Thomas Kretschmar, Martin Tzschaschel - The Power of Inner Pictures - How Imagination Can Maintain Physical and Mental Health-Karnac Books (2016)

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CHAPTER TITLE I
THE POWER OF
INNER PICTURES
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THE POWER OF
INNER PICTURES
How Imagination Can
Maintain Physical and
Mental Health
Thomas Kretschmar and

Martin Tzschaschel
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First published in 2017 by

Karnac Books Ltd
118 Finchley Road, London NW3 5HT
Copyright © 2017 to Thomas Kretschmar and Martin Tzschaschel.
The rights of Thomas Kretschmar and Martin Tzschaschel to be identified

as the authors of this work have been asserted in accordance with §§77 and
78 of the Copyright Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior written permission of the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A C.I.P. for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 78220 425 1
Translated by Jana Meinel.
Edited, designed and produced by The Studio Publishing Services Ltd

www.publishingservicesuk.co.uk
email: studio@publishingservicesuk.co.uk
Printed in Great Britain
www.karnacbooks.com
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CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS vii
ABOUT THE AUTHORS ix
INTRODUCTION xi
CHAPTER ONE
The surprising power of representations 1
CHAPTER TWO
How internal images heal us 21
CHAPTER THREE
Catathym imaginative psychotherapy 57
CHAPTER FOUR
Examples from therapy and practice:
how catathym imaginative psychotherapy helps 91
v
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vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER FIVE
Outlook: imagination can do even more 143
REFERENCES 147
INDEX 151
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We would like to thank Dr Christel Kronenberger and Hannes Sprado,

without whom the idea on which this book is based would never have
arisen. Many thanks also to Gina Kästele, as well as Jochen Althoff, for
their competent proofreading of the German manuscript. The English
version of this book would not exist without James Krantz and Larry
Hirschhorn, who encouraged us to publish internationally. Last, but
not least, we would like to thank Jana Meinel for translating this book
into English and Jyoti Huettlinger for editing the English version.
vii
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Thomas Kretschmar, born 1963, is the managing director of Mind

Institute SE Berlin, where he uses inner pictures and the imagination
to treat patients and coaching clients. He is also a researcher and
trainer in the field of imaginative interventions. Prior to this, Thomas
worked as a founder and CEO of the SDAX company Hypoport, a
professor for organisational studies, and as business consultant with
a psychological focus. He has training in several psychological inter-
vention methods and is licensed for psychotherapy in Germany.
Thomas studied business administration in Gottingen and psychology
with a psychoanalytic focus in Berlin.
Martin Tzschaschel, born 1954, is a journalist and has been the editor
of P.M., a popular German scientific journal, since 1981. In addition,
he has written three books, of which a book about a new version of
knowledge we learn in school is now in its fifth edition. Martin is
devoted to making complicated scientific findings understandable for
the public. Prior to this, Martin studied social pedagogy in Munich
and worked as a journalist for several journals. He lives in Hamburg,
Germany.
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Introduction:
to whom is this book addressed?
This book is not only addressed to medical doctors, practitioners,

clinical social workers, psychologists, and physiotherapists, but also
to everyone interested in discovering more about the imagination and
its possible uses.
The focus is directed towards the work of inner pictures in thera-
peutic practice. Deliberately exploring inner pictures in a state of
relaxation can yield remarkable improvements for various mental
disturbances. The results show such variation that even therapists
experienced in imaginative therapy will discover new ideas as they
read.
Readers who are unfamiliar with the topic of inner pictures in ther-
apeutic practice will also benefit from the concepts that are intro-
duced. Depression, eating disorders, or even cancer, are not the only
conditions that can lead to overwhelming situations that the people
who are affected struggle to cope with. Often, negative feelings are
simply the consequence of problems in relationships—problems that
cannot just be solved with one simple solution.
The book offers instructions for imagination methods that, when
applied during professional therapy, will activate healing powers that
are effective against various disorders and emotional sufferings.
xi
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xii INTRODUCTION
Useful methods for daily self-practice are also offered for those who
wish to gain access to their own inner powers.
The following section shows an example of a brief journey.
Daily imagination: the unfortunate event

of the Sunday breakfast
I had been looking forward to the breakfast invitation, where I would
meet friends that I had not seen in a while. However, as is often the
case, events took an unexpected turn. Instead of conversing in a light
atmosphere, everyone got carried away into an argumentative discus-
sion of politics, Europe, and the Euro. Emotions went awry, sentences
were interrupted, and, by the end, all had left feeling dissatisfied.
I could not shake off the feeling of discontent until the end of the
day. I was mostly upset with myself about it, since I, too, had been
involved in the discussion and had probably not remained entirely
fact-bound. The next morning, I woke up early and the breakfast came
straight to mind. Somehow, while still half asleep, I remembered my
imaginings from the therapy and I began to rethink those thoughts.
My eyes were closed the entire time.
I watched myself sitting at that table. This time, I saw a small palm
tree in the middle; this was different to the real situation the day
before. Its trunk was big enough for me to climb, which I did with
ease. Then I was able to see. Everyone was visible to me from high up,
including myself, and I felt as if I was finally at a distance from which
I could see clearly. Our discussion, the entire situation, suddenly all
seemed so small and meaningless. As I watched, sitting at the top of
my tree, I grinned, wondering what the problem had been in the first
place.
With this feeling, I fell back to sleep for a while until the alarm
went off. I got up and I noticed that the apprehension, which I could
not shake off the day before, had now dissolved into thin air.
Applied imagination: the unconscious in alliance

Before the turn of the past millennium, it was common for the thera-
pist to solve inner conflicts by examining the client’s childhood, in
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INTRODUCTION xiii
search of dysfunctional developments that had resulted in the client’s

negative conditions, anxieties, or fears in the present. Nowadays, the
aim is to find obtainable solutions, rather than just problem-orientated
observations. The clients are encouraged to remember positive memo-
ries and experiences, an idea that has gained recognition by an
increasing number of medical doctors and psychologists. This idea
has already proved more effective for establishing ways to look at
the client’s aspirations and, thus, allows them to utilise these on their
journey to a better, happier future.
Therapy using the imagination supports this construct, without
disregarding the conflicts of the past. The reprocessing of past events
evolves slowly and through hidden symbols, rather than through
direct confrontation. Once the client’s representations become inner
pictures that seem disconnected to the client’s issues, or yet, appear
to lack in sense entirely, this can give rise to irritation. When observed
by a third party, however, the meaning of those pictures can be ex-
plained. These processes consist of something that cannot be con-
nected to rationale, ability, or intelligence; it is, rather, an occurrence
from the client’s unconscious, recovered through deliberate questions
from the therapist. Examples of such occurrences will be provided in
the following pages.
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CHAPTER TITLE 1
CHAPTER ONE
The surprising power

of representations
n this chapter, you will learn the role that internal pictures play
I in our everyday lives: for example, in recollections, in dreams

during sleep, and daydreams. Other topics include visualisations,
applicable in sports and in a working context, as well as the effects of
suggestions. In addition, we will reflect on questions regarding the
origins of inner pictures.
Inner pictures: our daily companions
What a rather unusual evening: two couples who are friends are
seated in a restaurant, unable to see what they are eating. Everything
is completely dark. Soft chunks—do they taste like carrots? Or are they
potatoes? “No, I believe they’re soft-boiled pears”, a woman speaks
out into the pitch-black, her voice muffled by the food inside her
mouth. She sounds uncertain.
If everyone could see the servings on her plate, their doubts would
vanish, but the friends are dining in a darkened restaurant, astonished
by the defeat of their gustatory senses.
1
2 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES
A simple example, yet it demonstrates just how dominant the

visual system is. About eighty per cent of all information perceived by
us in an average given situation is delivered through our eyes. The
nerve cells bundle up, forming the optic nerve, which sends electrical
impulses along the back of the head, through into the areas specialised
to perceive visual information. Forms, colours, brightness, move-
ments, and the distances of objects each have their own “department”
in the rear range of the cerebrum. If all of these departments work
together harmoniously, our vision functions smoothly, and we remain
unaware of the physiological processes involved. Thus, we see.
If we think about it, the fact that our brains create images from
electrical signals is nothing short of a miracle. How complicated the
process of seeing actually is becomes apparent through the stories of
patients who were born blind and had undergone reparative intra-
ocular surgery only at a later point in adulthood. Instead of relief, they
experienced an unusual world full of impressions in confusing forms
and colours. Their brains had yet to comprehend the information that
the nerve cells were receiving.
Only those who have lived and sensed varying external environ-
ments in colours and from an early age are able to experience internal
pictures in similar ways. Pictures are mental representations, which
are shared by all sighted people and instantly revivable through imag-
ining a simple concept such as “wedding dress”, or “elephant”. To
hear the word and not think of the image is hardly possible. We are
permanently susceptible to our impressions. Moreover, inner pictures
that we associate with attraction, grace, and beauty are especially
appealing.
In 2001, the American psychologist Nancy Etcoff, wrote in her
book, Survival of the Prettiest. The Science of Beauty,
We can create a big bonfire with every issue of Vogue, GQ and Details,
every image of Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, and Cindy Crawford,
and still, images of youthful perfect bodies would take shape in our
heads and create a desire to have them. No one is immune. (Etcoff,
2001, p. 6)
Names of models and magazines may be volatile, but the desire to

resemble our inner picture of an attractive model is timeless.
Inner pictures remain important to us even in moments where we
hear rather than see. If an orator wants to receive our affirmation, he
THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 3
must speak in a way that is both accessible and imaginative; otherwise

he will not reach out to us: that is, we would not get the picture. In
rhetoric, some people have an idealised self-image and portray them-
selves as a living illustration of virtue and tolerance, even though their
image of the world might be rigid and their attitude comes across as
hostile. Perhaps they follow a different model of thought altogether.
In any case, no one lives in a world entirely without inner pictures.
This is also true of our language and its use of figurative speech.
Without inner pictures, the world would stand still and wither.
Proof: every new idea, every invention, every discovery, once started
out as a vivid imagination. When Christopher Columbus discovered
a new continent, he imagined its location in accordance to his picture
of the earth and India—his original travel destination. When the first
engine was built, the designer had already pictured the way the piston
would be moving inside the barrel.
Great discoveries and inventions aside, we all experience our own
short day-to-day pictures, fantasies, desires, and imaginings. Within
us, inner pictures can come to life and broaden our horizon. They are
able to limit our perceptions, too: for example, in the selection of a
partner.
More often than not, our minds have already formed a certain
picture of our future companions. Not only should he or she be
honest, funny, and faithful, but also must fulfil our expectations
regarding certain physical attributes, be a cat person, and share our
taste in music. “Acceptance becomes possible, only when I let go of
the pictures I set up inside my head and which I keep comparing my
partner’s image to”, the life consultant and Christian author Anselm
Grün warns (Grün, 2011, p. 56, translated for this edition).
Katy M had always been certain that her future husband may be
short or tall, large or thin, but there was one thing he certainly would
not be—bearded. Then, during an internship, she met a colleague of
similar age and to whom she found herself talking more and more.
She knew he was friendly but considered him completely unattrac-
tive, since he had a beard. Until, one day, their boss sent both of them
on a business trip, where they would spend an intense amount of time
together and learn more about each other. “Suddenly, it just hit me”,
Katy remembers. The two became a couple. “And now, I love his beard
just as much as the rest of him.”
Inner pictures can exert incredible power on us—in both a good

and a bad sense: they can help athletes claim victory, they can help to
resolve inner tensions, injuries, and even serious illness, just as they
can be the cause of sickness and, if they persist, a negative influence
on an entire life.
A sentence such as “You were never wanted, even as a baby”,
expressed just once by a parent, can cause lasting scars to a child’s
soul, and, further, lead to a destructive self-image, where the child
lives his life constantly feeling worthless. There are widely successful
men and women that have earned a lot of admiration for their exper-
tise, yet feel inferior and suffer from little self-worth.
Erasing negative inner pictures that have wounded the soul is
difficult. How positive counter-images can help is explored in the
second and third chapters.
Memories: images captured by emotions

Although we are visually orientated people, exploring our surround-
ings mainly through sight, pictures are not the most lasting traces
found in our memory. Memories connected to certain smells are far
more anchored, reaching back as far as early experiences in infancy.
This is due to the fact that the section of the brain that is responsi-
ble for olfactory perception is the oldest in terms of evolutionary
development. It is also part of the limbic system, located deep in the
brain’s centre. The latter contains the same structural arrangements
that give rise to primary emotions such as fear and lust, explaining
why smells are almost always attributed to feelings. We experience
smells as pleasant, nauseating, beguiling, repellent, or stimulating—it
is rare that we feel completely indifferent towards them.
This is quite unlike the case of visual impressions. Glancing at
blank pages inside a notebook will neither excite nor disturb us. We
think that what we see is neutral, because our visual cortex belongs
to a younger part of the brain, close to cognitive reasoning but not
necessarily to emotional processing. However, just like with our
smells, as soon our awareness is awakened to what we see, that is, the
moment it strikes our attention, the optical impression will be remem-
bered. To this day, many people still know precisely where they were
on September 11—the moment they heard of the two hijacked planes
that crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York City. Everyone
who saw the images for the first time will still remember what was
going on around them in that particular moment. The events of that
day are accompanied by strong feelings of anxiety and shock, which
recur to us in the form of an inner picture.
The effectiveness of a representation “depends upon emotional
intensity and quality of image”, declares Bernt Hoffmann (Hoffmann,
1997, p. 162), a medical practitioner, psychotherapist, and autogenic-
training teacher with many years of working experience. Just how
vigorous inner pictures can get, if imagination and emotion become
tightly engaged, has been described by the novelist Gustace Flaubert
(1821–1880) while writing his internationally successful novel Madame
Bovary. In a letter to Hippolyte Taine, in which Flaubert answers his
friend’s question about the nature of his great imaginative powers, he
writes,
My imaginary characters overwhelm me, pursue me – or rather it is I

who find myself under their skins. When I was writing Madame
Bovary’s poisoning scene I had such a taste of arsenic in my mouth, I
was so poisoned myself, that I had two bouts of indigestion one after
the other, and they were quite real, because I vomited up all of my
dinner. (Flaubert, 1997, p. 316)
Archetypes: images all people share in common
Among the many types of pictures permanently stored in our memo-

ries, there is one group distinctively different from others—the
motives that we all bear and, yet, to which we are oblivious. Those
“experiences” are unlived and somehow still remembered. Inherently
extant, they secure our survival in the face of danger. According to
neurobiologist, Gerald Hüther, they are “a treasure, every new-born
is equipped with” (Hüther, 2013, p. 29). They are usually unpleasant,
too; a snake, sudden darkness, a downward view from high up.
Fright induced by certain images can be seen as a beneficial adap-
tation, subsequent to genetically determined behavioural predisposi-
tions. Obviously, this behaviour has proved to have an evolutionary
advantage. Our fear of falling from heights enables us to sense danger
in a situation, without having to experience a life-threatening fall. If a
child were to see both a snake and a rabbit for the first time, it would
be unlikely that he describes the snake as “sweet” and the rabbit as
“scary”. A collective repertoire of images, shared innately by all
humans, is our first guidance of the world. The conscious possession
of these primal pictures is not experienced.
Carl Jung, founder of analytical psychology (which developed
alongside Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis), termed the assemblage
of memories shared by all humans the “collective unconscious”. It is
“part of the psyche which can be negatively distinguished from a
personal unconscious by the fact that it does not, like the latter, owe
its existence to personal experience and consequently is not a personal
acquisition” (Jung, 1969, p. 42).
Jung describes his Archetypes as part of the collective unconscious.
According to his theory, they consist of predetermined structures
of our psyche, commonly shared through forms, pictures, legends,
and histories from all people of all cultures. Through some miraculous
design, they persist inside us, eternalising our ancestral memories,
thousands of years old. Examples of symbolic figures that are rooted
in the unconscious include angels, hell, the wise old woman, paradise,
and the circle as a symbol of eternity. “The archetype structures
are imprinted in the people”, says Grün (2011, translated for this
edition). “They balance the soul. They lead them to their own centre
and true self of man” (p. 24).
Dreams: messages from the depths of our souls

In dreams, archetypes may temporarily come to light. Jung expected
them to appear in the shape of symbols, whose meanings could then
be further analysed. They contain indications of desires, anxieties, and
conflicts, as well as possible solutions. This is essentially why dream
analysis with a trained therapist can lead to states of enlightenment
and healing.
It is the picture that defines the nocturnal experience, rather than
the smell, noise, or taste. Next to sequences intended to process events
of the present day, dreams also portray people and situations from our
early childhood, school years, or other chapters of our past, often in
strange and distorted interpretations we deem to be somehow life-
like. This can lead to irritation when we wake up.
Typical motives of dreams, including scenes where the dreamer

is running away from something, can be interpreted as an avoidance
of problems or difficult decisions that the dreamer feels he is pres-
sured into or trapped. Flying in a dream indicates a strong desire to
unload personal baggage, to untie the strings attached to waking
life.
Being naked in a dream might indicate the dreamer’s fear of open-
ing up emotionally or feeling exposed in front of others; perhaps there
is a discrepancy between how the dreamer appears on the outside and
how he truly holds up. Falling is also a common theme of dreams; a
fall can indicate fear of a private or work-related failure, perhaps a
hesitation to let go of a certain idea. Note that these interpretations are
not carved in stone; whether or not they apply is determined by the
feelings the dream transfers. A person ascends a staircase and feels
joyous; therefore, his climb could indicate a positive development in
his life. On the other hand, if a person faces the stairs in his dream
with apprehension or anxiety, he probably feels overwhelmed by the
anticipated change. “Dreams are a productive monologue of the
soul”, says psychologist and industrial adviser Stephan Grünewald.
“Especially our dreams at night give us awareness of our wishes and
dreams we would otherwise overlook in our stress-filled, fast paced,
workaday lives.” In that sense, “a dream could shed light on unlived
desires and enable a new outlook on life” (Höfler, 2013, p. 47, trans-
lated for this edition).
Grünewald describes a dream of his own during an interview with
the German magazine Stern (Höfler, 2013), in which he watched his
wife falling in love with a Frenchman at a party. The Frenchman wore
a shirt of Grünewald’s that he himself had not worn in two years—a
detail he came to remember after waking. His first thoughts
rummaged around the idea of a possible competitor in his marriage,
but later he understood: the dream was a reminder “to re-connect with
my own French side, my life-indulging and appreciative side that my
wife loves so much” (Höfler, 2013, p. 47, translated for this edition).
Sometimes dreamt experiences promote creativity, without a need
for us to interpret them. There are artists, writers, and scientists that
have used specific ideas from their dreams.
In 1865, the German chemist August Kekulé had a dream in which
a snake was biting into its tail. The resulting shape, a circle, was the
final push the researcher needed to discover the ring structure of the
benzene. According to other reports, he imagined the structure as a

row of little men holding hands. The first and last man moved toward
each other, reaching out to connect, forming a circle. Friedrich Gauß
(1777–1855), the most celebrated mathematician of his time, used sleep
to proceed in science; his best ideas came to him in his bed in the
morning as he woke up.
A study of the Central Institute for Spiritual Health in Mannheim
showed that approximately eight per cent of all dreams have an effect
on creative behaviour during the day; for example, by giving in-
centives to travel, providing the leading idea for a presentation, or
by pointing out errors in a master thesis that would have been over-
looked otherwise.
All humans dream. Not remembering a dream the next day does
not mean the sleep was dreamless. Everyone who is missing out on
his dreams can try to consciously summon them: sleep researchers
recommend planning to remember the forthcoming dream before
falling asleep. The difficulties of the attempt lie in the conscious inter-
nalisation of this goal.
A dream journal, in which the events of the dream can be noted
down immediately after waking up, might be a helpful reminder.
According to experts, the existence of this tool promotes the genera-
tion of further dreams significantly after only a few nights.
Another option is to take a specific, unresolved question into the
dream. With a little exercise and luck, an answer might appear in
dream form. For example, the dream might show a writer who is
suffering from writer’s block how the plot of his novel continues.
The term used to describe the deliberate influencing of dreams is
dream incubation. It originates from the Latin word incubare, meaning
“hatching”. The unconscious of the sleeper broods over the problem
in his dream.
Further still, we can succeed in becoming consciously aware of our
dream while still dreaming. This special form of dreaming is called a
clear dream, or lucid dream. These dreams can go very far. In some
extreme cases, the sleeper will lie in bed, know that he is dreaming,
and actively control the course of events.
This sounds unbelievable, yet it is not an esoteric approach res-
pectable scientists would shake their heads disbelievingly over either.
Professor Michael Wiegand, head of the Medical Sleep Centre of the
TU Munich, continues to explain that anyone can learn the ability to
lucid dream through contemplating one simple question: “Am I

dreaming right now?”
Asking this question twenty or thirty times a day: “Am I dream-
ing, or am I awake, and how can I tell the difference?” gives you the
progressive ability to observe from a meta-perspective. The question
creates a supporting synaptic network that keeps firing and remains
attentive even in the state of sleep. Chances are, you will succeed in
maintaining your meta-observation while continuing to sleep.
Experienced lucid dreamers even manage to practise specific skills
during these phases: for instance, athletes and musicians rehearse and
improve their techniques in their sleep, without actually moving a
muscle.
More common than such nightly exercises, we experience a
completely different type of dream. Those dreams occur during the
waking hours and do not need to be summoned with any consider-
able effort on our part. They appear to us, whether we wish for them
or not. Daydreams are our thought’s way of escaping reality.
Daydreams: mind-slips into a better world
Since childhood, we have wilfully used our imagination to turn our-

selves into celebrated heroes, proud champions, friends of fairytale
characters, and owners of admired possessions. This was, of course,
until the adults’ words, “Stop dreaming”, pulled us back down to
reality.
None the less, even as grownups today, we continue to visit our
available happy places. For example, we might do this if we wish to
resolve conflicts that require more courage than we can actually
muster. In daydreams, we can give our boss a piece of our mind, or
we can live our secret sexual desires, without any fear of shame. Or
we re-enact a previous discussion—only this time we come up with a
quick-witted retort. Or we let our thoughts escape the present alto-
gether and let them take us to a scenic holiday beach. Daydreams offer
freedom, calmness, and comfort.
According to Heiko Ernst, author of the book Innenwelten (2011),
the ability to occasionally travel and retreat into the world of day-
dreams, fantasies, and imagination reconnects us to important parts of
the self. We get in touch with our deepest feelings, strongest desires,
and darkest secrets. We can sort through ideas and notions and
process experiences, losses, and pain.
Scientists have determined that daydreams actually occur far more
often than people seem to realise. American psychologists estimate we
drift off so many times a day that, in any given hour, we submerge
into daydreams for twenty-eight out of sixty minutes. Sexual fantasies
commonly take up most of our time. This figure includes both sexes,
although men take the lead in this particular daydream: during a large
survey, conducted by the British Sexual Fantasy Research Project,
thirty-nine per cent of participants admitted fantasising about sexual
acts they would not commit in real life. This was also true for nineteen
per cent of all female participants, not to mention the estimates for
undetected cases: men and women are either unaware of their sexual
daydreams or unwilling to admit them.
Just as with “proper” (nightly) dreams, the brain does not rest dur-
ing daydreaming. On the contrary, synapses from far located regions
of the brain fire intensely and uninterruptedly, eliciting a reason why
the brain’s monologues take about twenty times the energy of a
conscious, single thought. This is the rate calculated by the neurolo-
gist Marcus Raichle according to Heiko Ernst in the German edition
of Psychology Today (Ernst, 2014, p. 45, translated for this edition). In
any case, daydreams are not always helpful. Whether or not they are,
depends entirely on the person and their current psychological state.
Positive daydreams (“I’ll apply for a new job and then things will
start looking up”) can cause an otherwise unmotivated individual to
develop an “unrealistic optimism”, scientist Thomas Langens from
the University of Wuppertal states in an interview with the authors.
In this case, the person is deceiving himself: he is convinced that he
will achieve his goal, even if he does not put in the required amount
of work. Others may, when daydreaming of an achievement, be over-
come by negativity and indifference “I’ll never make it anyway”.
On the other hand, highly motivated individuals can benefit
greatly from daydreams. For them, the imaginings act as incentives
and become internalised goals, achievable through willpower and
exercise. If they play out and repeat their prospective wins in their
fantasies, they will score noticeably higher than without mental
preparation.
Mental training: athletes win, the starving survive

Top-ranking athletes already make use of mental representations to
improve their performances. They know that reaching the top requires
more than physical training: in addition, they need the power of inner
pictures for “mental training”.
In contrast to daydreams, these pictures are not unconsciously or
passively created, but, rather, systematically and following a set of
rules—usually under the supervision of a coach. The athletes work
with visualisations; these are consciously controlled optical represen-
tations focusing on matters the visualisers are familiar with, instead of
drifting into fiction and imagination. In the case of athletes, this would
mean familiar sequences of movements, such as jumps over barriers
or turns on a gym apparatus.
The top German gymnast, Fabian Hambüchen, repeats each exer-
cise in his head over and over before entering a tournament, review-
ing each step as if watching it on a screen. His uncle and mental coach,
Bruno Hambüchen, told Stern magazine in 2010, “Building up repre-
sentations is just as hard as building up muscles”. It requires intensive
focus and can partly function as a substitute to real training. “But it’s
not just about fitness”, the coach explains, “During the vision, you
tend to look at yourself from the outside” (Gronwald, 2010, p. 68). This
way, you can point out the weak spots and remove them selectively.
What happens to the body during mental training? Why do visu-
alisations, whereby the athlete does not so much as move a muscle,
have the same effect as regular exercise? Scientists fail to provide a
coherent answer. One of many theories, the so-called programming
hypothesis, states that an athletic act that happens only in representa-
tion is considered a “movement with blocked extremities”. Mental
training merely differs from real sports in such a way that the instruc-
tions emanating from the brain are not forwarded to the peripheral
body parts. Unsatisfactory as this explanation may be, there is no
denying that representations can be extremely effective.
The fact that the basis of this method does not stem only from
imagination has been demonstrated in various experiments. For
example, the British sports psychologist Dave Smith, from the
University of Manchester, separated eighteen male students into three
groups, in which he asked each individual to place his little finger on
a measuring scale with as much force as possible. The six participants
of the first group had practised exercising their fingers regularly, the
second group had not used their fingers at all, and the third group
were instructed merely to imagine the finger exercise.
Their results after four weeks showed that the participants who
had exercised were able to increase their muscle power by thirty per
cent, while those that had not prepared at all displayed no significant
difference regarding their performance. Remarkably, the individuals
in the group that had only imagined the finger training were able to
improve their muscle power by sixteen per cent.
During another trial, participants were asked to lift various
weights. Depending on which weight the group leader chose to be
lifted next, the muscle tension of the participant would adjust in
preparation.
The power behind representations is not only demonstrated in
sports. The psychologist Hans Eberspächer describes the impressive
case of a pilot, who was supposed to fly a Boeing 737 from Munich to
Mallorca, in his book “Being Best, When It Counts” (2011). During
climb and shortly after take-off, the pilot notices one of the jet engines
leaking oil, resulting in total loss of function. Horrifying. However, the
captain is trained and prepared in the case of such events. Not only
has he experienced them many times in flight simulation, but during
his daily commute to work—on his bicycle. Over and over, he would
play out the event in his head, down to the smallest detail, until every
step of the emergency intervention would be etched on his brain.
During a crisis, the pilot is optimally prepared. Although he can
feel his pulse rising and his breath shortening, he is able to remember
the rules of his training. Instead of making a rash decision, he forces
himself to wait for a second and a half, just as he had practised in
training; now he needs to use the flaps of the wing’s trailing edge to
manoeuvre the aircraft out of the inclined position. Next, he performs
a slight nosedive and, with a short correction of the rudder at the rear
end, he relieves the strain on the flaps.
The aircraft is in a stable position. Calmly, the pilot turns on his
speaker to inform the passengers, “I was totally cool and relaxed
during that moment. Mentally, I was riding my bike along the river,
birds were chirping around me, and I was able to re-enact my train-
ing” (Eberspächer, 2011, p. 162, translated for this edition).
This is not the only situation where inner pictures have helped
in keeping a cool head, saving lives in an emergency situation. A
seventy-year-old mountain climber from Bavaria found help in visu-

alisations when he fell twenty metres into a crevasse on an expedition
in the Tyrolean Alps. For six long days he lay motionless, waiting for
help, until a rescue team was able to recover him. The man was soak-
ing wet, his body temperature had gone down to 34°C, but he was
alive. He said it was not just the melted ice that he drank or his insu-
lated clothing that had helped him: it was the hope of being rescued
that he never gave up on—and the idea of warm tea and a hot bath.
During the Second World War, starving soldiers in captivity would
describe lavish meals to each other in detail. To picture eating juicy
roasts, savoury dumplings, and rich sauces served generously some-
how lessened their pain. Would not the opposite appear more likely?
Scientists seemed disbelieving when they first heard this story several
years ago, until they performed a few trials.
American psychologists from Pittsburgh (PA) ordered a group of
fifty-one volunteers to imagine eating thirty pieces of M&M chocolate
each. Afterwards, the participants could help themselves to a bowl of
real sweets. The results revealed that they would consume fewer of
the sweets than the participants of two other groups, who had imag-
ined eating either three pieces or none. The fantasy chocolate had
satisfied their craving for sugary foods.
Imaginings: representations beyond the familiar

When something is said to be “imaginary”, it means it exists only in
thought. The same applies to visualisations, yet, while the latter
consist of familiar pictures from our memory, imaginings are new
products of our fantasies that are not provided in real life.
It is not always that “visualisation” and “imagination” are so
clearly detailed and differentiated; rather, it seems the two meanings
are deemed to be equal. Even this book blurs their definitional bound-
aries from time to time, due to contextualisation.
Effective imaginings often detach themselves from logical reason-
ing. They are much less a matter of the mind than of the emotions.
Their powers tend to unfold best when they are joined by intense
emotional experiences—most of all in a state of relaxation.
An example of this can be seen with practitioners of Vajrayana-
Buddhism, who use a special meditation technique to control their
body temperatures. With this technique, called Tummo (Tibetan for

“inner fire”), also referred to as Heat Yoga, the person imagines two
spheres of condensed energy, one red, the other white, chasing toward
each other along the spinal cord; one starting from the top of the head
and the other from the pelvic region. When they are imagined collid-
ing, they create actual heat—not imaginary, but factual. The body
temperature really does rise.
Using this method, the Dutch Yogi, Wim Hof, or “Iceman”, swam
eighty metres, naked, under floes in the Antarctic, and, in another
performance in New York City, he sat inside a solid block of ice for
more than an hour.
Imagination changing the way the body functions is also the subject
of various laboratory researches. At the Michigan State University, six-
teen students were instructed to mentally influence the behaviour of
their granulocytes, the blood cells that engulf bacteria. All of the stu-
dents were able to change the amount of their blood cells. Some even
succeeded in improving the cells’ properties (e.g., adhesive strength).
The Indian Yogi, Swami Rama (1925–1996) became noted in the
West for his ability to increase or decrease the frequency of his pulse
during meditation, solely through the use of his imagination. That this
is also possible outside the realms of Indian meditative practice was
described several decades ago in the accounts of the medical doctor
Gustav R. Heyer (mentioned in the book “Autosuggestive Disease
Control”, by Fritz Lambert, 1977). One of his patients had demon-
strated, in various clinics, a voluntary increase in his pulse rate to 160
and above. When asked how he achieved this, the patient said he
imagined himself in Hamburg, standing at the edge of a high wall on
a quay. The fear of falling into the watery depths, as a non-swimmer
who would, therefore, drown, would always get his heart racing.
For the Swabian doctor and natural scientist, Paracelsus
(1493–1541), imagination had always been “The sun inside the soul of
man” (Reddemann, 2014, p. 96). Indeed, imagination commands
forces strong enough to help conquer mental disorders and even seri-
ous illness, as we shall show in Chapter Two.
Suggestions: when reactions are instructed

