Live i can feel it

I Can Feel You (Live) by Bethel Music

Themes:: DeclarationPresence
Genres:: Female Lead
Writers:: Daniel MacKenzie, Gabriel Wilson, Hunter Thompson, Ian McIntosh, Jenn Johnson, Steffany Frizzell
Label:: Bethel Music
Year:: 2014
mtID:: 1841

Verse 1

The wind and waves surround me
And I’m tossed
Feel like I’m drowning
I am tired I am weak
I need You here with me
‘Cause I can feel the rising tide
But I don’t have
The strength to fight
I feel clouded and confused
I need You here with me

Pre Chorus

In the chaos of the storm
I have drifted far far away
But I call out Your name
And You are just a breath
A breath away

Chorus

Then through the shadows
Your light appears
I’ve known You’re with me
But now it is clear
I can feel You Jesus
All around
Like sun on my skin
Warm to the touch
Here You surround me
And I am held by love
I can feel You Jesus
All around

Verse 2

Now hope is rushing
Through my veins
With everything You’ve rearranged
I am peaceful I am brave
When You’re here with me
All my questions
Find their answers here
When You come
You change the atmosphere
I am focused I am clear
When You’re here with me

Pre Chorus

There is nothing in this world
That can satisfy my soul
Like You do
There is nothing in this world
That can satisfy my soul
Like You do

Chorus

Pre Chorus

There is nothing in this world
That can satisfy my soul
Like You do
There is nothing in this world
That can satisfy my soul
Like You do

Chorus

Though the storm it rages
I won’t be moved
I won't be shaken
I am anchored in You
I can feel You Jesus
All around

I Can Feel YouBethel Music

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I CAN FEEL IT COMING BACK AGAIN - Live

I CAN FEEL IT COMING BACK AGAIN - Live - LETRAS.COM

Home Rock'n'Roll Live I Can Feel It Coming Back Again

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
Her placenta falls to the floor
The angel opens her eyes; the confusion sets in
Before the doctor can even close the door

Lightning crashes, an old mother dies
Her intentions fall to the floor
The angel closes her eyes
The confusion that was hers
Belongs now to the baby down the hall

Oh now feel it coming back again
Like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
Forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it

Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
This moment she's been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes -
Pale blue coloured iris - presents the circle
And puts the glory out to hide, hide

Oh now feel it coming back again
Like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
Forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it

I can feel it coming back again
Like a rolling thunder chasing the wind
Forces pulling from the center of the earth again
I can feel it

Letras Academy

Pronunciation dictionary

Center
Waiting
From
Glory
Mother

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Selling The Drama
Lightning Crashes
I Alone
Turn My Head
All Over You
Pillar Of Davidson
Deep Enough
Everytime I See Your Face
Heaven
Merica
Run To The Water
Ball and Chain
Freaks
Gas Hed Goes West
Ghost
Hands Of a Teacher
Heropsychodreamer
Horse
I Can Feel It Coming Back Again
Insomnia And The Hole In The Universe

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Stay with the Ovsyansk coffin trucks

Last week, Gorky published a review of the recently published correspondence between Viktor Astafyev and Valentin Rasputin, and since the material aroused a certain interest in our audience, we decided at the same time to acquaint readers with the preface to this book. It was written by Valentin Kurbatov, a wonderful critic and friend of famous rural writers.

Since February 24, 2022, all of us have found ourselves in the face of advancing barbarism, violence and lies. In this situation, it is extremely important to preserve at least the remnants of culture and support the values of humanism, including for the sake of the future of Russia. Therefore, the editors of Gorky will continue to talk about books, reminding our readers that there is room for thought and fiction in the world.

Victor Astafiev, Valentin Rasputin. Just letters... M.: Molodaya Gvardiya, 2022. Contents

I will not set dates, because where you are now, probably, there is no word "time" itself, which is meaningless before the concept of "eternity". I am writing you this letter from Mikhailovskoye, which you all have been to in different years and know that here these words and concepts are mysteriously connected, and eternity easily shows through time. And I write in autumn, when the sadness of fading is especially acute.

It so happened that we spent the time of your correspondence knowing each other, meeting, and then making friends. And that's why I read many pages as if they were addressed to me. Yes, at times it was like that when Marya Semyonovna wrote on a typewriter under the dictation of Viktor Petrovich as if both of us and Valentin (obviously, by the relationship of names), so that some of the letters differ only in a few paragraphs. This happened not from saving time, but from unity of breath.

