Healing World Trauma with the Therapeutic Spiral Model. Группа авторов

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СКАЧАТЬ him or herself as well as for the protagonist.

      As a director, being naive or even ignorant sometimes helps me. I don’t always have to know, just to be ready to go into the necessary direction. Besides, it reduces my authority and mobilizes the protagonist’s very own power. Indeed, I have worked with turbulent adolescent boys who resented any adult authority. I retreated from the director’s role, turning them into their very own directors, asked if I may make a suggestion here and there. Usually they agreed and it worked. My intercessions were usually like a double or gave them a new angle.

      Having a good memory with protagonists is useful. Recalling certain important and charged highlights of life revealed by the protagonist from the past can then be revisited. For example, in a currently troubled relationship with two protagonists who got along well years ago, both of whom I knew from their work then and now, I reminded them, “Go back to your tender beginnings and enact those moments.” It restored the hopefulness of the earlier interaction. It was also “an adequate response to a new situation,” re-evoking spontaneity. That is part of the director’s task—shaping the drama to enable overcoming interpersonal barriers. I have used it a number of times when it seemed indicated.

      The Director and the Auxiliary Ego

      When an auxiliary ego is given the leeway to be spontaneous and allowed to be fully engaged in the role of the absentee, over and beyond the protagonist’s perception, they may say in the role of the absentee, “I feel I want to tell you,” etc. Protagonists show varying ways of responding. When some say, “My…would never say or admit that,” it means the auxiliary might have hit home. The director can respond with “Maybe not, but could…feel that?” giving the protagonist the opportunity to consider the statement while the auxiliary ego repeats the last sentence. The director must evaluate if that information is relevant to the protagonist or not. If not, the director should reverse the protagonist into that of the other to allow the protagonist to reveal the correction. When done, role reversal takes place as the auxiliary picks up the new cues from the protagonist, so the action can continue with the protagonist in their own role.

      If, as sometimes happens, the protagonist “falls out of the role” due to subjective distortion by the auxiliary, it is the director’s duty to clear up the scene. If, on the other hand, the auxiliary hits a serious point, the director should allow the protagonist to feel their way into this new information. Astonishingly, very often these revelations by the auxiliary ego about the absent other are correct, creating either a new experience for that central figure or a confirmation of their very own unconscious awareness.

      Another response by the director might be, if the auxiliary has defined the situation correctly, “Of course not, that’s why we are doing it in psychodrama, so you may answer.” In the event the protagonist rejects the representation as impossible, corrective role reversal is called for in which the protagonist takes the perceived position. Whichever solution fits, that is the one to pursue. If the director has clear evidence that the protagonist is unable or unwilling to clear up the perception, is bizarre, and is distorting the truth, I have found that it is best to accept the given position—pressing against it hardens it. Having one’s position as protagonist accepted and confirmed no matter what, even though we find it distorted, makes it easier for the protagonist to eventually let go and resolve it. Remember, we are not dealing with absolutes and humans are not rational beings when involved in a conflict. It is different when two interacting protagonists are working together; then the hard truth has to come to light, especially when dealing with facts.

      For example, I recall a newly admitted female patient who had been hospitalized elsewhere for an entire year, during which she had a great number of electric shock treatments. She came to us in preparation for returning home. When the age of her daughter came up in a conversation on the stage with her husband, she stated that the child was 12 years old. The daughter’s father corrected his wife, “No, she is 13. You’ve been gone an entire year.” She simply had lost track of time, whatever the cause. Facts like this had to be cleared up, as it had serious consequences for resuming her life outside the hospital and for the daughter when they next met.

      In all these phases of the work, the auxiliary ego as a guide in action is evident. The auxiliary person is a path-breaker into the hidden forest of the protagonist’s mind but also back into life outside with new awareness. I recall a session in which Moreno was conducting a class and made an interpretation of the protagonist, which I, as the former double, felt to be incorrect. I stood up, sat next to him on the edge of the stage and said, “No, that’s not the way it was for me,” correcting him on the spot. Surprised but amused, he turned to the group and explained what I was accomplishing, while the protagonist nodded approvingly. My position as interpreter made it evident that the auxiliary ego is genuinely in the protagonist’s reality.

      Sharing

      Historically, psychodrama began in a group and was classified as a form of group psychotherapy. However, it is equally applicable as individual therapy. In the form of group psychotherapy, not only does the drama tie group members together, but also the sharing afterwards is focused on a common experience. This is unlike verbal group psychotherapy, in which the discussion is not always relevant, or communication springs from the head in intellectual terms, or one person dominates the discussion. Each person sharing after psychodrama does so from the heart, with everyone dealing with the roles and issues presented. It is not analyzing, advising, or critiquing. We all share, including the director, our common humanity—warts and all. We tell our story so that it fits with the protagonist’s story.

      However, not usually alluded to is that sharing is also of great usefulness for the director. In a group, for instance, one or other member may repeat a story at another sharing time, though stimulated by different protagonists. The director should pay attention to such repetition. It indicates that the person needs to be a protagonist at some point. Such repeated sharing may deal with a recent or a past experience, perhaps indicating “unfinished business.” Often a protagonist is surprised when I ask, “Do you permit me to refer to your sharing this on another occasion?” Or, “I have heard you share this in another session. Do you need to work on it?” Thus far the answer has been positive. “Could we do a session about that?” If approved, such work can either be undertaken then or, if time does not allow, the next time we meet. Sometimes it produces profound results. I have also spoken to such a potential protagonist individually to ask permission to bring up the matter.

      Conclusion

      Being a director means not to allow the psychodrama to sink into psychological chaos, such as leaving the protagonist in the role of the other at the end of a scene. Always return the protagonist to him or herself to re-establish their very own identity. Or, a protagonist who experiences the auxiliary ego taking a misstep into their identity, or distorting that reality as the protagonist perceives it, should be given the freedom by the director to stop the action and point out, “That’s not me.” Then the director has to speak up, either to redirect the auxiliary as indicated—yes, the auxiliary, too, is subject to direction and correction—or role-reverse both so as to have the protagonist produce the corrected action. Given proper identity, the protagonist can once again go into role reversal. I learned these things especially while being the protagonist in my own dramas. Such an event is called “falling out of one’s track,” meaning that the track is wrong and must be re-established and honored, however bizarre it may appear to others.

      One motto is: “Be sure you’re not doing your psychodrama on your protagonist.” That is true for auxiliary ego and director, as well. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves of that. This is someone else’s life even if it reminds us of our own, because it is not our own. Step back and listen carefully. We have to remain modest as director and realize that we cannot “save” every relationship. Some may have to be relinquished. That is also true for some of those in our own life.

      I would like to end with a story about when Moreno met Freud in 1917. Freud had asked СКАЧАТЬ