The auditorium is well attended. Curiously, the students peer at the
small, light-green flask their professor has placed on the desk. “Once
I open the lid, a strong smell will spread,” he explains. “I would like
to test how quickly you perceive it. Please clearly raise your hands as
soon as the cloud of odour has reached you.” He adds, “Short bouts
of nausea are likely.”
A short while later, a raised arm appears in the front row. More
follow behind and the longer the stench spreads in a V-shape across
the plenum, the more students raise their arm. Three people actually
rush out to the lavatories.
The professor reveals his secret a few minutes later: the flask
contained odourless water.
This experiment was repeated in different places, but the results
were always the same. Subsequent reactions included being irritated.
The participants asked, “Are we that easy to manipulate?” The answer
to this question might shake our belief in a distinctively analytical,
critically judging individual not being misled so easily, yet it leaves no
room for doubt. Inner pictures, invoked by others, can lead to unbe-
lievable effects and, in extreme cases, death.
In 2006, a twenty-six-year-old man from Mississippi decided to
commit suicide after his girlfriend left him. He swallowed twenty-nine
capsules of a strong medication he had received as a participant in
a clinical trial. As he was taken into the medical centre in Jackson, he
was in a critical condition and his blood pressure had fallen drastically.
While the doctors are fighting for his life, a hospital member
contacted the supervisor of the drug trial to ask what substances the
patient had consumed. The supervisor pulled out the files and res-
ponded: none. The patient was part of the control group that had
received placebos, a medication with no pharmacological effect.
The mere belief that he had ingested a lethal amount of pills
brought the suicidal man to the brink of death.
As soon as he had been told that the twenty-nine capsules he took
consisted entirely of starch and milk powder, his condition improved
immediately. He was able to leave the ER shortly after and return to
his home.
In both cases (of the bad odour and of the placebo), the people that
were affected had not been in charge of the representations.
Unconsciously, they had handed the control of their self to another,
who, in turn, exerted the suggestive influence.
Still, suggestions can be positive and also sought out; therapists
use them to benefit their clients, as in the case of hypnosis. In any
event, however, an externally guided imagination is only effective if

its contents correspond with the representations of the recipient.
Nobody can be hypnotised against his or her will. Not even by a stage
hypnotist, who beckons a woman from the audience on to the stage.
If he hypnotises his volunteer, describing her transmogrification into
a chicken to the viewers, during which she starts clucking for the
amusement of the spectators, she will not just be an unwilling victim.
Deep inside her, she is eager to please and partake in the fun and
amusement at her expense. Otherwise, she would refuse, in the same
way that she would almost certainly refuse to commit a murder under
the influence of hypnosis.
If a hypnotherapist tells her client, who wants to quit smoking, “Soon
you will wake up from your trance and you will not feel any desire to
smoke until the end of the day”, the suggestion can be effective because
it coincides with the client’s wish. It works because its recipient will
unconsciously accept it, turning the external suggestion into an auto-
suggestion. (You can read more on hypnosis in Chapter Two.)
“Autosuggestion may be defined as the implanting of an idea in
oneself, by oneself”, the French expert on suggestion, Emil Coué,
noted in the 1920s (Coué, 1922, p. 11). One example is autogenic train-
ing: in this relaxation method, certain formulas are repeated word-
lessly in a state of absolute calmness (“my right arm is heavy”, or “my
breathing is soft and steady”), making them come true. (Again, you
can find more about autogenic training in Chapter Two.)
The so-called affirmation—a certain form of autosuggestion—does
not begin during relaxation, however. Athletes, for instance, use such
self-directed declarations to help them reach their goals. All those
familiar with nervous tension preceding important competitions will
know of ways to calm down. The opposite type, who enters a game
too casually, will be better advised to use self-asserting phrases to
heighten motivations (“I’m ready—I will triumph!”). Football players,
karate experts, swimmers, and other athletes all master the methods
of implanting positive messages into the unconscious, where they
unleash their powers. The mental coach, Rainer Hatz, remembers the
extreme sports athlete, Silke Seecamp. During a sand dune race in
Southern France, she arrived at the shore of a river, after two days and
a running distance of 240 kilometres. She was completely exhausted,
bleeding where the sand had eroded the skin of her feet. Now she
would have to cross the salt-water river.
“Silke had a theme: ‘Easy already exists’. It was time to turn it up,”
Hatz explains in an interview with the authors. Meaning: up until
now had been easy, the hard part lay ahead. This inner conviction
allowed the runner to endure the pain and the salt in her open
wounds. Silke Seecamp had internalised the phrase before the run; it
was as if she lived and breathed it. Because of it, she knew that, no
matter what, she would make it to the end.
Athletes and coaches agree that this form of inner dialogue always
needs to be phrased positively. That is, a marathon runner should
never say, “I’m too slow”, but, instead, “I am getting faster!” This
strategy is also proliferating among the type of therapists that choose
to focus less on the negative aspects of a client’s situation than on the
positive. One core idea of solution orientated psychology promotes
finding out which methods have worked well in the past and repeat-
ing them.
Glimpse into the mind: where do

the inner pictures come from?
In an experiment, a hypnotist suggests to a volunteer, who is calmly
lying on his back, that he will slowly feel heat building up in his right
thigh. Soon enough, the volunteer experiences a burning sensation.
Simultaneously, an imaging technique is used to observe changes in
the brain: the most active processing happens in a part known as the
gyrus cinguli. It belongs to the limbic system, the oldest of the brain’s
emotional processing regions, in terms of evolutionary development.
Not only can suggestions increase pain, they can also lessen pain
perception; a realisation made use of by many dentists who offer
hypnosis treatment as an alternative to anaesthetic injections (more on
hypnosis as a therapeutic instrument in Chapter Two). “Words have
proven to yield the same effects as medication”, the renowned profes-
sor of physiology, Johann Rüegg, states in his book, Mind and Body
(Rüegg, 2010, p. 169, translated for this edition). In the case of pain
suppression, the circulation and, hence, the neuron activation of the
gyrus cinguli is reduced: the pain caused by the dental drills still
exists, but does not appear consciously.
Apart from a few exceptions, the succeeding parts of this book will
not cover any further material on suggestions or other externally
induced representations, but, rather, the imagination we produce

ourselves. The focus will be on inner pictures that help resolve
emotional problems or other health impairments. How is this possi-
ble? How can the imagination, which is merely a vanity we create,
have an actual impact on our body or soul and make a sick person
healthy?
Scientists have found the answer: whatever happens in the brain
affects our immune system. Nerve fibres of our brainstem are
connected to the tissues in our thymus, spleen, lymph nodes, and the
bone marrow. Those are the birthplaces of our white blood cells,
which function as our bodies’ defence against outside “enemies”. So,
messages from the brain influence the immune system’s defence in an
immediate—positive or negative—way.
In the case of negative outcomes, we experience stress and sick-
ness. A long-term study in the USA has shown that people who nurse
a family member suffering from Alzheimer’s disease are more prone
to viral infections than people not subjected to similar kinds of
stress—even years later. In addition, relatively normal levels of stress,
such that might occur during an examination, can alter the balance of
our immune systems. In a positive sense, on the other hand, we can
activate our white blood cells if we relax: for instance, when we medi-
tate, laugh, or calmly and actively focus our inner pictures. The Amer-
ican psychologist Melissa Rosenkranz conducted a study at the
University of Wisconsin in 2007 in which she requested participants
to actively remember pleasant and sad situations that had occurred in
their lives. All of the participants had received a flu vaccination
shortly before. The results of the subsequent study were that when the
subjects pictured happy situations, their immune systems built up
more antibodies than in the case of negative memories.
This knowledge, while accredited as new and astounding by
science, was far more widespread in the past than it is today, even
though it was neither proved nor exactly defined. In as early as 1530,
the natural philosopher Agrippa von Nettesheim wrote, “So the soul,
being strongly elevated, sends forth health or sickness to surrounding
objects” (Morley, 1856, p. 157).
To our minds, the pictures of our inner representations are barely
different to the real optical impressions we receive of the outside
world. In both cases, the same area of our brains is activated: the
visual centre, also called the visual cortex.
Because the brain deems the inner world as equal to the outside
one, the former can just as much influence our mood and behaviour,
as well as our bodies and regenerative powers. Further yet, it is our
“headquarters”, which controls everything, as demonstrated so
impressively in the following example.
If, for instance, a trial subject repeatedly performs an exercise with
a finger of one hand, then this will mark a trail inside the brain. The
area of the brain responsible for the finger movement (motor cortex)
will begin to grow. This also happens if the subject only imagines the
exercises, rather than actually doing them.
A particularly effective way to make inner pictures release their
powers is if they are created in a state of physical relaxation, as
opposed to when being swayed by emotion. This is strongly apparent
in dreams, where two brain areas are most active: the visual centre in
the cortex, which creates our dream images, and the limbic system,
“headquarters” of our feelings. Other brain regions, as far as they are
linked to our sense of time or logical cognitive reasoning, remain rela-
tively inactive.
In the case of mild relaxation, the brain waves move (oscillate) in
a so-called alpha rhythm (see list below). If relaxation increases, they
change into the theta rhythm: this happens when we are about to drift
into sleep and our thoughts escape reality. The brain usually moves in
theta waves when it is dreaming. This state seems to be the optimum
in order for the visualisation of inner pictures to occur.
From the depths of sleep to focused learning:

the different beings of the mind
1. Delta-waves have low frequencies ranging from 0.1 to 4 Hertz

(recognisable in an EEG as a flat, stretched-out wave pattern):
typical for deep sleep, state of trance.
2. Theta-waves: 4–8 Hertz: when fatigued and during the phases of
light sleep, under hypnosis, in daydreams.
3. Alpha waves: 8–13 Hertz: mild relaxation, calm alertness, when
eyes are closed.
4. Beta waves: 13–30 Hertz (steep and narrow wave pattern); state
of general alertness.
5. Gamma waves: over 30 Hertz (very steep and narrow wave

pattern): during strong concentration or in learning processes.
Terms for inner representations

Imagination: Imagination is the power of picturing. To imagine means
to visualise something specific, of which there might not necessarily
be a real precedent image (“a blue elephant”). This can also include
noises, smells, and other sensory impressions.
Visualisations: An optical imagination that is controlled by our
conscious. That which is seen is already known in principle (“I’m
picturing myself sitting on a flowering meadow, the sun shining”).
Imaginary journey: To come upon inner pictures without intent, by
focusing one’s own thoughts on a CD or book; the conscious is not the
driving force here.
Suggestion: An external subject triggers representations or feelings
with his descriptions, bypassing logic and reason; for example, during
hypnosis therapy.
Autosuggestion: Through inner representations, one creates physical or
emotional effects for the self, as with autogenic training (“my right
arm is heavy”).
Affirmation: A positive, deliberate statement that empowers the person
to reach for a goal; for example, in sports (“I can do it”).
CHAPTER TWO
How internal images heal us
n this chapter, you will learn how to use picture representa-
I tions therapeutically. This idea dates back 2,300 years, to ancient

Greece. Today, the repertoire used by therapists and clients has
become far more comprehensive, including methods such as biofeed-
back, dream interpretation, hypnosis, self-hypnosis, and deliberate
imagination. These will be introduced in the following pages.
Biofeedback: mental images control bodily functions

Most of what happens to our organism remains unnoticed, even
though there are a number of procedures that can be positively influ-
enced once we become aware of them. The things we can perceive,
we can change—this is the fundamental principle of a method called
“biofeedback”. This does not describe an esoteric method, and neither
does “bio” stem from the idea of “alternative and organic”, but, rather,
derives its theory from biology and is founded in technology: elec-
trodes or sensors, applied to the surface of the skin, measure body
functions that are otherwise undetected. These processes are measured
on screen (or through speakers), allowing us to become conscious of
21
them so that we may deliberately change them through awareness. As

an example, this principle can be used to aim to cure migraines or
other sources of pain.
In the case of migraines, different types of nerve cells in the brain
are overactive, leading to an increase in the transmission of messen-
gers (neuropeptides) that cause painful dilations of certain blood
vessels inside the head. With the help of biofeedback training, patients
can deliberately constrict these vessels using their mental capacities.
In order to monitor the effect, a sensor that measures the diameter of
the arteries is attached to the temple. A computer gathers the data and
translates the information either into a visual image which is dis-
played on a screen in the form of two parallel bars, or presents it
acoustically as two different tones. It is the distance between the two
entities that the patient sees (or hears) which he now seeks to mini-
mise using his imagination, constricting the blood vessel as a result.
“First, each individual needs to work out which thoughts and inner
pictures work best in changing the vessel’s diameter”, the medical
practitioner, Déirdre Mahkorn, states. Mahkorn, who works at a
teaching hospital in Germany, has reported positive effects through
biofeedbacking. “This includes such thoughts as snow or imagining
biting into a lemon” (UKB, 2016, p. 1, translated for this edition).
When a sensation of cold or the taste of something sour is deliberately
imagined, the associated reaction of withdrawal or contraction occurs,
resulting, it is hoped, in an actual bodily response at the point where
the sensor is positioned at the temporal arteries.
Barbara Timmer, a member of the German Association for Biofeed-
back, states in an interview with the authors that “. . . there are
patients who imagine a shrinking garden hose; others chose a short
autosuggestive credo, such as ‘artery very tight’, rather than a
symbolic picture.”
It can take up to more than ten sessions until the client has learnt
to minimise the gap between the bar graphs (i.e., the vessels). Once
successfully adapted, however, this skill is never forgotten. Portable
devices even allow for biofeedback training at home. Eventually,
those devices will become obsolete given enough practice and the
impending migraine attack can be fended off with thoughts alone.
According to Barbara Timmer, it is comparable to a bicycle with
attached training wheels that can be removed once the rider is compe-
tent.
HOW INTERNAL IMAGES HEAL US 23
Since success rates are high and the biofeedback training is consid-
ered to be free of side effects, patients tend to react positively to the
approach. Not only does it work for curing headaches, it is also effec-
tive in affecting the outcome of the following: peristaltic bowel move-
ment (in the case of diarrhoea or constipation), breathing, pelvic floor
muscle control (for bladder weakness), productivity of sweat glands,
back pains, impulsive neuronal activity (with ADHA), abnormal heart
rate, or even high blood pressure.
Biofeedback tends to work in a more localised manner than medi-
cal drugs, which often induce side effects for the whole body rather
than targeting only the affected areas. Biofeedback, in addition, has
achieved positive outcomes for people who experienced difficulty in
mastering other relaxation exercises. Once the patients felt that they
could reclaim control over their bodies as they watched this happen
on screen (or heard it in the case of acoustic tones), this would moti-
vate them to continue. This sense of achievement would contribute
positively to the healing process.
Children often find the biofeedback training less difficult than
adults, as it is in their nature to embrace imaginative games with
fewer inhibitions and a greater capacity for fantasy. Adults with limi-
ted imagination, in particular, would find the work in biofeedback dif-
ficult, especially those who had difficulty remembering their dreams.
It seems as if creative abilities are key in binding the gap between
body and mind in the biofeedback process.
Once someone is adept at it, they realise just how substantial psy-
chic powers are in helping the body back to health, just as has been
proved by numerous medical studies.
This is also true for all other therapeutic methods that are intro-
duced in the following chapters of this book: their results are equally
impressive (although this will not be seen in the form of two bars
moving toward each other on a screen).
Positive thinking: shut out the negative,

and everything will be all right?
“All of us have a magic ability at our disposal at all times: our imagi-
nation.” This statement is not made by a world-weary esoteric, but by
the experienced neurologist and psychoanalyst, Luise Reddemann
(Reddemann, 2007, p. 16, translated for this edition). With the use of
imagination, she was able to help a large group of patients who were
affected by deep emotional pain to achieve stability. The ability to
fantasise is an extremely effective tool, “that reaches for the regenera-
tive sources inside us” (Reddemann, 2007, p. 16, translated for this
edition). Thanks to inner pictures, says Reddemann, it is possible to
create inner spaces for solace, help, and strength, self-contained and
unimpeded by the fluctuations of our environment. Reddemann and
many other therapists know from experience that, instead of just look-
ing at the origin of problems when dealing with psychological dis-
eases, it is also important to focus on positive events of the past.
This also includes patients who have been traumatised in their
past. They, too, have reported positive situations, feelings of luck, and
emotional security. In their book, “Imagination as a Healing Power”,
Luise Reddemann and colleagues recommend holding firmly on to
such moments so that they can diffuse through the body:
Even if the pain in someone’s life might often outweigh the good, that
person will discover how regenerating it is to concentrate on more
than just the negative. The ability to heal your own pain is not
achieved by solely focusing on your illness, but on your positive feel-
ings. (Reddemann et al., 2007, p. 33, translated for this edition)
So, does that mean if we set our mind towards the positive and
only maintain our optimism, all bad energy, negativity, and every-
thing debilitating will effectively dissolve into thin air?
Such “positive thinking” is described as the universal remedy. The
first to believe this was the French pharmacist, Emile Coué, who, in
the 1920s, was able to help numerous sick people by advising them to
repeat a particular sentence to themselves. The news of the effect of
his advice spread and he was invited to speak on his ideas in various
European cities. Eventually, a society was founded in his name, to
teach the methods he advocated.
The autosuggestive sentence repeated in thought was: “I feel better
and better every day and in every aspect” (Coué, 1922, p. 11).
Yet, although this simple sentence may help certainly people, most
therapists today dismiss it; including Luise Reddemann, the psycho-
oncologist, Elmar Reuter, and the therapists of the Mind Institute
Berlin (along with its CEO, Thomas Kretschmar, one of the authors of
this book). They claim that playing make-believe is not the solution.
“Thinking positively is not a very good piece of advice”, Reuter writes

in his book “Living with Cancer” (Reuter, 2010, p. 170, translated for
this edition). Essentially, it calls for the denial of all possible negative
aspects of crisis and sickness. Luise Reddemann goes further, stating,
“Positive thinking is a lie” (Reddemann, 2007, p. 33, translated for this
edition). The fact that Emil Coué is as good as forgotten today is
surely also due to the fact that he did not believe in the necessity for
a diagnosis. He believed any disease could be cured simply by repeat-
ing his phrase.
So, would we be advised to reject the idea of positive thinking?
The hypnotherapist Erhard F. Freitag has learnt to differentiate,
after working with his clients for decades:
I can report from experience how positive thinking has helped thou-
sands overcome terrible situations, how those people have managed
to recognise the value of their thoughts and how they strove to put
them to use. On the other hand, there is no use in believing ‘I am
healthy and succeeding’ when the person knows very well that he or
she is, in actual fact, seriously ill. Thinking this ‘just to see what might
happen!’ makes doubt the prevailing emotion instead of a positive
attitude. (Freitag, 1983, p. 181, translated for this edition)
How did this happen? Why do some say positive thinking is

damaging self-delusion with no promise of healing while others say
that it is important to think positively? The seemingly contradictory
stances develop because not everyone defines the term “positive
thinking” in the same way.
“If we cultivate positive thoughts, we create positive processes
inside us. The healing powers of our own psyche are activated”
(Walach, 2011, p. 116, translated for this edition). This clinical psychol-
ogist does not equate “positive thoughts” to “positive thinking”,
however. What he means by this is a form of “awareness meditation”,
in which the clients relax, try to think of nothing, and focus on their
breathing.
If “positive thinking” only means ignoring all problems, then it is
surely useless as a tool. If, however, it means gathering knowledge
about the disease and never losing hope of a cure, then positive think-
ing might well work as the basis for healing.
“Life is not only positive, yet it is also positive”, Reddemann and
colleagues sum up their thoughts on the matter (Reddemann et al.,
2007, p. 33, translated for this edition). Reuter believes that positive
thinking, practised in addition to the process of dealing with the grief
caused by illness, “may take root eventually—from within and not
from the outside” (Reuter, 2010, p. 170, translated for this edition).
Good pictures, bad pictures: what the soul needs

“Representations are the most natural, easy, and cheap resource we
have to keep us healthy”, says Dr Helmut Lindemann. “And in many
cases, they’re also the most effective” (Lindemann, 2011, p. 23, trans-
lated for this edition). Therapeutic methods that use mental images for
psychological treatment all share one thing: they begin with the inner
pictures that are locked up inside and cause the soul the most pain, so
that they can be replaced with positive ones over time.
Without the work in therapy, the malignant pictures will resurface
from the soul’s depths and manifest themselves on the outside, where
they haunt the tormented body and cause self-doubt, depression, and
eating disorders, to name but few. Some scientists describe depression
as the soul’s outcry for help as it struggles with the destructive self-
images of one’s own making. Those among us who constantly feel the
need to be perfect (cool, adjusted, successful, happy) are at high risk
of a resulting depression. “The depression arises with false pictures or
illusions, making us ill”, writes the renowned German theologian and
meditation instructor, Anselm Grün (2011, p. 61, translated for this
edition). But how do we distinguish between pictures that are good,
and those that are bad for us? Grün points out that this distinction will
always be problematic. The sensory overload, the continuous flood of
pictures of our present, is overwhelming to some people: “We can no
longer discern the difference between benevolent and health-damag-
ing pictures” (Grün, 2011, p. 71, translated for this edition).
The experienced life coach recommends deliberately searching
and reflecting on pictures that create good feelings. For instance,
when remembering pleasant situations from our childhood years, “At
a time where everything was fascinating, and playing for hours on
end without getting tired was the only thing on our minds” (Grün,
2011, p. 85, translated for this edition). He recommends that taking
in nature, art, or architecture with open eyes is also food for soul-
thought.
No matter where we are, our surroundings are also pictures and

we connect them to the representations we already know. This connec-
tion can be made with curative pictures and representations, too.
“Such are images that feel good and exert a sense of serenity and free-
dom”, says Grün. “They reflect everyone’s true self” (Grün, 2011,
p. 176, translated for this edition).
However, vivid as these representations may be, they are hardly
enough to solve problems on their own. What is needed is guided
practice from a therapist. It is through her skills that the images gener-
ated can turn into the right tool. This instrument was discovered,
used, and subsequently improved upon since as far back as the times
of Ancient Greece.
Healing while asleep: dream experiences of ancient times

“Let’s go to the theatre. It’s been too long.” One of the greatest social
leisure activities about 2,300 years ago would have been to go to see a
play at the amphitheatre. The stage is a mass spectacle. The Dionysus
theatre in Athens, with its semi-circular form, could seat an audience
of 20,000, and the masses went to see events that often lasted several
hours. Some ancient cities, such as the port city of Epidaurus, even
boasted two theatres: a large, public theatre that contained fifty-five
rows of seats (the remnants can be seen today), and a smaller one,
more remotely located, intended for designated audiences. It is
embedded in the picturesque landscape of a spa resort, which—in
addition to its rich green spaces—contains various temples, baths,
sporting venues, fountains, and a mineral spring. There were guest-
rooms for the sick in search of medical advice and treatments for
themselves, their families, or, in wealthy families, sometimes even for
their servants.
The entire location is dedicated to worshipping the Greek god
Asclepius, god of healing. The people of Greece put their faith in him,
and his sanatorium was frequented accordingly. For ailments as
diverse as insomnia, infertility, mental problems, joint pains, and
cancer, the Ancient Greek believed the place itself provided the cure.
They also believed that their gods created all diseases.
Those that came to Epidaurus, or to one of the other sanatoriums
of Asclepius (e.g., the islands of Kos or Rhodes), received an extensive
treatment over a course of several days or even weeks. The guests

arrived knowing that there were challenges to face. If they wished to
enter, all visitors were required to bring substantial offerings with
them, in addition to their own food rations: for example, honey cake,
fruit, an occasional chicken or pig, etc.
Once inside the temple, the guest would take a ritual bath, as
explained by the inscriptions on the walls. The cleaning ritual was
followed by group sessions of prayers, meditation, or song. The
patients were dressed in wide-cut robes of white linen. Slowly, they
would settle into the ethereal and reflective atmosphere. To adhere to
the rules, the guests were required abstain from physical intimacy and
gluttony.
Cleansed inside and out, the women and men who had retreated
from their routine life were now ready to receive the treatment; a sleep
that should cure them of any ailment.
The stories told by former guests had prepared new visitors for
what lay ahead: aided by the priests, the sanctuary patients described
their miracles in ancient transcripts. (Dozens of stone tablets survive
to this day.)
Utterly prepared, the “patients” entered the hallowed halls of the
ancient psychosomatic clinic, also called the Abaton. Here, they would
spend a night in the sacred sleeping room. They hoped and prayed for
the mighty god Asclepius to appear in their dreams.
If he appeared—and this would happen remarkably often—the
priests would be available for a consecutive dream consultation,
corresponding therapy methods included.
However, subsequent procedures were often unneeded; the dream
alone could effect the cure. This is described in the case of a patient
named Timon, who had encountered the god of healing in his dream.
Timon was injured when a spear lacerated his eye, and now it was
Asclepius that pierced his dream. The god scattered a herb on to his
wound and, soon after, the man’s vision had been fully restored.
Another record is from a man from the city of Thebes who was
entirely infested by lice. In his sleep, he dreamt of Asclepius remov-
ing his clothes and brushing the pestilent creatures away. He averred
that the vermin were gone the next day.
Although the chances are that these tales are overstated, scientists
are in agreement with the principle behind the numerous stories. To
this day, replicas of healing body parts are still visible displayed on
stone walls in Epidaurus: ears, feet, and limbs—crafted out of wood,

wax, terracotta, or bronze—are preserved symbols of gratitude.
So, who or what had cured these ancient Greeks? The people living
ca 300 years BC would have answered, “Asclepius”. From a present-
day viewpoint, the answer to this question cannot be agreed upon so
easily. Modern society does not believe in a god of healing, a weather
god, or a goddess of love. Nowadays, major religions worship a singu-
lar boundless entity, a God, or one supreme deity that embodies all
subordinate administrators of jurisdiction. Can this be translated as
belief in a god working wonders? In Christianity, it is believed that
Jesus Christ performed miracles. In other religions, people petition
their gods through prayers and believe them “answered” when their
problems are solved.
Whoever the individual may be, whether religion or modern
science drives their search for knowledge and answers, the unification
lies within the operative word “belief”. What made the ancient holy
sleep so effective was that the dreamers believed in the real embodi-
ment of their powerful god, trusting that he would heal them. A scien-
tific explanation would suggest the placebo effect as one possible
influence, without intending to denigrate other answers or to make
claims of certainty.
Only recently, scientific discoveries have found further unexpected
examples of the healing capacity of placebos. In one study, the effect
of the treatment was measurable, even though all the participants had
been informed that they were receiving a placebo. They were told,
however, that previous studies did show evidence of signs of health
improvement. This last piece of information was reassuring enough
for the participants’ symptoms to diminish and for the improvement
in health actually to happen.
Placebos, prayers, or pictures in dreams: whatever the choice may
be, it is the conviction that causes the consequence.
Nocturnal journey into the unconscious: the effect of dreams

In contrast to the people of ancient history, we are not likely to count
on the nightly appearance of a healing god. But even now, it is possi-
ble to view dreams as useful messengers. The case of Mr S demon-
strates how this helped him back to health.
He was diagnosed with skin cancer at the age of thirty-six. MRI

scans revealed several tumour sites in the right upper leg. Various
treatments had no effect and more groups of tumours developed.
Then one day, during the tenth clinical treatment with induced fever
attacks, his results showed improvement; the tumours had become
softer and smaller. It was during this time that Mr S remembered a
dream: he was sitting on a sunny mountain-top terrace with his wife
and glanced down at the serpentine trail of cars driving along a road
below, feeling sorry for them.
Instantly, he trusted the message from his unconscious, firmly
believing that he would get back to health. At first, he found the reac-
tions of his family and friends to his epiphany downright aporetic.
How could he be on his way to better health when, in fact, his body
was still so weak? And then there were the doctors; should he tell
them of his dream, or should he let them stick to their MRI results?
Anyway, they would probably shake their heads together in disbelief.
Three months later, and altogether three years after the diagnosis, the
doctors were able to verify that Mr S was free of cancer.
The scientific author Joachim Faulstich mentions in his book, “The
Healing Conscious”, the case of a mortally ill female patient, who
reported that during her sleep one night, a native healer had appeared
at her bedside. Without speaking, he began “pulling out” negative
energies from inside her. The next morning, although she could not
explain what had happened, she knew she had been cured. Indeed,
her symptoms fully receded a short while later.
“The symbol of the healer is part of the soul”, Faulstich writes.
“The soul turned the nocturnal images into reality and, by doing so,
they became a visualisation of the truth” (Faulstich, 2006, p. 188, trans-
As impressive as these cases may be, waiting for a nocturnal mani-
festation to heal the sick would be an ill-advised risk to take. More
reliable methods, which also use inner pictures, can be attempted
systematically and at effective intervals (more on this in Chapter
Three).
Mental sufferings seem to be an exception to this: their treatment
succeeds well when using nightly dreams. Even in health, dreams can
be a “soothing bath”, as the American neuroscientist Matthew Walker
describes it. They can take the edge off aggravating, irritating, or
otherwise upsetting incidents of the previous day.
Walker uses this idea in his own research, in which he showed a

set of pictures with strong emotional evocations to selected students.
If the students viewed the pictures again a few minutes later, they
reacted with a similarly strong emotional response. Students in a
control group, however, who had slept in between the two viewings,
reported a decrease in the strength of emotional response.
Another way to make use of the soul-soothing effect of dreams
would be in psychotherapy. The American psychologist Clara Hill
developed a model in which deep-seated emotional problems can be
brought to light during the state of dreaming, so that they can be
addressed later.
First, the client reports the events of the dream using the present
tense. For example: “I am climbing up a mountain; it is windy; I can
hardly get enough air when I breathe, and I am afraid to look down”
(Hill, 1996, p. 64). Next, the client is asked to note down all key ele-
ments of the dream (mountain, windy, breathlessness, height) so that
they can be discussed with the therapist individually, at which point
the emotions take centre stage.
The next step involves matching up the dream elements with any
of the client’s associations to his real life—and expressly not to other
dreams. In this way, the client might discover those aspects in his life
that cause distress.
To sum up, in the last step of this admittedly rather sparse descrip-
tion, the previous explorations need to be merged with active ideas.
“If you could change your dream—what would you change about it?”
(Hill, 1996, p. 110) is one example of the therapist’s commonly posed
questions. In the end, incentives are given to the clients, allowing
them to make new changes in their lives.
This work is not only applicable to our daily woes and problems.
The psychologist Ursula Voss (from the University of Frankfurt am
Main) works in the treatment of traumatised patients who suffer from
the results of sexual violence. Those results often include insomnia
and nightmares. To help them reacquire sound sleep, the therapist
uses an unusual method: she teaches her patients to recognise a night-
mare as unreal and therefore harmless, while still actively experienc-
ing the dream.
“To progress to this stage is fairly straightforward, given a bit of
practice”, Voss assures: “To begin, it is important that I remind myself
of the need to remember my dream while I fall asleep. Then, I need to
choose a recurrent element of my dreams” (Voss, 2013, p. 1, translated

for this edition). Voss practised the technique of lucid dreaming with
a subject. The female student said she thought a lot about her pet dog,
which had recently died. She practised Voss’s technique and soon she
was able to distinguish waking from dreaming: if my dog is here, this
is not real, because he is not alive. So, if he appears, I know this must
be a dream.
This method enables us to ward off nightmares; as we recognise
them, we render them less intense. “The lucid dream allows the
patients to distance themselves from their nightly drama”, says Voss.
“They lose their fear of falling asleep and dreaming” (Voss, 2013, p. 1,
translated for this edition), exactly as happened to a woman who was
terrified by the images in her dreams: she dreamt of calling the police
and she controlled the situation.
Voss was able to observe two different states of consciousness in
clients who experienced lucid dreaming at the sleep laboratory: one
area of the brain is slightly more awake, while the other remains dor-
mant. Different from the state of “normal” dreaming, the lucid dream
activates the frontal cortex—a part of the brain that is responsible
for the cognitive process of critical assessment during our waking
phases.
Hypnosis: input offered creates inner output

A few years ago, something odd and unexpected took place at a lake-
side restaurant in Germany. A friendly group of medical doctors,
psychologists, and psychotherapists were sitting together at a large
table. They had spent the day attending different seminars and
lectures at a psychotherapy congress. They had all been at a workshop
on hypnosis in which they had been hypnotised during a demonstra-
tion by their course teacher. He had promised to join the group later,
but had not made an appearance so far. As they waited, he arrived.
He had barely approached the table when it happened: almost
everyone at the table swung up their right arm, waving at the new
arrival. Some laughed out loud, yet no one was surprised by this
strangely synchronised gesture, least of all the professor himself. Not
only had he expected them to be at the restaurant, but also that they
acceded to his request: the participants of the hypnosis seminar
should raise their right arms when they greeted him again later in the
afternoon.
The group present had obeyed a “post-hypnotic order”. And the
professor had proved what he had described a few hours before: a
feature of hypnotic trance is the externally induced representation, the
so-called suggestion, which exercises control on the unconscious of
the hypnotised, even after the state has ended. The vital pre-condition
being that—just as with any form of suggestion—the performer is
willing to participate. To raise the right arm in greeting must have
seemed like something the group deemed feasible.
We all have our presumptions about hypnosis, even if we have
never experienced it first-hand. Those that try it for the first time are
usually surprised after they leave the state—they expect to feel more
“anaesthetised”.
Hypnosis means being neither asleep nor awake but somewhere in
between: a dozy state of rest, wherein the conscious is not clouded, as
in dreams, but still “limited” in some ways. All attention is on the
hypnotist, who promotes this limbo (“You’ll be aware of nothing but
my voice”). The person being hypnotised is prepared for the induced
alternative state and ready to be guided into it.
This occurs if the hypnotist manages to translocate the awareness
from out to in. He imposes a state of weightlessness (or heaviness),
which the patient then begins to assume. During the hypnotic state,
the perception is canalised; one aspect is central, all others disappear.
What happens during hypnosis seems real to the experiencer, and
this can be a great aid in psychotherapy: the hypnotherapist may try
to intervene in the process and actively alter its course with the
purpose of helping the client shift, and permanently change, his views
to those of a healthier perspective.
Case example: Katharina Kramer, clarinettist in the Hamburg
orchestra, wanted hypnotherapy in order to overcome the stage-fright
that haunted her every time she performed in front of an audience. In
trance, the therapist let her play her instrument to a crowd, in perfect
tune, feeling light as a feather, and anxiety-free. Two weeks later,
during an actual performance, the musician pictured this mental
image and felt completely fearless. She played one of her best concerts
in a long time.
The medical practitioner Bernt Hoffmann remembers treating
a young woman during his intern years. She had suffered from
regurgitation for several weeks, and was weakened to the point where
she could not leave her bed without assistance. The tests showed no
signs of organ dysfunction. However, she had told Hoffmann that she
was living under the same roof as her mother-in-law, along with her
husband and her two children. The mother-in-law was treating her
poorly, causing her to lose her appetite: “I feel sick just thinking of
her” (Hoffmann, 1997, p. 183)
The doctor put her into a trance and gave her a post-hypnotic
assignment: the next morning, her appetite would be restored, she
would eat, and her sickness would disappear for good. Indeed, this
was the case, and shortly after that the patient’s living conditions
improved; the mother-in-law moved out, and she managed to stay
healthy.
Who or what exactly had caused this effect? The therapist? The
method? The hypnosis? Yes, yes, and yes, and also the client herself.
It was her compliance that triggered the effect. Had she denied the
suggestion, it would not have worked.
It has been estimated that a proportion of ten to twenty per cent of
all people are strictly resistant to hypnosis, another ten per cent,
however, are particularly amenable to it—this does not mean that they
are gullible; they simply have an active imagination.
The modern theory of hypnosis was substantially defined through
the work of the American doctor Milton H. Erickson (1901–1980). It is
to his credit that hypnotists are no longer regarded as authoritarian
rulers over powerless victims, harshly blackmailing change into
people (“If you start drinking again, you will feel sick!”). It was
Erickson’s recommendation that every therapist should adjust to the
individual needs of the clients: every person already possessed a
repertoire of experience, skill, and adjustment capabilities for solving
individual problems. A successful hypnotherapy would mean that the
therapists would merely have to access the experiences and the client
would come up with a personal solution. Erickson shifted the para-
digm from “therapy from above” to “therapy at equal level”.
That being a good hypnotherapist means more than just uttering a
few suggestions has been described in detailed accounts of the expe-
riences of Wolfgang Blohm. He was the first medical doctor to open a
specialised hypnosis clinic in Germany, on the Island of Föhr, in 1998.
In his book, “Self-Hypnosis and Hypnotherapy”, he describes the case
of a secretary who reportedly suffered through years with migraines.
Pain medication, which had been her usual remedy, had since failed
her, too, and their side effects were becoming a problem.
Several sessions later, it was clear that the thirty-eight-year-old
was an ambitious, diligent, and dependable employee, with a constant
need to demonstrate perfection. She would spend more time in her
office than with her husband. Dr Blohm decided he could not merely
make the suggestion that the patient just take things “easier”: rather
than a short command, he gave a speech. With caution, he re-told the
situation she was in through the “eyes” of the people around her.
“Your standards are high; this is all well and good”, Blohm said.
“However, one appointment is piled on top of the next”, he continued,
“and this allows little room to de-stress, so that one might feel the
pressure at some point or another, from time to time” (Blohm, 2006,
p. 96, translated for this edition).
While the patient listened to her situation being described, she felt
that she had been heard. Finally, this opened her up to the suggestion
Blohm gave next—a little mental aid she would carry around in her
imagination, ready to use when the need arose: “You may now use a
manometer that allows you to measure the pressure you feel during
your day” (Blohm, 2006, p. 96, translated for this edition). This instru-
ment, which had been “installed” in her trance, would now allow her
to become aware of the pressure she was under—something she had
not been able to feel before.
The therapy continued; more sessions followed. During another
session, the doctor suggested an idea that would appeal to his
patient’s perfectionism, elegantly turning the problem around in order
to put it to better use: from now on, she would practise being perfect
in the art of serenity.
It took some time until her migraine attacks subsided, but eventu-
ally they were reduced to one attack per year.
This is where the strength of hypnosis comes into light: it creates
a space in our imagination wherein healing, sometimes unusual, pic-
tures can be created. (This is also true for other imaginative therapy
methods that will be introduced in Chapter Three.)
Inner pictures such as the manometer can be created by the thera-
pist and also by the client: for example, in the fantasised form of “true
memories”. This way, they can be experienced as real. One patient,
who suffered from painful seizures in his ribcage for which the doc-
tors could find no medical explanation, witnessed himself in the midst
of a medieval battle scene during his trance; his ribcage had been
pierced by a spear. He was certain this was a picture from his past
life. The therapist used this notion to suggest that the spear wound
could now be recognised and the healing could begin. The pain had
vanished.
The laws of logic and reason are inoperative during hypnosis.
The capacities of real memories seem infinitely available to our
dreams, together with memories that appear real, but are actually
made up.
The American psychologist Martin Orne demonstrated the exis-
tence of such false memories when he asked a number of hypnotised
students to think back to their sixth birthday. He compared their vivid
narrations with the accounts of parents, siblings, and other family
members. The results showed that the students tended to embellish
their stories when under hypnosis. One of the male participants des-
cribed how he spoke English on his birthday, when, in fact, he had
learnt the language at an older age. For a therapy to work, however,
it is irrelevant whether or not the lifelike “memories” are true or false.
More often even, the therapist will deliberately search for pictures that
confuse or disrupt the client’s idea of logic thinking. The intention
behind this is to reveal patterns of the soul and to destabilise its
wayward habits.
What matters is whether or not a trance-induced memory is actu-
ally helping the client. This is the case more often than not. Studies
show the effectiveness of hypnosis for a range of afflictions such as
amnesia, irritable colon, eating disorders, migraines, and various
other types of pain.
This being said, it should be mentioned that hypnosis can have the
opposite effect when in the wrong hands. The following example will
demonstrate what can happen when the hypnotist misses his mark. A
student was struggling with test anxiety and wanted to alleviate his
stress in time for a forthcoming examination—an intervention method
which is usually successfully practised in hypnosis. The hypnotist
suggested that there was no need for the young man to worry about
the exam, and that he should not take matters too seriously. The
student took him at his word; he calmed down, stopped paying atten-
tion to his revision and the forthcoming test—and failed.
Thus, finding a good hypnotist is invaluable and replicating her
work can often be difficult. Yet, in some cases, practising self-hypnosis
is an equally effective method of improving physical and mental

health. This is the subject of the next section.
Autogenic training: completely calm, here and now