This is just the beginning. Remember, Viktor Petrovich, you wrote to me on November 14, 1974 years old: “Valya Rasputin wrote something completely beyond my mind, amazing in skill, penetration into the soul of a person and the huge task that he shouldered on himself and on his heroes of the story“ Live and Remember ”". And a month later, as I now see (December 20, 1974), they wrote to Valentin himself: “You wrote a very good story, Valya. Highly! I haven’t read such exemplary, dense and deeply national prose in our modern literature for a long time.”

Or half a century later on August 1999 years old Marya Semyonovna writes to you, Valentin (we were on you): “I am little comforted by what the Italian poet said almost six centuries ago,“ And there is no end to life, and edge of torment. Torments really go together in our lives, but life itself, the farther, the more noticeably it goes down... And then, as Pushkin said, "How the days run, multiplying sorrows..." Lord! Some quotes, as if I'm so smart ... "And, right, on the same day to me with the same beginning, only after Pushkin's quote:" But this is not at all because I'm so smart, alas, but rather because to express briefly what is very consonant with me.

Maybe we really were alone for a short time? And if I had known this earlier, how differently life would have been lived and how many things would have been thought and written differently. But what now. Thank God, now I feel them more dearly and hear better. I am writing this not for self-affirmation (what kind of self-affirmation at 77 years old?), but only to explain such a strange beginning of the preface.

* * *

And then, probably, I will leave this letter to my dear departed shadows to turn to you, reader. And as much as one would like not abstractly, but directly and personally, immediately by name without a defamiliarizing generalization (on you, on you!), because what needs to be spoken about in the margins of this correspondence of the most, perhaps, open and the most dear to the Russian reader people. Not writers, I emphasize, but living, loving, suffering people who shared with us the troubled days of a time that was not yet history, but was misfortune, pain, hope, which life always happens, before dressing in protective, impersonal clothes of a common world outlook.

Letters are in front of you, and everyone is free to choose a more right interlocutor and interpret the internal relations of the authors according to their worldview. You can not be embarrassed - do writers have "private" correspondence, when we, without blushing, read the letters of my today's Mikhailovsky neighbor Alexander Sergeyevich to Natalya Nikolaevna: "What a fool you are, my angel! Of course, I will not worry that you will miss three days without a letter, just as I will not become jealous if you waltz with the cavalry guard three times in a row. How Sofya Andreevna’s letters to Lev Nikolaevich were read (from room to room!): “At night I thought it over, and this is what became painfully clear to me: with one hand you caressed me, and with the other you showed the knife.” After that, any correspondence is general.

And only by the proximity of time and the knowledge of the three participants in the correspondence I will speak about my personal perception and I apologize if it sometimes seems too private or too arbitrary. I am not a scientist, not a commentator, but only an interested witness who, no, no, will flash here as a "character".

How strange! It turns out that we, getting used to literary texts, and in correspondence are looking for artists first of all, so that the landscape, image, plot, so that they are them, and not us. And now I want to be there - in Atalanka, Ovsyanka, Irkutsk, on the Angara and the Yenisei. And they are gone, as if there were no rains and snows, our dependence on nature, and only common concerns have gone. So, I thought, now, after analyzing the story “Live and Remember”, this is how the dialogue of artists will go - analyzes, the origins of plots, slips of ideas, naming prototypes - just substitute later and shrewdly exclaim: “Ah, this is where ... "You won't wait and you won't know from the letters - where is Nastya from "Live and Remember", where is Anna from "The Deadline", Pashuta from the story "To the same land" or Tamara Ivanovna from the story "Ivan's daughter, Ivan's mother", although noticed in the margins that they are not invented, but taken from real life. And the "chronology of intentions" - when, what, where it came from - you can't lure. There will be no dates, no "real cases", and you will soon realize that letters and books are written at different tables.

Year after year in letters life, life, publishing worries, censorship, domestic troubles, rare joys ... No, no, and mischief, as in happily funny letters from both after a trip to Japan, where they loved one and the other and were see" (how Viktor Petrovich must not mimic someone else's speech!). And most importantly, they seem to keep their business in secret so as not to jinx it. They constantly ask each other if it’s working, but they don’t let it out.

