We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the centre hole
that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we value.
Tao te Ching, 11.
Pay attention to the silence.
What's happening when nothing is happening in a group?
This is the group field.
Thirteen (or 30) people sit in a circle,
but it is the climate, the spirit in the centre of the circle where nothing is happening
that determines the nature of the group field.
People's speech determines the content.
But it is the silence, the empty space
that reveals the group's essential energy.
Tao of Leadership, 11.
The second of these quotes was written twenty-five years ago by my longtime friend, John Heider. The first, by Lao Tzu, 2500 years ago! Truths endure. For twenty years I would happily make the trek to meet with my friend, once, occasionally twice a year, to participate in his ongoing groups. These travels took me to California, Florida, and more recently and enduringly, Kansas. And the question occurred more than once (even to me!): what's the magic that would take me thousand's of kilometers to sit for three, sometimes five or even seven days, in a circle of a dozen or so folks -- mostly in silence, just listening?
During our short feedback session, wrapping up Saturday's silent retreat of a few weeks ago, and hearing about the experiences of many of the participants, I was reminded once again that, indeed there is something very special about the group space. One can sit, eyes closed, breathing -- anywhere. One can walk slowly back and forth or round in circles -- anywhere. Or stretch. . . or balance. But something is different in the circle.
'Alone . . . but not alone' was the way in which one of us described her experience. Sitting in one's own, 'protected' space -- but surrounded by like-mindedness, experiencing a shared purpose, focus. Coming into a group, particularly a large and unfamiliar gathering, it's typically the uncertainties, the anxieties that dominate. One often feels alone . . . and most distinctly cut off from the other people. Perhaps this is projection -- but I don't think so. I frequently find myself, 'taking the temperature' of the assemblage, seeing where I fit in, wondering how I measure up, if I'll be accepted (or, in the catastrophic, ignored, even shunned). All distractions, usually contrived in my own apprehension; and certainly detracting from the experience. Being welcomed merely for walking into the room and sitting down is a unique experience.
Close beside this observation were various comments on the shift in the 'social climate' that many noticed. The ease of not talking leveled the playing field for some. Coming into a group, knowing few if any, often applies a particular and peculiar social pressure, amplifying one's natural style, temperament. The shy may become more withdrawn, awkward, uncomfortable; the gregarious, more ebullient, engaging, launching into hyper-social mode. We, in short become caricatures of ourselves, displaying only those extremes of our personality that, in more familiar conditions, have the 'corners rounded off' a bit. When 'small talk' becomes 'no talk', these extremes too are muted; the need, compulsion, reflex to participate thru' speech -- be it witty, sage, self-conscious, or forced (or, God forbid, boring!) -- is removed. And we can let go of the 'dance' that preoccupies and steals our attention.
Many commented on the 'life lessons' -- more life reminders -- arising from walking the labyrinth. Even the luxury that walking in silence affords, of noticing one's thoughts, feelings, sensations (good and bad -- if I'm allowed an evaluative comment) around the simplest of experience, proved to be something of a revelation for some. Impatience, frustration, a (social) sensitivity to 'holding things up' (and the ever in the wings, ever so Canadian apology for same); the urgency to finish, the delay in start, the 'should I pass or slow down' -- all were noticed. . . and quietly resolved or considered or just allowed. Action becomes reflection. 'Fixing', addressing becomes tolerance (maybe!). And we 'sit with' (or in this instance, walk with) a situation, waiting for it to evolve and change (as it most certainly will), released from the compulsion to act on it or even against it.
Metaphors presented to some. Observing the 'illusion' of being behind -- or ahead -- of another, as the labyrinth's track circled back on itself, changed direction, became more central or more peripheral. And applying that observation to the often 'competitive' value we take into life situations; the measuring of how I'm doing in a comparative way ("if I'm ahead of so and so, I must be OK, right?"); instead of the intra-individual (the within self) perspective. The luxury of going at one's own pace.
And finally, trust. Consider the last time you sat in a group of twenty-nine other people, awake and alert -- with your eyes closed, no need or expectation to explain or account for one's behaviour or choices.
I think I know why I found John's groups so compelling, such a pull. These values and others all lived in the 'hole at the centre', in the group field.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
ADD? Just Maybe
So aren't we all just a little ADD (Attention Deficit Disordered)? Don't we all get distracted a little too easily and too often?
Let's just have a quick look at what the big, burgundy book (aka, the psychiatric, diagnostic manual, the DSM-IV, in polite professional company) has to say:
1. fails to pay close attention to details.
2. has difficulty sustaining attention in tasks.
3. doesn't seem to listen when spoken to.
4. doesn't follow thru' on instructions / fails to finish chores.
5. has difficulty organizing activities.
6. avoids or is reluctant to undertake tasks that require sustained effort.
7. often loses things necessary for tasks or activities.
8. is easily distracted by extraneous stimuli.
9. is often forgetful in daily activities.
Now, according to the Book, six or more of the above and you make the cut -- as it were. Let me just think back (if I could only remember) to my last meditation session. Planned a workshop for tomorrow, thought about when the timer was going to sound, ignored the dog barking (then was irritated by the dog barking), reminded self to remind self to take back the soup pot before I went to pick up granola at the Slow Food Market -- now was it this week they move to, oh, where was that new location . . . Hmm. Oh yeah -- breathe! I just may qualify!
The aforementioned workshop turns out to be a short chat about the benefits of a mindfulness practice with a group of teachers on their first day back after Christmas (is that OK to say?) break. As I began tossing around educator-relevant takes on my theme, a few things floated up during this morning's sit (in between returning to the breath, of course). Likely they're mostly new to the practice. So I needed a framework to orient my audience to this vast, varied, and largely misunderstood body of material. Glimmers of early creative writing tuition began to coalesce: Who, what, where, when, and why -- the critical elements of any good story.