“I can make it.” Once, twice, thrice, again and again, Hannes Linde-
mann repeated his affirmation (Lindemann, 2011, p. 15). Walking,
sitting, eating. In short, at every possible opportunity, day after day. It
was part of the preparation for his biggest adventure—to cross the
Atlantic in a faltboat.
Countless times this little sentence would give him the strength he
needed on his journey. The first time, when his boat had capsized in
huge storm-waves, the affirmation fuelled his unconscious and it reas-
sured him to keep on going. Just as it did on day fifty-seven, when
Lindemann’s boat capsized again, and he had to spend a night lying
down and holding on to the slippery deck, before he could right it the
next morning.
“I can make it”—a classic phrase used in autogenic training: short,
succinct, positive. The method has been used for over eighty years,
helping people with amnesia, anxiety, general fatigue, compulsions,
depression, phobias, tinnitus, digestive problems, and many different
types of pain. Countless studies prove its validity.
Autogenic training is an autosuggestive relaxation method that
can be acquired by anyone. Psychologists, or doctors such as Hannes
Lindemann, often teach it in classes. The participants who are able to
“lie back”, follow instructions, and trust in their teacher learn quickly.
People who find it more difficult to trust, calm down, and relax will
have a harder time adapting.
Yet, those that eventually master the concept can revert to the
instructions at any time, anywhere. Even inside the lavatory, seated
in an upright position for the duration of five to ten minutes. The
“. . . weapon of self-influence is at your command at all times”, Fritz
Lambert, a psychotherapist, wrote in 1932 (Lambert, 1977, p. 89, trans-
Autogenic training is, first and foremost, a relaxation technique
that is used by many people on a daily basis. “I’m completely calm”,
is the first phrase to begin with, and there are many that follow. The
idea behind this is simple: if the muscles relax, tensions on the
inside—physical and mental—will also loosen up.
The basic step of autogenic training begins with concentrating

entirely on the body, while repeating “Both arms are heavy”, or “My
feet feel comfortably warm”, until the relaxation takes hold. The
sentences are repeated by order.
In the advanced stage, you rise above your physical state. Here,
you imagine inner pictures and selected scenes to experience how the
tension release resolves various problems. The pictures should appear
intuitively, not by reciting the affirmations but through something
more along the lines of “whatever may come”. This step of the train-
ing is called “autogenic imagination”.
To better define the term, autogenic training should be described
as “training for autogenous (produced independently) relaxation”,
since it is the relaxation that is unrestricted, and not the training.
Autogenic training is technically also a form of self-hypnosis. Its ideas
aim at the same results. The key difference is that autogenic training
suffices without consulting a hypnotist because it works with self-
induced suggestions instead.
In addition to the different premise, autogenic training and hypno-
sis also differ in their means: while hypnosis works with fantasised
pictures that confront the subject with surreal ideas, autogenic train-
ing usually remains in the present and close to reality. According to
the latter, thinking “The proximity to other people is comforting”
resolves a person’s social anxiety. The sentence “My gut runs calmly
and smoothly”, helps against irritable bowel syndrome.
Just as with all of the other methods that are mentioned in this
book, autogenic training is posited upon one condition: the imagined
situation or affirmation is positive. Thus, those that wish to overcome
their anxieties are to repeat: “I am calm and relaxed”, and not “I am
less afraid.” Ideally, the use of the correct phrasing will result in a
decelerated heart rate. To make the best of suggestive formulations,
concentration is key. Concentration usually means actively working
towards a goal, giving it all available commitment. This is not entirely
a requisite of autogenic training—there is focus, yet there is also relax-
ation, although relaxing does not mean being passive, as in hypnosis.
This might sound paradoxical, but the best description for the state in
autogenic training is “active passivity”.
After returning from the abstract realms of self-hypnosis at the end
of an autogenic training session, one piece of advice would be to
restore a clear mind and re-enter the present. This works well by
repeating the following: “Arms tight—breathe deep—eyes open!”

(Fists are clenched and arm muscles contract at “arms tight”.)
Experts clarify that there is also one exception in which there is no
need for withdrawal; autogenic training is an excellent channel into
sleep.
Active imagination: dialogue with the unconscious

The predecessor to all concepts of the imagination applied in therapy
is the “active imagination” proposed by Jung (1969). Using this idea,
Jung wished to establish a connection between the unconscious and
the conscious.
To the Swiss practitioner of depth psychology, the unconscious
was not only the source of our urges and the collecting point for
repressed fantasies, but also the spawning ground of our creative
potential and sound reasoning. The unconscious is our primordial
matter, so to speak, out of which the human consciousness arises.
According to Jung, both the conscious and unconscious must be in
equilibrium, otherwise they have the potential to cause psychological
imbalance. This equilibrium is no longer justifiable to many of the
people living today: modern man has lost the connection to his origins
through his desire for money, power, and material gain: man has
isolated himself from the soul and the unconscious.
Carl Gustav Jung is considered the most talented student of Sig-
mund Freud (1856–1939), who was the founder of psychoanalysis.
Jung openly opposed Freud’s idea that posits sexuality as the unitary
force driving human behaviour. Jung believed that an unconscious
store of dreams, fantasies, and symbolism exists in which all contents
are collectively inherent to all humans (the “collective unconscious”,
see Chapter One). Freud naturally rejected this theory. To him, the
unconscious was of central meaning, but in an entirely different sense.
He refused to accept the idea of pictures and thoughts being somehow
transferred into all humans.
Furthermore, Jung declared the active imagination an even better
passage to the unconscious than the interpretation of dreams. In
dreams, we receive messages from the unconscious, yet the conscious
remains dormant, but during active imagination it remains wide
awake and active.
In 1947, Jung illustrated an example of the meaning of “active

imagination”. Its two characteristic features are the perception of
inner pictures, and the inner dialogues with the figures arising from
it.
The first step of the exercise is achieving the resting state of
“emptiness”: Similar to meditation, the idea is to try to empty the
mind of all thoughts. This allows room for fantasies and pictures to
appear. “Take a close look at the picture and observe how it unfolds
or changes”, Jung continues. The transformations are the point of
interest. “Eventually, you will enter the picture.” If a figure appears to
talk, instructions are to listen to what it delivers. Further, Jung directs,
“You may tell them what you have to say” (Jung, 1969, p. 185).
As the ego is actively involved in the visualisation, the method is
given the name “active” imagination. As long as the inner pictures are
merely observed, the process is termed “passive” imagination. Only
when there is contact or dialogue with the imagined does it become
an active experience. So, on the one hand, the client gives in to passiv-
ity, allowing undirected thoughts to construct his inner vision, and, on
the other hand, he influences the process by talking to his imagination
until, he wishes to reassert his control again.
Robert Johnson, a psychotherapist who resides in California, des-
cribes countless reports of clients who seem to doubt the pictures
appearing to them. “How do I know that I’m not just making all this
stuff up?” they ask (Johnson, 1986, p. 150). “How can I talk with some-
one who is only a figment of my imagination?” (Johnson, 1986, p. 150).
Johnson reassures them: it is practically impossible to let our imagi-
nation create something that is not the most authentic picture of the
unconscious that we possess. Even if what we see appears absurd or
constructed, it still stems from the deepest, untouched parts of our
unconscious. There is nothing that cannot exist, in a place where noth-
ingness exists, after all.
“The real question” says Johnson “is not the authentity of the
images, but rather, what do I do with them?” (Johnson, 1986, p. 150).
To make sense of them may be difficult without the help of a profes-
sional, although it is not impossible. “Full participation is the essence
of Active Imagination”, the analyst writes in his book, Inner Work. “It
is vital to join in as complete partner in the exchange. One may make
suggestions, initiate, ask questions, argue, object—everything one
would do in any exchange between equals.” (Johnson, 1986, p. 181).
However, Johnson promotes caution in allowing real people to

appear in inner pictures: “You should not call to mind the image of
your spouse, your friend, or your co-worker at your job and start talk-
ing with that person in your imagination.” (Johnson, 1986, p. 197).
Otherwise, there is a chance of regressing to the situation in an
encounter with the fantasised subject, and thereby possibly confusing
fantasy and reality in dangerous ways.
In the event of a familiar appearance, for example, a work colleague
with whom you have had a recent disagreement, a conversation
should be held along the lines of the following: “. . . you look exactly
like the guy at the office that I’m mad at. Since I know that you are an
energy system inside me, please change your appearance. I don't want
to confuse what is inside me with a person who is outside of me.”
(Johnson, 1986, p. 197).
By reaching out to parts of one’s own unconscious, one isolates
them. This is the only way to take away the power they have over your
conscious, according to C. G. Jung. By isolating and detaching those
parts, they can then be analysed. What you are left with is an entity of
the conscious and unconscious.
Jung had come to recognise that actively imagining—and this
applies to all forms of imagination mentioned in this book—could be
difficult to balance: if you are highly alert, the fantasy breaks off; if
you are not alert enough, you might fall asleep.
Jung recommends keeping a journal to note down the dream expe-
riences. This is another pioneering idea of the active imagination
method: therapists of autogenic training, imaginative body psycho-
therapy (see Chapter Three), and catathym imaginative psychother-
apy (or guided affected imagery; read more about this in Chapter
Three, too) also promote habitually writing down or drawing what
you have imagined. The amount of successful experiences can
increase one’s motivation, and it helps to keep track of the progress
made in the course of the therapy.
Another aspect of Jung’s method, which has inspired succeeding
therapy forms, is the idea that cognitive reasoning is deliberately
reduced to make room for creative processes. Jung stresses the dan-
gers of the exercise becoming too “intellectualised”, since it blocks out
the inner pictures. Logic’s antagonistic relation to the imaginative
adheres strictly to reality.
If the decision is made to let inner pictures take over, they should
be of an emotional nature. “One must sense that it is real, that it is
actually happening” (Johnson, 1986, p. 181). According to Johnson, it

is very easy to work out “whether a person is doing real Active
Imagination by the feeling responses that come out. If the normal
human reaction to the situation in the imagination would be anger,
fear, or intense joy, but none of these feelings are present, then I know
the person is detached from the proceedings, just watching from a
distance, not really participating, not taking it seriously.” (Johnson,
1986, p. 182).
Nevertheless, although Jung’s active imagination is largely forgot-
ten today, it remains the original ancestor of all types of therapeutic
imagination. Its premise of emotional counselling has also become a
necessity for all of the following therapies.
Re-entering life: winning the battle

against cancer by using the imagination
Cancer patients wish for just one thing: to get back to health. The big
three of cancer treatment, surgery, radiotherapy, and chemotherapy,
might not always be enough to make that wish come true. Therefore,
many patients seek alternative or complementary treatments. Some of
these promise more than they can live up to, some promise nothing
at all. Such treatments are often reduced to making the circumstances
as comfortable as possible, rather than actually treating the disease. A
promising treatment, however, even with severe cases, can still be
possible.
In the past four years, we have treated 159 patients with terminal
cancer. Sixty-three are still alive, and the average length of survival
since the diagnosis has been 24.4 months. The life expectancy for such
patients is averaged at twelve months. These figures hit the public like
a hammer when American oncologist O. Carl Simonton released his
book, Getting Well Again, in 1978. It is still a best seller. Cancer patients
regain hope as they follow the instructions towards self-healing,
inspired by the story of the doctor’s first patient. The book recounts
the story of a man restored to full health through the Simonton
method.
The sixty-one-year-old was suffering from laryngeal cancer. He
struggled with inability to swallow, was rapidly losing his strength,
had respiratory problems, and had lost a total of sixteen kilograms in
weight. In 1971, the doctors had estimated a survival rate of fewer

than five per cent for the next five years. Radiotherapy seemed like the
only option left, although he was told this would weaken him further
and most likely cause damage to the tissue in his mouth and throat.
Simonton suggested he should begin relaxing for five to fifteen
minutes, three times a day. He should try to picture a calm, quiet place
for himself during this time; next, he should actively picture a cancer
treatment, allowing new pictures to be generated. The man agreed to
the exercise and followed the instructions. He imagined millions of
energy particles, radiating toward him. The cancer cells, weaker than
the healthy cells, would burst upon collision with the particles, while
the healthy cells remained intact.
The next and final part of the imagination included the image of
an army of white blood cells. The white blood cells would sweep over
the bursting cancer cells, absorbing them, and passing them on to the
kidneys, where they would be washed out of the system and out of
the body.
This way, the cancer would subside and the patient would see how
he gradually regained health. This was Simonton’s idea.
And it worked. The radiation imagery was rapidly successful and,
with little side effects, the cancer grew smaller. Two months after the
therapy had begun, there were no traces of cancer left. The patient,
confident as a result of this victory, applied the visualisation technique
to cure his arthritis, which had been troubling him for a few years. He
was successful. Now that he was completely convinced of this
method’s effectiveness, he challenged the third and most prevailing of
his maladies: the impotence that had plagued him for the past twenty
years. After only a few weeks, this problem, too, had become history.
Another, more recent, example comes from Germany. Eva S is
diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of forty-eight and the doctors
tell her the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. They estimate her
chance of surviving the next five years at twenty per cent.
Six years later, Eva reports she feels “just great”, even “healthier
than ever”, she has completely turned her life around, and can finally
enjoy it (“I used to be terrified of flying, now I travel the world”).
When asked what had helped her the most during her illness, Eva
recalls the name of a professor who had explained the workings of
the immune system to her. “I now have a clear image of my immune
cells and I can communicate with them. For example, I can praise
them and thank them for carrying out their service.” The training in
visualisation had helped her achieve this communication.
Simonton’s method is less mechanical than it might appear at
first. The therapist, who died in 2009, did not have the intention of
combating cancer with picture representations à la “particles shoot
tumour cells”. Further, he explained his belief to the patients that
mental disturbances were often the root of cancer development and
that his therapy would include treating those disturbances: an effec-
tive therapy is one that regards the human “in his entirety”, and not
just as a physically ill body.
Subsequently, “the whole system of body, spirit, and emotion”
should be considered in the process of healing. If cancer can have psy-
chological causes, says Simonton, and if, for example, stress causes
tumours, then other powers within the body must be able to remove
the tumours.
To this day, the “Simonton method” is applied in mental exercises
that aim at fighting the cancerous cells. One commonly suggested way
is to let patients imagine how a cohort of knights attack and destroy
the malevolent cells. When the American patient Margaret G reported
pains in her chest, the doctors ordered scans that revealed an unusual
mass on her thymus gland. She decided to challenge her sickness
mentally and turned to a clinic that offered treatment with Simonton’s
therapy. The specialists there told her to imagine sharks that eat away
her cancer cells.
Towards the end of her stay, the patient experienced a vision
she had not expected: she pictured the tissue mass underneath her
sternum as a block of ice that began melting away unusually fast.
“Never before had I conjured such an image, so clearly, all in my
head. I knew then and there that the drops of melting ice were
tears.”
Although she had suffered in her past, Margaret had not been able
to cry, as long as she could remember. “Suddenly, all the pressure and
problems just melted away; the deaths in my family, the abuse during
my childhood, the unresolved issues with my ex-husband. All these
emotions had now been given back to me, and they were vast and
strong.”
Four months later, the MRI scanner revealed that the aggressive
mass had disappeared. Margaret had not undergone any other form
of treatment during that time.
This case highlights one point. The externally prescribed imagina-

tion using the shark analogy was not enough. More than an applica-
tion of the doctor’s instructions is necessary, no matter how atten-
tively the patients follow the instructions. Rigidly adhering to other
people’s recommendations may even be counterproductive to the
affected person. That is why the patients are encouraged to develop
their own inner pictures, rather than merely following those that are
suggested to them.
Pictures that are products of someone’s own creative thought, or
reflect their tunes in life, are far more emotional and thus most effec-
tive.
Further criticism can be directed at the rigid Simonton method. It
has no spiritual aspect. Instead, it makes use of aggressive imagery
that promotes healing through fighting against the tumour cells.
Someone who prefers gentler forms of visualisation should be left to
choose his pictures as he wishes. What matters is that the person in
question feels connected to his vision.
The American surgeon, Bernie Siegel, tells the story of a patient,
who did not want to fight his cells, because he thought of them, as a
part of him. Instead, he would imagine how the carrier cells of his
immune system would carefully pick up the cancer cells and sweep
them out of my system (Siegel, 1986, p. 21). Some patients prefer to
negotiate a peace treaty between them and the cancer: if you keep me
alive, you may also live—so hold back, stop growing and multiplying.
This was how it was done by one patient, according to her doctor,
György Irmey, medical director of the Association for Biological/
Alternative Cancer Treatment from Heidelberg, Germany. This patient
had successfully “convinced” her cancer cells that their presence was
no longer permitted, and that they could now leave and transform
their energies. “Since I became aware that all energy is not wasted, but
transformed, I told the same to my cells: ‘You may stay, but you have
to change your shape’ ” (Irmey, 2007, p. 171).
The mind is able to create images that portray all different kinds
of meaning, yet lead to the same path: they stimulate the production
of white blood cells that attack the cancer. How different messages
produce the same result can be shown in the next three examples.
A female patient pictures healing rays of white light shining on the
womb. Another woman told her doctor, Bernie Siegel, “I meditate all
day. I am picturing how the cancer is cleansed out of my body, as I do

the dishes. When I take a walk and it is windy outside, I can see how
my sickness is blown away” (Siegel, 1985, p. 15).
The third patient, Dominik Polonski, had a part of his brain
removed due to a malignant tumour in 2005. The surgery had been
high risk: paralysed on one side, desperate, the accomplished cellist
woke up lying in his hospitable bed. Doctors told him he would need
a wheelchair to remain mobile for the remainder of his short life.
The same night, the patient lay awake, headphones on, listening to
Johann Sebastian Bach’s “The Well-Tempered Clavier”. He continued
to dream of it in his sleep. The next morning he noticed something
had changed. When the doctors arrived for the ward round, he was
able to move his paralysed leg upon inspection, much to the aston-
ishment of everyone present. And although Polonski patiently contin-
ued his intensive physical rehabilitation, his condition ceased to
improve any further. He still had constrained movement in his leg and
was limping, needing the assistance of a crutch to stand upright. The
doctors discovered another tumour in his brain. His life expectancy
had been reduced to four to eight weeks.
In November of 2005, he consulted psychologist Martin Bush,
who offered a combined treatment of hypnotherapy and so-called
Feldenkrais exercises. After a short while, the patient found himself in
states so submerged in trance that he did not even notice that he
crossed the room without his walking aid. Bush made Polonski work
with inner pictures: the cancer patient did not see his sick cells, but his
healthy ones, how they multiplied and filled the room. Day after day
he pictured his thoughts in various exercises.
Five weeks later, shortly before Christmas, the musician returned
home to Poland and attended a routine check-up: the tumours had
vanished. The doctors were left perplexed. To this day, Dominik
Polonski is alive and healthy, working as a music teacher in a school.
Some cancer patients find it hard to imagine how a tumour shrinks
in size if their medical results tell them the opposite. They might easily
feel as if they are lying to themselves. How can this conflict be
handled?
The solution, which can be used here, is the same one that is
applied to Jung’s active imagination (mentioned in the pages above):
it is not about adhering strictly to logic and consistency, but, rather,
about being able to imagine which state you wish to obtain—even in
the matters of cancer—or in this case, dissolving tumour cells, or the

affected organ without the diseased tissue. Essentially, you are
performing the part of perfection, in a play of pretend.
“You have to act as if you were healthy”, Dr Lindemann advises—
in this case from different background, but his statement remains
applicable. “The person feeling tense should act as if his movements
are free and loose” (Lindemann, 2011, p. 22, translated for this edi-
tion). Bernie Siegel says that inner pictures stand for what you want
in life; it is not a contradiction just because these pictures do not match
your current situation, they remain the truth of what you wish for. The
clearer you can visualise the pictures, the closer you are to them.
The philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) wrote about this
during the last years of his life, when his health worsened. He stated,
“Here, too, both on account of this inner possibility in the subject, and
on account of the external possibility of a nature harmonising there-
with” (Lindemann, 2011, p. 23, translated for this edition) as he col-
lected his thoughts on the beauty of free will.
The medical practitioner Dr Jeanne Achterberg, from Texas, has
observed many times that perfect fantasies, which are an important
part of the imagination, can also pose a threat to perceptions of real-
ity. She worked alongside O. Carl Simonton and became a renowned
imagination expert herself. After she had carried out research on the
topic for many years and had treated numerous patients who had
become better through imagination, she began to wonder: are some
people more adept than others at targeting cancer cells with their
inner pictures?
Achterberg discovered that there was one major aspect that a lot of
the patients with minimum success rates had in common: the repre-
sentations of the cancer were usually biologically very accurate and
less symbolic than the imagination of the white blood cells (Achter-
berg, 1994, p. 66).
White blood cells are the most important allies of the immune
system in the battle against cancer. In most of the cases, the patients
who had the poorest chances of healing were the ones who could not
imagine the idea of the white blood cells, but came up with very vivid
representations of their cancer, Achterberg discovered (Achterberg,
1994, p. 66).
So, the therapy can be of greater use against cancer if the patient’s
imagination of their white blood cells is professionally assisted. The
method of imaginative body therapy sets a further example of this, as

is described in the following section.
Imaginative body psychotherapy: an X-ray vision of the inside

“Body psychotherapy” sounds somewhat off kilter in meaning. If it
were termed “body and psyche therapy”, it might be easier to imag-
ine. The name would indicate an approach that is directed towards
the therapy of body and soul. This is not the case. The collective term
“body psychotherapy” stands loosely for all forms of therapy that
actively include the body in the therapeutic treatment.
Imaginative body psychotherapy (IBP) activates the powers of self-
healing and aims at maintaining a mental balance. Although not orig-
inally conceptualised for use against cancer, it turned out to yield
remarkable treatment outcomes.
One example is the case of the cancer patient Werner Melle, who
was diagnosed with recurring bone cancer in his pelvis, after suffer-
ing from a bronchial carcinoma and undergoing chemo- and radiation
therapy. He had hoped that cancer would never feature in his life
again, but it returned in 2002.
“Another operation, and more radiation, and chemo, were out of
the question”, the mechanical engineer recalls (Erstling, 2011, p. 105,
translated for this edition). Instead, he pinned his hopes on the imag-
ination exercises of IBP, which he had been recently taught in therapy
and now practised on his own. When he told his friends and family,
what it was he had been doing, he received a lot of disbelieving looks:
“My family looked at me, as if I had lost my sanity” (Erstling, 2011,
p. 105). But the results proved otherwise: the first metastasis was gone
within four weeks, the second one took four months to disappear.
What did Werner Melle do exactly? He imagined that the blood
circulating towards the cancerous tissue would be cut off—“I
dissected the arteries leading to the metastases, after I had blocked
and sutured the blood vessels” (Erstling, 2011, p. 106, translated for
this edition). This is a common procedure in IBP imaginations, even if
it sounds hardly imaginable. Werner adds, “After a while I developed
an ability to see behind the metastases. I kept controlling the blood
flow and kept removing smaller vessels around the tumour with my
finger”. Soon enough, the growths became smaller. “Then I began to
heat up the shrunken tumours, so that they would dry up. I really
turned up the heat, I boiled them” (Erstling, 2011, p. 106)
However, he was not yet healed; new cancer cells had developed
inside the abdomen. Werner had already seen them grow and could
feel their presence before the computer scans could detect them. The
new tumour reached a size of thirteen centimetres and the doctors
began pressing for different measures, but Melle was positive: “I
knew I could do it again”. Three to five times daily, he would work on
his routine, “I gave that tumour trouble at every opportunity I had. I
pared away the tumour’s supply channels, and then treated them with
heat, again and again” (Erstling, 2011, p. 107, translated for this
edition).
The following CT inspection showed that the tumour had reduced
to eight centimetres in size. One year later, it had shrunk to the size of
a chickpea. Werner Melle looks back at his story today and concludes,
“To me, imaginative body psychotherapy is not counterfactual. In fact,
it is the reason I am still alive” (Erstling, 2011, p. 108, translated for
this edition). He has been free of cancer for over six years.
Judging from the outside, it is hard to believe that patients are able
to look into their inside and are able to see and feel the development
of new metastases. Yet it happens all the time, as doctors have
witnessed again and again. Erstling’s book is about these patients and
the use of IBP (“Treating cancer with inner pictures”, 2011). He, too,
found it hard to believe that patients were able to visualise the inside
of their bodies and see the changes as if looking at an X-ray: he used
to think something like this would be impossible.
Not every patient develops this ability, and it is not a prerequisite
for a successful therapy either. IBP therapists such as Bärbel Gühne
have seen patients’ cancer subside even without the patients being
able to see pictures of their inner body. If this specific process were to
be necessary, if we were to need a realistic, anatomically correct repre-
sentation of our bodies to apply the cancer treatment, then this exer-
cise would, by definition, no longer be imagination and we would
move on to something else entirely.
One of Bärbel Gühne’s patients described how she imagined her
thymus gland as a classroom full of students receiving an education
in cancer defence (this was probably her translated analogy of the con-
version of stem cells into white blood cells). A lot of clients experience
varying pictures and thoughts throughout their therapy. An organ can
transform into all different kinds of shapes and colours in the imagi-
nation.
For IBP and any other effective therapy, one thing is certain: every
person in therapy will have to figure out their own way to get a sense
of what is best for them. And, in order to reach this conclusion, the
patient needs guidelines and instructions to progress, before he can
continue outside of therapy. To get a better idea of imaginative body
psychotherapy, an abbreviated account of a personal session has been
chosen as an example:
Step 1. Relaxation. For example, using autogenic training. (Other
recommended methods include progressive muscle relaxation
according to Jacobson or the concentrative meditation.) The
client is seated or lying down comfortably, eyes closed.
Step 2. Picturing how the bone marrow produces stem cells in the
skullcap, the shoulder blades, the long bones of the arms and
legs, inside the spine, ribs, and in the pelvic region.
Step 3. Feel and activate the thymus gland (behind the sternum),
thereby picturing how the stem cells are being converted to T-
lymphocytes (white blood cells), and, more specifically, into
the T-killer cells and T-helper cells.
Step 4. The lymphocytes enter the blood flow and then the spleen;
here they are multiplied and stored.
Step 5. The T-helper cells now permanently circulate inside the blood
and through the body, looking out for forms of virus, bacteria,
and particularly tumorous cells. Upon detection, they signal
the activation of T-killer cells and other immune cells (natural
killer cells, B-lymphocytes).
Step 6. These cells are directed towards the cancer cells. The B-
lymphocytes engulf the cancer cells and decompose them; the
natural killer cells, blunt soldiers, attack the cancer cells by
colliding with them; the T-killer cells coat the walls of the can-
cer cell formations and inject a substance inside the cell
membrane that decomposes it.
Step 7. Cutting and sealing off blood vessels that supply the tumour
or metastases.
Step 8. Clear out the place: picturing how scavenger cells (phago-
cytes) absorb debris, dead blood cells, and deconstructed can-
cer cells, taking them to the kidneys, where they are washed
away through the urinary tract and out of the body.
Step 9. Expressing gratitude, in thought, to the organs involved, and

to encourage them to continue their purpose.
Step 10. Allow the thoughts to drift off into a place of total comfort
and safety (e.g., a “happy place”; beach, vacation, mountain
scene, sunny park). After staying here a short while, resolve
this state and come back into the present.
The ten steps listed above should not be understood as a point-by-

point instruction manual: rather, they are described and intended as a
framework for IBP methods. Some patients prefer to imagine bodily
functions, especially at the beginning, while others quickly move on
to predominantly symbolised representations (e.g., the colon as a
compartmentalised train, or a hosepipe).
So, in short, what is the difference between IBP and the method of
O. Carl Simonton? Essentially, it is the difference between imagination
and visualisation.
Those that use Simonton’s method to visualise helpful thoughts,
deliberately and actively create inner pictures. Those that imagine
pictures using the IBP method are asking the unconscious for help in
generating the pictures coming from their own bodies. Instead of
using specific sentences as representations for inner pictures, as in
the Simonton method (“knights on horseback use a lance to kill the
tumour”), IBP imaginations inevitably move away from instructions
to allow an array of pictures to come from the inner body, taking
over the experience. “IBP basically works through the combining of
actively generated pictures and inner imaginations; we alternate
between both”, Bärbel Gühne explains in an interview with the
authors.
Sandra B, not a cancer patient, but suffering from multiple sclero-
sis, would picture her organs anatomically as she began her IBP treat-
ment more than three years ago, with her thymus gland not included
in the picture at all. Then, at one point, it just appeared, as if a light
switch had been turned on. Now she sees the organ all the time “smil-
ing and affectionate”, its picture having changed a few times over the
course of her treatment. Sandra’s disease had not worsened in many
months, the most recent brain scans confirmed: the inflammatory
hubs inside her body have become smaller.
Many of the cancer patients who had improved their condition
with the help of IBP recounted taking up the exercise two to three
times per day, usually lasting an hour each time. Helmar Tal, an editor
from Munich, underwent surgery a few years ago in which he had a
neuroendocrine tumour removed from his colon. He started IBP
several months ago and, despite the metastases in his liver, he says he
feels completely healthy and that half an hour of daily exercise
suffices him.
Helmar is even able to sense his spleen and liver very intensely
upon imagining, just a few weeks into the treatment, although he also
admits that he was as yet unable to picture his metastases or perceive
any actual physical changes in them. Still, his scan showed that the
size of the cancer had shrunk, from 5.0 centimetres to 4.2 centimetres,
and, six months along, the cancer continues to retreat. Other meta-
stases are beginning to develop dark spots, which indicates that they
are starting to decay. The IBP is the only form of therapy the patient has
undergone, meaning that no other medical treatment has contributed
to his health improvement.
The fifty-eight-year-old describes looking at tiny, sharpened knives
that represent his T-cells at one time; the next time he sees them
as spherical shapes that latch on to the cancer and destroy it. When
Helmar Tal began imagining, he saw one major problem: it was very
difficult for him to imagine how the T-cells would dissolve away the
metastases, with the result that he would see the metastases again
in his next imagination. “If something is destroyed, it’s gone”, he
thought. “How can it remain in existence the next day, as if nothing
had happened?” This notion could not be changed, and he continued
to struggle with the task. He expected to picture the destruction of all
cancerous matter and be done with the idea thereafter. He also knew
that the process would never occur that quickly and easily. But what
could be done about it? How could he resolve this inner conflict?
The solution to this problem was provided by another cancer
patient, Ehrenfried Gier, who been free of cancer thanks to the work-
ings of IBP for many years: “Don’t expect it to work that way—it has
nothing whatsoever to do with logic” (Erstling, 2011, p. 4, translated
for this edition). Helmar began to understand; now he can switch off
his mind during his imagining.
There is a difference between picturing and perceiving. The things
that are imagined may be subjective and symbolical, far from actual
(anatomical) fact. What we perceive, on the other hand, is our momen-
tary understanding of our reality. “Ideally, the pictures we take of both
worlds will eventually harmonise together”, says Bärbel Gühne in an

interview with the authors. “Not all patients manage this, though.”
None the less, she believes this does not mean that healing cannot be
achieved.
There are all kinds of problems that can occur during imagination.
For Helmar, the biggest one is “drifting off”, followed by “falling
asleep”. To avoid the latter, he has begun scheduling his IBP sessions
during the morning. In the case of drifting away from his imaginings,
he recently came up with a solution: he used to imagine the steps,
such as the activation of the spleen, sitting in silence. Now, instead, he
speaks aloud quietly to himself whenever he moves on to the next
part. This way, he can keep his focus.
Imagination sessions are repeated daily and by a lot of patients.
They become so convinced by them, they are certain that they would
not want to give them up. Although the practice is not always easy,
at the end there is a sense of “having accomplished something”.
Achterberg found further similarities between cancer patients who
had been healed through imagination: all of the patients had admit-
ted that it was the greatest mental challenge of their lives (Achterberg,
1994, p. 13).
So, to sum up the stance once more: imaginative body psycho-
therapy was neither intended as a method in cancer treatment nor
implemented as a substitute for conventional medical cancer therapy.
“It works well in alleviating unpleasant side effects and increases the
effectiveness of chemotherapy”, says Dr Wolfgang Loesch, one of the
founders of IBP, in an interview with the authors. “Although I know
of over twenty patients that have overcome cancer entirely without
the commonly accepted treatments.”
See first, paint second: putting the imagination to paper

One part of imaginative body psychotherapy is the documentation of
experiences. There is a clear advantage to the idea of patients taking
pen, paint, and paper to give detailed depictions of their fantasies. “It
lets me know where I am”, IBP patient Ehrenfried Gier explains, and
“it’s easier to move from there on.” A patient from Berlin takes com-
fort from the fact that she can page through her files of old drawings:
“They show just how much has changed since then. They also inspire
me to new imaginings” (Erstling, 2011, p. 41, translated for this edi-

tion).
It is not just for the professionals who work with imaginative body
psychotherapy, but also for therapists in general: the pictures drawn
by their patients are an immensely helpful insight. They offer a
wonderful opportunity for the patients to open up topics they other-
wise have difficulty addressing. Siegel, who works as a therapist and
surgeon, learnt this first-hand. A picture can say more about the
unconscious of a client than a thousand descriptions, told and heard.
“Most of the time, what we say serves to gloss over what we actually
mean, considering we are all adept—consciously or unconsciously—
at using language to disguise our discontent”, says Siegel. “But the
pictures highlight the truth, because we cannot manipulate or hide
their message” (Siegel, 1986, p. 22, translated for this edition). The
drawings usually depict the physical condition of the patient, for
instance, when showing a tumour and fighting immune cells, in wide-
ranging levels of abstraction. For Sandra B, the patient with multiple
sclerosis, her drawing was a scene of little dwarfs carrying the
diseased cells in wheelbarrows out of the brain.
Apart from alluding to physical states and senses, the drawings
deliver unconscious and deep-seated messages. They are soul pictures
of the past and present. Siegel has come to believe, after many years
of clinical work and observation, that these spontaneous creations
give insight to the inner knowledge of the person. Experienced thera-
pists know the recurring themes and pictures their clients choose, and
of the common interpretations. For instance, a rainbow is often drawn
as a symbol of hope and of life; a butterfly is drawn as a symbol of
positive transformation.
There might even be a predictive quality to some of the art made
by clients. Achterberg, who has gained many years of therapeutic
experience in this field, collected over two hundred pictures drawn by
male and female cancer patients. By simply analysing their content
and without knowing to whom the pieces belonged, she would deter-
mine which of the patients would pass away soon, and which patients
would return to health, at an accuracy rate of ninety per cent.
Loesch requests that all his patients using imaginative body
psychotherapy draw pictures using their left hand: “We have come to
regard pictures which have been drawn with the left hand as more
emotionally honest,” he said in an interview with the authors. The
nerve channels of the left hand are largely connected to the right brain
hemisphere, and vice-versa. The right hemisphere is less involved in
rational thinking and logical reasoning, and more associated with
creative and emotional processes.
In the twenty-five years that Loesch has worked with IBP, he has
come to understand that some symbols have a very dramatic reference
to the life of the person. He remembers one occasion where a female
breast cancer patient would start to scream during her imagination
sessions. She had pictured her mother’s open grave, and how she was
terrified of falling into the hole in front of her. In later therapy, doctor
and patient would come up with the following counter-imagination:
she would allow her husband and daughter to reach out to her, she
would hold on to them for support on either side, and together they
would take a step back from the grave. This was also a giant
metaphorical leap for the patient, coming to terms with the events of
her past.
At the time Loesch had suggested this picture, and the client used
it in her imagination sessions, the therapist had moved on from imag-
inative body psychotherapy and towards a different method. This
method would provide a “soft” way to help his patient, focusing more
on the soul than on the body. This method is called catathym imagi-
native psychotherapy (CIP), also referred to as guided affective
imagery (GAI). IBP is derived from the CIP method. The third and
fourth chapter of this book are dedicated to more details about the
theory of CIP.
CHAPTER THREE
Catathym imaginative
psychotherapy
n this chapter, you will find out how to treat emotional disturbances
I by using a method of daydreaming that has been effectively proved

and successfully applied over many years of therapeutic practice.
Using daydreams as the substance of mindful therapy—strange as it
may sound at first—catathym imaginative psychotherapy (CIP) is a
form of depth psychology orientated psychotherapy that has been
validated in several scientific studies.
What is catathym imaginative psychotherapy?

