I, Prickly Pear; I, Warrior

I got a little gnarly with one of my professors this evening. She's an interesting character and a lovely, well-meaning woman, I think, but sometimes, she starts channeling Shirley MacLaine and telling us all to "hold the energy" for our clients, and the "woo-woo" cup overfloweth.

Tonight, she did not do the best job of holding my energy. So I kind of ... unleashed it on her. To wit:

She asked the class if anyone would share a "personal metaphor." The guy who sits next to me every night said he is perpetually in an airport bar -- one that has video arcades -- and that he never boards a flight to anywhere.

For several minutes, the teacher dissected this metaphor, and members of the class pressed and prodded as well. When they were done, I said, His metaphor was highly descriptive. But what do you do with a metaphor that doesn't have all that setting and obvious meaning?

Teacher replied, "What's yours, UCM?"

There are many arrows in my quiver.

"That's it?" teacher asked.

Yes.

And thus began a wide-ranging, prodding, projection-filled discussion in which most members of the class at one point or another took stabs at the possible meaning, the symbolism.

Were the arrows a metaphor for violence and aggression? Were they layers of defensiveness? Were they not really arrows? Were they Cupid's arrows?

More like Artemis than Cupid, I replied at one point.

And so then the questions and the feeling statements tumbled forth from the teacher and my classmates. I was a hunter. I was trying to make a big, visible, frightening statement about myself to others. I was ready to slay whoever got in my way.

I don't see these arrows as intended to threaten or hurt others, I said.

"But," the teacher said, "you're not using them. They are like your untapped potential, a symbol of your impotence. How does that manifest with your career? Your sense of impotence?"

And that is when I kind of blew a gasket.

I don't need to use them, I said. They are *not* symbols of impotence; they are symbols of my inner strength, my personal resources. My quiver is full because they are MINE.

Then, the teacher suggested they weren't arrows after all. "I'm kind of seeing a walking stick, perhaps with a little bit of a point on the end," she said.

What? They're ARROWS, I replied.

"But arrows are weapons," she countered.

They may be weapons, but they're not for aggression, I said. They have big colorful streamers on the end of them. If I fired them from a bow, they would sail through the air more like a ... salutation.

"Perhaps they're banners," she responded. "I'm seeing banners."

No! I insisted. They're ARROWS. It's *my* metaphor, and they are *my* arrows in *my* quiver.

The teacher says to the class: "See, this is interesting. Clients will become very protective of their metaphors. They will tell you when you're wrong."

And you *are* wrong! I blurted out.

Now, I will tell you: This is an abbreviated version of what actually was said. The teacher actually made several other off-base comments. Other members of the class periodically popped in and suggested something different than what the teacher was saying. Two of my classmates came very close to articulating a more accurate interpretation of the arrows in my quiver.

In truth, this is a highly personal, very powerful image for me. It came as a vision when I was under hypnosis to get rid of a snake phobia last year. I have the tape of the hypnosis session, and no where on it is anything related to this vision.

It is simply a profound, self-generated image of me reaching down to the ground and scooping up these massive arrows with colorful streamers on the ends of them and putting them into a quiver on my back. Each arrow represented a personal strength, a victory, a trial overcome. There were dozens of them, but they fit into a small and highly portable quiver over my left shoulder.

I did not share this with the class -- only the statement, "There are many arrows in my quiver" -- so they could play around with it. I was alright with people trying to figure it out, exploring where to go with it. But when the teacher suggested they were symbols of impotence, I became very protective of my personal iconography, and I started fighting back.

You might even say I pulled out one of those arrows and shot it at her.

A few of my classmates were a bit flustered by the exchange between me and the teacher. One of them, apparently trying to rouse me into another round, said to me during the break, "You have a very violent personal metaphor."

Really, it *isn't* violent in the least. Not even a statement of threat. They are my strengths. I don't even see them as being especially visible to others.

"Well," he countered, "my personal metaphor is a gigantic bazooka and a live hand grenade. What do you make of that?"

Don't blow yourself up, I told him.

At that point, we were called back into the classroom by another classmate. A student was going to give a presentation, and he said to me, "We were waiting for you. I didn't want *you* to miss my presentation, UCM. I thought you might have something interesting to say about this guy."

Look, it's clear I'm being feisty tonight, I replied, but there's no intent to hurt anyone.

The teacher smiled.

After class, I went up to speak to her. Before I managed to get out half a word, she said, laughing, "Oh, let's hug," and threw her arms wide open to embrace me. What a funny woman.

I took a few minutes to explain what the metaphor really represents to me. I also told her I was bothered by a series of personal questions she asked me the other week while my classmates silently worked on a questionnaire I had created for them.

And then this teacher said something that all graduate school teachers should probably keep in mind: "All this role playing needs to stop every now and then, and you should be able to have a real conversation."

Role playing? I asked, feeling I had missed something.

"Yeah, the role playing of the classroom. The teacher-student role playing, where one person is the teacher and one person is the student," she said. "Sometimes, you should just relate to each other as human beings."

Oh, that, I said.

"Yes, that."

I've never been too good at the hierarchical stuff, I said. It was probably the biggest problem I had in Corporate America. I would be just like: So you're the VP of Legal for the Mothership, so what about it? That means I'm not supposed to treat you like an equal?

Teacher responded, "That's exactly what that means to a lot of those people."

I know. I just could never be bothered to play that game.

Leaving the classroom, she patted me on the shoulder. "You have a lot of intensity and directness in your person. That's just how you are, and that's OK. In fact, as a counselor, I think it's going to serve you very well."

Oh really? I asked. Because I've always assumed it was going to backfire on me.

"I don't think so," she said. "A lot of people need counselors who aren't afraid to be real."

Then, as I walked off, she added, "And I think you need a picture of Artemis in your home. You have a lot of warrior energy."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn't. Because, interestingly, this is the second time in a handful of days that someone has said that to me, and I'm finding that a little curious.

I was hanging out at the Pub at the End of the Universe with YogaGirl on Saturday night, and she told me, "I know it bugs the hell out of you when people say that you're strong, but when I think of you ... I was into Greek mythology for a while, and when I think of you, Athena comes to mind. She was a warrior, and I see you being strong like that."

Somewhere recently, I was reading words like these: See yourself as I see you. For tonight, I'll take that advice. Just so long as it's clear those arrows are *not* symbols of impotence. (Don't make me shoot you.)