ME:
“What did you mean when you said you saw grace?”
By now, my affection toward Outliers should be obvious.
I am delighted in watching the likes of Ray be met and laid bare by the scientific precision and artful pliancy of my Method—perhaps like witnessing the inner and outer workings of an iun.
Yet I had carried a rather tentative, restless sense all morning as I cycled through scenarios for how to best pose my question on grace.
Why the atypic hesitation on my part?
Imagine working with a client who remains adamant she will one day be Queen of her own new nation; you dedicate sessions to circling and narrowing in on the essence of her stated objective; yet rather than allowing herself to be brought anywhere near the actual roots of her desire (so her goal might then be mapped to comparable realities), she refuses to do all but unpack further specifics about her future castle, its courtrooms and tapestries, the surrounding countryside, etc.
I was reluctant to bring up grace today because Ray had already provided my Method with plenty of entities to explore without need of adding or multiplying more.
Yet it is important to note that my aversion did not stem simply from my own personal distaste for overabundances of time-wasting complexity.
My real concern, rather, was for Ray.
You see, the problem with a habit of hyper explication is it can serve as an inadvertent excuse used for avoiding the discomfort of seeing all those restlessly clarified particulars get measured objectively, unwound, and dug beneath.
Essentially, a client might give my Method ever more to work with for the express (unconscious) purpose of escaping the difficult truths my Method could uncover from what it’s been given already.
So as I sat here at my desk this morning, sipping piping coffee, and rifling through Ray’s notes thus far, I came to arrive at an all new and potentially groundbreaking hypothesis.
As stated, because my Method works semi-automatically to bring each individual to their unique Sticking or Breaking Point, its use requires committing to never challenging a client’s words directly; that means thoroughly eliminating all leading language which could in any way be interpreted as interpretation.
Our role, again, is to allow each client’s own words to all but weave themselves into an effective mirror for revelation.
Yet how can we then keep said clients from getting so comfortable with this process of unchecked sharing that they begin to unwittingly use it as a means of hiding from what truths should otherwise be reflected back?
Thus, my new hypothesis: that along with total freedom of unhindered expression, my Method also calls for a measure of efficiency to be maintained.
If you can keep a client moving through their narrative from beginning to end, you can avoid getting stuck in unhelpful frivolity.
This balance of intentional liberty paced by measured productivity will no doubt prove a challenge to master navigating, as I predict the remainder of these notes shall serve to show and prove.
I could say so much more here, I am sure; for the exact role I play as conduit to my Method has been a point of rich and ongoing deliberation through the years.
Yet I must instead return to today’s session with Ray so as not to mistakenly replace the power of potential falsification via demonstration with more mere (easy) conjecture.
Now, my hope that grace would be the last representation introduced was, of course, summarily dashed as soon as Ray opened his mouth to speak.
His cryptic response to my careful question, however, came so littered with pauses, stammers, and rephrasings it will be far more prudent just to summarize.
Ray described seeing grace and faith trapped together in the mysterious fog he had alluded to.
He told of watching faith attempt to shine some stupendous light on grace, as well as on a multitude of nondescript, non-human entities all likewise held in place.
I sighed at the sudden influx of new (pretend) beings to process.
ME:
“Okay, so what is grace?
“What does that word ‘grace’ mean?
“Obviously you’re not talking about a person named Grace, right?
“And who or what is faith?”
Regrettably, I heard the bite of an old razor beginning to tinge the edges of my voice.
Why?
In my mind, I was all the way back with first paid clients who had seemed to almost relish meeting each of my provident roadmaps for reaching sure Sticking Points in single sessions with their own unique bombarding sieges of unforeseen deflective nonsense.
Yet had I ever once seen my Method fail?
Besides, although Ray’s honest outlook was a cunning fish on a line, capable of swooping out so effortlessly from wherever I had felt it first bite, all such additional bolts or zips away were but further indication of my need to lean more to the “efficiency” side of our new fundamental equation lest superfluous sessions be spent slaying fog dragons to rescue grace maidens, etc.
I penciled “Faum’s” on the front of a blank yellow pad, underlined the word twice, and circled it as a reminder to practice the relaxation technique before and during all upcoming sessions (especially with Ray).
Calmness is always advantageous when awaiting the right angle from which to approach and corral an unpredictable client’s slippery perspective.
Ray responded, not addressing my straightforward questions.
