the magic garbage can: thanatos and transformation

The Arts in Psychotherapy 32 (2005) 358–371

The magic garbage can: Thanatos and transformation

Arthur Robbins Ed.D., ATR, HLM∗

Pratt Institute, 325 West End Avenue, New York, NY 10023, USA

Introduction

The will to live and die is a universal struggle that can encompass one’s deepest fearsregarding death, annihilation, and non-existence. On the most profound level, psychotherapytouches upon this existential struggle between the wills to live and to die. Some peoplerespond by burying this conflict beneath an array of complex defenses. Others maintain adeep silence regarding the struggle and hold on to what they have for fear of falling into theabyss of the unknown. However, the polarities of life and death forces have the potentialto combine and explode. This explosion manifests itself by a profound engagement withthe struggle between the will to live and die. For some individuals, this experience is calledenlightenment, for others, it is described as the discovery of God or faith, and, for the poetor artist, it may be referred to as the experience of transcendence.

This paper will weave into a fabric such issues as attachment theory to transcendence,birth, and rebirth. The author will discuss the clinical as well as personal struggles that centeraround the vortex of life and death. Finally, it will address the pain of human existence andthe search for a container that holds both light and imperfections.

Thanatos and transformation

Thanatos, commonly referred to as death instinct, has many definitions, Freud’s be-ing the most well known.Freud (1938)postulated that the end goal of life is death andthat on a very instinctual basis all people are driven to achieve this goal. AndreaGreen(2001)refers to Thanatos as a life adaptation towards an objectless existence. To be sure,

∗ Tel.: +1 212 877 7384; fax: +1 212 724 0767.E-mail address: [email protected].

0197-4556/$ – see front matter © 2005 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.doi:10.1016/j.aip.2005.04.003

A. Robbins / The Arts in Psychotherapy 32 (2005) 358–371 359

as a clinician, I have had little difficulty in both observing and comprehending a stateof extreme despair and a wish to retreat to existential nothingness. Here, the quest formeaning, with its accompanying state of emotional investment, is all but lost. At thesame time, Freud’s description has always troubled me, for I simply cannot fathom thenotion that people are driven to return to a state of non-existence, opposing the drive tolive.

When referring to Thanatos, it is important to consider that there must also be a coun-terbalancing life force, one that leads to transformation. Certainly this life force can beobserved in a newborn child, as both mother and child bask in each other’s eyes, and a deepbond, in the best of circumstances, evolves. Both parties are object-seeking and enjoy ablissful state of oneness.

Qualities of the life force

The balance of life and death is something that every human being faces at variousperiods throughout his/her life. When faced with a crisis of overwhelming proportions onecan proceed in two different directions: an individual can either passively resign, sink intothe void, and give up life-seeking relationships, or he/she may find the strength to seek outlife regardless of one’s impediments. In many instances when a person is put into the throesof this challenge, one is plunged into the polarities of the light and the dark and moves intothe edge of hope and despair. Artists constantly play with the lightness and darkness ofbeing, as a way of capturing this transformative edge.

This life force is dynamic in nature. Investments in relationships change as the crisis oflife places new challenges on old relationships. For some, this challenge is circumventedand the relationship succumbs to a stereotypical deathlike grip that protects us from theenergy of change.

The film Touching the Void (Smithson & Macdonald, 2003) poignantly and vividlyillustrates the forces of life and death combating one another. In this documentary, whichtakes place in the Peruvian Andes, two mountain climbers become separated during a verydangerous descent on a very treacherous mountain. One of the climbers, who had severelybroken his leg, falls into a deep crevice and finds it impossible to climb out. The othermountain climber, in order to save his own life, faces the grim reality that there is little hecan do for his fallen partner and subsequently goes down the mountain on his own. Thus,the climber left behind, remains hopelessly trapped in a deep crevice surrounded by ice andsnow and has little chance for survival. The drive for life miraculously pushes him furtherto explore the possibilities of escape from this icy trap. He believes he was not meant todie or be cut off from having friends around him at that moment in his life. Slowly, he rollshimself to the bottom of the precipice and sees a dim light at one part of a dark cave. Withsuperhuman strength and with much pain he finds an opening and starts to crawl down themountain. For the viewing audience I suspect there was both an identification with and aweof this feat. Many individuals, if faced with the same situation, would slowly sink into avoid and encounter death. Yet this man was governed by a powerful life force that was bothobject-seeking and life-giving. Death, here, was cheated out of a superhuman wish to returnto life and meaning.