What is mindfulness? Well my old standby, Jon Kabat-Zinn says it most succinctly: Paying attention, in a particular way, on purpose, in the present moment, non-judgmentally. Almost sounds like the flip side, the polar opposite of the 'accident waiting to happen' (aka, our ADD-afflicted candidate; namely, ME). To dissect Jon's definition a bit, the paying attention references the breath, the home base of most mindfulness practices. Something that's always with us, always available. All we need do is attend to it, notice it.
In a particular way: through a regular, mindfulness practice. The cultivation of the 'meditative habit' -- building in, as part of our daily routine, the room to sit quietly with the sole purpose of holding a focus -- and, as will happen time after time after time, gently ushering ourselves back to that focus once we wandered away. Each time we're distracted by some 'extraneous stimulus' (lest we forget number 8), noticing, observing that we've slipped away into some historic regret or some future fret, heard the dog bark, relived the emotional encounter with the 'goof tailgating us', felt the twinge in the lower back; and returning to our anchor, the breath. On purpose refers to the intention that we bring to a practice. Developing, enhancing our awareness of just how 'automatically' we typically go through our day -- reacting rather than choosing. Learning to relegate the automatic pilot to Air Canada and taking explicit hold of the controls. More the purposeful traveller, less the 'accidental tourist'.
And finally, in the present moment, without judgment. How much of our time is spent 'somewhere else' than where we are right now. And how eager we are to evaluate every experience, every encounter, to apply value label (good / bad, desirable / repugnant, appropriate / unsuitable).
Where, When. Largely your choice. In a quiet room, waiting at a traffic light, pulling weeds, doing the dishes; as a way to start your day or a contemplative period at the end of day's 'sentence'. In a group (lovely energy) or enjoying the solitude of time to oneself. No one right way, time, or place!
How (that would be the acronymic form of Who -- a little creative license). In a more formal practice, adopting a relaxed and alert posture; sitting on a straight-backed chair, a zafu (don't you just love that word: aka, a meditation cushion), cross-legged in a full lotus (long gone for this ADD soul!) Head, neck, back aligned to open the chest and facilitate breathing. Generally eyes closed (just less 'distracting'), adopting a mindset of acceptance and allowing of whatever is going on around us and in us -- physical sensation, emotional content, thoughts -- and taking our attention to the breath and where we most notice it.
And then the Why. The (hopelessly) glib response is 'just because'. One often begins with a 'reason for meditating' -- stress, poor sleep, mood or anxiety issues, nagging or chronic pain, a scattered mind, addiction -- but soon discovers that mindfulness is less a 'tool' and more a process, a habit. Meditating with a purpose, an identified end in mind is rather like exercising only to lose weight. Only when the means (sitting regularly) becomes the end, does the end become accessible -- more a side effect, a consequence of the practice than a goal to be attained.
But I've gotten off track -- distracted, one might say. It occurred to me, as I sat this morning, that there just might be some benefits to the charges of the teachers with whom I was going to be chatting. That just maybe, with ADD being identified with alarming frequency (not to mention the plethora of other challenging childhood issues in need of addressing before one can actually get down to the business of teaching -- the bullying, the poor self-esteem, the flagging self-discipline, the stress of being a child, to name a few), there may be some benefit in having 'my students' do what they are naturally trained to do: teach. No better way to develop one's own skill set than by passing the knowledge along. 'Learning by doing' an old mentor of mine used to call it -- and doing is what mindfulness is all about!
At risk of providing yet another catalogue, the benefits of mindfulness in a young population (as they are for adults as well) are legion:
- Physical relaxation
- Improved concentration
- Increased control over thoughts. Observing and letting go vs. participating and being caught up in.
- Acceptance and tolerance of unpopular, distressing emotions vs. being victimized, 'directed' by them
- Increased compassion, tolerance, patience
- Improved self-understanding, self-awareness, self-acceptance
- Increased creativity
- Improved memory function
- Cultivation of the spirit (not limiting the education process to 'mind' and 'body')
These are not goals, parts of a curriculum to be taught and completed. These are the side effects of a mindfulness practice -- regardless of age.
So indeed we all might be just a little ADD -- and a little angry, a little fragmented, a little stressed, a little sore, a little depressed. This is a description, in one way or another, of a 'normal day' for most of us -- including our kids. It is the life condition. It is what is. A regular practice doesn't take away these naturally occurring states. What it does do is provide us the means to address them -- not through avoidance, opposition, attachment, obsession. But through peaceful co-existence with the 'full catastrophe'.
Let's just have a quick look at what the big, burgundy book (aka, the psychiatric, diagnostic manual, the DSM-IV, in polite professional company) has to say:
1. fails to pay close attention to details.
2. has difficulty sustaining attention in tasks.
3. doesn't seem to listen when spoken to.
4. doesn't follow thru' on instructions / fails to finish chores.
5. has difficulty organizing activities.
6. avoids or is reluctant to undertake tasks that require sustained effort.
7. often loses things necessary for tasks or activities.
8. is easily distracted by extraneous stimuli.
9. is often forgetful in daily activities.
Now, according to the Book, six or more of the above and you make the cut -- as it were. Let me just think back (if I could only remember) to my last meditation session. Planned a workshop for tomorrow, thought about when the timer was going to sound, ignored the dog barking (then was irritated by the dog barking), reminded self to remind self to take back the soup pot before I went to pick up granola at the Slow Food Market -- now was it this week they move to, oh, where was that new location . . . Hmm. Oh yeah -- breathe! I just may qualify!
The aforementioned workshop turns out to be a short chat about the benefits of a mindfulness practice with a group of teachers on their first day back after Christmas (is that OK to say?) break. As I began tossing around educator-relevant takes on my theme, a few things floated up during this morning's sit (in between returning to the breath, of course). Likely they're mostly new to the practice. So I needed a framework to orient my audience to this vast, varied, and largely misunderstood body of material. Glimmers of early creative writing tuition began to coalesce: Who, what, where, when, and why -- the critical elements of any good story.
What is mindfulness? Well my old standby, Jon Kabat-Zinn says it most succinctly: Paying attention, in a particular way, on purpose, in the present moment, non-judgmentally. Almost sounds like the flip side, the polar opposite of the 'accident waiting to happen' (aka, our ADD-afflicted candidate; namely, ME). To dissect Jon's definition a bit, the paying attention references the breath, the home base of most mindfulness practices. Something that's always with us, always available. All we need do is attend to it, notice it.