A large proportion of our problems and psychological distress origi-
nate from far back in our past—forgotten or suppressed events that
continue to affect who we are today, without us being any wiser. Cata-
thym imaginative psychotherapy offers a straightforward method to
help deal with these mental scars.
The concept is simple: the client rests in a comfortable position, for
example, lying down. While the client’s eyes are closed and he is
relaxed, he is soothingly guided into a state of half-sleep through the
calm words of the therapist: “Your thoughts appear and vanish, you
57
wish them goodbye and they fly out of the room, through the window.
One part of your mind will sink deeper and deeper into relaxation,
while another part is wide awake, forming pictures in front of your
inner eye.”
The therapists would recommend a specific image, for instance a
meadow. This is the canvas for the following daydream. All the while
the client describes what he sees and he answers the therapist’s ques-
tions (“How does the meadow look?”), he follows his lead (“Perhaps
you can step on to the grass”), and they remain in conversation even
though the client’s eyes remain closed and his thoughts remain in his
imagination.
The meadow becomes a space in which the client can allow scenes
and fantasies to come to him. There is no right or wrong at this point.
The therapist recognises the patient’s conflicts through his inner
pictures, and he encourages the client to closely examine the symbols
and images that appear to him. This will cause a change in the appear-
ance of some images. The changes pictured in the imaginations,
voluntarily created by the client, will have a positive effect on the con-
flicts in the client’s life; they will encourage positive changes in other
situations without the client being aware that his unconscious is work-
ing out these progressions for him.
In Karlsruhe, Germany, Dr Harald Ullmann (2009) documented an
imaginative experience of one of his clients: the picture starts off with
a bay and a motorboat. The client climbs into the boat and drives out
to sea. The engine of the boat is powerful and he has fun pushing up
the speed, feeling the force of the acceleration in his hands. “Hands on
the wheel”, this idea turns out to be one of the central themes for the
client: he lets go of his passive ways, sets his different plans into action
and takes the initiative as he fights to win back his estranged wife’s
affection—with success.
Impressive as such therapy outcomes may be, they do not happen
overnight or after the first successful imagination. Multiple sessions,
as well as briefings and debriefings about the imagination sessions
and drawings, are necessary to set the framework in therapy. Draw-
ings should be done after the end of a session. This way, the client can
keep track of his imaginings and give them a literal meaning.
Repressed memories stored in the unconscious start to lose their
underlying dominance only when they are brought up to the surface,
where they can be resolved. This can happen surprisingly quickly
CATATHYM IMAGINATIVE PSYCHOTHERAPY 59
with CIP (often ten to twenty-five sessions): much faster than an

extensive psychoanalytical counselling, for example. Since it has been
recognised as an efficient therapy form, a growing number of statu-
tory health insurance companies in Germany offer plans to cover the
costs of a CIP treatment, if it is part of a depth psychology orientated
psychotherapy.
The renowned Dr Hanscarl Leuner (1919–1996) developed cata-
thym imaginative psychotherapy (CIP) and was a psychoanalyst and
psychotherapist himself. “Catathym” translates to “desired condi-
tion” in the sense of an emotional desire, that is, not wilfully directed.
The method has been given many terms, among them “catathymic
image perception” and “symbol-drama”. To this day, they are still
used, with the same meanings. This book might refer to the different
names in some extracts, in order to avoid any unnecessary repetition
of terms.
For therapist Erhard Freitag, catathym imaginative psychotherapy
is the ideal method to spotlight undiscovered conflicts. It is not the
ego of the patient that gets a chance to communicate, but the soul.
Thus, the imaginings can be regarded as the emotions of the uncon-
scious. As soon as the client enters the imagination, repressed issues
and besetting complexes begin to come up from the unconscious.
The patient does not need to be asleep to expect true dream images.
They already begin to appear during a state of relaxation, half-sleep,
similar to the state of hypnosis, whereby the client still remains able
to talk to the therapist. (Freitag, 1983, p. 159, translated for this edition)
However, a difference from hypnosis and autogenic training

remains in the continuation of the dialogue between client and thera-
pist in CIP: apart from short breaks, the client continuously narrates
his visions, while the therapist responds with calm encouragement,
posing questions and making suggestions.
The client will not be able to influence the content of his imagina-
tion, which appears, disappears, and reappears before his inner eye:
the visions are similar to nightly dreams. This has the advantage of
reliving and enduring conflicts that would otherwise remain unbear-
able in conscious thought. Hence, once this conflict enters the realm of
dreams, it changes its appearance. A certain person, or anxious situa-
tion, becomes a symbol that is far less threatening than the “real deal”,
made easier to handle with the additional support from the therapist.
Unlike the feeling of a nocturnal dream, the daydreamer will

always know he is entering a dream. “Furthermore, a daydream offers
far more possibilities for deliberate alteration than a night dream; this
is essentially why it is an interesting tool for therapeutic intervention”,
according to another therapist, Leonore Kottje-Birnbacher (2005, p. 2,
translated for this edition). Probably the most distinctive character-
istic of a daydream is that we can control our imagination and put it
to use.
A particularly efficient way to proceed in the use of daydreams
during practice is for the therapist to give the resting and receptive
client one of many predetermined symbols, a so-called “standard
picture”, and ask him to envision it.
For example, the picture of the “meadow”: how does it look? Is it
dried out or lusciously green? Do flowers grow on it? Does it stretch
out towards the horizon? Or is it fenced in? The details of a picture
reflect the current mood of the client, offering insights on how he views
himself. It also reveals plenty about the client’s environment. For
instance, if he is asked if someone appears to him in his imagination
and, if so, who they are to him. But how reliable can the interpretation
of inner pictures be? Are they unambiguous enough? If a mountain
appears, this would be a metaphor for the performance of the indi-
vidual, for example in his career. Yet, there is no way to scientifically
test this assumption. Hence, one way to test the symbols is to take
commonly used metaphors in psychoanalytical therapy and assume
an interpretation that is the opposite of the accepted definition.
Common sense would dictate discarding the resulting ideas: a circle
as a sign of fragmentation? A mountain as a symbol for ease? A deep
pit meaning feeling carefree? A green, flowering meadow indicating
grave difficulties?
One might get a certain sense that these pictures do not match
up. This sense is different in therapeutic practice: if the therapist is
right in his interpretations, both he and the client will know as they
exchange feedback. The clients will either feel more or less under-
stood, or recognised. The therapists with many years of experience,
such as Leonore Kottje-Birnbacher, know the dangers of overconfi-
dence: the therapist should always be aware of the hypothetical nature
of her attempts, and understand that there are more ways to interpret
the same picture. As a matter of course, the interpretations of the
client always take precedence over the therapist’s.
Catathym imaginative psychotherapy enables direct access to

the client’s unconscious, as well as his repressed knowledge. Since the
therapist remains in constant awareness of his client’s vision, he can
gently intervene at any given moment. He can turn unconscious con-
tent into conscious matters through questioning and providing
directions towards more positive thinking. Not only is this possible
with imaginative symbols, but also with inner pictures of the client’s
reality: “reality” meant not in a literal, but, rather, a contextual, sense.
A client in his early thirties pictures a scene where he is a young
boy and his mother is yelling at him because he has failed to tidy his
room. A scene from his childhood resurfaces. His mother wrenches
open his drawers, throws the contents on to the floor and the boy feels
humiliated. This scene, and many others similar to it, might possibly
be the reason for his low self-esteem today.
The therapist makes sure his patient is relaxed before he re-enters
the picture. This time he alters the events: while the client looks at his
child-image, he can also see how he speaks up to his mother. The boy
threatens to leave the house. During a later session, therapist and
client come up with a new and more productive solution: the father,
who had always remained passive during these scenes, steps into the
picture and stands up for his son. After his therapy was completed,
the client had learnt to defend himself in situations where it was
necessary by overcoming his introversion and being able to verbalise
his position, both at home and at work.
CIP therapist Eberhard Wilke, who had treated the client,
describes this progression as a “correction of early object relations”
(Wilke, 2005, p. 117), meaning relationships to others.
More often than not, however, the conflicts in imagination are
represented in a different way than in reality, and may appear in
symbolical form. More on this is described in Chapter Four. A typical
characteristic of the catathym pictures is their rapid effectiveness.
Freitag remembers a client of his who had his imaginings accompa-
nied by very intense emotions. In the few weeks of therapy that fol-
lowed, he experienced a thriving that no three-year psychotherapy
treatment would have even begun to elicit for him.
This is one of the advantages of catathym imaginative psychother-
apy: instead of pondering over and over the client’s past issues and
analysing early experiences for their resulting problems, CIP leads to
quicker solutions. The symbolical scenes imagined in a session are
similar to enacting preparations for future real-life situations. If they

are then transferred to, and repeated in, reality, they will result in
positive change.
Glancing over the therapist’s shoulder: a typical CIP session

How is a therapy session usually built up? The imagination sessions
actually only take up part of the time, around fifteen to thirty-five
minutes (the whole session is timed at about fifty minutes). First, the
therapist uses a few simple suggestions to ease the client’s state into
relaxation. To name an example, the Mind Institute Berlin uses the
following words, with a slow, calming, and even register, and in a
mildly suggestive tone:
“Your physical position should be as if you were about to take a
nap. Allow yourself to be present, simply by being here, seated in this
armchair. Feel how the chair is supporting you. Feel how you slowly
breathe in and out. The thoughts come and go, they smile ‘goodbye’
and they soar out through the window. Allow your attention to
wander to your inside. And after a while, after you have taken your
time, please imagine a meadow.”
Therapeutic base: the basic level

The meadow is a standard picture of the basic level (Leuner, 1994,
p. 19, translated for this edition). Every form of catathym imaginative
psychotherapy begins with this first of three steps; if the therapy
continues, the basic level is succeeded by the intermediate, and possi-
bly the advanced, level.
The basic level is primarily about the current life situation; the
client is taught how to deal with troubling issues and how to change
his viewpoint. The intermediate level intensifies the therapy, using
symbols that are more complex than the symbols used before; now, for
instance, it is possible for the client to challenge his fears by opposing
them “face to face”. In the advanced level, personal symbols are used
that address the soul directly, such as painful memories from the
person’s childhood.
Before the therapy begins, the therapist may ask his client to imag-
ine, and then draw, a picture of a flower. The design—whether or not
the flower is rooted in the ground, has thorns, etc.—is entirely up to
the patient. The drawing is a practice picture that allows for a first,
schematic analysis. The therapist receives a picture of the client’s
creative abilities and implicit emotional constitution. The explanations
the client gives of his first drawing are equally insightful—how he
feels towards it, or if he likes the scent of the flower, for example.
A flower is a simple symbol, one that is known by everyone. It is
represented as an inner picture for everyone, though with different
ideas and preferences for each individual.
How different these ideas sometimes are was shown in the draw-
ing of a flower by a fifty-year-old client: it was blue, made of wood,
placed inside a tin can, on a table. Using the flower as a practice exer-
cise is not a requirement, however, unlike the imagination of the stan-
dard pictures.
In the following section, you will be introduced to the standard
pictures of the basic level. The therapist usually chooses one symbol
for each of her sessions. A fixed order to providing the pictures is not
necessary. However, before the next level is agreed upon, all standard
pictures of the basic level should have been completed.
First standard picture: the meadow

This picture expresses the mood of the client and shows how he reacts
to his environment. Is the meadow lush and green, or is it dry and
withered (which indicates a depressive state)? What time of year is it,
and what is the weather like? Is there anything else in the meadow,
perhaps some animals or even other people? Does the client feel like
walking through the meadow, exploring the surroundings, sitting, or
lying down? Or is the meadow fenced in, and does he prefer to stay
at the edge?
In one case, a twenty-five-year-old client would see two alternat-
ing visualisations: in one, he saw a flowery field in summer, in the
other, he pictured dried-up grass. In the conversations with the ther-
apist, the client explained that his new job, although he liked it (green
grass), meant that he felt lonely and had not yet met the right friends
(dried-up earth).
Second standard picture: the stream or the river

The course of the water may flow freely; it can be fresh and clear. This
symbolises vitality. If the imagined stream or river is dull, this could
signify troubled thoughts and feelings. If the flow of water is disrup-

ted, dammed or blocked up, then pent-up emotions need to be released.
If the water seeps away, this signifies unconscious emotional conflicts.
Third standard picture: the mountain

The mountain has different meanings. The shape and the triggered feel-
ings often represent an important referential father figure. The moun-
tain might be sharp and jagged, but unapproachable, or lying there
broad, massive, and inert like an enormous immovable mass. Neurotic
patients see the mountain only as a hill or the mountain is extremely
tall and covered with snow and glaciers; the mountain is made of paper,
or polished so that it cannot be climbed. The second meaning of this
motif is the ascent. The therapist might ask the patient to find a path.
The healthy person can generally follow the path without difficulty.
One is reminded of a professional career. People who are achievement
orientated often imagine climbing conditions where they have to rope
themselves up or climb through chimneys in order to reach a rocky
summit. Depressive patients might lose their way in the mountains or
the path does not lead to the top at all. Exhausted patients may be soon
worn out and have to rest frequently. Patients with a hysterical struc-
ture have enough imagination to skip the exhausting step-by-step
ascent to surprise the therapist with an “I already have reached the
top”. A third meaning of this motif is the panorama visible after the
patient has reached the top. Leuner calls the panorama the “psychic
landscape” (Leuner, 1984, p. 75). It is a sign of disorder if the view is
obstructed to one or more sites, for example, by clouds. Exotic land-
scapes, like an endlessly wide desert, also signify problems. Neurotic
patients may also see forests stretching out in all directions without the
least hint of settlements, streets, or other evidence of human activity.
Leuner recommends that patients should draw a map of the panorama
after they come out of the imagination for further exploration. Finally,
in this motif, Leuner also looks into the descent, which gives hints as to
whether the patient could give up a higher position.
Fourth standard picture: the house

The house stands for the “self”. Like the self, a house can be easily
accessible or barred, stand alone, or be aligned next to others. Is it a
cabin in the woods or a modern skyscraper? Does it appear bright,

warm, and welcoming? Or dark, uncomfortable, and cold? What is
the atmosphere like on the inside and which room will the client
enter first? Does he feel as if he is in the right place? The answers will
provide a lot of information on personality structures and personal
problems.
Single rooms and their furnishings can symbolise conflicts in
specific parts in life: for example, the kitchen (eating disorders, emo-
tionally withholding relationships), the bedroom (sexuality, intimate
relationships, loneliness), and the basement (hidden memories, secret
substance abuse problems).
Fifth standard picture: the edge of the forest

Whoever stands near the edge of the forest can choose whether or not
to enter. The forest is obscured from outside, and shadowy on the
inside. Whoever enters it can be confronted with their greatest fears.
To another, the forest might be a place of quiet regeneration, where
they can turn off their thoughts and go on a hike. The forest uncovers
our unconscious desires and fears.
On the positive side, catathym imaginative psychotherapy gives
the client licence to create his fantasies, from and with whatever he
can think of. There is no need to justify anything for logic or sense:
changing space and time, or being a child again, may be “realised” at
any given moment. What matters is that these thoughts carry a weight
for the respective holders; that is, they connect to eventful memories.
Posing questions and encouragingly reminding the client of this qual-
ity should always be kept in mind. For example, by asking, “What do
you feel when you are looking at the grass (the room, the animal
etc.)?”
If the imaginings are bountiful, they continue to live on for much
longer. This had happened to a client, “Andy L”, who came to his first
session at the Mind Institute shortly before to the winter holiday
season. Upon first impressions, there was nothing uncommon about
the consultation session. Yet, when Andy attended his follow-up
appointment in January, he reported a substantial change.
The documentation of Andy’s sessions offers a comprehensive
insight as to how the pictures of the basic level are being used in
catathym imaginative psychotherapy.
Note: please bear in mind that, while reading the conversation, it

might appear as if the dialogue took place at a quick pace. In actual
fact, the client and therapist are speaking calmly and quietly, and the
pauses in the dialogue might have lasted up to several minutes. The
breaks in between sentences are not always noted down in the follow-
ing transcript, so please take this into consideration. This also applies
to the sessions described in Chapter Four.
“Imagine a house”: pictures of the basic level in a case example

Andy L, a thirty-four-year-old chemist, is married, and a father of two.
Apart from his immediate family, he does not maintain a lot of social
relationships. He is attractive looking, which is why women approach
him occasionally, and since his manners appear equally appealing,
there have been attempts by other men to establish an acquaintance
with him. All attempts had remained futile so far. “If someone comes
up to me, I back away. My wife has always been very sociable, but I
never join her when she goes out to meet people, which is why she
suffers. And to be honest, I think I’m suffering too. I notice how I’m
becoming more and more lonely.” Those were the first words Andy L
had said in therapy.
As a child, Andy received little affection from his mother, rather a
disciplinary slap here and there. “Other kids would say ‘mummy” to
their mothers, I always called her ‘mother’”. The father, suffering from
severe depression, had committed suicide when Andy was four years
old. At school, he remained an outsider. “I always wanted to join in,
but I never managed.”
Andy has strong social anxiety. As others fear wide-open spaces or
spiders, he fears the interaction with other people. He wishes to be
able to approach people, and to enjoy being approached by others. He
makes this his goal in therapy. The duration has been set to a short-
term treatment of six sessions. The first five sessions are given as a
summary.
First session
The symbol of “the meadow” is pictured in the same way as any
mentally healthy person would picture it: it is green, large, sunny,
and the birds are chirping. It is a warm day in the month of May (the
therapy session was held in December). So, one might question if a

problem exists at all. The problem remains indistinguishable; the
imaginings remain unambiguous throughout the rest of the session.
Usually, clients attend therapy due to an acute problem, such as
the loss of a job, or the death of their life partner. Rarely are those
clients able to imagine such distinct and “beautiful” pictures. With
Andy L, this is a different issue. The reason for his lack of social
contact is not a recent event, but his personality. The origin is most
probably found in his childhood, long past and deeply rooted, which
is why the basic pictures at the beginning of therapy might produce
only expressly harmless and shallow imaginings. Once a firm basis
of trust has been established in the client–therapist alliance, it will
become possible to unravel the pitfalls that have been hidden by the
famished soul and to create meaningful inner pictures that can finally
heal the individual.
Second session
After a short preliminary discussion, the therapist begins the session:
“Your thoughts appear, and vanish. One part of your mind will sink
deeper and deeper into relaxation, while another part is wide awake and
helps you to find your way back to your meadow.” Andy was to imagine
a stream running through his scenery. He describes a small brook, flow-
ing with fresh, clear water. It is May, and the weather is pleasant.
(T = Therapist; C = Client)
T: What would you like to do now?
C: Bathe. In the water.
T: Then go ahead.
Andy L steps into the water, which reaches up to his calves. Then for a
while, he rides a bike along the river, until he reaches a railway bridge.
C: I’m curious. I’m going to go up there and take a look. It looks beau-
tiful, old and weathered.
T. If it’s an old bridge, it must have seen a lot. If it could talk, what would
it say?
C: It’s a good thing I’m already retired.
T: It has retired.
C: Yes, it has seen more than a bridge should have to see. War.
T: If it were to have one wish, what would it be?
C: A pristine surface. And it would like it if people would come to

celebrate on it.
T: Would you like to give that bridge a pristine surface and make sure
that there will be celebrations on it each year?
C. Yes. The bridge will have a reason to exist again. It could become a
popular sight for couples, hikers and their dogs, and cyclists. They
could build a roof there.
T: How does the bridge feel about the changes now?
C: Wonderful.
T: And how do you feel about it?
C: It feels good. It’s as if one stumbles upon something wonderful, unex-
pected. It’s a tranquil, happy feeling.
The therapist is pleased with the progress of this session: he sees

that Andy is beginning to relate to his feelings. He is slowly able to
put things into motion (rebuilding the bridge)—demonstrating the
willpower to make a change outside of therapy as well.
The therapist asks for a drawing of the imaginings at the end of the
session. The client draws his railway bridge, with the “great stream”
(also the name he gave his drawing) running through below.
Third session
Andy begins talking about a phone call he received last week. A colleague
from work had asked if he was interested in having a dinner together with
both of their wives. “This made me very happy now, when this used to
scare me before. I would have been hesitant to even pick up the phone.”
In this session’s daydream, the client walks across the meadow, over to
a forest (symbol, “edge of forest”). He describes seeing a “beautifully
mixed fauna and woodland”, with old oak trees and tall grown beeches.
The weather is “fantastic”; a fawn appears between the trunks. It looks
at him curiously.
T: You should talk to him.
C: Hey you. Are you curious? You seem friendly.
T: What’s his response?
C: “Come over,” it says, “you seem nice too.”
T: If you want to, you can follow him.
C: I have to crouch to move towards him very slowly and carefully,
because my height might scare him. It feels great. [Short pause.] I
would like to touch it, stretch out my hand.
The fawn is two weeks old. It’s doing well.
He tells the fawn how he would like to come back again for a visit. Both
happily agree. Right after the imagination session had ended, he drew a
picture of himself with the fawn, standing at the edge of the forest. He called
it “You and Me”. At last, the therapist asks Andy for an interpretation.
C: It somehow feels as if it’s possible to contact the unknown, to reach
out to the realm of the others.
The therapist explains what the fawn symbolises: “The fawn is you.” Andy
L had appeared in two forms at once in his imagination. His human form
was ready to approach someone (the fawn), and his animal form wanted
to reach out and allow someone to come closer.
In the conversation that followed, Andy had opened up to the thera-
pist. He talked a great deal about his relationship with his parents, espe-
cially his mother. The therapist circles back to the fawn, saying how
remarkable it is. He asks Andy if there was anything he had been told
about his birth, or the first months of his life.
The client remembers that before he was born, nobody knew that his
mother was carrying twins. “After the first baby was delivered, they said,
‘Oh dear, another one!’ It was me.”
Fourth session
Andy L had something to say right away. He had noticed a change in
himself: “This ever-present fear I used to have, every day, for the past
twenty years—I feel as if it has disappeared.” His constant apprehen-
sion “of being certain that something will go wrong at any minute, or
something unpleasant lies ahead” had gone. “It’s such a relief.”
The “house” is subject of his fourth session. The client pictures it
as small, with lots of windows.
T: How does it make you feel, to stand in front of this house?

C: It’s exhausting.
Thoughts go through the therapist’s head as to whether or not he should
accept the inner defence. He could ask the patient if he would prefer to
go somewhere else and come back for another visit. As he reflects upon
this idea, he chooses to oppose it and he stays the course.
T: Where in the body does the exhaustion come from?
C: The heart. The house appears as if the inside is horribly dark.
T: What would you like to do?
C: I would like to have another house.
T: Would you like it if you were to travel into your own body, through
an opening into the heart, sit down in a corner, to see how the
exhaustion inside your heart looks like? Try and look at it as if it were
a being. What does this being, which sits inside your heart, causing
the exhaustion, look like?
C: It looks like a little cat.
T: What does the cat do?
C: It just sits there, doing nothing.
T: Can you look into the eyes of the cat? What expression does it wear?
C: Its face is stony.
T: How does that make you feel?
C: It’s exhausting.
Andy speaks to the cat, as he did in his imagination of the fawn. He tells
her how he feels about her, then the cat glares back at him, now with
lively eyes.
T: Perhaps you can take a closer look into her eyes. Try to imagine what
it would be like, if you were her. How would you feel?
C: I want to come out of this frozen state.
T: You can let her know; “Cat, I know how you feel, and I believe you
might want to come out of your ice-block.”
C: Hello kitten, I could tell by your looks that you want to come out of
this state, and move around too. If you do, then you can move a little.
T: That’s good. Allow her to move, she will do it.
When the therapist had asked if there was anything the cat needed, the
client said that she wanted to crawl into his lap and be stroked.
T: Then lift her on to your lap and let her purr. And listen into her feel-
ings. Let her body transmit her emotions into yours.
After a short pause, the therapist wants to know if they could revisit the
house, given that Andy feels ready.
C: Yes.
T: What do you feel now as you stand in front of this house?
C: I feel much better.
What the therapist did was to take a detour from the basic symbols and
instead encourage the client to use his imagination and face his anxiety.
By using the cat, a metaphorical morphogenesis of a frozen emotional
state, he gave the client a chance to address his inner rigour and resolve
it. Andy can now return to the house, more detached and less in fear.
The therapist can return to the standard picture of the basic level.

C: Clean my shoes and go inside.
Andy describes the house as “horribly old” and cold. He would like to turn
on the heater and cook a meal. There is a “funny-looking crocheted
curtain” hanging in the kitchen window, the place is in need of some refur-
bishing: greater space, new windows, and more light would “make the
house feel more alive”, Andy believes. Only the antique, cast-iron pans in
the kitchen can stay. “They’re still good to use, a real treasure,” he says.
The old spiral staircase, leading to the top floor, should also remain as it is.
The tool room “at the back” of the house is next. Andy walks over to
investigate. The equipment is well maintained and stored in an orderly
fashion; the former owner must have been quite meticulous. It looks as
if clothing was produced here. This was a long time ago. “It’s all from
another life. I cannot continue. I wouldn’t want to continue. But it used
to mean something then, and it still does. Which is why it should be given
into good hands.” Andy would want to donate the remaining items to a
museum, or to a tailor.
C: The sewing machine will go out to India. Everything will find a new
owner.
T: The tool room is going to look pretty empty in the end. Is there a
way to make use of the room?
C: I could make it mine.
T: It will be yours then. How would it need to look, for it to be your
room?
C: All white. Empty, with a big armchair, a footstool, a sound system
behind my ears, two big speakers. That’s all you need.
The tool room represents Andy’s relation to his profession, and to his cur-
rent employment. The empty room and his wish to give away the old tools
reveal the client’s current inability to execute his work. Indeed, Andy is
only weeks away from informing his boss that he needs some time off. As
the therapist asks if there is something the house needs, Andy L responds,
C: A few cheerful visitors.
T: Perhaps you can open all the windows and doors and invite every-
one you would like to see, or anyone who would like to come over.
They can enter the house through all passages and bring some life
into it.
C: I believe they said they don’t want to come . . . but it might be a good
idea to collect water and bring it into the house. Like, into the
kitchen and bathroom, let some water run through.
T: Then let the water run, and see what happens.