360 A. Robbins / The Arts in Psychotherapy 32 (2005) 358–371

Personal encounter between life and death forces

Like the mountain climber, I, too, had a firsthand experience that put me face-to-facewith the balance of life and death, and this experience led me to discover something aboutthe power of light and its ability to transform. In the past year and a half, I have hadthree major operations, the most recent of which was a knee transplant that involved a par-ticularly painful rehabilitation. I had become emotionally and physically exhausted fromthe stream of recent invasive procedures, and the strenuous recovery of the last opera-tion compounded things. As a result, I began to prefer retreating into a tight, protectivecocoon.

Although issues surrounding the forces of life and death were present for me at variouspoints immediately after my operations and later, one surgery, in particular, had a life-changing impact on me. This experience occurred after I had open-heart surgery 2 yearsago. When I now recall this experience, images and memories merge into states of reality,unreality, and the macabre. And yet, on some level, I always knew that in order to masterthis experience an articulation of these events was very important. Complications aroseafter the surgery that demanded care in the cardiac intensive care unit (CICU) for 7 days.My doctors and family all knew that I was fighting for my life; however, I was oblivious ofmy struggle to stay alive. I lived in a gray world, bordering somewhere on the edge of lifeand death. While in this state of semi-consciousness, I barely recognized the people aroundme. Throughout the 7 days that I remained on the unit, I mainly existed in a foggy, emptyvoid; everything seemed blurry and dark.

My family was ever-present beside me. In the background was my youngest daughter,a medical doctor, who became part of the hospital’s supporting team. Though she is apediatrician she had trained some of the residents and the surgical fellow in attendance,and I’m certain that I enjoyed a measure of security knowing that she was present andwatching over the whole process. In this gray, dark state, faces around me seemed dim andfar away. Yet, in the midst of the grayness, I clearly saw two beams of light coming fromeither side of my bed that seemed to emanate from my family’s presence. My wife andson, both “hands-on healers,” ran healing energy over my body—a meditative process thatinvolves concentrating one’s healing energy and focusing it at another’s energy body. At thetime, I had very little grasp of what all this meant, but I could feel and see the presence oflight energy. Yet on some level, I seemed to have experienced the presence of my family asbeacons of light that communicated to me that I was not alone. They continuously remindedme that I existed, even though I was living in a very gray world. They were particularlyhelpful shortly after the operation, when my cardiologist became very upset because he hadnot been notified about the deterioration of my condition. Although I vaguely recall theepisode, I do remember feeling rather detached and even alienated and fragmented by thecardiologist’s anger and protestations but, at the same time, anchored and validated by myfamily’s presence.

At the end of the sixth day of my stay in the CICU, the doctors decided to test mybody’s capacity to function without life support systems. Unfortunately, the results werenot positive as the doctors had anticipated and consequently required a return to the useof life support systems. As a result, I returned to the blurry, uncomfortable state of havingintrusive tubes in virtually every orifice of my body.


On the seventh day, my wife visited me in the CICU with a copy of theNew York Times inhand. A spark of curiosity was ignited even though I was only dimly aware of her presence.Because I was intubated, I could not speak but motioned to her that I was interested inlooking at theTimes. She tried to fold it for me so that I would be able to see it more easily,but I indicated to her that I could handle the paper myself. Slowly, almost imperceptibly,I emerged from my stupor and began reading the paper. The resulting picture was quitestartling to the CICU personnel: Here was a man who was intubated, now reading theNewYork Times! Consciousness then started to fully return to me as I searched out the headlinesof each article. The doctors around me observed this act with a sense of confusion andinterest. They shared their reactions with each other and said, “Something is wrong withthis picture. How could this man who’s been fighting for his life in the CICU for the pastweek suddenly be reading theNew York Times?” Although I didn’t know exactly what Iwas reading, I did know that I wanted to be informed about was happening in the world.

Later that day, my vital signs began to approach a more stable and normal range. Thedoctors decided that if I were capable of reading the paper it would seem to indicate that Inow had the capacity to function without life supports. The life supports were removed andI started to function without them. Happily, very shortly thereafter, they rolled me out of theCICU, at which point I smiled knowing that I had achieved something quite remarkable.