In a particular way: through a regular, mindfulness practice. The cultivation of the 'meditative habit' -- building in, as part of our daily routine, the room to sit quietly with the sole purpose of holding a focus -- and, as will happen time after time after time, gently ushering ourselves back to that focus once we wandered away. Each time we're distracted by some 'extraneous stimulus' (lest we forget number 8), noticing, observing that we've slipped away into some historic regret or some future fret, heard the dog bark, relived the emotional encounter with the 'goof tailgating us', felt the twinge in the lower back; and returning to our anchor, the breath. On purpose refers to the intention that we bring to a practice. Developing, enhancing our awareness of just how 'automatically' we typically go through our day -- reacting rather than choosing. Learning to relegate the automatic pilot to Air Canada and taking explicit hold of the controls. More the purposeful traveller, less the 'accidental tourist'.
And finally, in the present moment, without judgment. How much of our time is spent 'somewhere else' than where we are right now. And how eager we are to evaluate every experience, every encounter, to apply value label (good / bad, desirable / repugnant, appropriate / unsuitable).
Where, When. Largely your choice. In a quiet room, waiting at a traffic light, pulling weeds, doing the dishes; as a way to start your day or a contemplative period at the end of day's 'sentence'. In a group (lovely energy) or enjoying the solitude of time to oneself. No one right way, time, or place!
How (that would be the acronymic form of Who -- a little creative license). In a more formal practice, adopting a relaxed and alert posture; sitting on a straight-backed chair, a zafu (don't you just love that word: aka, a meditation cushion), cross-legged in a full lotus (long gone for this ADD soul!) Head, neck, back aligned to open the chest and facilitate breathing. Generally eyes closed (just less 'distracting'), adopting a mindset of acceptance and allowing of whatever is going on around us and in us -- physical sensation, emotional content, thoughts -- and taking our attention to the breath and where we most notice it.
And then the Why. The (hopelessly) glib response is 'just because'. One often begins with a 'reason for meditating' -- stress, poor sleep, mood or anxiety issues, nagging or chronic pain, a scattered mind, addiction -- but soon discovers that mindfulness is less a 'tool' and more a process, a habit. Meditating with a purpose, an identified end in mind is rather like exercising only to lose weight. Only when the means (sitting regularly) becomes the end, does the end become accessible -- more a side effect, a consequence of the practice than a goal to be attained.
But I've gotten off track -- distracted, one might say. It occurred to me, as I sat this morning, that there just might be some benefits to the charges of the teachers with whom I was going to be chatting. That just maybe, with ADD being identified with alarming frequency (not to mention the plethora of other challenging childhood issues in need of addressing before one can actually get down to the business of teaching -- the bullying, the poor self-esteem, the flagging self-discipline, the stress of being a child, to name a few), there may be some benefit in having 'my students' do what they are naturally trained to do: teach. No better way to develop one's own skill set than by passing the knowledge along. 'Learning by doing' an old mentor of mine used to call it -- and doing is what mindfulness is all about!
At risk of providing yet another catalogue, the benefits of mindfulness in a young population (as they are for adults as well) are legion:
- Physical relaxation
- Improved concentration
- Increased control over thoughts. Observing and letting go vs. participating and being caught up in.
- Acceptance and tolerance of unpopular, distressing emotions vs. being victimized, 'directed' by them
- Increased compassion, tolerance, patience
- Improved self-understanding, self-awareness, self-acceptance
- Increased creativity
- Improved memory function
- Cultivation of the spirit (not limiting the education process to 'mind' and 'body')
These are not goals, parts of a curriculum to be taught and completed. These are the side effects of a mindfulness practice -- regardless of age.
So indeed we all might be just a little ADD -- and a little angry, a little fragmented, a little stressed, a little sore, a little depressed. This is a description, in one way or another, of a 'normal day' for most of us -- including our kids. It is the life condition. It is what is. A regular practice doesn't take away these naturally occurring states. What it does do is provide us the means to address them -- not through avoidance, opposition, attachment, obsession. But through peaceful co-existence with the 'full catastrophe'.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Full Catastrophe Living
At this time of year (aka, the Holiday Season -- and we are still in it 'til Jan. 6, aside trees at the curb and 'festive lights' a-dimmed), there's precious little acknowledgment of -- I might even say, tolerance for -- anything but 'good cheer'. Why then is it that, for some, almost nothing could be farther from what is being experienced? The season's professed zeitgeist is one of celebration, bon vivant, eager anticipation, hand-shaking, and smiling, merry this and happy that. The politically incorrect stance is, sadly (and I use the word advisedly) one of mounting stress, urgency, and, perhaps most tellingly, exclusion.
I had occasion to be chatting with my stepson recently as he was preparing his music for the upcoming advent / Christmas services. He made casual mention of the Blue Christmas mass and the challenge of finding music that he felt would reflect the intention of the gathering Although anyone can (and perhaps, should) attend, it's held for those folk who, for a variety of very good reasons, feel less than engaged in the season (somewhat reminiscent, if I allow a jaundiced thought, of those colonies of pariahs, outcasts, if you will) and finding some comfort in an assemblage of like minds and moods. Ultimately, he was careful to choose music that he felt set a quiet, contemplative tone. As we talked, I couldn't avoid recalling (probably because the lyrics are etched into my unconscious by sheer volume of exposure) the maudlin lyrics of 'Blue Christmas' that serve to underscore the very 'us and them' polarizing that happens around this time of year:
"You'll be doin all right, with your Christmas of white...
But I'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas."
(Thanks, Elvis!)