RAY:
“I saw Grace, and . . . and I guess I smiled. But I was smiling at myself, y’know? Like, have you ever just realized . . . all of a sudden . . . you have no idea what you’re even thinking or talking about? It’s like a switch flips on, or . . . or off . . . and you see right away how totally unreasonable you’ve been. And then it’s so obvious you wonder how you could have ever missed it. But that’s sort of, like, the whole point, right? I mean, it had to happen. Like, of course you missed it, y’know?
“When I see Grace, I get this wonderful feeling of just how . . . how limited I am, I guess . . . limited in my place here, where I find myself . . . alive. We’re all just people . . . that’s what I’m… I mean, how much can we really…? We live different lives. But I don’t think anyone deserves more than anyone else. Or, no… I mean, yeah . . . some deserve more because of what they… But it’s not like anyone asks to be born with…”
I sat in semi-bewildered silence as the tell-tale sequence of flat-lining trail-offs proved progressively freer from attempts at revival.
My questions had been aimed at returning Ray to more rote definitions of “grace” and “faith”—preferably definitions drilled into him from his youth at the church.
Because memorized terminology inevitably loses much of its meaning with use, my tactic would have been to go through and re-approach each of his representations in turn, using the terms and their understood definitions as common ground starting points from which we could then diverge.
Ray’s leap to how grace made or makes him feel—without first establishing what he thinks grace is—could have only further clouded our already murky waters if I had not heretofore had in mind the importance of refining my strategy for fostering efficiency on the fly.
So purely for the sake of keeping Ray moving, I shifted with him from concepts over to feelings.
This felt a little like slowing down in a race to let an inferior opponent gain ground.
ME:
“That’s interesting.
“Did you know that what you just said about grace actually describes one of our primary, human needs—the need for unconditional approval and understanding from our parents?
“How is your relationship with your parents?”
Ray spoke again after a weighty pause, not acknowledging my question in the least.
RAY:
“Well, when I see Grace, it’s like I’m just really happy. Like, Grace looks so nice and peaceful . . . and kind . . . almost the same as Friendship.
“I’m sorry, I think the whole point I was trying to get to was . . . I guess seeing Grace makes me feel like, even though I’m not perfect, and don’t really know anything, I’m kind of okay how I am. Grace makes me appreciate the good things about me because, well, the bad things are just… I mean, I’m just a person, y’know? How amazing is it that this is all even happening, right? And we didn’t ask to be part of it. But still, we get to be. I’d say seeing Grace makes me feel . . . free . . . like all I have to be is all I am. Does that make sense?”
At this point, Ray surprised me again by turning noticeably pensive as if to spite his own hopeful, joyous speech and tone.
What I saw was an immediate reversion back to the Ray of our first session, when words simply could not be forthcoming, nor eyes at all kept still.
Connecting his plummet from warmth and ease to the topic of our conversation last time (that which had spurred mention of grace in the first place) I was able to quickly piece together something of an essential overview.
ME:
“So, it was experiencing grace that made you not mad anymore about all the bad things you saw going on—the killing in the name of love, etc.?”
RAY:
“Well, when I see Grace . . . and I know I’m not perfect, and don’t ever see things perfectly . . . how can I…? I mean…”
His voice dropped to a shaky whisper.
RAY:
“But yeah, I was just thinking how that whole thing comes back to another… Sorry, this one’s… Okay, I knew I’d…”
Ray stopped for a moment to sigh, deep and slow.
RAY:
“I guess I have to talk about the fog now. I was trying not to, but everything I’ve been saying . . . all of it . . . it all has to come back to the fog in the end. The fog . . . covers The City and The Church. No, not completely ‘covers,’ but . . . but what the fog does . . . maybe . . . is it keeps everyone from seeing all that’s there…? Like, they can see through it in parts, but it makes them partly blind, y’know? And when I look at Grace stuck there in the fog, I always see this huge crowd of people . . . so big I can’t come close to seeing everyone. And they all see Grace too, like me, which is wonderful. I mean, some see from closer than others, but… I don’t…”
ME:
“What sorts of things does the fog cover or keep hidden?”
I glanced at my watch, shocked to see our session’s ending looming so soon.
I then made perhaps the biggest mistake of my career; catching sight of my next appointment seated out in the waiting room—a Normal—I covertly clicked to buzz that client in without Ray realizing.
In retrospect, I see how my incredibly unprofessional action was born from a vindictive urge to quietly allow the conversation with Ray to play out into awkwardness as the other slowly entered and stood in silence just beside him.
Why would I desire such an outcome?
Let me clarify that I in no way felt as if I were being outmatched or outsmarted by Ray.
My Method has made short work of all who have come to challenge my intellect.
Instead, our game of chess was one in which he could flippantly change the rules at every turn.