If you look at this correspondence alone, it will seem that after "Live and Remember" Viktor Petrovich read from Valentin Grigorievich only "What to tell the crow?" with the same tenderness and admiration - "such a worldview, such penetration into oneself, into one's own, and therefore, the human soul, such transcendental penetration into sound painting, the subtleties of style and word ... and you have not yet been able to achieve, although I very much I love Live and Remember. And Valentin Grigorievich, no, no, will talk about the “Sad Detective”, about the “Tsar Fish” with the same height, but they won’t spoil each other especially, because both, like Viktor Petrovich, are sure that “the delight of a professionally working person is not for what".

This is understandable, but it’s still a pity that they rarely talk about their books, because sometimes in such conversations something distant is revealed, which determines a lot in the fate, and there in the worldview of both. And then, when fate and time take power over the mind and heart, it explains a lot in why this fate and time begin to breed artists.

A will start breeding soon. After 1986, Viktor Petrovich would fall silent and only Marya Semyonovna would write, pretending to write for two. And Valentin Grigoryevich would write to her in the secret hope that she would read it to Viktor Petrovich, and everyone would be able to deceive themselves that they were together. And they will become “not together” due to a different understanding of the combat time of “perestroika”, when, in general, we all became “not together”, and until we have gained the former unity.

I’m now looking at my correspondence with Valentin Grigorievich and Viktor Petrovich of that time and I’m in a hurry to scroll through it and forget it - everything is so tense and anxious there, everything is on the breakdown. And what happiness, I think, that they took Marya Semyonovna as an intermediary for this hour. Yes, and they didn’t take it, but she herself, with a loving heart, protected them from a direct collision.

In the correspondence there is no mention of the “Word to the People” of 1991, which was signed by Valentin Grigorievich and which even today reprint from letter to letter with shame for your then deafness, and there is no call “Crush the reptile!” 1993 years, signed (neither understood nor imagined) by D.S. Likhachev and Viktor Petrovich - a terrorist document, even now in 1917, or even 1937! At the same time, out of typographic laziness, out of deliberate anger (to make it more noticeable!) Viktor Petrovich signed last - the entire list from Adamovich to Chulaki alphabetically, and Astafiev for Chulaki as an exclamation point. There is no mention in the correspondence, but the discrepancy is becoming clearer. And in a letter to me after the "Word to the People" Viktor Petrovich also writes that he will no longer get along with Belov, but with Valentin Grigorievich "not without awkwardness, but he would have seen", and already at 1992 coldly notes that Valentin Grigorievich also planted “healthy doubts” in him, so that in 1994 after “Reptile” and just in my forehead - how much I will “with my Rasputin serve the fascism of Zyuganov and Prokhanov.”

Why is it so difficult and given to me to talk about this part of the correspondence - so I do not want to return to the days of the general stupefaction of the left and right, equally wrong before God. That is why it is a pity that there is little about books in the letters - sometimes the reasons for mutual misunderstanding grow in indirect remarks. At least after the warm praises of "Live and Remember", Viktor Petrovich reproaches Valentin Grigorievich for the ending of the story. That in life Nastya would not drown herself with a child, but "get lost in any timber industry - just spit." And in the same place he himself suggests: "something moral, conscience, inability to budge did not allow?" He guesses correctly, but still asks for correction and even finds “something from the evil one” in the sad ending of the story.

I remember: Vladimir Lichutin and I said that it was “not for life”, that such women often raised children in its North, and at least something. And only "moral something" was for Valentin Grigorievich higher than the "truth of life". Pushkin, too, finished the first version of "Boris" "according to the truth of life" - the people shouted: "Long live Tsar Dimitri Ivanovich!" And in the press, the highest was said - “the people are silent”, because there was God's truth about the people, even if he had not yet heard this truth in himself. So Valentin Grigorievich had the highest. That "silent people" did not allow Nastya to hide in the timber industry. Why did this supreme truth shock the Japanese translator Haruko-san so much that she was baptized into Orthodoxy with the name Anastasia in order to prolong this holy truth in the world.