I felt victorious and defiant leaving that hospital room. I remember thinking, “death didnot get me this time.” Contrary to Freud’s theory, I was not going to despair and sink intoan object-less void. In fact, since my post-operative struggle, the investment in meaningfultime has become core to me. I still vividly remember the beacons of light that gave me hopeand reminded me that there was a life force to which I wanted to reach out. As I now reviewmy experience, I often ask myself what was behind the meaning of my reading theNewYork Times and what was it that really pulled me back to reality. I’d like to think that it wasmy investment in the world around me. For myself, I wanted to know what was going onin the world, for I had been very concerned and involved in the political currents that werehappening in society. I did not want to give up the challenge; I fought without knowing itand would not surrender to a state of quiescence or an objectless world. Indeed, the lightemanating from this experience had made a profound impression on me.

Light and attachment theory

Each child, I believe, enters the world holding the potential for light and radiance. Ofcourse, some lights may glow stronger than others depending on one’s constitutional back-ground. Withgood-enough mothering (Winnicott, 1958), a light can be enhanced in a child.This light emanates from the positive mix of the mother–child enchantment. By contrast,when there is a failure in mothering, the child potentially can be thrown into blackness, orwill likely search for some very inadequate substitutes. Life energy is something I defineas object seeking and existing in every human being, both young and old. The mere act ofbecoming old does not mean that one must succumb to Thanatos. For even as one’s bodyis governed by the wear and tear of existence, the spirit certainly drives each person tofind new and different meanings, even in one’s old age. Of course, not all youths meet thiscreative challenge, and those who don’t can find themselves in a state of sullen darkness


early in life. Life energy, then, becomes the fuel of the self. It is not the self, rather it isenergy that draws people to the world and leads them to seek out objects that bring foodand sustenance to the very essence of their existence.

Relationships of light, transcendence, birth and rebirth

Each developmental period presents any number of challenges in which an individualmust give up what he/she knows and sink into a state of void or chaos. This process is anecessary part of cognitive growth, and it is something that helps people to transform lifeinto new forms and resolutions. This void holds a very different energy charge than theschizoid space that is dead and empty. By contrast, giving up old forms and moving intothe void connotes an experience of unbounded energy. Many people meet this challenge byan excitement and readiness to plunge into the unknown. I have observed older people whoare constantly meeting life with new challenges, excitements, and investments. At the sametime there are very young adults who are frightened of any new investment, or of givingup something old and secure. Thus, the life force embodies one’s wish to grow, to findnew perspectives and reorganizations, and to give up old forms and develop new ones. Thechild who does not encounter from the very beginning of life a mirror of luminosity in themother–child dyad sinks into a variety of different compromise formations and hold on tothe inanimate, finding safety there. Or, indeed, this child may pull into his/her body, findingit the place that he/she trusts most. At times, there is a rigid omnipotence that develops andseeks constant control as one tries to ward off any involvement with others. In all thesevariations, life energy rarely is nourished and there is shrinkage into a very dim glow. Allthrough life, then, people are faced with the struggle of life and death. Giving up old forms,finding new ones, and sinking and living in a period of chaos then becomes a necessary partof finding new life forms. This void is very different in nature from the dead, empty spaceof Thanatos. The void of Thanatos holds minimal energy and is not life-seeking. Thus,paradoxically, the void is not just a place of death, but it may also be a place where newbeginnings may be found.

The artist and transformation

The artist is mainly preoccupied with the transformation of this life force. In the simplestof explanations, there is a preoccupation with transforming the inanimate into the animate,where the artistic product becomes an expression of luminosity and deep communication.In this creative art process, the boundaries of the artist are stretched and modified witheach creative encounter. In rare instances, an extraordinary, creative talent is able to notonly tap into the past and present, but to reach out to the world and produce a messagethat is constantly being revealed in new forms and meanings throughout the ages. However,the artist does not solve conflicts that occur in his/her interpersonal relations through art.There are many examples of very creative artists whose life histories have been puncturedwith suicide, emotional disruption, and conflict. This does not negate the very importantemotional function of the art form. The containment and offering form to the emotionalundercurrents of the artist may be one of the most important aspects of survival.


Developing an outlet for creative expression and transformation

In the early part of my analysis, old memories and associations came into consciousness.I recall long periods of isolation as a child, of sitting in the back yard by myself in a babycarriage long past the time when I should have been playing with other children. I was notaware of my loneliness but, indeed, did have fears that the world was a very dangerous place.Other memories come to mind regarding my own particular struggles to bond, to create, andto invest in others around me. When I was young, I came to realize that something neededto be expressed that went beyond words. As a child I was particularly interested in fire andwould attempt to put all kinds of substances together and heat them over the stove. PerhapsI was an alchemist in the making. Everyone in my family (especially my mother and fatherwho anxiously and warily watched me moving toward the kitchen to see if, indeed, I wouldcontinue on my quest for magic) kept a watchful eye on me so the house would not burndown.