C: This is good, it needs more. The wind feels good too, as it blows
through the walls.
T: How’s the feeling inside the house now, with all this fresh water and
fresh air?
C: Nice. I like being there. I could do this all day. It’s chilly, but alive.
Something’s going on in there.
The client paints his scene at the end of the session: he draws himself,
standing behind a window, waving from inside the house, in good spirits.
T: Let the positive emotion, the freshness, and the energy, run through
your body. And after some time—as much time as you need—allow your-
self to return to this practice room, away from the imagination.
The fact that Andy was hesitant to imagine visitors coming to his
house shows he is still afraid to interact with others, although his
commitment proves that he is getting better.
In the discussion that followed his imagining, Andy said he had the
home of his father’s parents in mind. The therapist replies, “We have
stimulated your unconscious. We’ve begun by airing your inner space.
Your soul will do the rest on its own.” Leaving the house without any
visitors did not seem to disturb the patient. “We’ve made an attempt,
but it’s just too early. The house needs to change; be remodelled. It
needs to feel more like a home to you. Then the guests will come.”
Fifth session
Andy L is given the picture of the mountain. To him, it appears “quite
big”. It is sunny, and the surrounding landscape is “all green”. He wants
to climb all the way up the mountain. Equipped with a bottle of water, he
begins to walk. It is quite strenuous exercise, but his spirits are high. “I’ll
be up there in half an hour”, he says. “What great fun.” Having reached
the peak, he stops to enjoy the view. After he returns to the room, he
draws a picture of his journey to the top.
The therapist explains the symbol of the mountain. He describes the
metaphorical relationship of climbing, success, and performance. The
client responds affirmatively, adding that he had learnt to reach his goals
in life without any help. He calls his work “Anything you’ve ever wanted”.
A few weeks later, Andy L contacts the Mind Institute Berlin to let his
therapist know what had happened. By now, he has become fairly relaxed
around other people and continues to see a new friend that he plays
guitar with. “I can feel solid ground beneath me”, he says. “I used to come
up against a wall before. Now I’ve discovered a gateway, and beyond it, a
beautiful garden.”
Therapeutic challenge: intermediate level

In the basic level, the standard pictures of meadows and mountains
offer a fairly narrow frame to work in. Here lies the therapist’s zone
of comfort and there are seldom huge surprises. The intermediate
level of CIP demands evolving detachment of predefined pictures.
The therapist provides room for the autonomous development of
inner pictures on the client’s behalf. This requires more therapeutic
experience as well: a therapist needs to be prepared for unexpected
and unfamiliar pictures. Yet he should know how act in the situation.
The clients know how to use their imaginations by now, and they have
demonstrated that they can create inner pictures. Their next challenge
is to use this fantasy in their own associations.
Unlike the progressions in the basic level, it is no longer an option
whether or not the client wants to address his conflicts. They are no
longer hidden in symbols, but will be openly examined. As the clients
have already improved handling their emotions after completing the
first set of standard pictures, they have also increased their resilience,
and their capacities are usually strong enough to proceed. Three
different symbols are being challenged at the intermediate level. They
are designed as an extension to the five preceding standard pictures.
Therefore, the following illustrations begin at number six.
Sixth standard picture: the rosebush (for male clients)

This symbol stands for sexuality. Different standard pictures have
been created for both genders. The varying ways in which a (hetero-
sexual) man pictures a rosebush discloses unconscious sexual repre-
sentations, ideas, needs, and fears. The rosebud is a symbol of the
other (female) sexual part.
Three examples taken from therapeutic experience provide a more
graphic explanation: an eighteen-year-old, sexually inexperienced
client pictures a rose bush. The soft petals have never been touched
before. He does not dare to pick the flowers. An older client recount-
ing a number of past relationships instead imagined a vase, filled with
big, tall-grown peonies. Some are fully budded, with others already
shedding their petals. The third client sees a bush with a single rose,
already slightly wilted. Behind it he sees two large and wildly grow-
ing shoots. They make him feel uneasy. In conversation, the married
client confided he had had two past affairs, which cause him much
guilt.
Seventh standard picture: driving in a car (for women)

The seventh imaginative picture is specifically created to address
female sexuality. It begins with a scene described by the therapist in
this way: “Imagine you are on a walk along a country road and you
are heading back home. The walk is long; you are exhausted and tired.
A car stops next to you. The male driver opens the door and offers you
a lift.” The female client may contemplate two options—she could get
into the car, or not. Her choice may unveil a possible fear of sexual
intimacy or fear of men in certain ways. If the therapist prefers to
make the scene less arduous, or decides on a more circuitous
approach to the theme, she could suggest a carriage instead of a car.
Eighth standard picture: the lion

The lion symbolises willpower, assertiveness, and dealing with
aggression. Does he live in the wild and bare his teeth? Or is he locked
in a cage and tame, maybe even just a big kitten? Trained by a lion-
tamer? This would indicate that the person concerned is inhibited
when it comes to achieving his own goals and asserting himself to
others. The therapeutic goal is, in this case, to symbolically free the
lion and to awaken his power.
Intense feelings to be revealed: the advanced level

The advanced level goes deep: much further than on the basic and
intermediate levels of the catathymic image experience. Here, the ther-
apist and client delve into the most hard-to-reach layers of the sub-
conscious mind. A glimpse into these deep layers can call forth very
intense emotions. For this reason, the pictures of the advanced level
should only be utilised with clients who are mentally stable and
whose personalities are fully formed. Ego-deficient and depressive

clients are not to be confronted with the following three symbols.
Ninth standard picture: the cave

It can be a place that offers security and protection, but it can also be
a dark place, one in which you can get lost and end up searching for
the exit. Seen from the outside, the cave can evoke fear of the
unknown. The therapist should never instruct his clients to go in, but
rather wait until the spontaneous desire to do so is expressed.
Tenth standard picture: the marshy hollow

This might appear near a meadow, for example, and is filled with
filthy, dark, and cloudy water or mud. Often, the swamp symbolises
things that one is not allowed to do in everyday life, or that are
rejected because they are seen as “dirty”. In the imagination, an adult
can let his regression to a childlike state run wild and, for example,
smear himself with mud or throw it around.
Occasionally, it is a feeling of disgust rather than pleasure which
surfaces in the swamp, perhaps in the form of animals that are rejected
for being dirty. From a therapeutic perspective, they stand for internal
pieces of the client’s personality that have splintered off. However,
they belong to him as well, and he should not give in to his antipathy,
but should approach these outwardly unattractive pieces.
Eleventh standard picture: the volcano

A volcano contains great potential for destruction. Violent forces of
nature, the cause of which lie hidden deep under the Earth, signify
intense emotions: for example, dormant aggression and suppressed
rage. With its help, aggression can become visible. A therapeutic goal
may be to permit them (with inhibited clients), to get them under
control, or reduce them (in the case of existing latent aggression).
Between a strong ego and being a child again:

what the therapy can do with the client
The literature in the field explains that the catathymic image experi-
ence has an effect on four different levels. The first level is the
reinforcement of the ego.
Imagination sessions have a calming effect and provide mental

relief where tensions are reduced. The client has the opportunity to
develop a “strengthening image” in his imagination that reinforces his
self-confidence and aplomb. This image can be taken out of the ther-
apy session and recalled consciously during everyday life, to be used
as a source of strength. Possible examples of such internal images are
a “place of inner peace and strength”, a “spirit guide” (wise man, fairy
godmother), or a rejuvenating image from nature (bubbling springs, a
peaceful beach).
The second level is regression. This is understood as a relapse into
childlike states. An adult may, for example, go to bed with a stuffed
animal in order to feel a sense of security and warmth, as a child
would. This state is not planned rationally, but, rather, sought instinc-
tively: it is felt and experienced without thinking about it. Although
regression is often viewed as a problem of immaturity in psychother-
apy, in this case it is desired. Stressful or emotionally charged experi-
ences from childhood are relived so that they can be overcome or
utilised for change with the help of the therapist.
One client imagined herself climbing up to the attic of her house,
where she found sock puppets and picture books from her child-
hood in an old chest. Shortly thereafter, she remembered how her
grandmother would read to her from these books. Those were the
happiest times of her life, unlike the time that she spent with her
mother.
The third level is confrontation. Whereas unpleasant topics in
the everyday life of the client often get pushed aside, catathymic
imaginative psychotherapy brings them to the fore. They reveal them-
selves, as previously mentioned, in the form of symbolic images.
They are, thus, less threatening than real scenarios. Their emergence
is important, since only problems that are visible can hope to be
solved.
The fourth level is distancing. Someone who has become tangled
up in his own worries and troubles finds it difficult to disentangle
himself and tends to feel hopeless. Here, it often helps to seek some
distance by using the imagination to, for example, climb a mountain,
or take flight like a bird in order to take a look at the situation from
above and from a distance. A good therapist recognises when it is
appropriate to establish such a distance and proposes appropriate
actions.
Protector, confidant, and supporter: the therapist’s role

Hanscarl Leuner, the founder of CIP, used an analogy that elucidates
the relationship between therapist and client: they are both travelling
as members of the same expedition team. The client is a scuba diver,
descending to the ocean floor, where he then performs his tests
autonomously as a researcher. However, he does not have to feel
alone, because the expedition leader (therapist), who can stay in
contact with him by radio, is monitoring the air supply and checking
the diving time. The diver is, thus, both dependent and independent.
The therapy begins with the therapist building trust and provid-
ing a few images for the imagination that give the client the feeling of
safety. Only in the later stages will the images be used to represent
conflicts and rehearse new ways of acting. The transition to conflict-
orientated work usually happens by itself. The patient brings up new
topics. The therapist need only be open to them, and must not persist
in an overprotective, fear- relieving attitude.
This is not the only danger to which a therapist can be exposed. As
with every type of psychotherapy, CIP can also present a large
number of pitfalls along the path to the therapeutic goals. One exam-
ple was that of the inexperienced therapist who was treating a young
lady suffering from depression. He allowed himself to be uncon-
sciously “brought down” by her mood: not only did the client’s voice
become increasingly soft over the course of the hour, but his did like-
wise. The breaks in conversation became longer, too. The therapist
unwittingly shared the young woman’s feelings and signalled to her:
yes, it is very sad indeed.
Should a therapist feel too much for a client and begin to be led by
his emotions, it is referred to as “countertransference”. This should be
recognised, and in this case the young therapist would have done
better to help his client out of her emotional trough than to allow
himself to be influenced by her feelings.
A therapist also needs a good sense of timing. Should he progress
too rapidly, for example, and as a result ask too much of the client, it will
not be a successful treatment. Leuner vividly describes an example.
A twenty-three-year-old, very inhibited around other people
and suffering from compulsions, is instructed to imagine a meadow,
the first symbol of the therapeutic foundation. In accordance with
his mental state—the young man feels confined—he sees a twilight
landscape with a small, square meadow, enclosed by a barbed wire

fence. There seems to be no exit or any other opening, and, as such,
the client considers himself to be locked in.
An inexperienced therapist will want to free him from the situa-
tion. In his imagination, he gives the young man a pair of wire cutters
so he can cut a hole in the barbed wire. At first, he is successful. How-
ever, it turns out that the subconscious mind of the client was stronger
than the suggested external solution, which was apparently prema-
ture: suddenly and surprisingly, the barbed wire fence transforms into
a two-metre-high solid wall. Now, the wire cutters are useless.
The therapist still does not yet recognise that he should be engag-
ing with the needs of his client instead of trying to use brute force to
bring about a solution. He provides the twenty-three-year-old with
new technical aids, this time in the form of a ladder high enough to
climb over the wall. In his distress, the client obeys and grasps the
ladder, at which moment the walls begin to grow higher and higher,
so that no ladder in the world could overcome them.
It is amazing how a mentally ill patient displays a very healthy
reaction here, while his therapist fails. In trying to break the young
man’s resistance, he actually reinforces the defence mechanisms and
achieves the opposite of the desired result. For this client, it was still
too early to escape his mental prison. For this reason, his subconscious
viewed the sudden escape route into freedom as a threat and created
defence mechanisms against it. Only a very cautious approach to the
barbed wire, that allows the prisoner to express his emotions, can free
him from his cage.
The therapist should not be too easy on his clients, however.
Should he always protect them and avoid them being confronted with
their inner conflicts, there would be no healing. How difficult it can
be to find the balance between preservation and confrontation is
demonstrated in the discussion between four CIP therapists who
were, in this concrete case, not all in agreement.
A young woman who suffered from depression had climbed a
mountain in her imagination, with great difficulty, as it had turned out
to be much higher than expected. Leuner, the therapist, had hoped
that from up there she could enjoy the distant panoramic view.
Instead, the twenty-four-year-old saw a deep, dark crater in the
middle of the summit and expressed the desire to succumb to the
force of suction coming from it and jump in.
How should a therapist react in such a situation? Leuner posed

this question in a seminar to his CIP colleagues. One of them said he
would hold the client back and suggest carefully gazing into the deep
hole. Another therapist recommended careful rappelling. Leuner him-
self considered it appropriate to give in to the young woman’s wish—
he let her jump.
What, the founder of CIP asked his colleagues, could happen in
this case? Again, opinions were divided. One of those present said she
would be jumping into her dark side and it would be sadistic to let
that happen. Another therapist replied that there does not necessarily
have to be darkness following the leap into the hole; she recalled the
fairy tale of Mrs Holle, in which a girl jumps into a deep well and
lands on a sunny meadow. Leuner pointed out that it depended on the
individual case, the individual condition of the client, his or her
resilience, and the number of completed hours of therapy.
The client was allowed to jump in this case. She landed in the dark
depths, but did not hurt herself; she merely sat there. All around her,
everything was black. Leuner admitted to being somewhat in the dark
himself at the seminar. He was indeed sure he was not promoting
suicidal thoughts in his client by granting her permission to jump (he
was aware of her personality structure), but he was still clueless. What
should he do now?
As an experienced therapist, he decided to gently help his client,
but also to leave her with as much personal initiative as possible. He
suggested she should feel her way forward slowly and search for an
opening or an escape route. The imagination ended with the strenu-
ously crawling client finding a shaft that led through mud and
puddles, and she eventually saw light at the end of this shaft. Shortly
before the end, she still had to overcome a raging waterfall. The ther-
apist helped her by proposing that she search for a staircase among
the rocks.
According to Leuner, there is no objective measure for how far
you can and should expose clients to negative scenarios. The reliving
and re-suffering of stressful situations in the catathymic visual expe-
rience and the associated release of anxiety have a positive impact, as
long as the client does not become overwhelmed. To identify what can
be expected of the person concerned in each case (and what not) is,
therefore, one of the most important skills that distinguish a good
therapist.
The effectiveness of CIP: how do you measure success?

Sometimes, it takes a long time until a therapy is so established that it
becomes part of the repertoire of generally recognised methods in
medicine or psychotherapy. When it does, after years or even decades,
then the therapists, clients, and their families can say they have always
been convinced of the effectiveness since they have experienced that
the therapy has noticeably helped.
This is still not regarded as evidence for science, however. That a
therapeutic method is recognised, widespread, or popular neither
explains how it works, or whether it works at all. For example, homo-
eopathy has many followers who swear by it, but although their
success stories fill whole volumes, science cannot find any way to
explain this success.
Acupuncture has a similar story: it, too, belongs to the established
methods, but the theoretical structure behind it is beginning to shake.
It has been shown that the healing needles have the same effect when
they are applied to points other than those identified in the traditional
teachings.
Then there is osteopathy, in which therapists use gentle pressure
with their hands to make troublesome pains and tensions vanish, but
what exactly happens has not been fully explained.
In psychotherapy, this lack of complete understanding is even
more obvious. Not only does the question of why a method helps
usually receive unclear answers, but also the question of if it helps at
all receives mixed reactions.
Almost every psychotherapeutic method has its supporters and
opponents, and some therapists belong to certain “schools” that are
irreconcilably opposed to others. Some are convinced that only a psy-
choanalysis in the tradition of Sigmund Freud can lead to the desired
goal. Others believe that Freud’s student, Jung, had found the true doc-
trine. And both groups agree that what they do is far more effective than
behaviour therapy, as that mainly examines and treats the symptoms,
but does not get close enough to the deep-seated roots of the problem.
In recent years, an increasing number of therapists have aban-
doned this compartmentalised way of thinking. Instead, they mix and
match different bits as needed out of the big mixed bag of therapy
elements. It is not the rigid adherence to a single method that moti-
vates them, but the wellness of the client.
Generally, it can be said here that whoever heals is correct, no

matter how the success was achieved. However, this does not relieve
science of its responsibility to search for the reasons for therapeutic
successes and to measure how high the rate of success is for a given
method. Finding this requires more than the testimonies of individu-
als. There are proved scientific criteria: objective studies with compar-
ison groups. Only when a large number of similar clients are treated
with a specific therapy, and a control group is left untreated or treated
with any other method, can the effectiveness of therapy be proved
conclusively.
What evidence of this kind is there for catathymic imaginative
psychotherapy? A number of studies have shown that treatment using
CIP is effective. For example, sixty-five women and twenty-six men
who suffered from sexual dysfunction (including reduced sex drive,
impotence, and premature ejaculation, among others) were selected
for a study. After completion of the therapy, the symptoms were gone
or had improved significantly in eighty-four per cent of women and
seventy-two per cent of men.
Another study showed that clients with colitis ulcerosa (a chronic
intestinal inflammation) required a much shorter stationary treat-
ment (as an inpatient) after having gone through CIP, unlike the
control group, who were treated with a different psychotherapeutic
method.
In a randomised, controlled trial, CIP of eight weeks duration
(fifteen sessions) has been proved to be significantly effective for
depressive neurosis, anxiety neurosis and phobia, alcohol and drugs,
borderline and psychosomatic disorders. It has also been proved that
CIP has excellent long-term effects. Eighteen months after treatment
symptoms have been improved even further.
Despite these and other studies that demonstrate the efficacy of the
method, CIP also has its detractors. Some psychologists criticise the
catathymic image experience as an unreliable and easily manipulated
source of information. The “wishing sphere” and the intention to
achieve something are troublemakers that make this method for the
study of the subconscious mind unusable, according to them. One
could also say polemically: CIP clients are being manipulated.
Freitag rejects this criticism. He refers to his own personal experi-
ence: “contrary to this intellectual critique”, in his practice he has seen
many cases that show that “the imagination of a human being has no
choice but to create out of his own emotionally determined psychic

environment” (Freitag, 1983, p. 160, translated for this edition).
These are not just his experiences, but also those of the people he
has treated:
Whoever has heard my clients, who have, by delving into their infi-
nite, unconscious wisdom, freed themselves from gastrointestinal
illnesses, cardiac and circulatory issues, or joint pains and headaches,
will no longer say it was a “figment”. Leading sufferers to their inner
strength, which they often see as light, is in my eyes the only real
psychotherapy. (Freitag, 1983, p. 169, translated for this edition)
Freitag points to the special quality of the imaginings, which is also

mentioned multiple times in this book: the intensely emotional
immersion in visual scenarios. “Healing happens when the therapist
forgets his knowledge and the client his disease” (Freitag, 1983, p. 169,
translated for this edition).
A look outside the box: additions to imaginative therapy

Even if the efficacy of CIP is substantiated through studies and docu-
mented in many individual cases, a successful therapy very rarely
depends on one method alone. Usually, elements of other therapeutic
methods are present, should the individual concerns of a client be
taken seriously. For a better understanding of the case studies in
Chapter Four, we detail here some elements that can complement CIP
within the framework of comprehensive psychotherapy.
Element 1: clarification achieved by a simple model—

the road and water network
Some clients, in particular those who are obsessive–compulsive and
fear loss of control, are not always open to imagination. The fact that
they cannot direct the course of the daydream, that they cannot under-
stand or control what is happening, often frightens such people.
This fear can be counteracted by enlightening the client and
informing him in depth about his clinical picture and the efficacy of
the intended methodology. For this so-called psycho-education, there
is a simple explanatory model that is easily comprehended.
Our brains consist of many neurons that are networked with one
another. One can imagine this network as a trail leading across a field.
If it is used often, it gets wider. If it is not used, it eventually becomes
overgrown and disappears.
It is similar with nerve cells in the brain: when certain thoughts
occur often, the connections between the corresponding neurons are
strengthened. If these thoughts no longer occur, the connections are
weakened. And if an event is suppressed, that is, pushed into the
subconscious, then the connections are weakened so much that an
island is created that no longer is accessible from the conscious
network of paths, roads, and streets.
If we see the emotions as a network of waterways underneath
these traffic routes, then the water and land routes are connected to
one another. If someone pours something harmful into the water net-
work, then assistance can quickly reach the contaminated point,
correct the damage, and the harmful liquid can run off. This cannot be
done on the island though, as no one can reach it. In the course of our
lives, we create many such islands through displacement of emotional
events, where contaminated water cannot run off. We then sometimes
behave strangely in everyday situations and do not know why. We are
unable to change our behaviour as well.
With the help of the imagination, we climb into the water network,
follow the contaminated water to its source, and rediscover the sup-
pressed islands. By looking at them instead of looking away, bridges
to these islands are built. The event becomes part of our consciousness
again, and we can understand why we are the way we are. The things
that burdened us can “run off”. Additionally, the connection between
conscious understanding and unconscious imagination creates new
links between both halves of the brain (of which one is more rational
and the other is more emotional). Our road network can withstand
more traffic, and it distributes itself more effectively—a boon for the
mind and the psychic balance.
Element 2: draw first, then change your behaviour—the interpretation

of images
After an imagination session, it can be helpful to have a client draw
a scene from the experienced daydream. This solidifies the dream
and facilitates discussion. During the subsequent conversation, it is
advisable to utilise strategies from behaviour therapy. For example, it

can be discussed with the client how to deal with a person that the
dream reminded him of and possibly also appears in the picture he
has drawn. It is also sensible to impart methods of relaxation and of
practising non-violent communication. Various role-plays can help in
learning new behaviour patterns.
Concrete examples of such changes in behaviour can be found in
the next chapter.
Element 3: new perspectives on old things—the feeling as a being

In CIP, the therapist gives the client an image to visualise (e.g., a
meadow or a mountain), and the client experiences certain emotions
as the result of his internal experience of this motif. Sometimes, the
opposite way is more promising: the therapist suggests an emotion
and the client names an image they associate with this feeling.
Within the street map of neuronal pathways, this image is proba-
bly going to be located closer to the emotions than an image desig-
nated by the therapist. This allows for a particularly short neuronal
connection to be made that has persistent effects on daily life which
outlast the therapy session.
Emotions play an important part in all imaginings. During ther-
apy, these are often brought to light in order to elucidate psychologi-
cal conditions or tackle issues. Often the client’s awareness of his
feelings is only hazy, or might be lacking entirely, so the therapist
must use a device to make them visible: she encourages the client to
see the emotion as a thing or being, which allows its form to be delin-
eated more clearly.
Example: In a talk with her therapist, a client described a situation
with her partner that made her angry. The therapist asks, “Where is
this anger located in your body?” He then asks, “What would this
anger look like if it were a thing or a being?” “It’s in the upper part of
my stomach and looks like a raging bull.” This image is then used in
all further therapeutic work instead of the primary feeling of anger.
Sometimes, the being changes shape simply through being looked
at. More often than not, however, it requires more interaction. There are
a number of different questions the therapist can use for this purpose:
“What facial expression is it [the bull] making?” or “What is it doing
up there in your stomach?” or “What is it trying to achieve up there?”
These questions help bring the client closer to the unpleasant

emotion, because running away from it does not lead to healing:
observing it from a safe distance does. Therefore, the therapist could
also ask, “If you were that raging bull—how would you feel?”
In this way, the client can experience the feeling in such a way that
it does not seem like something bad or abhorrent, but as part of them-
selves—which is not to say that the next step is to dismiss this feeling,
or to try to steer it in a more comfortable direction.
For example, the therapist might ask, “What does the creature [the
raging bull] need?” The answer to this question might be “recogni-
tion”, or “peace”. Thus, the client begins to reconcile with this emo-
tion.
“What does peace look like?” the therapist might ask. A possible
answer might be “It’s a green bench for resting on.” “Can you visu-
alise this bench in your mind’s eye?” If this works, he then asks, “So,
could you give this bench to the bull as a gift, with unconditional love
and warmth, and without expecting anything in return?”
If this is possible, then the therapist’s final question might be,
“How does the bull react?”, to which the client might answer, “He’s
calmed down. I think he wants me to give him a hug.”
In this way, images such as the bench become an antidote to anger;
the client leaves the practice in a much more relaxed state of mind
than she came in. All the images she needed in order to tackle this
issue and find a solution she developed herself.
Sometimes, the clients find it hard to give gifts to the creatures that
represent their negative emotions. It often helps in these cases to
explain that the feeling is a part of the client’s own soul that just wants
to be invited to come back home. After all, we are not giving a gift to
the person who has caused the negative emotion within us, but,
rather, to the feeling itself, which is a part of us, like an arm that is
injured or tense after exercise, which may bother us, but we would
never amputate.
Working with emotions in the form of beings is particularly valu-
able because, once the feelings have changed form, they can give some
great advice. The once angry and now tame bull could, perhaps, be
consulted in situations related to hatred, envy, jealousy, or similar
emotions. He would probably be of most help if we ask him about
issues that cause him to feel whatever feeling he represents (anger, in
this case).
The idea of suggesting feelings, not images, to clients in a day-

dream-like state was first advanced by the American therapist, Victor
Vernon Woolf. In the 1980s, he developed a new form of treatment,
which he called “Holodynamics”. It was later developed further in
Russia and eventually also became popular in Germany, where it was
known as “Holodynamik”. Questions such as “How old was the
being, when it got into this state?” or “How did it get there, what is
its story?” often lead to past events and experiences in the client’s life
from which psychological problems arose.
As a complement to CIP, the approaches described here are espe-
cially helpful if the client “gets stuck” in the imaginary action. Like
Andreas L, the patient mentioned earlier in this chapter, who stands
in front of a house, afraid to enter. “What does it feel like to stand in
front of this house?” “It’s tiring.”
Through a short excursion, the therapist managed to soothe the
feelings that prevented the client from entering the house in the first
place: “What does this exhaustion you feel look like? Try to see it as if
it were a being. What does it look like, this creature that sits in your
heart and tires you?” Reply: “It’s like a little cat.”
Not only feelings can be personalised and thereby diverted, any
physical ailments—which are always associated with unpleasant feel-
ings—can be alleviated in this way. For example, if a patient is expe-
riencing abdominal pain without a definite organic cause, he can ask
himself what this pain looks like, even without the help of a therapist.
What form does it have? What colour? By alleviating the psychologi-
cal pressure caused by the pain, the effect of psychological relaxation
can produce physical relief.
Element 4: retreat into comfort—the place of inner peace

Another imaginary theme that can be used for these daydreams is the
place of inner peace. The therapist asks the client to mentally go to a
place where he is completely undisturbed, which no power in the
world and nobody else can access, unless the client wants them to.
The feeling evoked in this case is security. Using this feeling as a
base, the client develops a concrete image of his own personal place
of inner peace—it can be anything from a room in a house, a planet in
outer space, a cave by the sea, or any other imaginary location. By
asking further accompanying questions (“What does it look like?” and
“What is it doing?”), the therapist can help the client paint a concrete
picture of this place.
Visualising a place of inner peace is a technique that has already
been adopted in trauma therapy. In this field, having a retreat room
such as this is very helpful because it gives the client the opportunity
to retreat quickly and safely to this imaginary space: for example,
when processing the trauma or memories appears to be unbearable.
Element 5: the journey to our past, where

life has left an imprint—the inner child
Our personalities are characterised extensively by our genetic predis-
positions and the first three-to-six months of our early childhood
development. Within the first few days, the baby feels how she is
being welcomed to this life. The soul requires mirroring during this
time. Whether the child is crying, sleeping, is awake, smiling, or is
struggling to get enough to eat, when the twinkle in her mother’s eye
is a signal to the baby that says “I agree with you”, then the child can
develop in correspondence with her innate personality. The mother is
unequivocally available to the child. The child experiences uncondi-
tional love.
In her book, The Drama of the Gifted Child, the Swiss writer and
childhood researcher, Alice Miller (1923–2010) writes,
A child has the inherent need to be seen for who they are, to be consid-
ered and taken seriously at the core of their own activity. In contrast
to the drive of desire, this is an equally legitimate, albeit narcissistic
need, the fulfilment of which is essential in the formation of a healthy
self. “Who they are” means: Their feelings, sensations and their
expression by the infant. (Miller, 2008, p. 5)
Parents are becoming increasingly absent during the time when

self-expression is most important to the child, and the pressure she is
under is rapidly growing. Instead, the children often perform a func-
tion for their parents: they gratify their vanity (“my house, my boat,
my child”), for example, or their need for recovery (“It’s great to come
home from a hard day at work and play with my baby”). The parents
depend on the child, the reverse of which is how it should be.
As a result, the child does not develop a personality correspond-
ing to her nature, but a personality that is expected of her. Such
children, who are not permitted to develop freely, do not learn how to
allow feelings and closeness, because the disappointment they felt
when their feelings were not reciprocated during childhood was
unbearable. This often gives rise to a narcissistic disorder that can
manifest in grandiosity, as well as depression.
The narcissistic disorder is so widespread that the World Health
Organization (WHO) no longer classifies it as a stand-alone condition
in their directory of diseases (ICD-10). It is listed under “other specific
personality disorders”. It has become an accepted mass phenomenon,
comparable to short-sightedness or back pain.
Narcissistic disorders became particularly widespread during the
Second World War and the post-war years. Those who were children
during the war became parents, and withheld the emotional affection
they had lacked, because of the terrible circumstances in which they
had grown up, from their children. This shaped the next generation,
who, in turn, deprived their children of whatever they had not received.
Miller claims that it can be safely assumed that any client seeking
psychotherapy will have some type of narcissistic disorder. Anyone
working with visualisations should recognise these societal develop-
ments. They should even be actively discussed by the therapist and
the client.
Working with imaginings can help the inner child in us to see how
he was shaped by his family. Imagination can also help in meeting the
needs of this inner child, giving access to emotions and allowing him
to be accepted. Last, but not least, visualisations that arise from work-
ing with the subconscious can help clients to find their true selves.
Essentially, all the motifs suggested in this chapter, on all three
levels (basic, intermediate, and advanced), can be used to access emo-
tions and the true self. Moreover, each family member, including the
client himself, can be imagined in the form of an animal or creature
in order to uncover family dynamics. A therapist might ask, for exam-
ple, “If your mother were an animal, what would it be?” Or, “What
direction is she looking towards?” An important extension of CIP is
the imaginative journey back to our childhood. In this regression, we
see the child in ourselves at different ages. The model sees the inner
child we once were in every adult. When two adults argue (read:
behave immaturely), it is often their inner children angrily throwing
themselves on the floor or using their fists. In emotionally stressful
situations, therefore, one can check on how the inner child is faring.
How old is he? Where is he located? What is he doing? What does he

need?
In the imagination, the client finds himself in a dual role; he sees
himself as a child, and, at the same time, approaches this child as an
adult and attends to his needs. The client can, thus, “refuel” himself,
re-evaluate his childhood from the perspective of an adult, and give
the inner child the opportunity to develop.
The inner child is such a strong therapeutic element that some
therapists construct entire therapeutic objectives based on the concept.
In different areas of the client’s life, the inner child is checked on regu-
larly. However, the element of the inner child can be combined in a
number of variations with imaginings and, for example, built into
every theme of the basic, intermediate, and advanced levels (just not
during the first use of each theme).
The therapist could then ask, for example, “We are in the house—
what would the inner child do here?” Or, “If your inner child were
here in therapy, which lions would see her?” Or, “If the mother, father,
or brother of your inner child came to him as an animal or other crea-
ture, what advice would they give the child? And what would the
inner child need from them?”
In the imagination therapy at the Berlin Mind Institute, it has
proved beneficial for the clients to consult their inner parents also. No
one has more influence on a child in his first months and years of life
than his parents, with all their expectations and child-rearing ideas.
The “inner parents” are effectively the shadows of the real parents in
the mind of the client.
In order for clients to find their true selves (and not what their
parents expect or expected of them), it is important to “shut off” the
inner parents. This is done in the imagination by mentally including
the parents in a decisive situation in order to first satisfy their needs.
The following (abridged) dialogue between a therapist and a client
shows an example of this.
T: What do your parents want?

C: They want to be proud of their son.
T: What does this pride look like?
C: Like a glowing halo.
T: Can you give your parents this glowing halo?
C: Yes.
T: Now what is happening?

C: They are glowing. They are being admired. And they turn to their
admirers.
T: And how do you feel now?
C: I feel less observed. I think I don’t want to study medicine, like mum
wants, or law either, like my father wants. I’d like to work with my
hands.
By satisfying the needs of the inner parents, the “father program” or

“mother program” are shut down for a while. The client is less influ-
enced by his parents and is able to make his own decision while stay-
ing true to himself.
CHAPTER FOUR
Examples from therapy and practice:

how catathym imaginative
psychotherapy helps
n the following pages, common mental disorders are introduced.
I They are independent of one another and, therefore, can each be

read as stand-alone items. A specific case example with detailed
dialogue always follows a general description. The reader has an
opportunity here to participate directly in therapy sessions that would
normally be closed to outsiders. Some dialogues are abridged or
reproduced in excerpts, others are full length, so that the reader can
be completely immersed into the personal story of the patient and
fully experience the therapy session.
Naturally, everyone involved has consented to having these
conversations recorded. All clients were treated by the psychothera-
peutic practitioner Professor Dr Thomas Kretschmar (head of the
Berlin Mind Institute). Their names, ages, and professions have been
altered to conceal their identities. Should the reader gain the impres-
sion that a person could be identified with these altered data, this is
purely coincidental—no personal information given is, in any case,
factual. For example, a client introduced as “Anton A” will not only
have a different first name, but also a different family name initial.
The presented case studies are meant to show how imaginative
psychotherapy can work, which does not mean that it must always
91
work that way. The success of a treatment depends greatly on the

motivation of the client, as well as the quality of the relationship to
the therapist, but also on the experience of the therapist, his em-
pathic intuition, and his willingness to learn under the supervision of
experienced teachers.
Carol P: anxiety attacks following assault by a sex offender

Psychology distinguishes between two types of fears. So-called anxi-
ety disorders relate to situations that offer no reason for fear. This
could be being in an elevator, crowds, wide-open spaces, but also
simple fear of fear without any sort of external trigger. In people who
suffer from an anxiety disorder, even the mere idea of such a situation
causes a feeling of trepidation.
The second type of fear is based on an actual event that would
burden any person’s psyche if he were subjected to it (even if some are
more affected than others). An accident, a sexual assault, attempted
rape, or seeing a gravely injured person could be examples of such
events. These events trigger a so-called trauma—a mental shock. It is
also accompanied by anxiety. In some people, this subsides after a
time; in others, it solidifies and becomes a post-traumatic stress disor-
der (i.e., a disorder which develops out of the stress that is caused by
the trauma).
Fear, no matter of type, cannot be suppressed or pushed aside.
Sooner or later it reappears, sometimes worse than before. To get rid
of it, one must confront it and deal with it.
Catathymic image experiences do this in a very gentle way. Sym-
bolic representations circumvent a sudden confrontation with the
stressful event, so that the client can approach it “through the back
door”, so to speak. A harsh therapeutic unveiling of a trauma might,
for example, make the appearance and voice of the fear-triggering
offender a subject of direct discussion and could activate the oppres-
sive fear.
In catathymic imaginative therapy, perhaps a snake would take the
offender’s place. It, too, is threatening, but only as a symbol, and the
client can look it in the eyes from a safe distance. Or even feed it. And
maybe ask it a question. Therefore, it is not escape or hiding that is
happening here, but the “principle of approaching and forgiving”.
EXAMPLES FROM THERAPY AND PRACTICE: HOW CIP HELPS 93
The client approaches the fear-triggering object (the snake), and

senses that it poses no real threat, which relieves the psyche.
Fear can arise in a daydream at first, but it does not become over-
powering, as an experienced therapist intervenes at the right time
with an imaginary image and leads the situation in a more harmless
direction. If the fear remains at a “normal” level, which is usually the
case, and the client can look it in the eye in its snake form, then ideally
the next event is the so-called transformation phenomenon: the sym-
bol changes and loses its dreadfulness. Perhaps the snake suddenly
becomes tame, or it promises not to hurt the client.
The initially dangerous-looking snake is not to be equated with a
threatening person that caused the client harm, such as a rapist. That
person still remains dangerous, and there is no therapeutic or other
reason to suddenly portray him as harmless. It is not the culprit, but
the fear caused by the culprit that is symbolised here—the fear is what
needs to be vanquished. The snake is, in a sense, the wound in the
psyche of the client. This wound needs mindfulness, nurturing, atten-
tion, and care.
Carol P has been suffering from anxiety when she shows up to her
first therapy session. Five weeks earlier, she was mugged on her way
to work at a remote bus stop, and now the first priority is preventing
her from developing a post-traumatic stress disorder. At first, the fifty-
one-year-old finds it difficult to immerse herself in the world of the
daydream: more than once she slides back into the present, where her
consciousness rapidly gains the upper hand. This can be a challenge
for the therapist. Ten sessions are planned, paid for by her generous
employer. What follows is the unabridged transcript of the first
session.
The therapist asks Mrs P to recall the assault—”as disorganised as
it comes back to you.”
C: OK, it was on the 17th of September, early in the morning at six

o’clock, at the bus stop. Usually I’m never alone there, really. Nor-
mally there are two other women and a man there, but not this time.
Then this jogger came by in a tracksuit. First, he kind of hung around
at the bus stop for a while, and then he approached me and asked
when the bus would come. “It must be coming around the corner
any minute now,” I said. He turned away, and then suddenly, after a
few seconds, he turned back to me and had a knife in his hand. With
the other hand he grabbed my upper arm. Then he pulled me from

the street into the woods . . .
T: That’s right behind the bus stop?
C: Yes, it’s not far. At first there was a lot of bushes and brush, and he
pushed me further and further in. Then he said if I didn’t scream,
nothing would happen to me. But I screamed, I don’t know why, I
just screamed and shouted, and then I fell over and got back up. He
pushed me further into the forest, and then I fell down again, and he
sat down on my feet.
T: Yes. [There is a pause.] Was it at all clear what he wanted? Did he
want money, or did he want to hurt you?
C: He just said that I should . . . I should pleasure him.
T: You can have a moment if you’d like.
C: When he sat down on my feet, he started fumbling with his pants and
sort of put the knife down. That’s when I thought, this is your chance,
you have to do something now, and somehow I sat up and could pull
one of my legs out. I shoved him away and got up really fast and ran
to the street and screamed for help really loudly. [She cries.]
T: Mmm. [Yes]
C: A biker came by; he recognised the situation right away and called
the police. He saw the suspect and could describe him to the
police. They came very quickly, too. But the suspect ran away, of
course.
T: Sure.
C: An ambulance came too. They wanted to take me to the hospital, I
had a nasty bruise on my upper arm and on my legs, and my face was
all scratched up from the brush. But I just said . . . “I want to go
home.” Later I had to go to the police station to look through the
criminal files and see if I recognised the suspect. [There is a pause.]
Yeah, and since then, whenever I go to the bus stop . . . I’m scared
somehow.
T: The culprit was never caught?
C: No. My husband, he was so lovely and he said, “I’ll stand at the bus
stop every morning and look for him.”
T: That’s very nice.
C: Yes.
T: That’s lovely.
C: Yes. [She cries.] He did it for a whole week, but never saw the man.
T: How are you now?
C: I’m usually all right during the day, but not so much in the evenings.
Before I go to bed, I take a pill I was prescribed by my doctor.
T: That must be really terrible for you. I’m sorry that you had to go
over all that again for me. But let’s not dwell on the subject. Instead,
let’s try something that will help you divert the stress and eventually
find inner peace again . . .
The therapist explains briefly and using simple terms the idea behind
catathymic imaginative psychotherapy, without using this complicated-
sounding title. Mrs P is instructed to make herself comfortable in her chair
and to imagine she is taking a short nap.
T: It’s OK for you to slowly begin to relax. Just do nothing but be here
and close your eyes.
C: I can’t close my eyes. [This is often the case with victims of sexual
assault. It has no bearing on the outcome of the therapy.]
T: Leave your eyes open, that’s not a problem. It’s OK for you to say
that you can’t. If you want to close your eyes later, that’s all right as
well, and if you want to leave them open, that is too. Just try to be
here and listen to your breathing. Feel your feet on the ground, and
the way the chair is supporting you. After a while, imagine a
meadow—just a meadow, or whatever comes to mind.
C: Should I describe it?
T: Yes, if you have an idea of it, then tell me about it a bit, what it looks
like.
C: I always associate meadows with lots of flowers. A place I can take a
walk.
T: Yes.
C: And where I can play football with my grandchild.
T: Yes, a nice field for playing football, where children can play as well.
C: Exactly.
T: And the meadow you’re imagining now. Where are you now? Are
you in the meadow, or where are you?
C: I’m on the grass, yeah.
T: In the meadow, can you smell anything?
C: The flowers, the wild flowers that grow there.
T: They have a very special scent. How is the weather there?
C: Sunny.
T: Can you hear anything?
C: Hear what?
T: Mmm.
C: The field could be in my garden.
T: Aha.
C: We have flowers there too, not right in the field, but around the
edges, and birds.
T: How is it, standing in this field?
C: Pleasant, soothing and relaxing.
T: Then enjoy the field, with its smell of wild flowers and the beautiful
weather. What do you want to do now, there on the grass?
C: Play football with my grandson.
T: Aha, is he there?
C: He was with us this afternoon.
T: Perhaps you could let your grandson appear on the meadow. In our
dream world we can do anything.
C: Julian is his name.
T: Julian.
C: And whenever he’s with us, Gran has to play with him, most of the
time in the sandbox, build castles with him and streets, where cars
drive around.
T: Aha.
C: My husband is always the one who plays football with him. When
Julian is there, I’m always really happy, now anyway, when it all
happened, the little scamp helped me a lot.
T: Let’s leave that situation out of it for now; let’s just stay in the
meadow that smells so nicely of wildflowers and where the birds
chirp. Is your grandson there now?
C: What?
T: Is your grandson there now?
C: No, he’s back with his mum and papa.
T: I meant in the meadow in your imagination. Is he there at the moment?
C: No.
T: What kind of feeling is it when your grandson isn’t there?
C: Bit sad.
The therapist now tries to provide the client access to her own emotions.
He wants to achieve this by urging her to see the sadness as a being. Then
it will gain a clear form and can be observed in peace.
T: This sadness, can you find out if it might be an animal, a being, or a
thing? What is the very first thing you think of sadness as? What’s the
symbol for sadness? What colour is it, what shape? What does it look
like?
C: Grey, I always associate darkness with it.
T: Something dark. If this sadness somehow had a shape, how would
that look?
C: I associate it then with a person.