So, buzzing in that Normal was my petty (pathetic) way of changing the game preemptively, in response.
I have no idea who the Normal was; Bing, perhaps?
Regardless, Ray continued on, apparently unaffected by the stranger’s sudden intrusion and silent presence.
RAY:
“I mean, we all just see in part, y’know? And I love how Grace still has the same effect on everyone, making that whole crowd feel really good, and happy, and… But the thing is . . . and yeah, I should have said this first, I just… I hate talking about the fog.”
I penciled and underlined the word “hate.”
RAY:
“It’s like each person thinks what they see in the fog is all there is to see . . . and they think only whoever sees the same things they do sees anything at all. But since it’s Grace they’re looking at… I guess, even though it’s like I watch them all smile just the same when Grace shows them how okay it is to be exactly what they are, it’s the fog that makes them think they have to . . . to push up to the front . . . to get as close as they can. So, it’s the fog that turns them into a crowd, y’know? And these little groups start to form . . . groups made from whoever sees the same parts of Grace. And the groups always get so excited . . . the members, like, going on and on about how wonderful Grace is. But . . . well, what they’re really getting at . . . without saying it, of course . . . is how special they think they are, and their group, for being the only ones that see. Yeah, that’s the irony, because seeing Grace makes you feel okay with how much you don’t know, or how much you can’t see, or do, or be. So for someone to think they’re better than others because of the parts of Grace they see in the fog…”
Ray let out another long and labored exhale.
RAY:
“But it’s not their fault. It’s just sad because Grace never wants to be kept from anyone.”
ME:
“Who is grace kept from?”
RAY:
“Grace is sort of like this open faucet that waters all who come. But how much of Grace a person can experience doesn’t depend on which parts they see in the fog. That’s the thing. So, while everyone presses forward into groups, and acts like they should try to bundle and hold Grace only for themselves . . . like some sort of hidden treasure . . . no one outside that massive crowd ever gets to see any of Grace at all. They’re just too far away. And no one anywhere sees Grace reaching out, longing to help those ones kept off in the distance . . . those honest, humble souls, so ready to admit what they can’t see, and so filled with shame and worried feelings for what would obviously be needed to make up for all the ways they already know they’re not perfect. But Grace is stuck, hidden in the middle by that frantic, joyful thrashing mob closing in from all around. It’s just what happens in the fog.”
Despite how far we had strayed from my plan to refocus on standard definitions, I would have to admit how useful our departure into Ray’s range of feelings was proving.
It was my willingness to move with him into feelings that enabled me to glimpse and record certain specific values now so clearly evident in every winding, stop-start rehearsal of affect.
In light of Ray’s savior complex psychosis, I was particularly intrigued by the high importance he places on not knowing—on admission of ignorance—contrasted, of course, with those mentioned who hold their perspectives as absolute.
Considering many of the more religious clients I have met with through the years, I find the unique way Ray endeavors to communicate rather refreshing and remarkable.
Ray speaks as one not having authority.
The nondescript Normal remained quiet and unmoving by his side.
I decided to continue.
ME:
“So, grace wants to reach every single person, everywhere, to make up for whatever they might be lacking in character and understanding?
“But the person first needs to see grace, even if only in part through the fog?”
RAY:
“Grace wants to… Well, that has a lot to do with… I mean, that’s where we come to Faith, right?”
ME:
“What do faith and grace look like?
“Are they people?
“What characteristics do they have that make them recognizable to you?”
RAY:
“Faith always seems really determined, I guess. But Faith also isn’t that easy to look at, y’know? Actually, I don’t think Faith wants to be seen, but just to show other things. Sorry. I don’t know how it works. I just… I see Faith holding up its awesome light, like I said . . . brighter than anything else. And while Grace stays stuck in the crowd and fog, it’s like Faith is always moving, always re-angling itself to . . . to light up as many new things as possible . . . things people might hear and see. That’s what… I mean, what Faith wants is to show how things fit together . . . and how good things could be. So it’s like I see Faith wading all through the fog, bending and stretching in every direction to keep revealing more of Grace and all the not-a-persons. And in the fog, it’s what Faith’s light touches that . . . that anyone sees. That’s why people see Grace the way they do. Does that make sense? They see the parts the light can touch through the fog from where they are. But the way the fog limits Faith’s light is exactly what makes everyone think there’s nothing else but what they see . . . and, like, only those who see what they do see anything at all.”
ME:
“It was near your church that you saw grace and faith, and all the non-people held fast in the fog?”
RAY:
“Yes, but I also see them now.”
I don't know anything 