Several years later in high school, I served as a student assistant in the chemistry lab,where I tried to explore the mixture of various chemicals and see what would happen. Onone particular occasion I nearly started a fire in the laboratory and, as a result, I lost myposition as lab assistant. As demonstrated in my interest in fire and chemistry, light remaineda potent and important force in my life. Today, the analyst in me certainly understands thatI was trying to do something very deep and personal about my own existence in the family.Perhaps it was very intimately connected with my quest to reach out to life, to destroy oldassociations, and to find new forms of meaning.

The drive I felt to express myself in a creative way continued to live within me. I yearnedto find something creative that I could touch and feel in a very kinesthetic way. With sometrepidation, I enrolled in sculpting classes and rediscovered texture and form and the mediumof clay. However, clay did not offer me enough of a challenge, so I changed modalities andpursued working with stone. Soon, stone also seemed to lack the kind of excitement andcreation for which I was searching. Ultimately, I found a home in welding metal sculpture.Something very special happened to me when using this medium: I experienced the excite-ment of holding a torch and creating a literal dance in the metal. The play of heat, fire, andmetal, and the process of seeing steel melting before my eyes, all seemed to connect to aforce in me that was life producing.

The story of the magic garbage can

Light is closely related to the struggle of life and death. I will attempt to illustratethis relationship in the following story about the so-called magic garbage can that I hadcommissioned. During the last 20 years I have visited the Danish Art Therapy Institute,directed by Vibeke Skov, where I have been invited to teach and conduct workshops forexpressive therapists. The director, in addition to being a very prominent art therapist, isan outstanding glass sculptor. She would invite me to visit her studio in the evening afterclasses had finished, and I discovered there the wonders of putting glass together into anexpression of light, color, space, and luminosity, all of which seemed to play with oneanother. This art-making was fascinating, and the end product was often exquisite. If I had


the equipment here in this country I am certain that I would have embarked on putting myenergies into glass sculpture.

A few summers ago I attended one of the glass sculptor’s art exhibitions, and I wasquite excited by the range of her work that was displayed at her show. Afterwards, we rodetogether to her home, and, on the car ride back, I thought that it would be wonderful if Icould have a glass garbage can in my office. I had been looking for a garbage can for sometime and was unable to find one that suited the office. Without warning, I blurted out in aprovocative manner, “Could you make me a glass garbage can?” She replied, “Of course,”and then the topic was dropped and we went on to discuss other things.

That night my wife exclaimed, “Whatever possessed you to commission the sculptor tomake a glass garbage can?” “Oh, no,” I replied. “I was only joking.” The next morning Iwent to the studio and was somewhat surprised to see that my glass garbage can was well onits way to being put together. I was immediately moved by its beauty. However, I soon beganto wonder what the garbage can was going to cost me. In reality, no matter how beautifulor unique it might be, it is after all still a garbage can. The artist and the businesspersonin both of us started to haggle over the price, and the sculptor replied to me at one pointrather provocatively, “Is my time worth the same as your time?” I said that of course it was,and she in turn replied, “It took me eight hours to create it. Let’s say the cost will be oneday of your work here at the Institute.” I had not been prepared to pay such a sum for agarbage can, and we were starting to tread on dangerous territory: her time and her valueand my time and its worth. At that moment, the question of whether our relationship couldcontain all these various strains had sharply been brought into focus. Status, competition,and jealousy were all part of this mix, though they were not expressed directly on a verballevel. Finally, we negotiated an additional piece of artwork as part of the package and soonarrived at a compromise that would cost me one day of work. In this brief interchange, Ifaced some of the elements that mark an artist’s existence. Money, work, and self-image,as well as the sheer joy of putting something together in a creative synthesis, are all part ofthe life of an artist, and the individual must allow a precarious balance to evolve if he or shewishes to survive. The material interest has to be weighed against the pleasure of creating.