T: With a person?
C: Yes, someone who wanted to do this to me.
T: Yes. This sadness is dark and looks like a person.
The therapist knows that the confrontation with the culprit at this early
stage of therapy would be too burdensome for the client. He therefore
avoids the direct encounter and leads the client away from the sensitive
situation by creating distance, without leaving the image completely. The
idea also helps him and the client to imagine the situation as a fairy tale.
T: In our magical world, we can do anything. We could cast a spell to
see the thoughts of this dark person who is the sadness. What does
this person want for himself? If this person had a wish, what would
he want? Name the first thing that comes to mind.
C: To do other people harm. [The client breathes heavily.]
T: What can be achieved by doing other people harm?
C: Well, I suppose he’s not a very happy-go-lucky person.
T: Yes, and if he does harm other people, what does he want for himself
from that?
C: I don’t know.
T: The first thing that comes to you. If you can’t think of anything, think
of a fairy tale. Think of a fairy tale that has nothing to do with you,
but is just about a dark person who wants something evil, who is the
sadness and wants to harm others. What kind of story could that be?
What does this person want to achieve?
C: Maybe this person has had some bad experiences or is unhappy with
the life he is leading.
T: That would be his past. But what does this person want to achieve
now, by being evil. What does he want to achieve for himself?
C: Satisfaction.
T: Satisfaction. What else could it be?
C: That he wants to subjugate someone, maybe.
T: Mmm. And what can one achieve by subjugating someone? What
would one want to achieve for himself?
C: That the person maybe . . . likes to degrade others, or dominate
them, or . . .
T: But what does he get out of that, this person? Why does he do it?
C: Makes no sense, really.
The client is increasingly able to distance herself from her emotions and
allow the first careful ideas of the culprit. He gradually becomes less terri-
fying in this way.
T: Turn off your logic. Try to relax and to make a fairy tale out of it. A
dark figure wants to achieve satisfaction and degrade others. That’s
the villain in our fairy tale. This degradation, what does the villain
want to achieve?
C: To be loved? [Mrs P starts to cry.]
T: That is just an action, but there must be some kind of goal behind it.
That the person who does something like that wants to attain for
himself.
C: Approval.
T: Mmm. Now we have satisfaction and approval.
C: This could be a very sick person.
T: Maybe he wants to be healthy, as well? That could be.
C: I’m sorry?
T: It could be the desire for health, if he is sick.
C: Could be, but not if he is like that.
T: But definitely satisfaction and approval. That is what this dark figure
wants. We’re not talking about the man you encountered, but rather
the dark figure that he left in your head, there’s a difference. We’re
talking only about your memory, about the creature that stays
circling in your mind. In this story, this darkness, this dark shadow
that wanders across the meadow, causing sadness, it wants satisfac-
tion and approval. If approval and satisfaction were a thing, some
symbol, something beautiful—what would it be?
[Mrs P is silent.]
T: It could be a symbol or some kind of occurrence. The first thing that
comes to you, it can also be something abstract. There are no wrong
thoughts.
[Mrs P is silent.]
T: If you were seeking satisfaction and approval for yourself, what kind
of symbol would that be? These beautiful goals. Approval and satis-
faction.
C: My work?
T: Work is not something you can visualise as a thing. Perhaps a symbol
of satisfaction and approval?
[Mrs P is silent.]
The therapist is beginning to seem stubborn with his repeated questions.
The reason for his insistence is that he is trying to find the appropriate
healing symbol for the client, with which the dark figure can be
neutralised. This remains unsuccessful as yet. It will require another trip
to the fairy-tale land to undo the knot.
T: Perhaps you could close your eyes for a few seconds, and then you
might find a clue. Just a suggestion, you don’t have to, but it really
does work sometimes. Let the story slip into the background, and
just think about yourself, about approval and satisfaction.
[Mrs P closes her eyes.]
T: Once upon a time there were two people, approval and satisfaction.
They lived in a fairy tale world. What did they look like?
C: Could be like the sun?
T: Aha. That’s a really great image, the sun. Can you picture a sun?
C: The sun warms the skin.
T: Yes, it warms up the skin beautifully. This very special sun is the sun
of approval and satisfaction. Here comes a ray of sunshine, which you
can really feel. Be with the wonderful feeling of the sun, with the
approval and satisfaction. Enjoy the good feeling.
[The therapist speaks very slowly at this point, to give the client sufficient
time to immerse herself in the scene.]
T: Could you ask the sun whether she could fly to the dark figure and
shine a little on him? Whether he also got approval and satisfaction?
Maybe he is still there somewhere, maybe just a bit further away. Do
you still sense the dark figure, or has he changed somehow?
C: No.
T: He’s still there. Can you give the sun to the dark figure, with uncon-
ditional love and warmth, and without anything in return?
C: Not just yet.
T: Mmm.
C: That still needs time. Then I could do it.
T: Mrs P, we’re not talking about the man, but rather the shadow that
is in your mind. What we are trying to do is find a way for you to
appease the spectres circling your mind, so to speak. If you can’t do
that for the man, that is perfectly fine, what happens on the outside
is not the topic of our discussion. We are only talking about the
world in our heads.
C: I could.
T: And it might be good to give the sun to the shadow that occupies
your meadow.
C: All right.
T: Give the sun with its warm rays to this dark shadow, just because, as
a gift. Look at the situation. What’s happening in the story? How does
it continue?
C: I find my peace.
T: Are you in the meadow? Is the meadow still there?
C: Yes.
T: It still smells of wildflowers?
C: Mmm.
T: This dark figure, what does he look like now?
C: Friendly.
T: Say to the figure: “You’re looking more friendly already”.
C: You’re looking more friendly already.
T: If you now look at the figure, what is it doing? Did that have any
certain effect?
C: He will leave me in peace now.
T: What kind of feeling is that?
[Mrs P cries.]
C: Very calming actually.
T: What is the figure doing now?
C: Nothing.
T: It is still there, does it look different?
C: It’s not so . . . scary looking any more, but it’s still there.
T: Maybe it’s in a good mood. It was given a gift after all.
C: The sun looks so friendly.
T: The figure, with the sun? The sun is shining with satisfaction and
approval on this figure. Even if something very strange is happening
now, just tell me what is going on. Or is nothing happening? Is it a
freeze frame?
C: Nothing’s happening.
T: Yes. But the figure is now busy with the sun; it will leave you alone
from now on. So we got the figure to back off a bit already. Would
you like some water?
C: Please.
T: I would like you to draw the picture, the last scene in the meadow.
Draw where you stand after the figure got the sun and left you alone.
Is that OK? I think this is a very good development, pushing away the
big figure. I know you can’t do magic in one session, but now the
figure is already a little isolated. It helps to draw what you saw—that
solidifies this stage of development, and we won’t have to start over
again in our next meeting.
The therapist gives Mrs P paper and a selection of crayons in various
colours.
C: But I’m not a very good artist.
T: Everyone says that. It isn’t important, you can draw stick figures or
triangles. That doesn’t matter at all. No one is being graded on their
art here. All we are looking for is for the events in your imagination
to be put on paper in some way.
C: We’re only using the good things in my mind?
T: Yes.
[Mrs P draws.]
C: This is the meadow.
The final picture shows two people; one, a man, is a bit taller than the
woman next to him. The sun is shining over the two.
T: You got some of the sun’s rays too, didn’t you?
C: Yes.
T: It actually almost looks as if two people are playing in the meadow.
Not so threatening any more.
C: Yes.
T: If this picture was given a title, what could it be?
C: Happy people?
T: Yes. Could you just write that on there with the crayon? Doesn’t
matter where.
The sun is always a positive symbol in psychology; it often stands for

healing power. We cannot change the outside world, but we can
escape our own world, if we perceive it as negative. And just that
helps to make us feel better.
The therapist explains that if Mrs P wants to continue the therapy, it is

important to address everything, including feelings of discomfort, during
a session. “You can address any topic, you can also say sometimes, I
don’t want to talk about it. That is too close. I need time.” The client
nods.
T: How do you feel now?
C: Actually, safe.
T: That is important.
C: I would like to continue.
As planned, Mrs P comes to ten sessions of therapy. At the end she

feels significantly better. She is also participating in a behaviour ther-
apy, in which she mentally prepares for concrete situations. For exam-
ple, avoiding the way to the bus stop where she was assaulted and
using a different mode of transportation. In addition, Carol P has
signed up for a self-defence course.
Patricia M: allow the feeling of sadness

If a person is depressed, he feels beaten down. In medical terms, he is
suffering from a so-called affective disorder, which means that his
emotions are shifted into a range that is considered abnormal by the
person affected or those around him for a longer period of time.
Typical affective disorders are constant irritability and uncontrollable
fits of rage. Depression is in this category as well, in first place, actu-
ally. It is the most common mental disorder overall.
A severe form of depressive mood has nothing to do with a feel-
ing of sadness: on the contrary, grief cannot be felt in a depressive
state, nor can joy, anger, or any other emotion. To the person con-
cerned, everything is meaningless. Life seems empty and pointless.
Brooding often determines the thinking of many patients. Some feel
that everything is hopeless. Many depressed people do nothing, feel
no motivation, isolate themselves, feel inferior. And, in the worst case,
they commit suicide.
Science differentiates between different types of depression,
although the divisions have been changed a number of times. For
example, the following classifications were the standard for a long
time, and are occasionally still used today:
n Endogenous depression has no external causes, but, rather, is

created from within, for example, by hormonal influences or
genetic predisposition.
n Neurotic depression is the result of stressful experiences in the past,
especially childhood.
n Reactive depression is caused as a reaction to recent events, like a
painful break-up or the death of someone close.
Since we now know that these forms of depression are rarely so

clear and delineated from one another, today we use other medical
terminology that can be even harder for the layman to understand. In
the end, though, these are just new names for well-established diag-
noses. For example, someone whose mood swings between “jumping
for joy” and “gravely sombre” is no longer officially called “manic-
depressive”, but suffers from a “bipolar affective disorder”.
The triggers for depression are individual. However, there are
factors that play a role in most of those affected. In addition to biol-
ogical mechanisms (genes, hormones), there are very often stressful
events that precede depression, such as abuse, divorce, or death of a

family member. Disturbed childhood ties to the parents (father aban-
doned the family, mother often ill) can trigger depression even many
years later.
Almost all depressed people have an excess of stress hormones
(cortisol) in the blood. Recent studies show that these hormones can
damage the brain in the long term, which makes itself known through
a failing memory, for example. Often these bodily changes can be
partially or completely undone after the depression is cured.
For more than fifteen years, Patricia M has repeatedly suffered
from depressive moods. As a child, she received little opportunity to
develop a healthy self-confidence. Her father gave her the feeling that
she was only ever doing wrong, while her brother was often presented
as a perfect role model. The dominant mother would rather have had
a second son instead of a daughter.
Mrs M regularly takes a medication (an antidepressant) and has
completed behavioural therapy, which did not bring the desired
success after seven sessions. Now the forty-four-year old clerk wants
to try something new. A friend told her about imagination therapy.
Treating depression with CIP is controversial among experts. The
detective work can be very stressful for the clients, and often no access
to inner images is possible with simultaneous use of psychotropic
drugs. Mrs M started imaginative therapy despite all this. She suffers
from a mild form of depression (professional diagnosis: dysthymia).
She, herself, has expressed an urgent desire for treatment, and the
therapy takes place in co-ordination with a psychiatrist, who is tasked
with the dosing of the psychotropic drugs.
The imaginings are used very briefly and strategically during the
CIP sessions. They show an up and down; positive images are alter-
nated with stressful situations. Patricia M sees herself in the meadow
with the sun shining down on her in the first session, but there is also
an unmistakable dark cloud on the horizon.
As soon as an image becomes too stressful, the therapist leads the
client away from and out of it. Often, the client’s mother is present in
these stressful images. Over the course of the therapy (six sessions
spread over three months), Patricia M was able to fundamentally
change her attitude towards her mother.
At the beginning of the last session, which is reproduced here in
excerpts, she recounted that it made her sad and weighed heavily on
her that her little niece, who had been visiting her, had returned home.
The therapist asks what this feeling might look like if it were a being.
C: Like a big bat that spreads its wings like a black cloak over me.
T: Can you look the bat in the eye, see its facial expression?
C: It looks more sad than anything.
T: What does that do to you, to see it so sad?
C: It makes me sad too.
T: Maybe you should tell the bat: “You look so sad, and when I see that,
it makes me sad too.”
C: It’s becoming threatening.
[The therapist suggests that this is told to the bat as well. The bat then
retreats from the image after that.]
T: Can you use the power of your thoughts to empathise with the bat
and sense what it needs?
C: Now it is falling over backward and seems as if it needs help.
T: What kind of help does it need?
C: It’s flying away now.
T: You could try to sense what it needs anyway.
C: It doesn’t want anyone to be afraid of it.
T: Then send her a few good words in parting: “I’m not afraid of you. I
know that you’re sad. I’m sad too, and you should know that I’m not
afraid of you”.
[Patricia M begins to cry. The therapist gives her paper tissues.]
T: You can now quite easily see what happens: we look at the sadness,
and it flies away, and if we don’t look at it, it stays there. There is
only one sensible way to deal with negative feelings: you must accept
them, embrace them. If you turn away, they will only grow stronger.
[The therapist indicates that this was only a little exercise.]
T: But this is something you can do at home on your own, when your
niece leaves, for example. Look at the sadness you then feel. Feel the
part of the body it sits in, and ask what it would look like if it were
a being. Then, you can look at this creature. You can talk to it. My
main advice is not to hide your feelings—observe them.
After this last session, a confident, clearly instructed client leaves the
practice. “The imagination sessions have relaxed me,” she says. Three
months later, she expresses her gratitude in a letter. She is now able to
approach deep-seated fears and make contact with them. “I am grate-
ful for this experience that taught me to use my imagination to take
the mental journey into my subconscious.”
The imagination therapy of another practice progressed similarly.

A new client, thirty-five years old, had been suffering from depressive
moods for several years. She has attempted suicide twice. On several
occasions she received outpatient treatment with psychotropic drugs.
Now she is starting CIP.
In a preliminary talk with the therapist, it becomes clear that the
client’s husband is sick and that the couple have no sexual contact
with each other. The woman primarily experiences imaginings
focused around walks (symbolic images of meadows, forests, and
such), and feels quite at peace for the most part.
After the fifth therapy session, a change happens—when she arrives
at home, she overwhelms her husband with kisses and caresses. The
husband, who no longer thought his wife capable of such outbursts,
was pleasantly surprised and asked her to give her therapist his
thanks.
In the following session, the thirty-five-year-old appears more
relaxed and at ease. In a daydream, she walks hand-in-hand with her
husband across a green hill, and to the sea. She sees sailing boats
there, and the pair lies naked in the sun. A blanket of roses covers the
two of them, protecting them from prying eyes. The client’s father
appears in this carefree and almost festive scene; he is also in a good
mood. He plays an organ that he has brought with him and weeps—
his tears are tears of joy.
The therapy took ten hours in total. Later on, this client also wrote
a letter to her therapist. It said, “Although I believed I was a cruel
woman, I’m actually just a lively and warm human being.” As a result
of the therapy, her married life had been “changed in an incredible
way”.
This positive condition remains: a follow-up three-and-a-half years
later revealed that the depression had not returned.
Oliver S: insomnia and burn-out make day-to-day life torturous

The so-called “burn-out syndrome” is one of those topics that has
attracted the attention of the public at a certain point in history. Just
like hysteria or stomach ulcers were once fashionable medical condi-
tions, burn-out syndrome has become the illness du jour in recent
times, and is diagnosed accordingly often. The state of “being burnt-
out” is not a new phenomenon, but emerged as a concept in the 1970s.
Those affected often start out simply feeling overtaxed, but they
often find it hard to admit this to themselves. It is only some time later
that they get to a point where they are no longer able to “function” in
their workplace, feel drained and frustrated, or display symptoms
such as fatigue and apathy, which often resemble depression.
Other people, however, may work exactly as much or even more,
without ever ending up in this situation. How do they bear the load?
What distinguishes someone who has experienced burn-out from a
healthy worker? Of course, not all patients with burn-out syndrome
are equal, but some of them have a common background: they have a
pathological superego, a strictly insistent conscience. The causes for
this kind of maladaptation can usually be traced back to childhood.
More often than not, their parents were deified, as a result, they might
idealise their bosses in the same way as adults, while subordinating
themselves and their own needs. In many cases, they become unable
to feel their own emotions at all. In the case of Oliver S, his parents
were alcoholics who were so wrapped up in themselves that they
neglected their child.
During his first session, the thirty-nine-year-old physicist ex-
plained how he has been having trouble staying focused and concen-
trating at work for the past few weeks, despite having started the job
with a great deal of initial enthusiasm and engagement and working
overtime regularly. “I can’t imagine how to even continue working
there, because I feel so insecure and have withdrawn completely.”
This applies not only to his work team, in which he had taken a lead-
ing role up to this point, but also to his private circle of friends. Oliver
S even broke up with his girlfriend.
He is noticeably shaken by all of this. “I can’t sleep at night. Or I
only sleep from eleven until one or two, and then I lie awake for the
rest of the night.” His thoughts revolve primarily around work. “I had
a two-week vacation, which I hoped would make things better, but I
noticed by the first or second day that I was unable to switch off and
couldn’t stop constantly thinking about the company.”
As a computer specialist, Oliver S uses mostly the left half of his
brain for his work. He is a very rational person. His world is com-
posed of numbers and data, not feelings. This became evident in the
preliminary discussions in which the therapist explained to the him
that the forthcoming imaginative exercises would encourage the
neglected right half of his brain. Oliver S was instructed to portray
whatever came to his mind in unfiltered form, even if it seemed

strange or bizarre.
During the first session, the therapist asked the client to imagine a
meadow. Not a difficult task, for Oliver S, yet he fails to delve into the
realm of daydreams, remaining intellectually in reality.
C: I can clearly see a meadow, because I passed a meadow yesterday

while I was on a walk with a friend. It was on a hillside and it was
covered in flowers.
T: The memory of this meadow you came across yesterday can come
into this later, but why don’t you try picturing a meadow using your
imagination. The same way you would in a dream, rather than
remembering one.
C: But now all I can see is that meadow I saw.
T: Fair enough then, the meadow will find its place somewhere. How’s
the weather? Can you hear anything?
C: Yes, the quiet chirping of crickets.
T: Can you feel anything? Smell anything?
C: No.
T: Where are you now, in this meadow?
C: At the bottom of the hillside.
T: If you stand there in the meadow and take a look all around, what
can you see?
C: Houses, fields, a cornfield.
T: What would you like to do now, on this meadow?
C: Lie down.
T: Then why don’t you lie down on the grass and rest, near the corn
field, and the sound of crickets.
[Mr S falls silent.]
T: How do you feel, lying there?
C: I feel torn—on the one hand, I’m enjoying it. On the other hand,
there’s this inner anxiety I feel.
T: Hmm. [Yes.] This anxiety, is it coming from inside of you or from
somewhere external?
C: It’s inside of me.
T: What does this anxiety look like? What form does it take, what
colour is it?
C: I don’t know.
T: If you were to bring a child into the picture now, and if he said:
“Uncle, tell me a story about anxiety”, and you had to make up an
animal for him, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?
C: A wolf.
T: A wolf—this wolf represents your anxiety, which is in your body.
Where is the wolf located in your body?
C: Like . . . here. [Mr S points at his stomach.]
T: Hmm. What’s that wolf doing in there?
C: He’s trying to break out. He’s threatening.
T: Threatening, how does that make you feel?
C: Like I’d leave my own body just to get away.
T: Hmm. But right now, the wolf is here in your body. Can you tell me
what kind of expression is on the wolf’s face?
C: Yes, it’s threatening. Aggressive.
T: Could you keep a safe distance from the wolf? From where he
doesn’t appear so threatening to you, and look into his eyes?
C: I can’t do it, he’s inside of me.
[Mr S is unable to let go of his rational thinking. The therapist must try
to help him gain access to his unconscious, which is still locked away.]
T: We can do anything in our imagination. You can try going inside your
own body and looking into the wolf’s eyes.
[There is a long silence between Mr S and the therapist.]
T: What now?
C: I was just kind of distracted. I just remembered that I have a doctor’s
appointment immediately after this session, and I’ve forgotten to
bring the little sample tube of urine.
T: Did something about the wolf distract you? Did the wolf find it too
boring just to look at you?
C: No, maybe he just pointed out that I’d forgotten to bring the tube.
He showed me a problem.
T: What is the wolf trying to achieve by alerting you to a problem?
C: I think he wants to belittle me.
T: He wants to belittle you. And what does he get out of belittling you?
C: I become easier prey for him. He can maul me better.
T: And what’s in it for him?
C: He can follow his hunting instinct.
T: What colour is this hunting instinct?
C: Orange.
T: Hmm. And what shape?
C: A star.
T: Can you let an orange star appear before your mind’s eye? What
feeling does it cause within you?
C: It feels threatening.
T: Can you give this orange star to the wolf as a gift? Without any
conditions?
C: Well . . . what do you mean by gift . . .?

T: You could say: “Look, wolf, I’ve made an orange star appear. It can
be yours now.”
C: Yes, I can do that.
T: How does the wolf react?
C: He doesn’t understand what I want.
T: Then try saying to him: “You’re making a weird face, as if you don’t
know what I want.” What’s his reaction?
C: Uninterested.
T: Tell him that. You look pretty uninterested. Making an orange star
appear for you, there are not many people who can do that. I let it
appear just for you, because I know you need it.
C: Yeah, but the wolf is a wolf.
T: Hmm. What does this wolf need to be happy?
C: Prey. That’s why he can’t do anything with the star, because there’s
no prey—with me as prey he could though.
T: If you look into the eyes of this wolf—what is his facial expression
like?
C: He’s still threatening.
T: Can you tell me the story of how the wolf got into your stomach?
Did someone send him there?
C: I have a colleague. I could imagine her doing something like that. I
don’t want to blame her though. Maybe I bred him myself.
T: Can you change the wolf? Make him bigger or smaller?
C: No.
T: It always remains the same size?
C: Yes.
T: Can you turn the wolf into a different animal?
C: No. I’m not creative enough to do that.
T: Now now, you made the wolf appear in your stomach, that’s creative.
Now when you look at the wolf, can you go and give him a hug?
C: No.
T: What’s preventing you?
C: Fear. I don’t want to, he is an enemy.
T: What do you think the wolf feels like in your stomach? He’s alone,
nobody loves him. You won’t embrace him. Maybe that’s why he’s
got such a weird expression.
C: No. [This is followed by a longer break.]
T: What now?
C: Now I feel a little uncomfortable. I’m realising that I need to be more
creative, or imaginative.
T: Let go of those ambitions. The images appear by themselves.

C: Yes, but then again they aren’t really.
T: Nothing is an image too. Anything that appears is good.
C: This lack of creativity, that’s something I’ve noticed about myself for
years. I see it as a downside of my personality.
T: The daydream is coming to an end. It’s now evening. The sun is
setting, and you return to now and here in this room.
In the debriefing, Oliver S paints a picture which he titled “The Wolf

in Me”. The therapist tells him, “I think you are more creative than
you believe. You only need to allow yourself to be,” and he explains
that fears do not disappear when you run away from them or ignore
them, the opposite happens.
As a homework assignment, he tells Mr S: “If you feel any fear
during the coming week, try imagining a creature that embodies this
fear. A dwarf, a good spirit, an evil spirit—or whatever. Then, try to
greet him with all your love and talk to him. As with a stuffed animal,
it’s best to keep your sense of humour and ask, ‘Hey you, what are you
doing here?’ Approaching your own fears in a relaxed fashion is
always the first step towards robbing them of their power. The wolf is
a part of your personality. He can change for the better, but it’s not
going to work to kick him out or fight him. You can only get him to
do that by loving and accepting him.”
In the fourth session, progress becomes clearly visible.
Mr S has already managed to change what duties he is responsible
for in his company to those which are less exhausting. He is still not
sleeping as well as he could, but at least, “This constant feeling of rest-
lessness, and the feeling of being mauled has disappeared.”
The therapist shows him a relaxation technique (progressive
muscle relaxation according to Jacobson) that he can use to get to
sleep better in the evening. The first thing the client imagines during
this session is a mountain. As with the symbol of the meadow used
during the first session of therapy, Oliver S once again has a specific
place from his memory in mind, a mountain he knows from a skiing
holiday he took there.
The therapist asks about the weather.
C: It’s good. The mountain has a reddish glow. I don’t know exactly
whether it is a morning or evening glow. It is a pleasant view, a pleas-
ant feeling.
[Mr S is looking at the mountain from a hillside facing it.]

T: What would you like do?
C: Just walk. To go hiking.
[It is autumn, Mr S is dressed normally, not carrying any baggage. On his
way through the valley, he passes a trail leading up the mountain. He
decides to slowly climb it.]
T: What can you see?
C: Trees. A fenced paddock.
T: What does it feel like to walk here?
C: It feels quite good, but I would like to share it with someone.
T: Who would you like to walk with?
C: I don’t know. With a good male or female friend.
T: What would you prefer?
C: I don’t really mind.
T: Then choose whichever male or female friend comes to mind.
C: My ex-girlfriend, Julia.
T: What would she say now, if she was walking beside you?
C: Don’t know.
T: What might she be feeling?
C: She’s enjoying it too.
[The therapist asks where they are on the mountain.]
S: In the bottom third.
T: How far would you like to go?
C: Halfway, until where the rock begins. And then we’d walk back down.
T: And if you ask Julia, what would she like to do?
C: She would go a bit further maybe.
The therapist suggests that the two come to a compromise regarding how
far up they would like to go. Oliver S agrees. He is asked to mentally fast
forward, and imagine they have reached the agreed height.
T: How are you feeling now?
C: Good.
T: And Julia?
C: She feels good too. We’re both somewhat strained now because the
slope is getting steeper.
T: And when you look around from where you’re standing now, what’s
it like?
C: It’s good. The view is very enjoyable
T: You arrived at the point you agreed on. What are you going to do now?
C: We’re wondering whether or not we should go a little further, or if
we should call it a day.
T: You could discuss that with Julia.

C: Actually there’s no point in going any further.
T: Hmm. It’s pretty far after all. What are you going to do now?
C: We sit there a little while, and then walk back down.
T: Maybe stay seated up there for a little while, look around, enjoy it,
how far you’ve come. Feel how it is to just sit there with—and then
walk back down again without haste.
In this fourth therapy session, the images reveal that the client has
already made significant progress. He is ready to work (he climbs the
mountain); he notices that some parts of himself (Julia, in this case)
want to go further, but he knows his limits and can discuss them.
What Oliver S still needs to learn at this point is to feel and enjoy his
situation. This was the main goal of his subsequent long-term therapy,
which went well. The positive development is also supported by a
conversation Oliver S had with his employer in which he admits he is
overwhelmed. The boss is understanding and suggests that Mr S
transfers to a different section. There, he finds a task that corresponds
with his abilities and does not exhaust him.
Sophie K: eating disorders began because father wanted a thin child

She was always a good girl. Sophie’s parents had certain expectations
of her, and she tried to meet them. Her father particularly wanted to
see her as slender and petite, and when, at the age of fourteen or
fifteen, she had the figure of a skinny model, he still found her too
large. Her mother wanted a daughter who did well in school first and
foremost. Sophie was there more for her parents than her parents were
for her. The young girl felt warmth and affection from her grandpar-
ents above all. Therefore, it was a severe loss for Sophie when her
beloved grandpa died.
After graduating with flying colours she moved to another city,
which she experienced as liberating, but she took her problems with
her. Brought up by her parents within narrow limits, her new freedom
is rather confusing to her. As a student, Sophie lacked a role model
from whom she could learn how being an adult works. Her first rela-
tionship fails after only a short time. She takes a trip to the drug scene.
The young woman finds studying increasingly difficult: the idea of
getting wider and wider hips, and seeing this in the mirror every day,
is so unbearable to her that she can no longer focus on her studies.
Obviously, her fear of an unfulfilled adulthood promotes her desire to

be once again how her father wanted her to be as a child.
Sophie gets thinner and thinner, weighs little more than forty-five
kilos at a height of about 1.70 metres. Her eating habits are still very
irregular. A friend tells her: “You’ve got to change something. You
can’t go on like this.”
Her preliminary behavioural therapy, together with the elemen-
tary stage of CIP, take about twenty hours, because this is how long it
takes for enough trust to be built with the therapist to allow the true
problem to be tackled. Up to this point, however, the client does
succeed in distancing herself from friends who are bad for her and to
stop doing drugs.
Sometimes, working on a fundamental conflict does not fit into the
scheme of fifty-minute therapy sessions. Therefore, it might be the
case that clients do not want to talk about difficult subjects for several
months, because they fear a session might simply scratch the surface,
without changing the situation They fear having to return home “with
an open wound’, so to speak. In cases such as this, a special solution
is recommended—a so-called open-ended session. Instead of just one
hour, the therapist takes “as long as we need to.”
The twenty-four-year-old student’s marathon session lasts three
hours (it has been shortened in the reproduction here). The dialogue
shows a violent confrontation. The very long pauses which the client
often makes before she speaks are not visible in the text, so while
reading this session transcript, it is useful repeatedly to bring to mind
these pauses.
T: How are you today?

C: Things are still difficult.
T: Are your studies going any better?
C: At first, it was great, but then on Sunday this dissatisfaction was there
again.
T: It simply wants to be seen, your dissatisfaction. It’s like a crying child.
When she says, “I’m hungry, I need something,” and she isn’t satis-
fied, then you can’t go on studying. You have no chance.
C: Then no progress can be made, she gets bigger.
T: What kind of dissatisfaction is this, what does it look like, what does
it feel like?
C: There’s always time to stuff something in my mouth quickly. But
that’s not good. So, that’s still not working.
T: How are you eating at the moment? Do you cook for yourself,
prepare ready-cooked meals, or eat cold meals?
C: It depends. A study-buddy of mine always brings something when he
comes over, which he forces me to eat.
T: What does it feel like, when he forces you?
C: He does it just like a mother would. Tells me there’s room, and I
need to do it for some reason.
T: So you need a mother figure.
C: I do, in a way, but if I start eating more now, that’ll mess things up.
T: Have you gained weight?
C: Yes. I don’t know how much. It’s happening again, just like it did
before. At some point, I stop weighing myself and looking in the
mirror. When I take a shower I think: “Oh God, my legs are too fat”.
T: I promise you that we’ll talk about whether your legs are really too
fat in a later session. If they are, then we can think about what to do
about it, and whether we can come up with diet plan. First, I want to
find out whether there’s something else behind this.
C: OK.
T: Those legs that are too fat. Those are in your head. They’re the part
that bothers you the most, right?
C: Yes.
T: Now fully immerse yourself in this feeling: womanhood and fat legs.
What does that feel like? Don’t think about what needs to be done,
but what it feels like?
[The client does not respond, the therapist waits for a while.]
T: If you can’t get close to the feeling then say so. This is not about
meeting any expectations.
C: No. [Pause.] How can I do that? Like, I could describe how I feel
about my legs being like this.
T: In any way you want. We’re trying to cast light on the issues from as
many sides as possible. How does your understanding develop into
this feeling, what does the feeling look like? Say anything that you
need to let out.
C: Well, my understanding of it is the same as usual, I just don’t like the
way I look.
T: The feeling that this thought triggers, the thought of having legs that
are too fat, what does that feel like? Is it shame? Is it anger, fear,
disgust? There are so many feelings that could be named.
C: It’s shame, but also disgust. Sometimes there’s anger too.
T: Shame, disgust, and anger at yourself—is that it?
C: Yes, and the main component is certainly shame.
T: And if the shame were a being, what would it be?