This different understanding of the people hurt both of them. In 1994, Viktor Petrovich complained to me: “Rasputin in Pravda accused me of being cut off from the people. From what people?", and then it is bitter and touchy that this is the people - and everyone around by name. But didn’t Valentin Grigoryevich also know these people by name and see their meanness (read in his letters to Viktor Petrovich what this “people” did in his village, and even in the Irkutsk apartment - how much evil and some kind of vengeful impurity), but only when he wrote this word, he raised it to Pushkin's height and always kept the people there, and the people heard this highest intercession, pulled themselves up and loved with brotherly and paternal care. And Viktor Petrovich remained with the "Ovsyansky coffin trucks", with the evil spirits of the "Sad Detective", with the everyday truth. And he also loved and understood, but did not put a capital letter in the spelling of this word to the end. And he had all sorts of people, and there was enough good in abundance, but still they were all “people”, fellow countrymen and comrades, and not “the people”, whom he feared, or even hated because this generalized “people "A sea of evil was made and destinies were broken, including in his family. They had different “peoples”, and both were Russians, like Viktor Petrovich and Valentin Grigorievich themselves, and it’s a pity that they didn’t agree on this main thing.

Listening to this discrepancy and suffering from it in those same years, I even thought once that at this critical time only the writers themselves seemed to remain this higher people, while "people" ran around political camps and amused themselves with confrontation. They (Rasputin, Shukshin, Astafiev, Belov, Nosov - the line, thank God, was long and strong) kept in their word the golden heart of the people, so that one day they would shame the "people" who had lost themselves. That is why, in 1990, Valentin Grigorievich still thinks of visiting Viktor Petrovich with Krupin, and in 9On the 5th, Viktor Petrovich, angry at Rasputin for the “weakened” story “Senya is going”, writes to me (also, it’s true, in the hope that I will “tell”) that he doesn’t need “under Shukshin”, because “the best Valentine is this reading is difficult, you have to prepare for it, cleanse yourself a little, as before confession.” In divergence they don't say that. And in 1998, he was just waiting for him and Belov at the St. Petersburg Conference of Libraries and at Literary Evenings in Ovsyanka. Of course, he won’t wait, and partly because of this, he won’t completely soften his heart. Then I read aloud to my sick mother Viktor Petrovich's "Pestrukha", dedicated to Valentin Grigorievich, wept with her and never said that, according to my stories about both, they have long been relatives to her, "do not talk." She would not have understood, just as Anna and Daria would not have understood, and now Pashuta and Tamara Ivanovna, perhaps, would have thought.

Enough about that. I just didn’t want to bypass this sore subject - all the same, knowledgeable readers would ask, and even now they are asking angrily. Let us leave this bitter divergence on the conscience of time, which has acquired too many "truths" that appear when the "Way, Truth and Life" is lost sight of.

It is better to read into the light and the outgoing truth, which does not even go away, but has truly gone, just as that literature has gone, in which a common heart was still heard. I have already quoted how Viktor Petrovich read and heard "Live and Remember" and "What to convey to the crow?", what heavenly words he found - he, who already had Tolstoy, "War and Peace" was ready at that time to "reduce" (" lord's novel). And Valentin Grigorievich was strict by the word, and from him a random word, and even more so praise, was not to be heard. But look how he says about the brightest chapters of The Last Bow: "This is already a kind of ascension of the letter and its radiance. " And about "Tsar Fish": "I am not only amazed, but also suppressed by this power and accuracy, and I feel like a child who for the first time opened his eyes to the world of God." It seems that both of them were amazed that God marked them with a wonderful gift of adding words and sometimes peered into themselves with an almost "outside view". And they could not afford an approximate word, because this Word did not belong to them.

Although here they are different. Viktor Petrovich knew his high position as a writer, and at the slightest infringement on him, he “sent” an encroaching person and wrote tough letters to “great authorities” on problems close to him, whether it concerned young writers or his long persecution after the publication of the story “Catching minnows in Georgia”. And Valentin Grigorievich writes to Marya Semyonovna that "he never took himself seriously as a writer and accepted all praises and ranks with fear" and was afraid that he was "mistaken for another. " There was no self-abasement here, but there was the same feeling and understanding of the height of the Russian word, which, as he once wrote to me, "was given" to Viktor Petrovich on its own, so that his "dough" fell over the edge - you can’t hold it, but to him, Valentin Grigorievich, it was necessary "to add yeast all the time to rise."

