A Leap of Imagination

Presence: An Exploration of Profound Change in People, Organizations, and Society illuminates an approach to change that Tim Flood and I developed, based on the premise that staying completely within metaphors is an exciting and powerful way to bring about personal transformation.

Metaphor-driven change work also requires the coach to be fully present. But what is presence?

We first thought of presence as being fully conscious and aware in the present moment. Then we began to appreciate presence as deep listening, of being open beyond one's preconceptions and historical ways of making sense We came to see the importance of letting go of old identities and the need to control... leading to a state of "letting come," of consciously participating in a larger field for change (Peter M. Senge, C. Otto Scharmer, Joseph Jaworski, Betty Sue Flowers: Presence, pp. 13-14).

Spontaneous presence is absent of all preconceived notions, all self-talk, all assumptions and beliefs. It is trust in a knowing that has nothing to do with logical efforts. This knowing is absolute, unmistakable, and has a kind of magical quality.

The authors of Presence describe organizational examples. Here are two personal examples.

"Cloisonne Vases," by Mary Bast

In January 2008 I signed up for an oil painting class, purely from a desire to understand the medium so I could better appreciate works of art. To my utter amazement I found an affinity for painting, a complete engagement in the process: from preparing the canvas and setting up the palette to cleaning the brushes at the end of the class. I brought no expectation of being a "good" or "bad" painter, no preconceived notions, no need to control the outcome. By the end of the first year, I had completed a large painting of two Japanese cloisonne vases that had been in my family since my military father was stationed in Japan in the 1940's. I felt as if the canvas painted itself and I was the vessel of its creation by virtue of holding the brush in my hand. No one is more astonished than I to see the beauty and depth of those vases that "I" painted.

My second example happened when Tim Flood and I were finalizing the materials for a conference play-shop about metaphors. We wanted to keep people moving and out of their left-brain preconceptions without a lot of talk/direction on our part, so we envisioned notebooks that could hang from ribbons around their necks with clear instructions for each next step of the process. We used every kind of logic to figure out the length of the ribbon, how to attach a pen, etc. but -- no matter what we did -- when testing the prototype the ribbon pulled the binding loose from the notebooks. Finally, when we were feeling "brain dead" (a good thing, as it turned out), I started laughing hysterically. Tim thought I'd gone completely off my rocker. When I could speak, I shared the image of a kangaroo with a pouch, my internal judge translating it as something "silly." But as I slept that night my self-critic also slept, and I awakened the next morning with the clear image of a two-pocket folder that could be converted, with a little snipping, into two "pouches." We had our solution.

The History of Metaphor in Change Work

For as long as humans have had speech, we've been drawn to stories. Story-tellers and bards were honored and respected, their tales and poems used to teach, explain, and/or entertain. Harvard Business School leadership guru John Kotter said,

Over the years I have become convinced that we learn best – and change – from hearing stories that strike a chord within us... Those in leadership positions who fail to grasp or use the power of stories risk failure for their companies and for themselves.

You know from personal experience how some stories have affected you, changed your attitude, inspired you, provided hope. So, the time-honored therapy tradition to use stories for healing is no surprise. A therapeutic metaphor can help clients gain the personal resources and enhanced world model they need to be able to handle their problems. Typically, as in the general history of storytelling, the therapist decides what story or metaphor will have the greatest effect.

There's also a growing interest in listening for a client's metaphor and running with it, while still staying alert to a direction that might resolve the problem. I used this more client-centered approach with a client who said she always felt "like the new kid on the block" when with her colleagues. I entered her metaphor by saying, "OK, I'm here with you. You've just moved in, and you're the new kid. What's that like? What are the other kids doing? How do they treat you? What are some ways you can get them to include you?" Notice how, even though we were both in the client's metaphor, the form of my questions kept me in charge of what direction to take. I was eager to find a useful outcome, and we did find one when she said, "They want to play with some of my cool toys!" She was then able to recognize "cool toys" in her current repertoire that helped her feel more comfortable with colleagues.

More recently, I explored symbolic modeling. Instead of the coach determining the direction of clients' metaphors, open-ended questions preserve clients' terminology and facilitate their self-discovery and self-development: "And being like a butterfly is for you...?" "And when does (your words)....?" "And then....?" "And just before that....?" The facilitator's questions are called "clean language," meaning they're not compromised by left-brain theories of where to take the session; the questions typically follow the client's lead.