Carrying the burden

When negotiating the deal of the glass garbage can, I hadn’t given much considerationto the fact that it had to be transported from Denmark to my home in New York City. Thepiece weighed more than 60 pounds and was over 3 feet high. I had already paid enoughfor the garbage can and was not prepared to spend even more money on costly freight. Idecided that the most economical solution would be for me to take it directly home withme on the plane. Obviously, it was too fragile to be placed in the hold of an airplane, so thedirector and I packed the garbage can very carefully so that I could bring it with me on theplane. My beautiful new garbage can quickly became very heavy and cumbersome. The canwould have been difficult enough to transport on only one flight; our professional itineraryhad a number of additional stops before we arrived home. At each airport I searched for acart to relieve me of my burden. At some airports there were no carts at all, and so I wouldswipe a wheel chair when the security guards were not looking. At times I was stopped andwarned that the wheel chairs were for people who could not walk, not for people to use


as a means of carrying heavy packages. I lamented that I would soon wind up in a wheelchair myself if I could not find some ground transportation for my prized burden. Usuallythe guards were sympathetic, and the flight attendants were helpful and found a place onthe plane where I could store my glass.

Dealing with imperfection

On the last night of our trip, upon arriving at the airport hotel, my wife told me that shecould see that I was getting tired of carrying the garbage can, and so she offered to takecharge of transporting it. Besides, she said, she is more careful than I am. I gladly gave up theresponsibility. Minutes later we arrived at the elevator, at which point my wife momentarilytook her hand off the luggage cart in order to press the elevator button. In that split second,the garbage can fell off the cart and onto the ground. I shrieked so loudly my voice could beheard throughout the entire lobby. “Oh, no!” I moaned, assuming the beautiful garbage canhad been shattered. I could not bear to open up the package to investigate the damage at thattime. Later when we arrived home, we were surprised to discover that the garbage can hadmanaged to survive, although it had a crack in it. However, when turned in a certain direction,the crack became hardly recognizable. In fact, no one would probably ever notice the crack.The glass piece fit perfectly in my room, and it looked quite compelling. Nevertheless, Iwas always aware that the can was no longer a piece of perfection.

Finding a function

Now that I had a beautifully crafted glass garbage can in my possession, I had to decidewhat it should be used for. When my wife commented that my patients and superviseeswouldn’t know what to do with the unusual-looking glass garbage can, I told her that Iwould keep it by my art supply desk where patients would have the opportunity to discardtheir unused art material.

Upon further reflection I developed a more profound understanding of the importance ofthis work of art. Therapists offer their patients a container for all of the split-off projectionsthat hold so much guilt and shame. Yet therapists are more then just containers; they alsobecome transformers who offer patients opportunities to find meaning and purpose in theseprojections. Another analog to art and therapy seems to be equally relevant. For myself, theluminosity of glass and light may well be an extremely important part of this transformationalprocess.

The transformative energy of light

Light has rarely been discussed in Freudian psychoanalytic literature. Yet the artist isall too familiar with the play of light and darkness and the artistic image holding manylevels of consciousness. Historically, artists have created a luminous glow around varioussaints and prophets, and, in some paintings, the artist may very well have captured the veryessence of being. In light there is also a purity of consciousness in which the interferingdebris of society’s struggles is placed in a more accepting and profound perspective. Some


therapists associate this light with a non-judgmental and accepting attitude. Others equatelight with therapeutic love. Obviously these phrases all appear to have some relevance butcannot really capture all the meanings of light. The filmDead Man Walking (Robbins, Kilik,& Simmons, 1995) poignantly tells a story of a nun working with a condemned killer whois on death row. The nun, neither frightened nor awed by the killer in spite of his historyof violence, confronts his cold cynical attitude towards life. In the ensuing dialogue a veryremarkable and profound non-verbal transformation entered the relationship. In spite ofhis cold and ruthless experience of the world, the killer imperceptibly changes in attitudeand goes to his execution with a sense of his inner forgiveness. The movie captures thevery essence of the radiance emanating from this nun, which becomes, I believe, a veryimportant attribute of this very moving process. This movie truly exhibited an engagementof lightness and darkness.

As the nun inDead Man Walking (Robbins et al., 1995) appeared to have emanatedradiance, I believe that some therapists and healers emanate an imperceptible light. Theirlight has the ability to reach out to, hold, and mirror to patients potentiality to transcendhuman limitations. This light, I believe, originates from a profound inner connection toone’s very internal state of being and can manifest itself on the interpersonal, spiritual,or sexual level of consciousness. Light then is neither good nor bad for one can witnessthis phenomenon—in politics, the stage, and even in the demonic. Energy in this contextoriginates from an internal connection that moves back and forth from chaos to form. WhenI was in the CICU, my family offered me hope, love, and a connection that emanated inperceptible light. For myself life was embodied in their radiance. On the deepest level ofexistence, at that time and place, they became my healers.