And perhaps, due to a misunderstanding, I lament that there are few actual writings in the correspondence, except for the inevitable working mentions of editorial boards and secretariats. And one should just be surprised that out of the tightness of family troubles, the loss of children, the deaths of loved ones, an unsettled life, and, more recently, forced deputyship and advisership, they, as if hiding in a secret corner, write the best books, highlighting and elevating this human life to the point of a miracle of a common, mysteriously embracing life.

And this deputation and all sorts of Soviets, where they were elected for their conscience, were already more a burden and a burden for them. Viktor Petrovich knew how to shake off this burden more cleverly and Valentin Grigorievich kept calling to work, and not to “fight”, and Valentin Grigorievich himself knew that a good book would really do more, but, seeing the pain of the country, he understood that “writers are the only ones who still trying to talk about it." And here again is the national property in him: “Will they ask us for this?” And they will not ask in the Soviets, but in heaven, where there is a special demand from a Russian person.

Sometimes you think with anger that all the “river benders” and destroyers of nature “on purpose” hatched out their ideas in order to quickly exhaust the conscience of the people. “They understand very well,” writes Valentin Grigorievich, “that a writer is a writer because he does not have an elephant skin and not a heart of stone, and any such blow for him is like a bullet wound.” So Viktor Petrovich was almost not joking, saying that they would build the Baikal Combine - and there would be one less good writer, all of them would go to the fight (now we know how much heart these Baikal worries cost Valentin Grigorievich). And Viktor Petrovich, with his soldier’s and orphanage experience, from these “optional attacks” (he already knew how to say, he knew how!) Can either quietly evade or slam the door, and Valentin Grigorievich will pull the strap, because it’s not strangers, but more often it is his friends who bring him into various Committees and as if they don’t see that they are letting him into “human shields”, because he has a conscience and pain, and they often have “party interests”. It’s as if they don’t know him and don’t see that “being in sight” for him is “mortal torment”.

They were supposed to part, no matter how painful it sounds. In that drawn-out hour of nervous delight and the confusion of the majority, Viktor Petrovich listened more to the street, while Valentin Grigoryevich listened to his heart and not only couldn’t, didn’t know how to change - but didn’t want to, because his strong character and stern mind, which he knew how to keep in check , did not allow him to change what was sacred for the heart, for the people's part of it. They were different. Viktor Petrovich is all outside, and Valentin Grigorievich is all inside: two halves of one Russian heart. All apart and all together - "Russia cannot be understood with the mind." Even the names, if you look at the semantics: Valentin is strong, healthy, and who was stronger and spiritually healthier than Valentin Grigorievich at that time, and Viktor is the winner. Not in one war, but in the whole painful life. Another would have given up a hundred times. The poem of Petrarch, which Marya Semyonovna quoted, “There is no end to life, and the edge of torment”, was the first to resonate in the heart of Viktor Petrovich, and he quoted it so often that it seemed he wrote it himself - so much surmounted suffering fit into this life .

And how surprising and inevitable, and again very Russian, that Marya Semyonovna became an intermediary between them for a decade and a half. And how precious is this part of the correspondence, where Marya Semyonovna beats between them and motherly Russian instinct holds both them and our heart. She was life itself. I wrote a preface to her "The Chosen One" and called it "A Candle Lit at Both Ends". It was different burning. Viktor Petrovich wrote his life, reading it from heaven (as childhood, war, light and darkness of life were written in the common human destiny), and she wrote "as it is", "as it really was." Those who have read "The Merry Soldier" by Viktor Petrovich and her "Signs of Life" will immediately understand the difference. Viktor Petrovich was indignant after reading (and he knew how to do it with a real flame), and she only said in confusion: "Vitya, everything is true there." And what is there to do if one truth can be read so differently? Beloved by Viktor Petrovich, because of the complete opposite of the gift, Milorad Pavich wrote for good reason that some read men's pages in books, and others women's pages, and they only together are life.