Symbolic modeling theory has a formal structure, however, so the emphasis still leans toward tools the helper brings, which keeps the left-brain processes in gear. In the past few years I've moved into a more right-brain use of metaphor where I follow the client's lead, trusting that wherever we go will lead to a healing place.

Following the Metaphor

(Two coach clients practicing with each other)

What would you like to have happen?

For me, I think it's about being busy. I'd like to be busy.

And what is 'busy' like?

Maybe it's like canoeing down white water rapids instead of being stationary in a lake; an element of movement, like going down a slide. An element of movement, some sort of slide downhill.

And is there anything else, when you talk about this movement downhill, is there anything else about that?

Well, it's invigorating, it's fast. Instead of the rapids, it's a picture of a slide, one of these slides you see shooting downwards, changing direction, the whole element of speed, excitement, uncertainty. 

So when you have this element of speed, excitement, and this uncertainty, is there anything else about that?  

It's fun; it's enjoyable. Yeah, it's fun.  

And what is it about 'fun'?  

Because it's happening so quickly you can't quite control it, but you can; you're on the edge. I think that's what I like about it. Time goes quickly, minutes go quickly. I think it's the quickness of speed that gets me.

Is there anything else about that speed, where time moves quickly?  

Well, the key is the angle of the slide. Unless it's angled a certain way it stops; the angle of the slide is critical. 

And what's that 'angle' like?  

It's quite steep, but it's also not the same angle all the time; it'll change, it'll slow you down a fraction, then speed you up; it's always busy, you can never predict it; it's happening fast.

You've got this angle of this slide, and it's steep, and you can't predict it, and it's happening fast?

Like a roller coaster.  

Like a roller coaster. Is there anything else about that?

I can see things coming toward me clearly. And the busyness and the speed of it is what I want. It's not something I'm trapped in; it's something I've chosen to go in; so in that way it attracts my desire for busyness. 

And reflecting this desire for busyness, what is that 'busyness' like?  

I suppose it's like wanting something but not knowing if you can create it. 

It's like wanting something but not knowing you can create it. So what is that like? Is there a feeling in there, a picture? 

I got a picture of jumping on climbing walls and not being able to predict if there's anywhere to put your feet and your hands. A bit like being spider-man but not knowing, if you throw yourself against the wall, if you'll stick. 

When you're spider-man and throwing yourself against the wall, is there anything else? 

It's like not knowing which wall to start with. It's being unsure of knowing which wall to start with. 

And not knowing which wall to start with; can you say more about that? 

Yeah, it's very unsettling. 

Anything else about 'unsettling,' when you don't know which wall to start with?

Yeah. It means you can procrastinate a hell of a lot.

And what is that procrastination like? 

A feeling of sluggishness. 

And how does that feeling of 'not knowing which wall' connect with that 'invigorating fast slide'? 

It's completely opposite. They're the antithesis of each other, and I'm often in the middle.  

And when you're in the middle of not knowing which wall and that invigorating fast slide, what is that like?  

That's like being in a hot country and a cold country at the same time. It's very strange.  

Anything else about 'that kind of 'strangeness'?  

It's very difficult to gauge where you are at because you go from one extreme to another, from a fast slide to a slow-down.

And is there anything else about that 'slow-down'? 

It's like the opposite of the slide, still in the slide, but you have to move yourself in the slide. 

So where are you when you're between the rock wall and the slide? 

I'm not in the slide. The slide is where I want to be. The rock wall is hard work.

And when you're on the rock wall, what needs to happen for you to get to the slide?  

It's like one of those bridges in Harrison Ford movies, Raiders of the Lost Ark, one of those bridges that connect the two.  

What's that bridge like? 

It's quite wobbly. It's safe but you've got to keep your balance. 

And is there anything else about this wobbly bridge'? 

I think you need to be steady. 

Steady like what? 

Steady means a good rhythm. 

A rhythm. 

Yeah. A rhythm of intention; a rhythm of A to B, a rhythm of certainty across the bridge. 

And is there anything else about this rhythm of intention? 