My personal grump seems to have been a little more contained this year than in the few decades immediately past -- but still around (sufficient to invite the query from Nicola: 'did they beat you or something on Christmas Eve?'). No specific triggers (well, the Boxing Week feeding frenzy doesn't help, hard on the heels of mountains of now emptied boxes and bows cast aside, their sometime contents barely remembered these few days after) -- but surfacing nonetheless. Reduced daylight coincident with the season -- perhaps. The shortage of cash coupled with the 'need' to spend -- possibly. The excess, be it food, drink, or loot -- good candidates. The loss of the spiritual connection, the meaning of the celebration -- we've all heard that one to death.
But I think not sufficient perpetrators. What appears to be hugely amplified and accentuated is the gap, the disconnect between the surface demands of, expectations for the season (conviviality, hale-fellow well-met demeanour) and the logical, near-unavoidable consequences of the stressors that inevitably attend it (urgency, deadlines, hyper-socializing) -- a collision of what 'needs to be' and 'what is' -- underscored with each 'are you ready for Christmas yet?' before the date; the 'did you have a good Christmas?' for the week or so following. Welcome to Hotel California (such a lovely place, where you can check out anytime you like -- but you can never leave!) from which there is no apparent escape.
I'd encountered this Christmas card many years ago (back in the days when I still had a Rotty
and just one West Highland Terrier) and it spoke to me. The rest of the card included a cat, sitting on the inside of the window, warm, content, and comfortable beside a fully-laden Christmas tree -- probably significant that I'd cropped that part out! How better to allegorically capture the poignant sense of separation, alienation than one species gazing at another, with a glass wall between; one on the outside looking in, the other caught up in, embraced by the 'prescribed surroundings', oblivious to its fellow creatures.
So what to do? Withdraw into anger, sadness, further isolating. Hunker down and wait it out. Alternately, suit up with the majority and participate -- authentically or not. The personal search has been for a less polarized place, less a 'hold my nose and jump' versus a pull back into sullen reticence. In the context of mindfulness practice, Jon Kabat-Zinn, in his introduction to his seminal book, offers a clue to what this spot might look like: Full Catastrophe Living. He describes seeking a concise title that would capture the unique approach that living mindfully represents, borrowing a line ultimately from the film Zorba the Greek. Asked if he'd ever been married, Zorba responds that of course he had, then adds: 'wife, kids, house, everything. . .the full catastrophe'. The reference, as Kabat-Zinn explains, is not that life had been so awful -- but that it embodies a full range of experience, the good with the ill, -- and most particularly that we don't get to cherry pick. The 'dance' is with the fullness of it all -- not just leap-frogging from one 'happy time' to the next.
I had occasion to be chatting with my stepson recently as he was preparing his music for the upcoming advent / Christmas services. He made casual mention of the Blue Christmas mass and the challenge of finding music that he felt would reflect the intention of the gathering Although anyone can (and perhaps, should) attend, it's held for those folk who, for a variety of very good reasons, feel less than engaged in the season (somewhat reminiscent, if I allow a jaundiced thought, of those colonies of pariahs, outcasts, if you will) and finding some comfort in an assemblage of like minds and moods. Ultimately, he was careful to choose music that he felt set a quiet, contemplative tone. As we talked, I couldn't avoid recalling (probably because the lyrics are etched into my unconscious by sheer volume of exposure) the maudlin lyrics of 'Blue Christmas' that serve to underscore the very 'us and them' polarizing that happens around this time of year:
"You'll be doin all right, with your Christmas of white...
But I'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas."
(Thanks, Elvis!)
My personal grump seems to have been a little more contained this year than in the few decades immediately past -- but still around (sufficient to invite the query from Nicola: 'did they beat you or something on Christmas Eve?'). No specific triggers (well, the Boxing Week feeding frenzy doesn't help, hard on the heels of mountains of now emptied boxes and bows cast aside, their sometime contents barely remembered these few days after) -- but surfacing nonetheless. Reduced daylight coincident with the season -- perhaps. The shortage of cash coupled with the 'need' to spend -- possibly. The excess, be it food, drink, or loot -- good candidates. The loss of the spiritual connection, the meaning of the celebration -- we've all heard that one to death.
But I think not sufficient perpetrators. What appears to be hugely amplified and accentuated is the gap, the disconnect between the surface demands of, expectations for the season (conviviality, hale-fellow well-met demeanour) and the logical, near-unavoidable consequences of the stressors that inevitably attend it (urgency, deadlines, hyper-socializing) -- a collision of what 'needs to be' and 'what is' -- underscored with each 'are you ready for Christmas yet?' before the date; the 'did you have a good Christmas?' for the week or so following. Welcome to Hotel California (such a lovely place, where you can check out anytime you like -- but you can never leave!) from which there is no apparent escape.
I'd encountered this Christmas card many years ago (back in the days when I still had a Rotty
and just one West Highland Terrier) and it spoke to me. The rest of the card included a cat, sitting on the inside of the window, warm, content, and comfortable beside a fully-laden Christmas tree -- probably significant that I'd cropped that part out! How better to allegorically capture the poignant sense of separation, alienation than one species gazing at another, with a glass wall between; one on the outside looking in, the other caught up in, embraced by the 'prescribed surroundings', oblivious to its fellow creatures.So what to do? Withdraw into anger, sadness, further isolating. Hunker down and wait it out. Alternately, suit up with the majority and participate -- authentically or not. The personal search has been for a less polarized place, less a 'hold my nose and jump' versus a pull back into sullen reticence. In the context of mindfulness practice, Jon Kabat-Zinn, in his introduction to his seminal book, offers a clue to what this spot might look like: Full Catastrophe Living. He describes seeking a concise title that would capture the unique approach that living mindfully represents, borrowing a line ultimately from the film Zorba the Greek. Asked if he'd ever been married, Zorba responds that of course he had, then adds: 'wife, kids, house, everything. . .the full catastrophe'. The reference, as Kabat-Zinn explains, is not that life had been so awful -- but that it embodies a full range of experience, the good with the ill, -- and most particularly that we don't get to cherry pick. The 'dance' is with the fullness of it all -- not just leap-frogging from one 'happy time' to the next.