And it was she who softened Viktor Petrovich’s heart when he wrote in Literaturnaya Gazeta in 1991, “as for the ‘well-wishers’ who suddenly rejoiced at our alleged disagreement with Rasputin and Belov in life and work, then my front-line friends, and former orphans can confirm that I never betrayed my comrades and friends. And my friends in literature will confirm that I have not forgotten how to respect the beliefs of other people, no matter how they differ from mine. And how important and dear it was to Valentin Grigorievich: “The heaviness in my soul was half removed. We will remove the rest at the meeting (then, at 1992, he still hoped for her). If you and Viktor Petrovich and I stop understanding each other, things are going to be really bad. How happy all the punks were, hoping that we would disperse in earnest, with what readiness they rushed to help disperse ... "

But the "punks" did not leave their efforts and would have achieved their goal. Yes, I achieved half of it, if not for Marya Semyonovna, who herself held on to poetry and the beauty of the world (and in 86 she kept asking God to prolong her life, because "she didn't look at the wide world, she didn't rejoice"). When Valentin Grigorievich confessed to her that "he learned a lot from Viktor Petrovich in writing, and from you - in life", then now every reader of their correspondence will see how much one could really learn "in life" from Marya Semyonovna from her multi-page letters, simple and long, like a conversation in the twilight, when the worries of the day recede and the word takes the heart.

All public worries and confrontations will seem small when you see how often she “picks herself up under her arms” and, at the last fatigue, gets up to “help Vita” in his heavy work, collect archives, fuss about orphaned grandchildren who are nearby and who are still more sadness-care than consolation, to worry about the sick father-in-law, about whom ("his dad") Viktor Petrovich wrote a lot of things out of resentment, but now she wants to "rehabilitate him, because he gave the world such a person." And everything is somehow nearby - Vologda, Perm, close, distant. There is enough love and heart for everyone. And when Viktor Petrovich dies, they will all hold on to him in ongoing correspondence, and there, thank God, in meetings and long conversations - "it became so easy, as if I had talked with Viktor Petrovich."

And we saw each other (Marya Semyonovna, Valentin Grigorievich and I) for the last time in July 2009, after we visited Viktor Petrovich at the cemetery and Valentin Grigorievich said that, perhaps, because it took too long they didn’t see each other and didn’t speak in letters, he doesn’t feel the death of Viktor Petrovich, but as if he went out for a minute for some book to return and hotly (that’s right!) finish. What they would talk about after so many years of divergence and everything that has happened to the country, I don’t know, but I’m quite sure that even before the conversation they would immediately embrace, hiding their eyes from each other for a minute, and in a moment of this loving, forgiving, everything between them and us of a resolving embrace, something would have happened in the very heart of Russia, something dear and necessary.

And when, after returning from the cemetery, Valentin Grigorievich hugged Marya Semyonovna, I clearly saw how Viktor Petrovich smiled in the doorway, looking at them, and his face was bright and grateful to life for its wisdom and mercy. I am not composing anything "for poetry". But I just see, and that's it. Yes, and you, you, the reader, you see, otherwise why are we talking?

With sad tenderness I close this, unfortunately, for various reasons, incomplete correspondence between the two great artists and the reconciling Marya Semyonovna, and I see with acute sadness that we all remained “on the other side” of an irrevocably gone life, that time has not gone forward, but somewhere "aside" from what seemed to us natural and necessary in the spiritual dispensation of life. That correspondence is already a "monument" of Russian culture and the history of critical years. And "The Last Bow" was truly the last.

But I console myself with the fact that when all the epistolary heritage of Valentin Grigorievich is collected (and it is hardly less than that of Viktor Petrovich), we will see both life and history more fully, brighter, closer, more natural. And "that shore" will turn out to be a part of this, because this river is not Leta, but still the same mother-life, which "has no end", and we are all part of her heavenly vault, and the Russian word is all with God, and everything is God .

Valentin Kurbatov

Mikhailovskoye, October 2016

Is this your psychologist? - Live!

We constantly choose in our life: auto mechanic, president, hairdresser, fitness instructor, future husband, meditation guru, teacher for a child. And a psychologist, of course, for the soul. And psychologists are good, useless, bad and harmful. By trial and error, I think I learned to distinguish the former from the others. I hope that my simple rules for choosing a good psychologist (with respect to all other persons, let me remain neutral) will help you choose a reliable specialist.

