Mirror Neurons VII: Resonance
I’m thinking again about the Robert Kegan model of The Evolving Self. It is in the shape of a helix. The growing human moves between the poles of differentiation and relationship, spiraling into ever higher octaves of meaning.
In this developmental diagram, as newborns we arrive in a state of Oneness that is “all subject” – there is no “object,” because they perceive an undifferentiated world. As we grow, we begin to recognize “other” in more and more complex ways. We acquire the ability to remember something that isn’t there, and this new skill, memory, separates us from the eternal “now” into which we were born. As we reach school age, we begin to create lives separate from our parents – although we still can’t imagine that they lead lives separate from ours! That awareness begins to dawn in adolescence, when we realize that the world is full of equal, opposite “others.” Adolescence can be a time of deep friendship and connection, based on the idea that other people can be just like us! As we grow into a more professional relationship with the world, we begin to cultivate the ability to stand our own ground, while allowing others stand theirs. Our identity is no longer dependent upon the exact reflection of ourselves in another’s eyes.
But in time, we may grow into a sense that we are not so separate and “professional” after all. We see that all beings share something essential; that our responsibility to ourselves is not different from our responsibilities to one another. Space curves, when the trajectory is long enough, and we may begin to approach the sensibility of the newborn – but from the opposite direction. Instead of being incorporated into the world, our identity surrounds it. Instead of swimming in the fishbowl, we hold it in our hands.
One evening last June, two parents brought their newborn daughter to my office for craniosacral therapy. She was not even two days old.
I cannot even describe the feeling of holding the child in my hands, allowing her instruct my hands in their delicate facilitations. Her whole body seemed to be humming. I cannot describe the feeling of being lifted into that light, even as the sky outside darkened and went black. I remember looking up at toward the faces of the parents. They seemed to be hanging in the dimness, smiling like moons. It was as if the baby were the center of a vibration that reached out, out, out, and brought us all into resonance.
As adults who work with young children, we are lucky. Babies and young children tend to be closer to that resonance than we grownups are. If we create a safe place for them to be, if we listen and hold and hum along, young children can help us find that essential vibratory place.
And once we are there, it doesn’t matter how we got there. It doesn’t matter what the diagrams say. It doesn’t matter where we fall on the developmental spectrum. All that matters is that we are there together, humming. . .
Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . .
Comments
Thank YOU, Jennie, for shining your mirror neurons back at me!
I enjoyed your gentle application of Kegan’s ultra-technical descriptions of life cycles and interacting life events and influences. I sense that this may tell us even more about the reader than the writer.
So beautiful…
Now it’s reminding me of another beautiful bit of writing…Jill Bolte Taylor’s book, My Stroke of Insight. I imagine you’ve already read it but if not, you will enjoy her recounting of moments like these as she recovers from her stroke.
Thank you, Susan. And you’re right, I was very moved by Jill Bolte Tayor’s courage and her story, although I don’t share her analysis of brain function and conclusions about the brain.
Jennifer Mulqueen Milton Feb 24, 2012
Beautiful piece, Eve. Thanks!