What the can holds

As I reflect upon my garbage can, one of its most remarkable and distinct qualities isthe luminosity that shines through the glass. The difficult human struggles that my Danishartist friend Vibeke Skov and I had encountered regarding money and status as well ascompetition and jealousy somewhere are symbolically held in this garbage can. Certainlythis art piece no longer has a quality of perfection because I will always know that there isa crack—even if it is hidden from view. Yet, in spite of this crack, it still contains a qualityof luminosity and light. The garbage can reminds me of the reality of present-day society.Many people search for a quality of perfection, perhaps to compensate for their scars andinner conflicts. Alas, one is always reminded that inevitable flaws are part of every person’spersonality. The artist devotes his or her life’s career in a search for beauty and meaning.Yet the artist must equally face the limitations of his or her existence that cannot be met ordealt with in the art form. Indeed, everyone must face his or her splits and the ambivalencesand the partial fulfillments of one’s inner wishes and aspirations. Treatment, hopefully, canassuage one’s cracks of being human. The limitations must live side by side with society’squest for new meanings and forms. Treatment, then, offers people a choice. One can finda space to amalgamate new meanings from old in spite of all his/her personal limitations,or one can withdraw to an objectless world and encounter death as a solution. The choiceis an individual one, and one that therapists often need to face in the treatment of theirclients.


Clinical issues related to the struggle of life and death

The role of the reflector

In a therapist’s practice, one encounters patients who have a low level of radiant energy.Insufficient bonding marks their histories. They live close to a state of nothingness and onthe edge of an empty void. Many therapists report being lulled into a sense of sleepiness inthe therapeutic contact. For myself, I can even cite instances where my eyes would close ascertain patients would walk down the hallway to my office. At the same time, therapists arealso able to reflect back the client’s state of loneliness and disconnection that is indicative ofthe world in which they live. The crucial turning point in the therapeutic relationship occurswhen the therapist no longer complies with the projections and inductions but regains hisor her center and ground. The therapist offers a complex mirroring that is paradoxical innature. There is an internal broken mirror that requires reflection even as the therapist offersthe unbroken mirror of hope and light to this experience of emptiness.

The role of the container

With these patients who hover at the edge of despair and are exhausted by very destructiveintrojects, the real relationship becomes an important container for the projection of thistoxic force. My role as the therapist has became one of containing either the sadism orrage that is often underneath this withdrawal. At the same time, therapists must attempt tooffer life and hope to their patients. Yet, I am all too aware of my own human frailty andcannot always meet the challenge of containing the cracked and distorted experiences oflife in the countertransference. Sometimes the very fact of my human limitations may alsoset the stage for something new to happen. In these instances, I must be aware enough toadmit my own personal limitations to the patient. Here the stage is set for two people, bothin the human endeavor of working together regarding very intimate material, to come faceto face with the personal limitations of their personal struggles. By the very nature of itsacceptance, the stage is set for some form of transformation.

The pain of human existence

One of the patients I work with shared with me a dream she had had, and this dreamillustrates this woman’s struggle with life, death, and transformation. This patient, withwhom I’ve worked for 3 years, comes from a fairly deprived family existence, even thoughher family is middle-class in origin. She has learned to survive by developing a sweet,smiley self that is accommodating and rarely shows pain, rage, or distress. Her motheris extremely ill, and her father is now dead. She recently returned home to visit with hermother and to be with her family who were gathering together to observe the holiday. It wasa scene with which she was very familiar. In this environment, she feels very non-existent.She has shared with me some very painful feelings that have always been connected withher family. In spite of these feelings, she holds a good deal of love for her mother, whothe patient has often described as being self-preoccupied and narcissistic. Her love for thisperson is abiding. When the patient returned home to the city after the holidays, she stated


that she felt depressed and empty. Coincidentally, the session in which she told me thefollowing dream was the first time in 4 to 5 weeks that she had seen me because we had totake a break in our therapeutic relationship on account of one of my operations. It was atthat time that the patient offered me the following dream:

