More than half a century ago, Rollo May (1939/1989) observed, "Both the counselor and the counselee are taken out of themselves and become merged in a common psychic entity. The emotions and will of each become part of this new psychic entity" (p. 67). One of May’s students, Virginia Larson (1987), a psychologist who has studied this "new psychic entity," describes a striking incident from her own clinical work:

A new client entered my office for the first appointment. I spontaneously began experiencing very subtle, unusual sensations in my own lower torso. Prior to this appointment I had completed a deep relaxation exercise, so I was quite aware when the subtle, tingly sensations began. I first reflected inwardly trying to discover the source of the mysterious sensations. I asked myself if the new client reminded me of someone I had previously known. I searched myself to ascertain if my own personal memories were related to the tingly sensations. Then I bracketed the experience noting it, watching it, and reflecting further upon it. Finally, my curiosity was overpowering. At a seemingly appropriate point, I described my experience to the young woman client, and asked if my experience had some meaning for her. The young woman immediately replied, "Oh yes, I have cancer of the cervix, and I’ve been having chemotherapy there." (p. 323).

Investigating this phenomenon, which she terms "psychotherapeutic resonance," Larson found that many therapists report a momentary merging of the boundary between themselves and a client that in its intensity exceeds empathy and rapport (see also Sterling & Bugental, 1993, on the "meld" experience of therapist with client). In psychotherapeutic resonance, the therapist evidences immediate non-verbal understanding of feelings the client has not acknowledged, may directly experience physical sensations the client is experiencing, and the therapist and client become synchronized in even tiny movement patterns. Is the therapist unconsciously tuning into a subtle field of information carried by the client?

Early in my career, I had the good fortune of observing first hand the therapeutic mastery of Milton Erickson, Alexander Lowen, Peg Elliott Mayo, Carl Rogers, and Virginia Satir. I was many times present when one of these gifted clinicians would provide a demonstration for trainees. Their skills sometimes seemed uncanny. How did they know what this person needed? I would study transcriptions of their clinical work, hoping to discern their secrets. The most interesting pattern I could detect was their ability to offer a creative and unexpected intervention at the moment of therapeutic opportunity, impossible to acquire by studying transcripts, and often quite different from their trademark techniques, yet strikingly attuned, plausibly through resonance, to the client’s unique needs. I have witnessed Carl Rogers being decidedly directive ("Steven, I don’t think you should marry her!"); Virginia Satir cut to the core of a psychodynamic conflict with no reference to the person’s family or family of origin; and Alexander Lowen get to the heart of a problem with no mention of the person’s posture or bodily tensions. If their interventions were not based on their established clinical approach, to what, I wondered, were they attuning themselves? I have come to think of this elusive "what" as the client’s mythic field. I believe, in fact, that many effective therapists are high in "psychotherapeutic resonance," able to spontaneously attune themselves to the client’s "field," accurately obtaining information that is not transmitted through even the most subtle sensory cues.

Many phenomena that are difficult to account for in psychotherapy, such as the enormous power of projective identification (e.g., a seasoned child psychiatrist observed that she knows she is dealing with a victim of child abuse when she experiences an irrational "impulse to abuse the child"—cited in Gabbard, 1994, p. 71), have been attributed to "subtle sensory cues." I would reverse the argument—wherever subliminal sensory cues are the explanation of last resort, consider the possibility that a field of information is also involved. I myself have learned, when in a clinical situation and unsure about what I should do next, to quiet my inner chatter, shift my attention to the "field" the client brings into the room, and allow it to inform my responses. This often results in the subjective experience that I am tuning into a normally imperceptible atmosphere carried by the client. After consciously shifting my attention to the client’s hypothetical "field," new understanding and interventions may come in a flash. Such moments of insight sometimes seem to tap into information about the client to which I do not have any apparent access but that is subsequently confirmed. Whether shifting my attention to the client’s "field" is a way of actually attuning myself to a dimension of the clinical situation that transcends sensory cues or is just a helpful bit of self-deception, I believe the maneuver makes me a better therapist.