C: A young reindeer.
T: A young reindeer? OK. Is this reindeer inside your body or outside
if it?
C: Outside.
T: Where is the young reindeer? Is it sitting in front of you or behind
you?
C: Beside me, but it’s very small.
T: And how far are you from this reindeer?
C: Not far, it’s standing pretty close to me.
T: What does it feel like, to stand next to this young reindeer?
C: Hmm. [Pause.] It makes me feel a little concerned, because it’s so
small and standing right next to me. I could step on it and crush it, if
I’m not careful.
T: What expression is on the reindeer’s face? How’s he feeling?
C: It’s sad and desperate.
T: How does that make you feel? What sort of feeling does it trigger?
C: I feel really sorry for it.
T: Maybe you could say that: “You look so sad and desperate, that
makes me feel sorry for you, and if you stand so close to me, I get
worried I might step on you.” [Long pause.] What’s happening now?
C: I told the reindeer to sit in front of me where I can see it better and
won’t accidentally step on it. Then I asked it why it’s so sad . . . and
it’s so small, and somehow it got lost, and it can’t go anywhere
because it’s so small.
It becomes clear here that the preliminary imagination training was effec-
tive. The client is fully submerged in the image and trusts it completely.
T: What’s your relationship to it?
C: It’s standing in front of me now, because it’s so small and I can’t talk
to it.
T: I wonder what’s going on with the reindeer, and what its story is.
Was it always alone? I wonder how it is, this young, little reindeer.
C: It used to be bigger, but somehow it shrunk. And . . . it used to live
in the forest where it was actually quite happy, but since it’s so small,
it’s needy and scared somehow. Someone might crush it without
even noticing, and that makes it feel so desperate.
T: How did it get so small, when it used to be big?
C: [Pause.] I asked, and it told me there was a lot going on and lots of
strange things happened. It’s not sure what happened.
T: What kind of strange things happened in the forest?
C: There was a lot of unrest. It was noisy all of a sudden, something

threatened it, so it hid. It wants an environment in which it can grow
and be like it was before.
T: What sort of environment might that be, where it could grow? What
sort of place?
C: It doesn’t want to go back to the forest. It doesn’t feel safe there any
more.
T: Perhaps there is somewhere else, where the little reindeer can grow?
C: Well, for starters I could take it with me.
T: Where to?
C: To my grandparents’ house. Then it could just stay in the house and
garden. But that’s not enough, I don’t think. That’s not where it’s
meant to live, but it could stay there while it grows a little, and once
it has, then we could think about an alternative to the forest.
T: Is that what the reindeer wants?
C: It’s grateful for everything.
T: Maybe then take the reindeer to your grandparent’s house. Sit down
next to it and see how the story goes on. Find out how long the rein
deer needs, and what needs to happen. No matter whether it takes
days, weeks, months, or years. Give the reindeer as much time as it
needs.
C: Sometimes it looks like a horse, sometimes like a reindeer.
Here a spontaneous shift occurring in the mind of the client can be seen.
The plot changes, and the therapist’s job at this point is simply to draw
attention to this new image.
T: What does this horse look like?

C: Beautiful.
T: How old do you think it is?
C: It’s a fully grown horse.
T: What kind of facial expression does it have?
C: It looks strong, I think—but tense, somehow.
T: What does the horse need? Ask it.
C: It wants to run away.
T: And is there a way for it to do so? Allow this horse, that’s so strong,
to run as much and as far as it wants to. Watch it—what does it look
like, and what’s it doing?
C: Somehow it keeps stopping and looking back.
T: Perhaps there is something else that needs to be done. What would
you like to do for it?
C: Well, when it wanted to go, I sort of thought it’s . . . well, I remem-

bered the reindeer somehow. That made me a little uncomfortable,
because it just wanted to run off.
T: Could it be that the horse needs a little longer?
C: I guess.
T: When you take a look at this healthy, strong, fully grown horse, what
does this make you want to do? Forget your concern for a moment
and think of yourself. A strong horse, saddled and ready to be ridden,
that wants to race across the meadows. What would you like to do
now?
C: I’d like to watch it. Maybe I’d also like to ride it, and take care of it.
T: How about getting on the horse? Want to ask the horse if you can
ride it for a bit?
C: [Pause.] The horse thinks that would be just fine . . . but it was walk-
ing slowly at first, because it thought that it had to be careful with
me. And then I told it that I’d prefer it to go faster.
T: You mean you’re already sitting on it?
C: Yes.
T: Before you go riding now, try to feel this big horse—a strong, fully
grown horse. You’re sitting on its back. Are there reins, or are you
holding on to its mane?
C: There are reins.
T: Can you feel the horse’s power? Can you feel its movement? Can you
feel its muscles working under your legs?
C: Yes.
T: What does that feel like?
C: Hmm . . . well, I feel safe up there.
T: Can you feel the power in this horse?
C: Mmm. [Yes.]
T: Allow the energy this healthy, strong, fully grown animal exudes, this
feeling of strength to flow through your body, becoming one with this
horse while you ride it. And when you’re ready, and you can feel the
energy, then lean forward in the saddle, hold on tight to the reins or
mane, and whisper to the horse: “I’m ready now, let’s go”.
[Long pause.]
T: What’s happening now?
C: We went faster this time.
T: How was that, riding at a faster speed?
C: At the beginning quite well, but then the horse was slightly rattled.
T: How do you feel now, on top of the horse?
C: I’d like to get back off.
T: Maybe stay on top of it for a minute. If you can’t stand to do that,

we can stop this film right now. Now look at yourself on this horse.
What do you need to do to stop yourself from falling off the horse?
C: Hold on tight.
T: How are you holding on to it?
C: Mainly using my arms, but with the rest of my body too.
T: Look down at yourself—what sort of arms are holding on to the
reins, what sort of legs are holding on to the saddle and the horse’s
stomach? What do they look like? What do you see there? What will
it take, for you to ride this horse, instead of it riding you?
Here the therapist tries to establish a different pattern: stronger legs can
also be useful.
C: I have to be in control, somehow.
T: Perhaps you can tell the horse: “We are riding pretty fast now. It was
fun in the beginning, but now I feel a little insecure and need to have
more control.” If the horse was good at giving advice, what would it
answer?
C: [Pause.] It says that if I feel insecure, we could talk about how to
make things work anyway.
T: Yes, maybe ride more slowly or more controlled. Would you like to
try?
C: Yes.
The therapist suggests that the client starts riding slowly, step by step.
Then she should try to find the right balance between control and letting
go by riding faster. She should have as much control as is necessary for
her to feel safe, and let go as much as she needs to, in order to feel the
horse’s joy as it runs, and feel its power, its pace and the energy emanat-
ing from it. This optimisation should lead to an image that is as empow-
ering as possible.
C: I’d like to ride faster than walking pace, but it should slow down in
the parts where it gets hilly, because when it leaps, I don’t like how
that feels. It should go a little slower instead. Still swiftly, but a little
slower and without having to jump.
T: Could you imagine not needing to check with the horse, but being
able to let it feel whether it should run faster or slower? By the way
you’re sitting on it, and how you’re holding on?
C: Yes.
T: Perhaps it might even be possible for you to allow each other to have
insight into one another’s thoughts and feelings of others, and to
form a unit in this way. As if you were running across this meadow
yourself. Try it out. Let the horse run and let it feel what you’ll allow
and what is too much. Exert as much control as necessary. Romp and
race as much as possible. Feel the flow of energy between it and you,
horse and rider. What’s that like for you?
C: We haven’t entirely become one yet.
T: Do you feel you have the horse under control? Like it knows what
you want?
C: I guess.
T: I would like to suggest something to you. How about letting the
horse run however it wants to, and you stay on top of it for as long
as you can stand. And if you tell it “that’s enough”, your horse will
slow down. Just to find out what it feels like to relinquish control.
You have the power of holding on to the horse with the strong legs
of a rider, and to hold the reins with your strong arms, and to lean
forward so you can sit securely on the horse. Then, see what that
does to you, what this triggers and what sorts of feelings emerge. Let
those feelings flow through your body. Become one with these feel-
ings. What’s that like?
[Long pause.]
C: The horse went really, really fast and did lots of jumps and stuff. At
some point I told it to stop, and it did, but only because . . . I think
it could not have gone any faster. That was OK.
Here, it can be seen to what extent the client is now ready to give up
control.
T: The horse reached its limits, right? Tuckered itself out nicely.
C: I think it would have run even further, but at some point, it got bored
too.
T: How are you feeling now?
C: I got the impression the horse was inexhaustible.
T: What does it feel like to have a horse that’s inexhaustible?
C: Good, actually. When I think back to the little reindeer, I realise it
was only strong enough to follow commands, but that’s not really
necessary any more.
T: Could you perhaps freeze this scene, get off the horse and see what
it looks like. This strong horse you just rode, with all its never-ending
energy? And the little reindeer we met earlier, maybe take another
look at it, too. Then I’d ask that you invite your dad. Can he have a
look into your dream?
C: If he must.
T: What do you call him—Papa?
C: Yes.
T: “Hi, Papa. I want to show you something. Welcome to my world.
Look at this skittish reindeer.” Observe how he looks at the reindeer.
“The reindeer is my shame. There was a time when I was big, and you
told me that I was too fat, so I became small. My personality turned
into a shy reindeer, but deep in my heart, my nature is actually quite
different.” You then walk with your father to the horse and tell him
the whole story—how you rode it, how you took care of it and
allowed it to grow, and the personality traits you gained at your
grandparents’ house. You show him how you have ridden this strong
horse, which is now a part of you, its inexhaustible energy. You then
look your father in the eyes and tell him what you see there.
C: He turns away.
T: Let your feelings out. Take as long as you need to.
[C cries.]
T: Try to understand what your father is feeling right now—what’s
wrong with him? How is he feeling right now?
C: He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to look.
T: How does that make you feel, the fact that he doesn’t want to look?
C: It makes me angry and sad.
T: Then tell him: “You don’t want to look at what I have to show you,
and that makes me angry and sad.” How does he react?
C: He has turned towards me slightly, but of course he isn’t taking my
crying seriously.
T: How does it make you feel when he doesn’t take you seriously?
C: It makes me even angrier.
T: Go ahead and tell him: “When you don’t take me seriously at all—
when I feel that way, in any case—that makes me even angrier. Look
at this horse, it’s the real me. Then take a look at this reindeer. I’m
an adult, I have a strong personality and I should expect to be taken
seriously. This is a very serious issue that we’ve got.” And now, if you
were your father—how would you feel?
C: Bad.
T: Now that you’ve tried to feel what your father is feeling, and you’ve
found out that he feels bad, how does that make you feel?
[No reply.]
T: How does it make you feel to see that your father feels bad?
C: I feel so charged with emotion that I can’t . . . [The client can no
longer speak.]
T: “I see how bad you feel and it makes me emotionally charged.” Go
ahead and tell him that. Tell him: “This is all my anger, it’s all here on
the table”. Show how charged you are with shame, disgust, and anger.
How this anger at yourself has lasted for all of your life up to now.
Now try to feel what your father is feeling. What does he feel like?
Maybe think about what he now would say right now, if he could get
a word out—what does your father need now?
C: I think that he would rather be alone right now. He’d rather deny
everything.
T: What does he hope to achieve by denying it all?
C: He wants to evade responsibility.
T: What does he have to gain by not taking responsibility? What does
your father need, what will he achieve by looking away and avoiding
responsibility, what’s he trying to get out of this?
C: Avoid confrontation.
T: If there is no confrontation, what does he get out of that? No respon-
sibility, no confrontation—what does that leave him with, in the end?
C: Nothing.
T: So what he really wants is nothing. If nothing were a thing, what
would it be?
C: A thing?
T: Yes, a symbol for nothing.
C: An apple.
T: An apple. Let a big pile of apples appear before your mind’s eye.
Could you give these apples to your father as a gift, with uncondi-
tional love and warmth, without expecting anything in return? Maybe
you could also tell him: “I see you, I see your face, I feel you, I know
how you feel and I know what you’re looking for. What you most
want to achieve above all is nothing, and this is why I’m giving you
these apples. So you can have as much nothing as you want. You can
eat them all, and if that’s not enough, I have more apples for you.”
How does he react now? What does he look like, standing there,
with his heap of apples?
C: I pity him.
T: Would you like to tell him that? You could say: “I see you standing
there and I pity you. I know what’s wrong with you now. I know how
you feel.” How does he react? [Pause.] What would you do now?
C: I’m too angry to hug him.
T: “I considered giving you a hug but frankly, I’m too angry. Look at this
anger. Take a look at my anger.” Could you perhaps ask the horse to
come and look at this scene, as you stand there with your father? He
is sad and bowed forward, and you are full of anger. What would the
horse tell you to do right now? Maybe the horse has some advice?
C: It has two suggestions: either I jump over my own shadow and

embrace my dad or I can just leave and pretend I’m gone.
T: This anger inside of you, if it were a being, what would it be?
C: A spider.
T: Where is this spider?
C: Inside me.
T: Where in your body is this spider?
C: It runs around all over inside me, on the outside too.
T: Can you pay this spider a visit and look it in the eye, to see how it’s
feeling?
C: She’s unresponsive.
T: Hmm, she’s unresponsive. What does that make you feel—the fact
that she’s unresponsive?
C: She’s testing my patience.
T: “Well now, spider, I just came to visit you but you’re not available,
you’re testing my patience.” How does the spider respond?
C: She’s being reclusive.
T: If you were the spider, how would you feel?
C: I think she’s stressed out.
T: Why don’t you tell the spider: “I think you’re pretty stressed out. I
think you’ve been running around in here full of anger your whole
life, and now you’re completely stressed out. And now someone
comes along and wants something, I can imagine how you’d feel that
way.” How does the spider respond now?
C: She’s running back and forth, but she no longer runs away. I think she
can’t stay still.
T: What sort of a feeling does this trigger in you? To see that the spider
is no longer running away and is reacting to what you just said. What
kind of feeling does this stir in you, the fact that something just
happened while you were talking?
C: Hmm . . . It reassures me somehow, because she seems less . . .
Initially, she seemed so ignorant, and now apparently she isn’t.
T: “Spider, in the beginning you seemed ignorant to me. But now that
I’ve told you, you seem to be listening, and, to be honest, this already
reassures me, and I’m glad. It gives me peace.” What does the spider
need now? What does this particular spider need? What has she
looked for all her life but never found?
C: She needs inner peace.
T: Is there anything, an object, an experience or a form of affection that
could give this spider some peace of mind? What would it be?
C: Maybe if she were allowed to make a web she’d be calmer and more
relaxed. She could do that.
T: Could you show her a place, a little village perhaps, where she can
spin webs? And perhaps explain to her what she’s actually there for?
Is there such a place? How’s the spider now?
C: She feels safe.
T: Would you return to the place where you father and the horse were?
C: Mmm.
T: How does that feel now? What’s your father’s stance, how is he
looking at it?
C: He looks rather uncertain.
T: Do you think your father could take you seriously?
C: Mmm.
T: What would you like to do now? Don’t think about what’s expected
of you, but what’s inside you. What would you wish for? I know that
you’re thinking of a hug and the question of whether giving it is pos-
sible, but in the dream world there are thousands of possibilities. You
could sit down with your father and smoke a peace pipe, or go for a
walk with him. Anything is possible. Let whatever images you want
appear.
[No reply.]
T: And what now?
C: For some reason I don’t want to.
T: That’s OK. Observe the scene. The real work is done. All of you now
know what the others are thinking, how they feel. The horse stand-
ing to the side is your good friend, your power animal. You might
want to come back to this place at a later date and carry on, or you
might not. You alone can decide. So you might want to say to every
one involved: “Now I’m going to have to say goodbye and leave this
place.”
After this long session, the client went through a difficult phase full
of self-doubt for the next two weeks or so, which further therapy
sessions attempted to relieve. Subsequently, she experienced a marked
improvement. It has been several weeks now since Sophie K was last
bothered by her appearance and in this time she has been able to clear
her head for her studies. She is motivated and confident that she will
pass her tests.
Eva L: the fear of suffering from a bad disease

Hypochondriacs are convinced that they are sick, or at least the fact
that they soon will be, even when doctors were not able to find any
evidence of a physical condition. The degree to which they are

concerned about their health has nothing to do with reality. Excessive
introspection, combined with commensurate anxiety, causes the
client’s thoughts constantly to painfully revolve around their own
physical condition. A clear statement from a doctor (“Nothing is
wrong with you”) only leads to temporary reassurance, and often
another waiting room.
Eva L believed that she was suffering from a brain tumour, multi-
ple sclerosis, rheumatism, and heart disease. Often, these fears arose
after she had read something somewhere about one of these diseases.
Occasional panic attacks added to the twenty-eight-year-old’s fear of
being ill. Additionally, she fears going mad.
Mrs L works at a travel agency. She grew up with her parents, who
divorced when their daughter was aged seventeen. She experienced
her father as dominant and her mother as caring. Her father died a
year ago. Since then, the client has been living with her mother, to
keep her company and for financial reasons. Eva L has just come out
of a long relationship during which she was married, became preg-
nant, and had an abortion. She is currently single, looking for a part-
ner, “Who knows where it’s at”, as she says.
In the past few months she has already ended several relation-
ships after only a short time. She says she cannot stand being alone,
but also cannot tolerate much closeness. Over the course of her
therapy (fifteen sessions so far) it has become clear that her fear of
diseases increases whenever a fleeting acquaintance begins to dev-
elop into a more intimate relationship. Obviously, the subject of inti-
macy has been negatively affected by separation anxiety fuelled by
multiple issues: the abortion (separation from her child), the divorce
(separation from her husband), and the death of her father (separation
from a parent). All the adult objects of separation happened to be
male.
Evidently, the client is trying to avoid further painful separations
by refusing to engage in any close relationships at all.
Behavioural interventions have been a part of her therapeutic
treatment. For example, Mrs L should learn to love herself, indepen-
dently of any third parties, and cope on her own. CIP is well suited to
resolving this neural link in which a relationship equals separation
pain.
T: How are you today?

C: All is well. I was somewhat anxious over the weekend, and I’d like to
ask you to do another exercise like the last one with me. I’ve just
been neglecting it, and my anxiety came back because my head
started spinning again. I think that’s part of my panic attacks, the feel-
ing that my head is spinning. I think that’s probably psychosomatic,
but I always imagine that it might be something more serious, and I’ve
started measuring my blood pressure and pulse again.
T: Which is normally elevated, of course, when you’re feeling panicked.
C: Yes, my blood pressure is higher and of course so is my pulse. My
pulse will be around ninety. Also, I’ve . . . I must tell you—I’ve recon-
ciled with my best girlfriend. Over the phone we agreed to meet up
and we had a really great weekend. We hung out at her place and
danced until six o’clock in the morning, talking and laughing. It was
great, it was all so positive. She knows about my problems and my
panic attacks and we talk about them often. She really makes me feel
better. And I wish I could stop taking these tablets so I could drink
alcohol again and just be a bit looser. I don’t know. I have the feel-
ing I’m making myself dependent on these pills. [The client is on
psychotropic medication in accompaniment to her therapy.]
T: I can’t tell you anything about that, unfortunately. Only the doctor
can do that.
C: Yeah, I need to bring it up with him, because to be honest, taking
these pills every morning bugs me now. I would like to use your
psychotherapy to get to a point where I no longer need them—the
day before yesterday, I felt like I was losing my mind, like I couldn’t
string together a clear sentence, and that—
T: Was there a certain event that prompted this?
C: My niece came to stay with us. She’s a real dear, and my mother and
I took care of her. But then, once again, I had no room to breathe,
and I couldn’t sleep in even though it was a holiday. I had two very
hard weeks. I only had one day off and had to work for the entire
remainder of the time. For some reason I keep getting the feeling that
I’m losing my mind. I feel like I need to concentrate really hard just
to form clear sentences while talking to you.
T: So are you actually concentrating very hard right now, while we have
this conversation?
C: Well, not right now, but sometimes I do. Sometimes I’m worried I’ll
stutter or whisper. Or I fear I might lose my mind.
T: That fear isn’t ready to be released yet. It’s going to take a little
longer to prepare. We’ll take a look at those fears in a minute by
doing another imagination exercise. This might take a while since

they’ve been growing for several years. I think that in your rational
mind you know you’re not crazy, but we need to work on your
ability to instinctively accept this on an emotional level.
C: I often wonder: how am I supposed to start a family of my own one
day, if I’m such a scaredy-cat?
T: Oh, by the time you start a family, we’ll have moved past that
subject.
C: [Mrs L laughs.] OK, all right then.
T: Allow yourself to simply be here; lean back in your chair, get comfor-
table and have a look at what your body is saying today. Place your
hands on your lap and get into a comfortable position you can fully
relax in. As thoughts come and go, say goodbye to them, with a smile,
as they fly out of the window. A part of you sinks deeper and deeper
into a state of relaxation, while another part of you is wide awake
and makes images appear before your mind’s eye. We’ve stood in this
meadow before, and perhaps there is a river or a stream nearby, or
somewhere in the distance. If you can see a river anywhere, remain
in your relaxed position, keep your eyes closed, and describe it to
me.
C: Dark.
T: Hmmm. A dark river.
C: The meadow is so nice and quiet—lots of butterflies. It’s springtime
and the temperature is pleasant.
T: It’s a pleasant spring day, and the river’s dark, flowing waters seem
so still. There are butterflies.
C: You can hear the birds chirping.
T: Where are you, on this river?
C: I’m sitting on the grass, watching the river.
T: How far do you think you are from the river?
C: Very close to the banks.
T: Look at the river. What does it look like?
C: What does it look like? Well the water is definitely moving . . . it’s
more like a creek with a light flow. And there are fish—flying fish,
shooting out of the water.
T: Is there a riverbank? What does it look like?
C: Well, this river is right by the edge of the meadow.
T: If you can see up and down this river, can you tell where it comes
from and where it’s flowing?
C: I see a little waterfall, that’s where it’s coming from, and it leads right
down here, to my right.
T: To where is it flowing? What does the place it’s flowing to look like?
C: It looks like a stream. The current gets stronger, and along the banks
it’s all very green, with trees growing. A very luxuriant vegetation—
not like in a jungle, more like in a European climate—like in Austria
or Bavaria.
T: How do you feel by this river?
C: Very relaxed.
[The therapist speaks very slowly.]
T: Enjoy the feeling of relaxation, feel the energy that emanates from
this river, and allow this relaxation into your body. What would you
like to do now?
C: Read a book.
T: Is there a book?
C: Yes, and a picnic basket as well. It was already planned for me to be
here. The sun is shining on me, and I’m even a little tanned. It’s some-
what warming.
T: If the sun could speak, what would it say now?
C: It is happy that it can warm me.
T: What would it say now—that it is happy?
C: I am so happy that I can give you joy.
T: Hmm. It would say something like that now.
C: And she says to me: “Think positively, look through my nice warm
rays.”
Here, it becomes clear that the client has good access to her inner
resources.
T: If you look around a bit in this landscape, do you see anything or
anyone else who might say the opposite: “Think negatively”? Maybe
a tree or a fish?
C: The clouds. They try to sit in front of the sun.
T: Are the clouds there?
C: Yes.
T: What do they look like, these clouds?
C: Big and dark. And the sun is trying to defend itself against them.
T: If the clouds could speak, what would they say now?
C: They look mean. They have faces, and the sun looks happy and shines.
The clouds try to sit in front of it, but the sun keeps fighting.
T: If you look at the clouds in their faces, in the mean faces, first try to
understand what is wrong with the clouds—how are they right now?
Maybe there is a cloud that looks particularly mean or is displaying a
very distinct face—one that you could interact with.
C: I wish I could help the sun.

T: Let’s just forget logic for a moment and stay in the fairy tale. Let’s
take a look at the cloud’s face, the one with the mean look.
C: Mmm. [Yes.]
T: How’s the cloud?
C: Very well. It is power-driven.
T: It’s power driven?
C: Is that right, or did I make that word up?
T: Nope, it means the cloud wants power by looking evil, and it wants
to get rid of the sun.
C: Exactly. It is determined that it can win.
T: Yes.
C: Just as evil as it looks, this cloud.
T: And if it took power, then what would it achieve?
C: It wants everyone to be just as miserable as it.
T: And if everyone is miserable, what does it gain?
C: It won.
T: Mmm. So actually the cloud wants to win.
C: Yes, that’s just what clouds are like. They are there to spread misery.
T: And if that is the cloud’s purpose and it wins—what does the cloud
itself gain?
C: It will have fulfilled its role. That’s just natural. Every creature has a
role.
T: Who was it who gave the cloud this role?
C: God.
T: And what would God aim to do by giving a cloud as a task like: to
seize power? Spread misery? To win in the end?
C: Can I open my eyes for a while? I panicked a little.
Here, the client, who was raised in a very religious household, reaches
the limit. God is an “Uberman” in the game who intervenes in the dis-
cussion with a male being. He brings forth the panic.
T: That’s good. Then let’s work with the panic. Where is it? In what part
of your body?
C: Upper.
T: In the chest?
C: Yes. I had that as a child. If I had a fever or something, then every-
thing would be suffocating me.
T: The panic is in your chest. What does it look like, this panic in your
chest?
C: It prickles and everything is so heavy.
T: If the panic in your chest were a being, perhaps a creature or animal,

a fairy-tale figure?
C: I must correct myself—the panic is more in my head.
T: Maybe the panic jumps from place to place, because it doesn’t want
to be found?
C: Yes, it could be, but it is currently in my head.
T: Maybe we should have a look in your head and chest area. What sort
of creature do you see?
C: It’s very hard to describe this as a being.
T: Don’t think too hard about it. Try to relax and sink, and allow the
pictures to ascend. I’ll make sure nothing happens.
C: Maybe you can help me. It’s something bright that is also very
strong.
T: In your head or chest? Where are we now?
C: We are in the chest.
T: Maybe you can journey into your own insides through some opening
in your body and observe this light being from a safe distance, find
out what it looks like. What is it?
C: A fish.
T: A fish. Is that a light fish? Or is the light something with or in this
fish?
C: A snake. A glowing snake.
T: So there’s a glowing snake in your chest. And there’s a fish too, or
is the fish actually a snake?
C: The fish is not there. The fish is the snake.
T: A glowing snake there in your chest. Look at it. You visit the snake
and take a look at this snake from a safe distance.
C: The snake looks pretty damn good.
T: How does it look? What do you mean by that?
C: It is bright and shines and is really glaring at me.
T: How is it? Is it healthy?
C: Yes.
T: What kind of face is the snake making?
C: It’s sticking its tongue out at me.
T: How does that make you feel?
C: It’s very strong. This is a power struggle.
C: Like I’m trying to conquer it.
T: Look at the feeling. If it helps, we can pause the image. We just press
the pause button and the image freezes. I would like to know what
you’re feeling. Is it rage, surprise?
C: It’s anger—a mixture of fear and anger. Fear is there, and anger,
because I am not able to fight it.
T: You don’t have to fight it right now. We’re only looking at it.
C: Okay, fear and anger. Because I don’t want this snake in me.
T: You’ve gone back to the logical mind. Let’s leave that now and go
back to the fairy tale. Once upon a time, there was a woman who
had a snake in her chest, and the snake was pretty and looked as if
it was powerful. And while the snake was looking at her, the woman
got angry and frightened, because she didn’t want this snake around.
Now just tell the snake: “When you look at me that way, it scares
me.”
C: When you look at me that way, it scares me.
T: What is the snake doing now?
C: It’s withdrawing. It’s curling itself up right now. I hate snakes.
T: And what kind of feeling does it give you to see it curl itself up?
C: It really prickles, because I’m afraid of snakes.
T: Yes, tell it: “When you curl yourself up like that, it makes me prickle”.
C: When you curl yourself up like that, it makes me prickle.
T: What is it doing now?
C: It’s stretching itself out. It’s making itself like a staff.
T: What does the staff look like?
C: It’s an old staff. On top, the grip is wider, and below it comes to a
point.
T: Maybe you can approach the staff and get a good look at it.
C: The handle has the teeth and the head of the snake carved into it.
T: What does it feel like to see this staff?
C: Since it’s a staff, I’m not so scared, because I know it can’t do any-
thing. It’s just a staff.
T: How about if you touch the staff and tell me how it feels?
C: I find it disgusting, because I know that it is a snake.
T: Hmm.
C: OK, I’ll touch it.
T: Now, now, now, not so fast. The feeling you had, that feeling of dis-
gust—keep that feeling in your body and imagine it being like going
into cold water: it’s uncomfortable, but you get used to it. Leave the
feeling of disgust there, don’t fight it. Allow the feeling of disgust to
flow into your body, and be with the feeling. And wait and see what
happens if you allow the feeling to occupy your body.
C: My body tries to get used to it, and it tries to fight the disgusting
feeling, but it can’t.
T: Don’t fight it.
C: My body starts trembling.

T: Don’t fight it. Let go. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. Try to
let every muscle in your body go, and allow the feeling of disgust to
let go and explore your body, like a child exploring a cave. Don’t fight
it. Give the feeling time to discover your body, to fill it and become
one with it. [Pause.] And what now?
C: It spread out over my whole body and is evenly distributed every-
where.
T: And how does it feel now?
C: Normal. I mean, it doesn’t feel bad. But it makes me very tired.
T: That’s because you haven’t worked with the other half of your brain
in a while. But we’ll work on that. Give the tiredness space and watch
how it spreads out. Relax. And enjoy the fact that you’ve made peace
with the disgust. And whenever you’re ready, maybe you can go back
to the staff and just look at it. [Pause.] Is the idea of touching the staff
easier now?
C: Mmm. [Yes.]
T: Pick up the staff and tell me how it feels.
C: It feels hard like a staff.
T: Yes. Hard as a staff. What kind of a feeling is it to feel this hard stick?
C: I mean, I’m only holding the middle bit. I don’t dare touch the top of
it.
T: Yes.
C: It feels normal.
T: Is the staff giving off any kind of energy? Or a feeling?
C: No, not yet.
T: OK, that’s very good. Perhaps you could try to feel the staff in all its
power and grasp it as far up and down as you can allow yourself to.
Only as far as you can while remaining relaxed and nothing is fight-
ing it within you. Try to explore the staff the same way the feeling of
disgust explored you. And find out what it’s all about.
C: So, this staff is, in my opinion, used for self defence, like a weapon.
Because the pointed bit could hurt someone. So it is some kind of
weapon.
T: How does it feel at the top?
C: The head of the snake is there. It is smooth, and the knob is the face
of the snake and the teeth are still there, so very sharp here too. But
otherwise you can grip it there.
T: How does that feel for you, to grasp the staff on top, on the head of
the snake?
C: Uncomfortable.
T: Maybe tell that to the staff: “When I touch you on the head, it’s
uncomfortable”.
C: When I touch you on the head, it’s uncomfortable.
T: What do you think the staff feels when you touch it?
C: The staff doesn’t understand that. The staff changes so that I no
longer see the head of the snake. The staff is now pleasant to touch.
[Only now is the conversion completed.]
T: Go ahead and say that to it.
C: You’re now so pleasant to touch, because you have changed. Now I
can really hold you.
T: How’s that for the staff?
C: It is pleased.
T: Is there maybe something that this staff needs?
C: Yes, it needs love. It also needs warmth. Because otherwise it con-
veys the impression that it is a weapon. And it doesn’t want to be a
weapon. You can see something good in the staff, but if you see a
weapon, then that’s something evil, and the staff doesn’t want that.
T: Is there maybe a place where there is love and warmth?
C: Yes.
T: Where is it?
C: The stick must go back into the forest.
T: In the forest, or maybe even the place where our story began. At the
river, where the sun is shining, and you are there with your picnic.
C: I’ll take the staff there and put it next to a big tree.
T: How’s that for the staff?
C: Nice. I mean, the staff can’t really tell me, but I think this is the best
thing for it.
T: And if the staff could speak? What it would say?
C: It would say, “Thank you.”
T: And how is that for you, when the staff thanks you?
C: I’ve done something good, and I got the staff out of me.
T: Well, I think the staff wanted to get out itself. It needed love and
warmth. It needed someone to empathise. Someone to check what
was going on with it and what it needed. It needed someone to talk
about feelings with and someone it could talk to if it was feeling
uncomfortable or it was bothered by something. What does the sun
think about all this?
C: The clouds are gone, and the sun is happy again. The sun says that I
have done something good. I will be rewarded for it.
T: What kind of reward? What can you allow yourself?
C: To think clearly and to concentrate on my book.
T: Allow yourself to think clearly, and let the clarity into your body.
Enjoy what you have achieved, your success, the warmth of the sun,
and the power of the staff standing beside you that you were able to
befriend a little today. And with all the clarity you’ve gained, you can
dedicate yourself that much more to your book. And after a while,
when you’re ready, and in the time you need, make your way back
to the here-and-now in this room.”
The empathy training recounted here was intended to have the client
learn how to sense one’s counterpart, slowly allow closeness, and to
make positive experiences from that. The therapist made sure that the
client felt protected the entire time (“I’ll make sure nothing happens
to you”). This session led to a significant improvement. However,
additional sessions will be necessary (probably at least ten) in order to
help Eva L in the long term. One goal will be for her to learn how to
cope with the feeling of panic that arises when she enters into a new
relationship.
She will learn to see these feelings of panic as beings, in order to
encounter and embrace them.
Sebastian R: when the creeps for spiders crawl to mind

The twenty-five-year-old computer science student knows rationally
that spiders are harmless. At least, those which are native to Germany.
He has heard or read it hundreds of times, but this fact does nothing
to placate him. Recently, biologist acquaintance explained to him,
“Arachnophobia is unknown to most tribal societies. And they have
many more reasons to fear spiders than we do.”
Well-intended appeals to reason and logical arguments do nothing
to calm a person who fears spiders. For him, these animals are too ter-
rifying when they suddenly and silently appear and unpredictably run
towards a person on their spindly legs. Or away. But then where do they
go? Can’t they reappear at any time? Possibly from behind, undetected?
A person who avoids spiders and prevents any contact or sighting
only reinforces the fear. The most common way to treat arachnopho-
bia is through behavioural therapy, in which the client learns gradu-
ally to approach the object of fear. At the end, the confrontation is
then no longer perceived as such. CIP uses a similar method, only it
approaches the problem on the emotional level, and the confrontation
takes place in the imagination.
Phobias are often only a part of a broader problem. This holds true
for Sebastian R, who initially came to the therapeutic practice not
because of his fear of spiders, but because of occasional outbursts of
anger, during which he did not have himself under control.
Soon it turns out that some time ago, Sebastian had to watch as his
father systematically destroyed himself. Despite his severe diabetes,
he ate large quantities of sweets daily and, against medical advice, did
not pay attention to his blood sugar levels, with the result that he died.
Sebastian felt helpless, and when he finds himself “blind with rage”
today, these experiences seem to be at least partially responsible.
In the sessions, which are transcribed in excerpts in the following
dialogue, the sole focus was the arachnophobia. The therapist chose
the symbol of the river or stream as the foundation, which is suitable
for this emotionally laden subject. After only one session, a clear
reduction in the fear of spiders was observed, because the conflict in
the subconscious is processed and the client additionally receives a
rational explanation for the source of his phobia.
T: Make yourself as comfortable as possible. You can close your eyes if

you want. And maybe indulge yourself in relaxation, as if you wanted
to take a little nap. Feel how your hands lie on your stomach, how
your feet are on the ground and how comfortably warm your body
feels. Your attention slowly turns inward to your breathing, and you
feel the air slowly flowing in and out. And after a while, when you’re
ready, imagine a river.
No matter what comes, everything that appears is good. When
you see the river, then keep your eyes closed, lie fully relaxed and
let the images develop. And tell me about your river.
C: There is a river and a waterfall further up and a forest behind the
river. The weather is nice.
T: Can you smell anything?
C: It smells like nature.
T: And can you hear anything?
C: Women washing clothes. They are talking, too.
T: Where are you on this river?
C: I’m on a stone, towards the middle of the river.
T: What does it feel like to stand there?
C: I’m afraid of falling in.
T: What if you carefully lean forward a little and put a finger in the water
to see how the water feels?
C: It is cold, but not unpleasant.