I was on my way to a large store like Home Depot or a garden store that had plantsupplies—clay pots, soil, cuttings, furniture, and gourmet foods. I was on my waythere and looking forward to it. It seemed do be on the outskirts of the city. SuddenlyI found myself seemingly in Harlem, on the edge of the East River. This is where itturned out this home supplies store was located. It turned out to be right on the banksof the river. What I had anticipated as being a warm experience suddenly turned cold.I made my way through the garden section—a gravel lot—and I saw some stairsto take. I climbed them one by one, when gradually I realized that I was climbingright out over the river. I could see the cold winter sunlight reflected off the water.Suddenly, as I got higher, the stairs shifted in their configuration (almost the wayan optical illusion works), but the stairs literally flipped upwards (something like aChinese game of blocks or some such thing I’ve seen in reality) and became morevertical. I thought if I moved backwards, perhaps these movable stairs could revertback to their earlier, original shape if I weighted them down with my heels. But atthis point I realized it was impossible to go backwards, and I saw that I also couldnot go forward. So here I was suspended very high in the winter sunlight very highup in the sky, and there was absolutely nowhere to go. I felt there was no choice butto jump. This was the only out—the only way to go. So I jumped off the stairs anddown toward the water and immediately woke up.

Living on the edge of the void

As I listened to the dream it became apparent how closely this patient was living onthe edge of despair and suicide. The hope she held on to before each visit to her familyoften turned into feelings of abandonment, and pressure associated with the holidays nowamplified this all too well. Another factor that may have contributed to the difficult feel-ings she had been experiencing at the time was the 4- to 5-week break in our therapeuticrelationship when I was not available to help her process her pain. We started to talk aboutthe dream. She had few associations; I offered a few of mine. “You know,” I said, “jumpinginto the cold river or into the void when you felt you had no choice, seems close to suicideand taking one’s life.” She agreed that these thoughts were in fact present in her, and shefelt somewhat thankful that I had brought up this very painful topic. She readily admittedthat she did not care whether she lived or died. I made no attempt to take her away fromher pains. She felt a certain sense of relief because I simply accepted her aloneness anddespair. My own associations gravitated to experiences of my personal history that also hadmoments of coldness. I understood how desperate and alone she felt. I knew what it was toreturn to my family hoping that I would find something that I craved—even though I knewit was a hopeless wish. I kept these associations to myself even though I suspected that theywere part of our non-verbal chaotic mix that could possibly lead to some alchemical light. Itwas evident to me that the complete acceptance of where she was in life was all she needed.


In the next session she reported that she felt much better than she had felt in the lastsession. She brought in stories about men in her life, one of whom she had encounteredduring the holidays. After this unexpected recent meeting, she was able to gain a muchbetter perspective of his limitations and wondered what he really held for her. She thenshifted her thoughts to her mother who was becoming increasingly ill. The visits she makesto her mother’s home really don’t feed this client, and yet she cares so much for her mother,who the patient describes as being self-involved even when she is dying. The patient hasa profound sense of connection to her mother and, at the same time, she feels so empty.Obviously, this woman’s mother is very important to her; she appears to be her majorinvestment. She sensed that I felt somewhat critical of her mother, and she corrected meeven though I had said very little about her mother. She warned me that I must leave herrelationship with her mother alone. Next, she began thinking about various people in herlife, and her understanding of these individuals started to tumble out, one after another. Shewas able to share with me that her job as a nurse completely sucks the life out of her but, atthe same time, is the very thing that gives her meaning.

The search for meaning and transcendence

As I became part of the patient’s struggle with life and death, I also became aware of hersearch for some transcendence to her existence. Her sense of despair was very profound,and I was not about to give her false encouragement about her predicament. Rarely has thispatient felt seen, and she has certainly not felt valued. Her treatment continued; it remainedclear that she did not want any phony support from me but rather was yearning for anawareness of her value even in her state of aloneness. As our relationship progressively be-came interconnected, seeds of emotional reinvestment were laid down. The patient becameincreasingly sad and tormented as her mother’s health deteriorated. Her siblings began towatch over her mother with a very protective eye, and it became clear that all of them weretrying to show, at least to themselves, what caring children they were. And yet basicallythey were fundamentally disconnected from their mother. Each one was living out his/herrole as the good child. The patient began to feel rather detached as she watched her mother’shealth decline. She lamented to me, “When my mother dies, I may die with her for I am thebattery that gives off all her energy. What role will I have?”