Where this season is concerned, the dance unquestionably involves the individual's adoption of this more equanimous posture. Not necessarily 'selling out' to the pervasive (and just possibly contrived and forced) 'good cheer'; but allowing oneself into it, as possible and authentic. More than this, however, the culture itself is in need of an attitude adjustment. Inclusiveness requires that we embrace the 'other pole' -- not just the North, with all its presents, elves, and sugar plums; but the South, with its, just possibly sadness, sense of loss, alienation, and quiet reflection on what's been. The full catastrophe.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Christmas Letter 2011
As is often the case, for our household(s), polarities and paradox seem to be the 'themes' that best characterize the year that's been and is now drawing to a close: mobility set against permanence, milestones passed engendering a return to familiar touchstones, simplicity facilitated by increasing sophistication and complexity.
Perhaps the appropriate starting point is the 'mind map', stuck up on the wall in front of me, serving to guide and constrain (to something under a book) the annual update -- and, again appropriately enough, driven by a little 'app' called Simple Mind. The researcher-in-residence (aka, Nicola) had established as 2011 affirmations a return to mental, physical, and spiritual fitness -- not that the first had ever wandered far from the path; nor had the last, although always evolving, lapsed in any significant way. For the middle -- well let's just say for both of us, it had become a little more substantial than we would have wished (that would be 'the middle'). Enter the Pomodoro Technique -- with mind maps to follow close behind. For the household accountant, discipline (read time management via Mr. Pomodoro and its 25-minute 'chunking') and organization (mind-mapping, at first glance, looks like a flow chart gone postal -- but it works!) are figural in whipping the old brain back into shape. And the happy vehicle for all this structure is a return for Nicola to a long-lapsed piano passion. Touching base with musical muses sees her regularly shuttling between Stratford and Toronto. Oh dear, how does one bear the restaurants, the city's vitality and energy, and contemplative time to and fro on the train? Practice has taken on a multiplicity of expressions from daily twenty-minute meditations and work-outs in the basement 'fitness lab' (more of that later), against a background of double flats, scales, and regular viewings of Piano Anne's You Tube postings. How could one not lose weight?
2011 saw both Jill and Andrew move households -- their respective 'better halves' initially and energetically fulfilling the role of fiscal devil's advocate -- to digs that are both charming and well-situated. Jill and Brant find themselves mere minutes from work in downtown London, on the edge of 'old North' having cheerfully escaped the 'is that police cruiser for this complex or the next?' angst of the east end. Simon and Andrew can fall out their flat's front door and end in the Distillery District, a treed, ten-minute stroll from the Cathedral and spitting distance (hmm, should work on that descriptor) from St. Lawrence Market.
As for the permanence bit, Jill saw another boogie man (oops, boogie person) fall off the radar -- the persistent worry around renewal that haunts the contract worker. LoL (that would be London Life -- although it could equally be the other tagline, I suppose) saw fit to 'make her permanent'. One of those, careful what you wish for situations, of being 'legit' in a structure that is not exactly one's ideal -- but when is it otherwise? And so 'I can see clearly now' not only describes the immediate vocational future; but also the actual eyesight following some recent surgery to correct persistent double vision (seeing one boogie person is bad enough, but two!).
Permanence found its way into the Toronto household as well with Simon securing permanent residency status, after a long and varied roller coaster of an application process. Never hurts to be too careful with those Yorkshire-men seeking to set up Lord knows what kind of covert, organist cells in our unsullied landscape. Working pro bono really was getting a bit old. St Mary Magdalene's is the big winner with Simon now able to take on
the assistant's role in their storied music program (move over Healey Willan). And Andrew continues to be a 'one man band' at St. James Cathedral, more than capably filling the role of interim director of music for another year. No mean feat between ducking office manager tantrums and balancing a music budget, with weekly recitals and a good bite out of a goal of playing his way thru' Bach's organ repertoire.
And mobility wasn't limited to bag and baggage. Well guess that's not technically true as David chose, for his cycling adventure of 2011, to drag just that from sea to sea across the nor
th of England. Two weeks on two wheels with two panniers (and several thousand pounds of camera gadgetry) was just enough to make some 25% climbs thru' the Yorkshire Dales, let's say more than challenging. Lots of opportunity to see the countryside in infinite detail with pedal, pedal interspersed with puff, puff (and not just the occasional pause and push). Morecambe to Whitby (been there, done that, bought the t-shirt -- no really!). And there's absolutely no correlation between turning 65 (I've got Stephen Harper's letter explaining the OAS clawback to prove it!) and undertaking challenges more suited to a twenty-something, than a sixty-something. Taking no chances on back-sliding in the winter of our (cycling) discontent, Kurt Kinetic (the cutest little lime-green trainer -- think training wheels with a lot of carefully calculated drag) has joined the indoor stable of treadmill and exer-cycle.
From man in motion to gal with a goal -- more on the mobility front. Jill realized a (very hard fought) ta
rget this year breaking four hours for her marathon time with a 3:56 at Detroit this Fall (absolute 'days' to spare). Way to go (and go and go. . . as she closes in on another target: a 3,500 km. year -- 3,431 as I write -- looks like a couple of stacked 
workouts in the final days of 2011). And a lot of those post-wall moments could have ended less satisfyingly without the one-man support crew, photographer, whipping boy, sport's psychologist, and all around cheer leader: Brant. This man gets the 2011 family award for biggest heart and thickest skin by a country mile! Little wonder that in his 'off-duty' (when is that anyway, Jill?) moments, he finds restorative comfort staring contemplatively into the depths of aquaria; and can be heard polishing his ichthyological communication skills -- no grief or back-talk from these little buggers (and besides, they're on the other side of a glass wall!)