I think it's just a rhythm where you need to make a decision and move to a place that's consistent. 

And can you do that? 

Yep. I'm doing that as we're talking. It's a lot longer than I thought it would be. It's taking a lot longer, and elements get in the way of crossing the bridge so it's not as easy as it might seem. But it's going to the right place. 

You're going to the right place when you're on this bridge that's sometimes a little wobbly? 

Yeah, it's uphill going to the slide. 

And what happens now on this uphill going to the slide? 

I quite enjoy the view, actually. This view is quite interesting. 

Where is this interesting view? 

It's actually going into space now. The bridge is in space and I'm looking into stars as I seem to walk endlessly, going up this bridge. 

And is there anything else about these stars and walking endlessly?  

It's a very different picture, a very enjoyable picture, a very motivational, inspirational picture. It's not a slog, actually a really enjoyable walk. It's a HUGE distance, a hundred times more than I originally pictured it, and it's an incredibly enjoyable walk to the stars

So can that incredibly enjoyable walk up this bridge to the stars, can that happen now?  

Um hmmm. 

What needs to happen for this walk into the stars? 

It's happening. I can see myself walking along. 

Anything else? 

It's like a Stanley Kubrick movie, out in space with music. 

And with this walk up to the stars where there's space and music, where is the 'busyness' now?  

Well, the busyness is quite a long way off. It's a matter of how long it will take me to get to the busyness. 

So a long, long time. Is there anything else about that? 

It would be better if the busyness were closer. 

What is the bridge to the busyness like? 

The bridge is quite easy to walk on; it just seems like a long, long bridge, stretching out into the far, far distance.

You enjoyed the bridge when it went from point A to point B from the rock wall to the slide and when it went up to the stars, and the bridge seems really long.

Yes, never-ending.

Never-ending. So what needs to happen for that bridge to shorten?

I've just seen a sign, "Go this way."

Which way is 'this way'? 

To the right. 

And what is on the right? 

I think it's more of a solid platform that leads to the slide. 

And this platform -- what is this platform like? 

It's very solid, takes you from a bridge that's quite solid, where you know you're getting closer to the slide. 

So with this wobbly bridge and then this solid, supportive platform, what happens to the 'busyness' now?

It starts to happen because I'm near the slide. I can hear it, I can feel it, I can see the angle; I'm at the starting point of the speed. 

So can the busyness happen now? 

Yes. 

What happened right before you stepped onto the platform? 

I think it's the rhythm on the bridge getting a little bit quicker; a number of things on the bridge have interconnected and come together, a natural speeding up of things at that point, speeding up, integration, coalition, absorption, all these words, starting to gel. 

Anything else about that speeding up, that integration right before you step on the platform? 

That also coincides with the inner integration of things happening. 

And what's that like when the inner integration happens? 

It's a bit like when the wall has footholds. You know it's right. Your body knows it's right. You've got an internal sense of it being right. It feels right. 

Is there anything else about that internal sense of when your body knows 'it's right'? 

There's an excitement about it. It feels good. Just about to step on that platform. 

Where is the busyness? 

In my feet.

Can the busyness happen now, that's in your feet? 

Um hmm 

OK, I want to check in with you. How are you with ending here? 

Good. 

Dancing to a Larger Dance

Guest post by Tim Flood:

In The Presence Process Michael Brown argues that significant, authentic change can only be achieved by a full excavation of the psyche -- from external projection, back through behavioral and intellectual biases, to the emotive patterns that have kept the whole show up and running.

Though this may be old news, it comes alive again with presence as its vehicle and with metaphors bridging between behavior, thought processes, and emotive patterns. Presence is the nurturing receptivity essential to what Brown calls our witness-observer, and metaphors are the language of presence.

A transformative metaphor reduces resistance to zero by including and accommodating our complex emotional, intellectual, and physical patterns. Metaphors are the voice, the song, and the dance of the witty, kind, and intelligent inner observer. 

Listen for the rich and various ways people express themselves in metaphor:

I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I have lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well. Diane Ackerman

Now listen for your own metaphors. Be present to yourself.

I Saw Myself

I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear stream
of all of it

and vowed
always to be open to it
that all of it
might flow through

and then heard
"ring of bone" where
ring is what a

bell does

Lew Welch