflies symbolize, among other things, change, transformation, and self-realization. This reminds me of the therapeutic process. These are not necessarily the same things. And the processes can vary greatly. Each can happen suddenly or slowly. It’s a beautiful process and I am honored to hold the space for my clients to explore and discover who they are.
Change is an invitation to both transformation and self-realization. Yet, it doesn’t necessarily lead to either. Change is happening all the time and is sometimes referred to as “the only constant.” It has a twin, however: resistance.
Resistance and control are linked. Through my work as a therapist, I’ve learned that the desire for control is driven by fear. I’ve also learned to view resistance as a form of power. Resistance is a form of power used to feel or maintain control. It is also fear-driven.
I can relate to the desire to resist. As much as I have wanted some things to change throughout my life, I’ve also resisted the very changes I’ve desired.
Collectively, we seem to be at a point where large groups of people are resisting change. (It even seems that some would be more comfortable if we went backward.)
What strikes me even more, however, than resistance to change, is our collective ability to resist being influenced by one another’s stories.
Storytelling has long been recognized as an important means of influencing people. When we are affected by another person’s story, we might say, “that touches me,” or “that moves me.” That’s a lot of implied power: The ability to move and the willingness to be moved. There’s power in the trust it takes to surrender to where one is and to be moved by another. Surrendering to the unknown can lead to discoveries and vault us to new levels of transformation.
Trust is a key element to building healthy parent-child relationships. These relationships help lay the foundation for empathy. We seem to have lost trust in others (What is their intention?). Worse, we have lost trust in ourselves (What will become of me?). This generates fear and fuels a desire for control over opening ourselves to unknowns. (I am reminded of research suggesting that we prefer a false ending to an unfinished story.)
Rusted wings suit a society that doesn’t want to change. What comes of a society comprised of people who have blocked their willingness to be influenced by one another’s stories? When we close the doors to change, we close the doors to transformation and self-realization.
A society with rusted wings is stagnant. It fails to touch the sky.