Perhaps the appropriate starting point is the 'mind map', stuck up on the wall in front of me, serving to guide and constrain (to something under a book) the annual update -- and, again appropriately enough, driven by a little 'app' called Simple Mind. The researcher-in-residence (aka, Nicola) had established as 2011 affirmations a return to mental, physical, and spiritual fitness -- not that the first had ever wandered far from the path; nor had the last, although always evolving, lapsed in any significant way. For the middle -- well let's just say for both of us, it had become a little more substantial than we would have wished (that would be 'the middle'). Enter the Pomodoro Technique -- with mind maps to follow close behind. For the household accountant, discipline (read time management via Mr. Pomodoro and its 25-minute 'chunking') and organization (mind-mapping, at first glance, looks like a flow chart gone postal -- but it works!) are figural in whipping the old brain back into shape. And the happy vehicle for all this structure is a return for Nicola to a long-lapsed piano passion. Touching base with musical muses sees her regularly shuttling between Stratford and Toronto. Oh dear, how does one bear the restaurants, the city's vitality and energy, and contemplative time to and fro on the train? Practice has taken on a multiplicity of expressions from daily twenty-minute meditations and work-outs in the basement 'fitness lab' (more of that later), against a background of double flats, scales, and regular viewings of Piano Anne's You Tube postings. How could one not lose weight?
2011 saw both Jill and Andrew move households -- their respective 'better halves' initially and energetically fulfilling the role of fiscal devil's advocate -- to digs that are both charming and well-situated. Jill and Brant find themselves mere minutes from work in downtown London, on the edge of 'old North' having cheerfully escaped the 'is that police cruiser for this complex or the next?' angst of the east end. Simon and Andrew can fall out their flat's front door and end in the Distillery District, a treed, ten-minute stroll from the Cathedral and spitting distance (hmm, should work on that descriptor) from St. Lawrence Market.
As for the permanence bit, Jill saw another boogie man (oops, boogie person) fall off the radar -- the persistent worry around renewal that haunts the contract worker. LoL (that would be London Life -- although it could equally be the other tagline, I suppose) saw fit to 'make her permanent'. One of those, careful what you wish for situations, of being 'legit' in a structure that is not exactly one's ideal -- but when is it otherwise? And so 'I can see clearly now' not only describes the immediate vocational future; but also the actual eyesight following some recent surgery to correct persistent double vision (seeing one boogie person is bad enough, but two!).
Permanence found its way into the Toronto household as well with Simon securing permanent residency status, after a long and varied roller coaster of an application process. Never hurts to be too careful with those Yorkshire-men seeking to set up Lord knows what kind of covert, organist cells in our unsullied landscape. Working pro bono really was getting a bit old. St Mary Magdalene's is the big winner with Simon now able to take on
the assistant's role in their storied music program (move over Healey Willan). And Andrew continues to be a 'one man band' at St. James Cathedral, more than capably filling the role of interim director of music for another year. No mean feat between ducking office manager tantrums and balancing a music budget, with weekly recitals and a good bite out of a goal of playing his way thru' Bach's organ repertoire.And mobility wasn't limited to bag and baggage. Well guess that's not technically true as David chose, for his cycling adventure of 2011, to drag just that from sea to sea across the nor
th of England. Two weeks on two wheels with two panniers (and several thousand pounds of camera gadgetry) was just enough to make some 25% climbs thru' the Yorkshire Dales, let's say more than challenging. Lots of opportunity to see the countryside in infinite detail with pedal, pedal interspersed with puff, puff (and not just the occasional pause and push). Morecambe to Whitby (been there, done that, bought the t-shirt -- no really!). And there's absolutely no correlation between turning 65 (I've got Stephen Harper's letter explaining the OAS clawback to prove it!) and undertaking challenges more suited to a twenty-something, than a sixty-something. Taking no chances on back-sliding in the winter of our (cycling) discontent, Kurt Kinetic (the cutest little lime-green trainer -- think training wheels with a lot of carefully calculated drag) has joined the indoor stable of treadmill and exer-cycle.From man in motion to gal with a goal -- more on the mobility front. Jill realized a (very hard fought) ta
rget this year breaking four hours for her marathon time with a 3:56 at Detroit this Fall (absolute 'days' to spare). Way to go (and go and go. . . as she closes in on another target: a 3,500 km. year -- 3,431 as I write -- looks like a couple of stacked 
workouts in the final days of 2011). And a lot of those post-wall moments could have ended less satisfyingly without the one-man support crew, photographer, whipping boy, sport's psychologist, and all around cheer leader: Brant. This man gets the 2011 family award for biggest heart and thickest skin by a country mile! Little wonder that in his 'off-duty' (when is that anyway, Jill?) moments, he finds restorative comfort staring contemplatively into the depths of aquaria; and can be heard polishing his ichthyological communication skills -- no grief or back-talk from these little buggers (and besides, they're on the other side of a glass wall!)Even houses have their neurotic sides (or, in this case, sidings). As word of all the household moves filtered down to Chez Neal, we noticed distinct signs of an identity crisis 
beginning to surface. Naught for it, but a long-overdue facelift -- with new chapeau (aka roof) and togs (board and batten siding) to fend off any further, incipient security issues. And to put a period at the end of this sentence, Nicola reworked the 'back 40' (alias the 'potting plot'), creating a Provencal, micro-climated, kitchen garden. One could almost feel the tension ease in Neal's shoulders as the aubergine and pomodoro (that would be eggplant and tomatoes to us locals) proliferated!
And finally, just to ease the UK to colonies transition, a very significant British contingent found its way for visits to our fair shores, with Simon's parents, Debbie and Brian, grandmother, Jean, and cousin, Marj sampling the fare at Chez Neal amongst other destinations. No arm-twisting required at all to ensure our return visit in the upcoming year -- not a day passes that I don't moon over the Dales of England's north.
Blessings from us all,
Nicola, David, Jill, Brant, Andrew, and Simon -- with Morag, (the UPPERCASE -- for anyone whose heard her bark), Obie, the exclamation point (! -- for anyone whose pulled burrs from his fur), and Martha, the editor (for anyone who asks).
beginning to surface. Naught for it, but a long-overdue facelift -- with new chapeau (aka roof) and togs (board and batten siding) to fend off any further, incipient security issues. And to put a period at the end of this sentence, Nicola reworked the 'back 40' (alias the 'potting plot'), creating a Provencal, micro-climated, kitchen garden. One could almost feel the tension ease in Neal's shoulders as the aubergine and pomodoro (that would be eggplant and tomatoes to us locals) proliferated!And finally, just to ease the UK to colonies transition, a very significant British contingent found its way for visits to our fair shores, with Simon's parents, Debbie and Brian, grandmother, Jean, and cousin, Marj sampling the fare at Chez Neal amongst other destinations. No arm-twisting required at all to ensure our return visit in the upcoming year -- not a day passes that I don't moon over the Dales of England's north.