T: What would you like to do now, there on the river?
C: I want to walk along the river.
T: In which direction do you want to go?
C: Back, to where the river comes from.
[The client opts for a journey into the past.]
T: Where do you come to there?
C: There are multiple levels. It goes up further. And if I go further
upstream, the levels get steeper.
T: And if you climb up there slowly and come to increasingly higher
levels, what does the river look like then?
C: The river is getting smaller and smaller.
C: I don’t know.
T: How about if you follow the river further, find out where it comes
from?
C: I can’t.
T: Is there something in the way?
C: It keeps getting steeper, and there are crevices. I can also see that
the river is coming from a cave.
T: A cave! What would you like to do now?
C: Go to the cave. But then I would have to make a detour.
T: Would you like to make the detour and go to the cave?
C: I could also climb straight up.
T: Yes. You can make the detour or climb straight up. However you’d
like. [Pause.] Where are you now?
C: It’s slow going. This is a weird feeling.
T: Be with this weird feeling. Find out what it is.
C: It feels heavy. But I can do it.
T: Where are you now?
C: I’ve arrived outside the cave.
C: It was exhausting, but it’s fine now.
T: Then take a rest, and enjoy the good feeling. And maybe examine the
cave you have now arrived at.
C: So, this is the cave where the river comes from.
C: I’m afraid to go in there.
T: You don’t have to. You only need do what you can manage. It might
be a good idea not to go in, but only to stand by the entrance to the
cave, and look into it.
C: There is a big spider.

T: Does the spider have a face?
C: Black eyes.
T: How is the spider?
C: It’s pretty worked up.
T: Go ahead and tell it.
C: The spider just wants to be left alone.
T: Go ahead and tell it: “I have a feeling that you just want to be left
alone.”
C: It’s pretty disgusting.
T: Say that to it, too: “Spider, you are pretty disgusting.”
C: It doesn’t care one bit.
T: Say that to it, as well: “I get the impression that you don’t care one
bit.” [Pause.] How do you feel with the spider there?
C: I feel threatened.
T: Be with the threatened feeling. Allow this feeling to occupy your
body.
C: It’s a paralysing feeling. I’m afraid.
T: Be with the fear. Fear is allowed to be, too. Welcome the fear with
love and warmth—and observe what the fear does to you.
C: The fear makes it so I don’t do anything.
T: What would happen if you did something?
C: Nothing, really.
T: If the spider could speak, what would it say now?
C: I’m actually harmless, but you’re scaring me.
C: I would like to reassure the spider so that it’s not so scared. But I
don’t know how.
T: Well, the spider is obviously harmless. Would you perhaps like to
approach it? Maybe you want to put your hand in front of the spider
and invite the spider to climb on the back of your hand?
C: That is pretty disgusting.
T: Be with the disgust. The disgust is allowed to be in your body.
C: Now it’s crawling up on to my shoulder. It’s hard to endure.
T: Maybe tell the spider: “Hello spider, I’m finding it pretty hard to allow
you to sit on my shoulder. That’s actually a bit disgusting, but I
wanted to show you that you need have no fear of me”.
C: It is sitting on my shoulder and wants to enjoy the sun. Nothing bad
is happening at all.
T: How is the feeling of having the spider on your shoulder now?
C: It’s actually OK.
T: Look at the spider, pay attention to your emotions and where they
sit in your body. And be with the feelings and the spider. Allow the
spider to be there. [Pause.]
C: The spider wants to go back to the cellar.
T: Cellar?
C: The cellar in the house where we used to live.
T: And is the spider allowed?
C: Yes.
T: How does the spider feel there?
C: Good.
T: And how are you with it?
C: It’s not so bad any more.
T: Could you offer the spider friendship?
C: It doesn’t know what that is.
T: You could tell it that you know what it is, and that you’re there for
it.
C: The spider wants me to protect it.
T: How about if you take the spider with you?
C: Yes, the spider would like that.
T: And maybe you can go with the spider back downstream, back to
where this story started.
C: Yes, the spider is sitting on my hand and sometimes on my shoulder.
T: And how’s that for you now?
C: Good. A liberating experience.
T: Stay a moment in this good feeling of a liberating experience. Remem-
ber how you walked back along the river, found the spider and
became friends. And after a while, in the time that you need, come
back to the here and now in this room.”
The arachnophobia was brought to light by the symbol of the river and
subsequently processed directly. In the following discussion, Sebastian
R reports an experience as a child: in the house where he lived at the
time, he found a spider in the basement. He was scared, and his
parents were not home at the time. For him, the feeling of loneliness
and abandonment was associated with the symbol of the spider.
The session lasted less than an hour. The transcript given is
abridged. The most important therapy element was nevertheless
demonstrated: simply being with a feeling. Following the river
upstream to the source represents a journey into the past. The steep
path shows the difficult access to the unconscious conflict.
Since this session, the client has felt neither fear nor disgust
towards spiders any more.
Kathrynne B: stomach-ache and compulsions from within the soul

“Physically, nothing is wrong with you—your stomach pains are
psychosomatic.” These words from her GP were the occasion for the
dental assistant Kathrynne B to seek out a psychotherapeutic practice.
She suffers not only from stomach problems, but also from anxiety at
irregular intervals. “I’m afraid of everything,” says the thirty-one-
year-old.
In these situations, she experiences a slight feeling of panic, and
her breathing accelerates. “Last week, I was suddenly afraid to get on
the underground, which is complete nonsense, because I ride the
underground every day.” She also suffers from compulsive behaviour.
“For example, when I make my bed, I pull the blanket flat, then I see
a corner that isn’t perfect, and then I have to do it again.” At least she
can sleep well.
Often, the causes of psychosomatic disorders and compulsive
disorders are found in early childhood, even if the symptoms only
emerge decades later. A specific clue, for example a separation from
the mother or problems with potty training, is not found in this case
until school age. But this does not mean that there were no such prob-
lems before then.
When Kathrynne was fifteen years old, her parents divorced. An
only child, she had no siblings with whom she could have shared her
feelings during this time, and her mother was overwhelmed by
her own problems. Thus, the schoolgirl developed compulsive struc-
tures. She turned away from her own feelings and orientated herself
to whatever others expected of her.
The father was barely present for Kathrynne at the time. Normally,
the image of the inner father is consolidated in puberty, which
unconsciously influences the choice of partners in later life. In an
intact father relationship, a girl gets to know the male role and learns
how the wife feels comfortable with her husband. Often, a daughter
will seek interactions that align with this model with her own partner.
If the father is not there during puberty, then this schema is missing.
The young woman is uncertain, because she carries no corresponding
pattern within herself and often selects partners that do not suit her—
she is in doubt about her feelings and does not know if a relationship
feels “right” or not.
In the fifth hour of therapy, the client is instructed during relax-
ation to conjure the inner image of a house. It looks as if it was painted
by a child. Square, two-dimensional, with a pointed red roof. It stands
in a field. The sky is blue. The air is cool.
T: Where are you by this house?

C: I’m standing in front of it, looking at it.
C: Very unreal. As if it weren’t really there.
T: How does that feel, that this house seems so unreal?
C: It’s sad. And a little lonely.
C: Look at what’s behind it.
T: Good. Then go around the house and have a look.
C: The house is as thin as a piece of paper.
[When the client sees this thin, barely existing house, it makes her sad.
She says the sadness is sitting in her body just below her throat. The ther-
apist suggests mentally entering through an orifice and travelling there in
order to see the sadness as if it were a being.]
T: What does the sadness look like?
C: The first thing that comes to mind is a bear.
T: What expression does this bear have, what is it feeling?
C: He is pushed into a corner and furious. Locked up behind bars.
T: What is the bear feeling?
C: He would like to get out and away.
T: And if he can get out and away, what does he gain from that?
C: Freedom and peace of mind.
T: Yes. What would you like to do now?
C: Let him out.
T: Then open up the cage and allow the bear to leave. Tell him perhaps:
“I saw in your eyes that it must have been cramped and suffocating
in there for you, and I sensed that you wanted to go and have your
freedom and peace of mind. Now I’m here for you to let you out.”
What is the bear doing now?
C: He’s coming out, but he’s not going away.
T: What could be wrong with the bear, if he comes out but doesn’t go
away?
C: Maybe he’s afraid.
T: Would you like to touch the bear, stroke him or pet him a little? Is
that possible? Maybe tell him that he doesn’t need to be afraid.
C: The bear calmed down a bit.
T: How’s that for you?
C: I calm down too. [She cries.]
T: Could you imagine the bear becoming your friend?
C: I think so.
[The therapist suggests that the client should tell the story of the house
to the bear—that it looks as thin as a sheet of paper.]
T: What does the bear think of that? What is his advice?
C: He becomes quite angry and thinks that I should maybe just leave it
behind and go away from the house.
T: And what do you say to the bear when he says to leave it?
C: I say that I would have no home then.
[The therapist reminds her about the beautiful weather and suggests that
the client go with her new friend to the house. Perhaps something has
changed there in the meantime. That is indeed the case: the house has
become thicker, if only by a few centimetres; it feels as if it is made of
stone, and it even has a wooden door.]
T: Now that you’re standing in front of the house, what would you like
to do?
C: I’d like to go in. But it isn’t thick enough.
T: Then go on and try to open the door. Who knows what you might
see when you open the door.
C: It opens. But inside, everything is like . . . as if it were pressed
together. I can’t really go in.
[The therapist says that Mrs B should tell the house that it doesn’t have
to pull itself together.]
T: “I understand that there were times in which it was necessary to
contract, but you don’t have to do this any more for me. You can
make yourself bigger again. You can decide these things for yourself.”
How does the house respond now?
C: It’s a bit wider now. But it’s going very slowly. And the lawn behind
it is pushing against it.
T: Perhaps you should ask the lawn why it’s pushing against it?
C: It’s pretty angry right now.
T: And if you were the grass, how would you feel?
C: As if I were being pushed away.
T: What is it that this grass needs?
C: A place where it can spread out. [She cries.]
T: Can you conjure a place in your mind’s eye where there is no grass
yet, and invite it to spread out there? As far as it wants? And tell the
lawn that you have seen his anger and that you can imagine what it’s
like when he feels constricted. And that you’ve found the space for
him that he needs to develop.
The client is crying incessantly. In order to not unnecessarily

burden her, the therapist ends the session. In the follow-up discussion,
he explains that the house is usually a mirror of one’s personality.
Kathrynne B is in the process of opening it—opening herself. But a
long way still lay ahead.
The stomach pains, which were the primary reason to start the
therapy, are the topic of the fewest sessions. They disappear over the
course of the next few weeks, as unnoticed as the various compul-
sions.
CHAPTER FIVE
Outlook: imagination can

do even more
n the previous chapters of this book, interested readers have seen
I the many possibilities to harness the power of inner images. In the

beginning was an overview of the different aspects of everyday
life, followed by examples from medicine, and finally the case studies
from CIP gave intimate insights into the therapeutic practice. But
other goals can be achieved by using the imagination.
The workplace is another area in which the potential of imagina-
tion sessions can be usefully utilised. That the power of inner images
can also develop usefully in companies and businesses is a relatively
new finding, and practical applications are still at the beginning of
scientific exploration. However, promising first results have been
obtained at the Berlin Mind Institute, which is why a coaching depart-
ment for business clients and a research department for the transfer-
ence of clinical methods to business have been opened recently.
Mental and physical health is important not only in private every-
day life, but also in professional life. According to a publication by the
Federal Association of Company Health Insurance Funds in Germany,
mental disorders are now the third leading cause of sick leave and the
leading cause for early retirement. The origins of these disorders are
often in the companies themselves. They are “homemade”. And their
143
victims can be found at all levels. There are lonely managers as well
as frustrated and demotivated subordinates. Whether it is perfor-
mance pressure, bullying, lack of integration into decision-making
processes, boundary crossings, concealing insecurity or incompetence
coupled with pompousness, there are numerous examples of how the
professional everyday lives of employees are made so off-putting that
they become ill.
How can inner images be worked with in this environment
between desk, workbench, computer, and PowerPoint presentations?
And how can these pictures help to solve the problems outlined
above?
Classic business psychology has only limited usefulness. Its aim is
not so much the well-being of the workforce and more the optimisa-
tion of work processes and business goals. The Mind Institute has,
therefore, blazed a new trail, in close co-operation with medium-sized
companies and larger companies in Germany. Some company execu-
tives complained about an above average number of sick leaves:
hence, they were all ready to participate in an unusual experiment.
They opened their doors to methods of clinical psychology that are
otherwise applied only in a therapeutic practice.
Specifically, managers and staff participated in sessions where they
sat in the company of a therapist, undisturbed by the rest of the work-
force, closed their eyes and imagined company problems in a
daydream. They appeared during the imagination sessions in alien-
ated forms and so became visible, which otherwise would probably
not have happened. Up to that point, the conflicts had been discussed
in only very few cases.
More than thirty executives from different sectors saw their
company or themselves symbolically in the imagination. The inner
images revealed to them the state their business was in currently. They
brought its “soul” to light.
Examples: a company appeared as a ghost in a daydream of its
owner—it was a company in which, according to workers, often
“much ado about nothing” happened and in which the representa-
tions of the executives were regarded as “hot air”. A manager saw
himself as a plough horse pulling a heavy load. Another experienced
himself as a bee in the hive.
In accordance with CIP, the solutions to the conflicts in these cases
were developed in the daydreams themselves: the ghost needed
OUTLOOK: IMAGINATION CAN DO EVEN MORE 145
harmony and satisfaction; the plough horse needed relaxation; the

industrious bee a rest and time for itself . . .
Individual coaching with a selection of employees who are each
disseminators or leaders of opinion can ideally radiate to others in
such a way that it improves the morale and psychological health in an
entire company. Additionally, a group imagination session can recog-
nise and improve the dynamic within the group: the team members
relax in the same room and develop a common image in their imagi-
nations. This shows the kind of co-operation achieved, as well as who
is the leader of opinion and who feels isolated or marginalised. The
images that emerge in such group imagination sessions anchor them-
selves in the subconscious minds of the employees and do not let go
until a solution is found.
During the work with companies, we also developed psycho-
dynamic methods primarily for business use. A method of association
with colours has recently been published (Kretschmar & Meinel,
2015). We think that clinical psychology and business psychology can
mutually benefit from each other by transferring tested methods into
the other field, respectively.
REFERENCES
Achterberg, J. (1994). Rituals of Healing: Using Imagery for Health and

Wellness. New York: Bantam.
Blohm, W. (2006). Selbsthypnose und Hypnotherapie. Munich: mvg.
Coué, E. (1922). Self Mastery Through Conscious Autosuggestion. Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Eberspächer, H. (2011). Gut sein, wenn’s drauf ankommt. Munich: Carl
Hanser.
Ernst, H. (2011). Innenwelten. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
Ernst, H. (2014). Psychologie ist sich selbst und andere besser verstehen.
Psychologie Heute, Oktober 2014, pp. 44–48.
Erstling, T. (2011). Krebs mit inneren Bildern behandeln. Ahlerstedt: Param
Etcoff, N. (2001). Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty. New York:
Anchor.
Faulstich, J. (2006). Das heilende Bewusstsein. Munich: Knaur.
Flaubert, G. (1997). Selected Letters, G. Wall (Trans.). London: Penguin.
Freitag, E. F. (1983). Kraftzentrale Unterbewusstsein. Munich: Goldmann.
Gronwald, S. (2010). Fit auf den Punkt. Stern, 3: 66–78.
Grün, A. (2011). Die heilsame Kraft der inneren Bilder. Freiburg: Kreuz.
Hill, C. E. (1996). Working with Dreams in Psychotherapy. New York:
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Höfler, N. (2013). Träumen. Nichts tun. Lange duschen – Interview mit dem
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Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht.
Irmey, G. (2007). Heilimpulse bei Krebs: Von der Hoffnung zum Vertrauen: Ihr
Wegweiser für ein Therapiekonzept. Stuttgart: Haug.
Johnson, R. A. (1986). Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for
Personal Growth. New York: HarperCollins.
Jung, C. G. (1969). The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (2nd edn).
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Kottje-Birnbacher, L. (2005). Der Tagtraum als Therapeutikum –
Affektsteuerung durch Imaginationen (Lecture given at the 55th
Lindauer Psychotherapyweeks).
Kretschmar, T., & Meinel, J. (2015). Using colors in a novel association
technique to explore the mental representations of corporate leaders.
Socioanalysis, 17: 12–26.
Lambert, F. (1977). Autosuggestive Krankheitsbekämpfung (revised edition).
Karlsruhe: Schwabe.
Leuner, H. (1984). Guided Affective Imagery. New York: Thieme-Stratton.
Leuner, H. (1994). Lehrbuch der Katathym-imaginativen Psychotherapie –
Grundstufe, Mittelstufe, Oberstufe. Munich: Huber.
Lindemann, H. (2011). Autogenes Training. Munich: Goldmann.
Miller, A. (2008). The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self.
New York: Basic Books.
Morley, H. (1856). Cornelius Agrippa: The Life of Henry Cornelius Agrippa von
Nettesheim, Volume 1. London: Chapman & Hall.
Reddemann, L. (2014). Psychodynamisch Imaginative Traumatherapie: PITT®.
Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
Reddemann, L., Eng, V., & Lücke, S. (2007). Imagination als heilsame Kraft.
Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
Reuter, E. (2010). Leben trotz Krebs – eine Farbe mehr. Stuttgart: Schattauer.
Rüegg, J. C. (2010). Mind & Body: Wie unser Gehirn die Gesundheit beeinflusst.
Stuttgart: Schattauer.
Siegel, B. (1986). Love, Medicine & Miracles. Fort Mill: Quill.
Simonton, O. C. (1978). Getting Well Again. Toronto: Bantham.
UKB (2016). Biofeedback bekämpft Kopfschmerzen ohne Medikamente.
Methode nutzt den Einfluss von Gedanken auf körperliche Prozesse.
www.ukb.uni-bonn.de/42256BC8002AF3E7/vwWebPagesByID/56
C211D7E770037EC1257799002CCE92. Accessed 21 May 2016.
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Ullmann, H. (2009). Die Katathym Imaginative Psychotherapie (KIP) als

psychodynamisch orientiertes Behandlungsverfahren mit hypnothera-
peutischem Hintergrund, Hypnose-ZHH, 4(1&2): 215–236.
Voss, U. (2013). Klarträume als Therapie [Interview with Dr. Ursula Voss
on public radio “radioWissen”]. Bayern 2, 22 February 2013.
Walach, H. (2011). Weg mit den Pillen! Munich: Irisiana.
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Stuttgart: Thieme.
KRETSCHMAR Index_CULLEN index - No. centre 22/09/2016 09:33 Page 151
INDEX
Achterberg, J., 47, 53–54 behaviour(al), 14, 19, 83–84

activation, 17, 50, 53 compulsive, 138
affirmation, 2, 16, 20, 37–38 creative, 8
Alzheimer’s disease, 18 human, 39
anger, 42, 84–85, 102, 114, 120–122, interventions, 124
130, 134, 140–141 patterns, 84
anxiety, xiii, 5–7, 37–38, 59, 70, 79, predisposition, 5
92–93, 107–108, 124–125, 138 therapy, 80, 84, 101, 103, 113, 133
see also: disorder biofeedback, 21–23
attacks, 92 Blohm, W., 34–35
commensurate, 124 B-lymphocytes, 50
-free, 33 burn-out, 105–106
inner, 107 business, 3, 143–145
neurosis, 81
separation, 124 cancer, xi, 27, 30, 42–49, 51–54
social, 38, 66 bone, 48
test, 36 breast, 43, 55
archetypes, 5–6 cells, 43–45, 47, 49–50
athletes, 4, 9, 11, 16–17 defence, 49
autogenic training, 16, 20, 37–38, 39, development, 44
41, 50, 59 laryngeal, 42
autosuggestion, 16, 20 skin, 30
151
152 INDEX
terminal, 42 Coué, E., 16, 24–25

therapy, 53 counter-images, 4
tissue, 48 countertransference, 77
treatment, 42–43, 49, 53
car, 30, 74, 96 depression, xi, 26, 37, 77–78, 88,
case studies 102–103, 105–106
Andy L, 65–72 endogenous, 102
Carol P, 92–101 neurotic, 102
Eva L, 123–133 reactive, 102
Eva S, 43 severe, 66
Helmar Tal, 52–53 development(al), 49, 100 see also:
Katherine Kramer, 33 cancer
Kathrynne B, 138–141 autonomous, 73
Katy M, 3 childhood, 87
Margaret G, 44 dysfunctional, xiii
Oliver S, 29–30, 105–112 evolutionary, 4, 17
Patricia M, 102–105 positive, 7, 112
Sandra B, 51, 54 societal, 88
Sebastian R, 133–138 disgust, 75, 114, 121, 130–131, 136,
Sophie K, 112–123 138
Werner Melle, 48–49 disorder, xi, 64, 143
cave, 75, 86, 131, 135 affective, 102
chemotherapy, 42, 48, 53 bipolar, 102
children, 23, 34, 87–88, 95 anxiety, 92
colour association, 145 borderline, 81
company, 106, 110, 124, 144–145 compulsive, 138
conflict, xiii, 6, 9, 46, 58–59, 61, 65, eating, xi, 26, 36, 65, 112
73, 77, 134, 144 see also: mental, 14, 91, 102, 143
unconscious narcissistic, 88
fundamental, 113 personality, 88
inner, xii, 52, 78 post-traumatic stress, 92–93
undiscovered, 59 psychosomatic, 81, 138
conscious(ness), 8, 10–11, 17, 20–21, dreams, 1, 6–10, 19, 23, 28–33, 36, 39,
32–33, 39, 41, 54, 76, 83, 93 59
see also: unconscious day-, 1, 9–11, 19, 57, 60, 86, 107,
awareness, 8 144
human, 39 dysthymia, 103
internalisation, 8
matters, 61 Eberspächer, H., 12
network, 83 edge of the forest, 65, 69
possession, 6 effectiveness, 5, 36, 43, 53, 61,
sub-, 74, 78, 81, 83, 88, 104, 134, 80–81
145 embodiment, 29
thought, 59 emotion(al), xii, 4–5, 7, 13, 19, 31,
understanding, 83 44–45, 59, 64, 70, 73, 76–78,
INDEX 153
82–85, 88, 96–97, 102, 106, 120, father, 61, 66, 72, 89–90, 103, 105,
126, 133–134, 137 see also: 112–113, 120–121, 123–124, 134,
unconscious 138
affection, 88 figure, 64
constitution, 63 inner, 138
counselling, 42 program, 90
desire, 59 relationship, 138
disturbances, 57 Faulstich, J., 30
effects, 20 feeling (passim)
events, 83 as a being, 84
evocations, 31 carefree, 60
experiences, 13 deepest, 10
honesty, 54 dissatisfied, xii
immersion, 82 exposed, 7
intensity, 5, 61, 74–75 good, 26, 99, 135, 137
nature, 41 happy, 68
negative, 85 intense, 74
pain, 24 light as a feather, 33
positive, 72 negative, xi, 104
prevailing, 25 of a nocturnal dream, 60
primary, 4 of anger, 84
problems, 18, 31 of discomfort, 101
processes, 55 of discontent, xii
processing, 4, 17 of disgust, 75, 130–131
response, 31 of loneliness, 137
security, 24 of luck, 24
state, 70 of panic, 133, 138
sufferings, xi of relaxation, 127
trough, 77 of restlessness, 110
Eng, V., 24–25 of sadness, 102
Epidaurus, 27, 29 of safety, 77
Ernst, H., 9 of strength, 117
Erstling, T., 48–49, 52, 54 of trepidation, 92
Etcoff, N., 2 paralysing, 136
executives, 144 pleasant, 110
positive, 24
family, 18, 30, 36, 44, 48, 66, 88, 91, responses, 42
103, 126 sorry, 30
fantasy, 3, 9–10, 13, 23, 35, 39–41, strong, 5
53, 58, 65, 68, 73 see also: tense, 47
sexual unpleasant, 86
chocolate, 13 worthless, 4
perfect, 47 Flaubert, G., 5
pictures, 38 forest, 64–65, 68–69, 94, 105, 115–116,
repressed, 39 132, 134
154 INDEX
Freitag, E. F., 25, 59, 61, 81–82 imaginative body psychotherapy,

Freud, S., 6, 39, 80 48–50, 53–55
inner child, 87–89
Gronwald, S., 11 insomnia, 27, 31, 105
Grün, A., 3, 6, 26–27 interpretations, 7, 60
Grünewald, S., 7 common, 54
distorted, 6
headaches, 23, 82 intervention, 33, 61, 93, 128
healing while asleep, 27 behavioural, 124
Hill, C. E., 31 emergency, 12
Hoffmann, B., 5, 33–34 method, 36
Höfler, N., 7 therapeutic, 60
Holodynamics, 86 Irmey, G., 45
house, 61, 64, 66, 69–72, 76, 86–87,
89, 107, 116, 120, 128, 137, Johnson, R. A., 40–42
Jung, C. G., 6, 39–42, 46, 80
139–141
Hüther, G., 5
Kottje-Birnbacher, L., 60
hypnosis, 15–17, 19–21, 32–36, 38,
Kretschmar, T., 91, 145
59
hypnotherapy, 33–34, 46
Lambert, F., 14, 37
hypochondria, 123
Leuner, H., 59, 62, 64, 77–79
level, 63, 75–76, 135, 144
illness, 4, 14, 24, 26, 43, 82, 105
advanced, 62, 74, 88–89
imagination (passim) basic, 62–63, 65–66, 70, 73–74, 88
active, 34, 39–42, 46 blood sugar, 134
applied, xii emotional, 126, 133
autogenic, 38 equal, 34
counter-, 55 intermediate, 62, 73, 88
daily, xii multiple, 135
deliberate, 21 normal, 93
exercise, 126 of abstraction, 54
guided, 16 of stress, 18
inner, 51 Lindemann, H., 26, 37, 47
limited, 23 lion, 74, 89
methods, xi tamer, 74
optical, 20 Lücke, S., 24–25
passive, 40 lymphocytes, 50
sessions, 53, 55, 58, 62, 69, 76, 83,
104, 143–145 managers, 144
successful, 58 marshy hollow, 75
therapeutic, 42, 89, 103, 105 meadow, 58, 60, 62–63, 66–68, 73, 75,
training, 115 77–79, 84, 95–96, 98–101, 103,
unconscious, 83 105, 107, 110, 117–118, 126
vivid, 3 flowering, 20, 60
INDEX 155
Meinel, J., 145 perception, 3, 33, 40

memories, 4–6, 36, 87 image, 59
ancestral, 6 of reality, 47
eventful, 65 olfactory, 4
false, 36 pain, 17
hidden, 65 phobia, 37, 81, 134
negative, 18 arachno-, 133–134, 137
painful, 62 place of inner peace, 76, 86–87
positive, xiii placebo, 15, 29
real, 36 positive thinking, 23–26, 61
repressed, 58 pressure, 7, 35, 44, 87
true, 35 blood, 15, 23, 125
mental training, 11 gentle, 80
metastases, 48–50, 52 performance, 144
Miller, A., 87–88 psychological, 86
Morley, H., 18 psychodynamic, 145
mother, 55, 61, 66, 69, 76, 87–89, 103, psycho-education, 82
112, 114, 124–125, 138 psycho-oncologist, 24
dominant, 103 psychotherapy, 31–33, 57, 61, 76–77,
figure, 114 80, 82, 88, 91, 125
god-, 76 body, 48
grand-, 76 imaginative, 48–50, 53–55
-in-law, 34 catathym imaginative, 41, 55, 57,
program, 90 59, 61–62, 65, 76, 81, 95
mountain, 31, 60, 64, 72–73, 76, 78, 84, comprehensive, 82
110–112 depth psychology oriented, 57,
climber, 13 59
scene, 51
top, 30 Reddemann, L., 14, 23–25
muscles, 11, 37, 39, 117 representations, xiii, 5, 11–13,
15–16, 20, 26–27, 47, 49, 51,
neurosis, 81 144 see also: sexual, symbol,
nightmares, 31–32 unconscious
externally induced, 17–18,
object(ive), 2, 40, 122 33
adult, 124 inner, 18, 20
fear-triggering, 93 mental, 2, 11
measure, 79 optical, 11
of fear, 133 picture, 21, 44
relations, 61 Reuter, E., 24–26
studies, 81 river, 12, 16, 63, 67, 126–127, 132,
surrounding, 8 134–135, 137
therapeutic, 89 bank, 126
salt-water, 16
painting, 53, 72, 87, 110, 139 road and water network, 82
156 INDEX
rosebush, 73–74 suggestions, 1, 14–15, 17, 34, 38,

Rüegg, J. C., 17 40, 59, 62, 122
symbol(-ic), 6, 30, 39, 47, 51–52, 55,
sadness, 96–98, 102, 104, 139 58–60, 62–63, 65–66, 68–69, 72–75,
self, 10, 15, 20, 64 77, 92–93, 96, 98, 110, 121, 134,
-asserting, 16 137, 144
-confidence, 76, 103 basic, 70
-contained, 24 -drama, 59
-defence, 101, 131 figures, 6
-delusion, 25 form, 61
-directed, 16 healing, 98
-doubt, 26, 123 hidden, xiii
-esteem, 61 images, 76, 105
-expression, 87 imaginative, 61
-healing, 42, 48 of gratitude, 29
healthy, 87 of hope, 54
-hypnosis, 21, 36, 38 of positive transformation, 54
-image, 3–4, 26 personal, 62
-induced, 38 picture, 22
-influence, 37 positive, 101
-practice, xii predetermined, 60
true, 6, 27, 88 representations, 92
-worth, 4 scenes, 61
sexual(ity), 39, 65, 73 see also:
unconscious T-cells, 52
acts, 10 therapist’s role, 77
assault, 92, 95 tinnitus, 37
contact, 105 tiredness, 26, 74, 86, 131
daydreams, 10 T-lymphocytes, 50
desires, 9 trauma, 24, 31, 87, 92 see also:
dysfunction, 81 disorder
fantasies, 10 therapy, 87
female, 74 tumour, 30, 44, 46, 48–51, 54
hetero-, 73 brain, 46, 124
inexperience, 73 cells, 44–45, 47
intimacy, 74 malignant, 46
part, 73 neuroendocrine, 52
representations, 73
violence, 31 UKB, 22
sickness, 4, 18, 25, 34, 44, 46 Ullmann, H., 58
Siegel, B., 45–47, 54 unconscious(ness), xii–xiii, 6, 8, 11,
Simonton, O. C., 42–45, 47, 51 15–16, 29–30, 33, 37, 39–41, 51,
sports, 1, 11–12, 16, 20 54, 58–59, 61, 72, 77, 108
stomach ache, 138 see also: conscious,
stream, 63, 67–68, 126–127, 134 imagination
INDEX 157
collective, 6, 39 visualisation, 1, 11, 13, 19–20, 30, 40,

conflict, 137 43–45, 47, 49, 51, 63, 84–85,
emotional, 64 87–88, 98
desires, 65 volcano, 75
imagination, 83 Voss, U., 31–32
influence, 138
personal, 6 Walach, H., 25
sexual representations, 73 wellness, 80
wisdom, 82 Wilke, E., 61

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KRETSCHMAR Prelims_Kretschmar 22/09/2016 09:27 Page i

Thomas Kretschmar and

First published in 2017 by

Copyright © 2017 to Thomas Kretschmar and Martin Tzschaschel.

The rights of Thomas Kretschmar and Martin Tzschaschel to be identified

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A C.I.P. for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978 1 78220 425 1

Translated by Jana Meinel.

Edited, designed and produced by The Studio Publishing Services Ltd

Printed in Great Britain

ABOUT THE AUTHORS ix

We would like to thank Dr Christel Kronenberger and Hannes Sprado,

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Thomas Kretschmar, born 1963, is the managing director of Mind

This book is not only addressed to medical doctors, practitioners,

Daily imagination: the unfortunate event

Applied imagination: the unconscious in alliance

search of dysfunctional developments that had resulted in the client’s

The surprising power

I in our everyday lives: for example, in recollections, in dreams

Inner pictures: our daily companions

2 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

A simple example, yet it demonstrates just how dominant the

Names of models and magazines may be volatile, but the desire to

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 3

must speak in a way that is both accessible and imaginative; otherwise

4 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

Inner pictures can exert incredible power on us—in both a good

Memories: images captured by emotions

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 5

My imaginary characters overwhelm me, pursue me – or rather it is I

Archetypes: images all people share in common

Among the many types of pictures permanently stored in our memo-

6 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

Dreams: messages from the depths of our souls

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 7

Typical motives of dreams, including scenes where the dreamer

8 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

benzene. According to other reports, he imagined the structure as a

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 9

lucid dream through contemplating one simple question: “Am I

Daydreams: mind-slips into a better world

Since childhood, we have wilfully used our imagination to turn our-

10 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 11

Mental training: athletes win, the starving survive

12 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 13

seventy-year-old mountain climber from Bavaria found help in visu-

Imaginings: representations beyond the familiar

14 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

body temperatures. With this technique, called Tummo (Tibetan for

Suggestions: when reactions are instructed

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 15

16 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

event, however, an externally guided imagination is only effective if

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 17

Glimpse into the mind: where do

18 THE POWER OF INNER PICTURES

induced representations, but, rather, the imagination we produce

THE SURPRISING POWER OF REPRESENTATIONS 19