The shift

It is difficult for me to pinpoint why a shift in my stance began to take place. NeverthelessI become very active in this patient’s treatment. I told her the story ofIt’s a Wonderful Life(Capra, 1946), a film in which the protagonist, who is played by James Stewart, begins toassess his life in the small town in which he was born and raised. He begins to feel thathe has made very little impact in this small town and in other peoples’ lives and convinceshimself that he is ready to take his life. Just as he is about to jump off a bridge into icy coldwater, an angel immediately appears beside him and shows the man that he has indeed madea profound impact on many people in the town, and even in the lives of people he has neverbefore met. I told the client that the message of this movie may well refer to her. The patientwas very touched by this reference for the movie is one of her favorites. She listened to me


intently as I enumerated all the positive impact she has had on her patients. She offered oneof her own connections to a patient to whom she had been recently assigned as a nurse. Thepatient she told me about had been ordered out of her surgeon’s office because the surgeonhad become exasperated with the woman’s complaints and anxieties. Feeling helpless andnot knowing what to do, the desperate woman from the surgeon’s office turned to her forhelp. The client was then able to redirect the woman to another surgeon, which ultimatelyled to a very successful operation. I pointed out to the client some of the various attributesshe had demonstrated in this exchange with the desperate woman: she was loyal; she wasconcerned; she was a person who could hold a promise; she could be there for people; andshe had a deep concern for others which she showed in her volunteer work. She listenedintently and recognized what I was saying, but she wasn’t sure that she could own it.

Were all these attributes hers to value, or was her real value being the battery for hermother? This struggle of life and death—do I have a separate existence even if I am only mymother’s battery, can my self be nourished without my mother, can I indeed find nourishmentto reinvest in life—all became part of a continuing dialogue highlighting a struggle withThanatos and life. I had been aware for some time of the patient’s brave smile, and theunderlying gloom that was seen in her eyes. I know how hardworking she felt and that sheran from her emptiness despite the fact that she constantly lived in it. The hope I offeredher is in valuing what she has to say and seeing her life from an outside perspective. I amuncertain how treatment will progress. I suspect it will have its ups and downs. But certainlythis patient has taught me many important therapeutic lessons. The mother is the rock ofher existence and the patient realizes that she will eventually have to muster the courage toface mourning and loss of the most important person in her life. As we made contact withone another’s void, the potential of discovering some new alchemical mix became part ofour unique therapeutic dialogue.

Conclusion: the search for the magic container that holds light and imperfections

My glass garbage can is magical because it holds disappointments and lack of mirroringas well as the various projections I hold from my parents. Important people in my life,particularly my wife, have stimulated the transformations of some of these important originalexperiences. For instance, when I was writing my doctoral thesis, my future wife became avery active participant in the completion of the manuscript. We had but 3 months to finishthe thesis before I was to be drafted, and she volunteered to type it. She was more than justa mere typist. With every paragraph and sentence she would listen and intently mirror backwhat I was saying, which seemed to offer new value and meaning to my words. Suddenly,my words started flowing so naturally and so quickly, and, indeed, it felt as if I had foundin myself a new writer who could articulate his ideas as they were being mirrored backby someone who loved me. At times my wife was critical and refused to type what I hadsaid; she felt that I could do better. Meaning started to flow as I experienced her valuing mythoughts. Similarly, a good supervisor, a mentor, or an analyst fulfills a similar role servingas a kind of mirror to the people with whom they work. In all these instances a magicgarbage can is created, one that often has its pains and cracks as well as the ability to giveold experiences new meaning. Here, then, is the point of luminosity—the moment when


past and present as well as future all meet and are recreated. This is the light that we allsearch for, and it involves giving up old ideas and myths, connecting new ways of building,and finding new ways of being. Light, perceptible and imperceptible, then becomes theimplicit connector that acts as the fuel for life-giving energy.

References

Capra, F. (Producer/Director). (1946).It’s a wonderful life [Motion picture]. United States: Liberty Films.Freud, S. (1938).The basic writings of Sigmund Freud (A. A. Brill, Ed. & Trans.). New York: The Modern Library.Green, A. (2001).Life narcissism, death narcissism (A. Weller, Trans.). London: Free Association Books.Robbins, T. (Producer/Director), Kilik, J. (Producer), & Simmons, R. (Producer). (1995).Dead man walking

[Motion picture]. United States: Paramount Pictures.Smithson, J. (Producer), & Macdonald, K. (Director). (2003).Touching the void [Motion picture]. United

Kingdom: FilmFour.Winnicott, D. W. (1958).Collected papers: Through paediatrics to psychoanalysis. New York: Basic Books.

the magic garbage can: thanatos and transformation

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