Blessings from us all,
Nicola, David, Jill, Brant, Andrew, and Simon -- with Morag, (the UPPERCASE -- for anyone whose heard her bark), Obie, the exclamation point (! -- for anyone whose pulled burrs from his fur), and Martha, the editor (for anyone who asks).
Monday, November 28, 2011
The Beginner's Mind
"In the beginner's mind (sh0sin), there are many possibilities; in the expert's there are few"
Shunryu Suzuki
Perhaps twenty years ago, I had the opportunity to hear the convocation address delivered by Thomas Moore (Care of the Soul, Soulmates) to the new crop of University of Toronto graduates. His message was succinct, clear, and, I'm sure to the freshly minted BA's, just a bit paradoxical. 'You've spent four years learning, cramming your heads with information. Now, just before you step into the world, empty it all out!' He was not diminishing their efforts; nor impugning the importance of knowledge. He was merely pointing out that information, in and of itself, can be as limiting as it is useful and instructive. Suzuki's pithy opening to his book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, captures this same sentiment: when approaching any subject, maintain an openness and suspend preconceptions to reach the 'correct truth' (an alternate translation of the Buddhist term, shosin).
A few weeks ago, the Globe and Mail reported on the 'brightest community in the world' -- and here we all thought it was Stratford -- Shanghai!! Evaluated on standardized, high school-aged tests (evidently creating a basis for comparing academic performances across cultures), this mid-sized city out-stripped a host of other Western and Eastern candidates. What I found telling was that the educators even in this city were quick to point out that their educational policies have as top priorities test-taking skills and acquisition of content-heavy, broad information bases -- evidently at the cost of fostering creative thought (and generally necessitating significantly extended 'school days'). Great for high marks; not so sure about opening minds.
It seems that these priorities are not restricted to the Tiger Moms of China. Our culture too, protestations to the contrary, appears to validate the former of these two approaches (acquisition of knowledge), granting the designation of 'expert' to he/she who knows the most about a subject versus to those who choose to think outside the box, with the emphasis on understanding and the 'how' of a particular subject of interest. My wife has recently chosen to 'redo' her musical education, having completed grade 5 (in piano) in her mid-adolescence. Her approach this time round, I found a little confusing at first: integrating the physics of kinesiology and posture, mindfulness, mathematics, and the 'psychology of practice', as well as studying the theoretical rudiments (aka 'theory') of which I expect most accomplished musicians are intuitively aware (but to the casual player are a collection of rote, boring, and near random associations). Result: a very motivated student who now struggles to find the time in her day to fit in another practice. And all commenced at the preparatory level -- a true beginner's mind approach.
I had occasion to be chatting recently with a young man, currently enrolled in 3rd year university, only to hear this same theme echoed once again. Though the conversation was far-reaching, it seemed to return to the same thematic point of origin -- whatever the content. A history major, he noted that he had little difficulty cranking out papers that were well-received by his faculty (and accordingly rewarded with good grades). But he was bored, lamenting that taking an 'unpopular' point of view -- in his description, being less 'conforming', formulaic, or compliant with expectations -- often failed to be endorsed with the hoped for 'A'. Taking the 'party line' was the way to advance. He went on to say that, during a trip to Europe he found himself having to make a choice between 'charging his camera' (with which to document the reams of ruins they visited) and his iPod (source of much loved music and the portal into a more receptive, immediate state) -- opting for the music over the camera. His rationale was that, in 'shooting the sites', he had become increasingly preoccupied with the right light, image composition, sun placement; losing his very present awareness / direct connection with the building, statue, etc. before him. Listening to his music, he became more immediately engaged, less distracted -- and less obsessed with 'keeping a record', but risking missing the experience. As with information accumulation, interpolating, in this case, the photographic device between his 'beginner's mind' and the site changed and constrained his experience -- and was therefore, much to the dismay of his peers, eschewed.
Poets and educators, Robert Bly and Joseph Campbell (Power of Myth) in particular, underscore Suzuki's 'subversive' stance as well. In a marvelous little essay, Bly characterizes the human shadow (that oft mis-named 'dark side') as the 'long bag we drag behind us' and, coincidentally, the repository of much of our creative potential. The 'bag' begins to grow (and become less accessible to us) as we move from childhood ('that perfect globe of energy and curiosity' -- what a wonderful definition of the beginner's mind), into adulthood, learning in the process what's acceptable and what isn't -- to parents, teachers, peers, employers, friends; and stowing all those 'not's' in our bag and generally losing touch with the content. And, one day, we look at our 'globe' only to find that it's a mere 'shadow' of its former self, a slice instead of an orb -- and we realize we have been 'socialized' out of our naive, ingenuous, receptive and curious selves. Campbell identifies a similar process as we discover and construct our personal lists of thou shalts and thou shalt not's -- building our formula for acceptance; but losing our (beginner's) mind.
When we sit, when we meditate the task before us is to regain that lost capacity in the simplest possible way -- by suspending our compulsion to think; even to think about thinking. To suspend the preconceptions, the judgments, the compulsions to evaluate -- and to approach each experience 'again for the very first time', the true beginner's mind with eyes (and mind) wide open with surprise and wonder.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Ethics and Happiness
If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife . . . Or so goes Jimmy Soul's recipe for marital contentment. Sort of a re-visioning of Proverbs 31, I suppose -- and just about as popular nowadays (talk about a sexist stance!) Perhaps a bit more substance is required in cooking up a formula for this sometimes elusive state -- happiness, not marital contentment (although they do somehow seem to be related).