1. Not just talent

Of course, an educated and talented psychologist is a real find. But if among these two qualities to choose a priority, preference should be given in favor of professionalism. A psychologist must have a good basic education (psychological or medical), and no tricks like “he is a psychologist from God, even without a diploma” personally do not work for me. A psychologist from God is a husband, a fortune-teller at the Kursk railway station, my best friend Lyolya or a chatty fellow traveler in a dining car. They can listen, sympathize, show empathy and wipe my nose. But only a specialist can help to understand the problem, see it from different angles, twist and turn and, as a result, remove it. And one that, as they say, "not the first day married." But this is the second criterion.

2. We swam - we know

My psychologist must be experienced. Experience - at least three years (the more the better) of active practice, and the obligatory presence of one's own therapy. What does it mean? And the fact that the psychotherapist himself from time to time must undergo large-scale therapy in the role of not a specialist, but a client. By doing this, he kills two birds with one stone: firstly, he gets an idea of the skin in which I will have to go, and secondly, he learns not to mix professional problems with his personal history.

3. Widely known in narrow circles

My psychologist should be admired not only by my neighbor in the stairwell, who strongly recommends him to me, but also by colleagues of the psychologist himself. In other words, he must be known in professional circles. In addition, publications in scientific and popular publications, reviews of former clients and written recommendations (if clients agree to advertise themselves) always add weight to the figure of a specialist. All this information can be easily found on the web.

4. The meeting place cannot be changed

My psychologist never rushes to my house, does not make appointments (even the first!) in the park near the fountain or in the diner. He must have a specially equipped place for receiving clients - this is a very important condition. Suitable options: an office at a well-known psychological center, an apartment for consultations, a separate office for receiving clients at home (completely isolated from noise, sudden intrusions of household members, etc.) The interior of this office is not so important. Some are limited to leather armchairs and dark curtains on the windows, others arrange a real Taj Mahal with brocade pillows and Persian carpets. Personally, it is easier for me to communicate with a specialist surrounded by modest and strict pieces of furniture and decor, of which the brightest is a napkin holder on the table.

5. The boundaries are closed

Whatever you tell him during the sessions, the psychologist must remain a coach and only a coach. There can be no friendship, flirting, sex during therapy. If you feel that the case smells of kerosene, immediately take your feet. Any therapy in which the boundaries of the psychologist-client relationship begin to blur and become personal threatens not only with failure, but also with additional emotional experiences. Personal relationships can be formed after the end of the course, but in this case, the next time someone else will become your psychologist.

6. Against the background of these vile faces, I'm just an angel…

If you hear criticism of colleagues from a psychologist, this is a sure sign not to start a counseling course with this specialist. You can arrange a check right at the first meeting by complaining about one of the well-known psychologists who allegedly did not help you, left you in a difficult situation and did not show proper sympathy. For any specialist, therapy is a job, nothing more. And in work, a clear look, sobriety, calmness, endurance and a clear course are welcome. If a specialist willingly entered into gossip about competitors, what kind of work are we talking about?

7. Land of advice

A good psychologist never gives specific advice, but only helps the client to understand his problem and brings him as close as possible to the host of possible solutions. In any case, the decision is made only by you and with all responsibility. A bad psychologist will begin to advise immediately and a lot, saying: "I had Vasya Pupkin with exactly the same problem ..."

8. Pediculosis-oriented psychosis with elements of autonomic apathy of the pancreas

A good psychologist doesn't make diagnoses, doesn't hang labels, and doesn't embellish his speech with hard-to-pronounce terms that immediately make my eye twitch. As soon as I feel that I do not understand a word of my analyst's speeches, I hasten to say goodbye to him. Because those 50 minutes that a standard session takes should be spent on debriefing my flights, and not on finding a common language. I'm sure.

9. A psychologist is not a coin

Contrary to popular belief that the client should like the therapist a lot, I am absolutely against this approach. I can’t baptize children with him and don’t go into reconnaissance. Usually I spend two or three meetings with a psychologist and look at the situation: if my problem has moved even one iota, this is a sure sign that my guru is not in vain eating his bread, which I pay for. And the fact that I’m not particularly drawn to chat with him after the session, have a glass of wine or go to the cinema, is very useful for business.

10. We must, Fedya, we must!

“How come you don't want to study anymore? No, my friend, there are still so many unresolved problems - the field is unplowed. I won't let you go anywhere!" This is definitely not how it should be. A good psychologist helps you deal only with the problem that you voiced, and will never impose his services against your desire.
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