A few months ago, I'd had a look at the benefits of 'being happy' (The Glass Is . . .) with a quick overview of The Happiness Advantage (Shawn Achor) and Authentic Happiness (Martin Seligman), the latter author/researcher offering a whack of variables that he feels might underpin this golden fleece of mindsets. Both feel optimism is an important element.
And now, from that hotbed of happiness (Missouri) comes some research from Harvey James, an academic economist (now there's an optimistic group!) that might expand our formula a bit: Ethical people are satisfied people, or to quote Plato, 'the just man is happy, the unjust man, miserable'. Harvey's findings are summed up: 'happiness is derived from doing well (ed note: not sure if he doesn't also mean 'doing good', in the grammatically correct sense) and from meeting psychological rather than material or hedonistic needs. While income, personal characteristics, and societal values play a role in affecting happiness, so do personal ethics. If the goal of public policy is to improve subjective well-being, and if subjective well-being increases when people are just, the efforts to improve the moral behavior of people will also improve overall societal well-being'.
James, true to his researcher's roots, is not about to say that the relationship between ethical behaviour and life satisfaction is a causal one; that is, that doing good / behaving justly causes one to be happier (any more than being happy causes one to do good!) What he is saying is that these two are related, possibly thru' a collection of 'third factors', and that higher levels of intolerance for unethical situations is generally found in people with greater measures of satisfaction with their life states.
A bit of reflection on this relationship suggests that it makes good, intuitive sense. If I notice that the cashier has given me back change for a $20, when it should have been a $10 and I draw her attention to the oversight, we both leave the situation with a sense of well-being (although I'm $10 less well off for the trouble!). If I do a 'cash only' transaction in my work, I'm 'saving' the government's bite; but might find myself checking the mail for months after I file that return, just waiting for the notice of audit. Not a very good use of time or focus -- and easily avoided.
Seligman, in his taxonomy of (happiness-inducing) signature strengths, identifies a very similar element, which he labels integrity, grouping it together under the rubric of courage, along with bravery, perseverance and diligence, and in particular, honesty and genuineness. He defines integrity in his use of the word as 'more than just telling the truth to others; (it means) representing yourself -- your intentions and commitments -- to others and to yourself -- in a sincere fashion, in word and deed'.
Mindfulness teachings may just have scooped Dr. James (sorry, Harvey) on this one by a few millennia. These are couched in the Eight-fold Path (essentially Buddhist guidelines for living life) and more broadly as they address the three Liberating Trainings. These would be meditation / mindfulness practice itself, cultivation of wisdom, and ethical behaviour. The latter, in turn, is comprised of Right Speech, Right Action, and Right Livelihood. And perhaps therein lies the core -- when practicing, amongst all the other benefits that seem to accrue, we feel freed. James speculates that the illusive 'third factor' (relating satisfaction and ethics) may be a 'freedom from guilt or shame'.
As we move from the daily sit back into the world, mindfulness practice then is more than carrying that sense of calm, ground, and centre into the rest of our day. It is choosing the way in which we engage that day: the relationships it brings us in contact with (and how we respect or value those exchanges), the choice points that are often subtly fraught with decisions pitting altruism against personal gain, bringing empathy and compassion into our dealings -- and being mindful in all these choices. All this, secure in the knowledge (now that Harvey's done his math) that we will be more content at the end of that day.
A few months ago, I'd had a look at the benefits of 'being happy' (The Glass Is . . .) with a quick overview of The Happiness Advantage (Shawn Achor) and Authentic Happiness (Martin Seligman), the latter author/researcher offering a whack of variables that he feels might underpin this golden fleece of mindsets. Both feel optimism is an important element.
And now, from that hotbed of happiness (Missouri) comes some research from Harvey James, an academic economist (now there's an optimistic group!) that might expand our formula a bit: Ethical people are satisfied people, or to quote Plato, 'the just man is happy, the unjust man, miserable'. Harvey's findings are summed up: 'happiness is derived from doing well (ed note: not sure if he doesn't also mean 'doing good', in the grammatically correct sense) and from meeting psychological rather than material or hedonistic needs. While income, personal characteristics, and societal values play a role in affecting happiness, so do personal ethics. If the goal of public policy is to improve subjective well-being, and if subjective well-being increases when people are just, the efforts to improve the moral behavior of people will also improve overall societal well-being'.
James, true to his researcher's roots, is not about to say that the relationship between ethical behaviour and life satisfaction is a causal one; that is, that doing good / behaving justly causes one to be happier (any more than being happy causes one to do good!) What he is saying is that these two are related, possibly thru' a collection of 'third factors', and that higher levels of intolerance for unethical situations is generally found in people with greater measures of satisfaction with their life states.
A bit of reflection on this relationship suggests that it makes good, intuitive sense. If I notice that the cashier has given me back change for a $20, when it should have been a $10 and I draw her attention to the oversight, we both leave the situation with a sense of well-being (although I'm $10 less well off for the trouble!). If I do a 'cash only' transaction in my work, I'm 'saving' the government's bite; but might find myself checking the mail for months after I file that return, just waiting for the notice of audit. Not a very good use of time or focus -- and easily avoided.
Seligman, in his taxonomy of (happiness-inducing) signature strengths, identifies a very similar element, which he labels integrity, grouping it together under the rubric of courage, along with bravery, perseverance and diligence, and in particular, honesty and genuineness. He defines integrity in his use of the word as 'more than just telling the truth to others; (it means) representing yourself -- your intentions and commitments -- to others and to yourself -- in a sincere fashion, in word and deed'.
Mindfulness teachings may just have scooped Dr. James (sorry, Harvey) on this one by a few millennia. These are couched in the Eight-fold Path (essentially Buddhist guidelines for living life) and more broadly as they address the three Liberating Trainings. These would be meditation / mindfulness practice itself, cultivation of wisdom, and ethical behaviour. The latter, in turn, is comprised of Right Speech, Right Action, and Right Livelihood. And perhaps therein lies the core -- when practicing, amongst all the other benefits that seem to accrue, we feel freed. James speculates that the illusive 'third factor' (relating satisfaction and ethics) may be a 'freedom from guilt or shame'.
As we move from the daily sit back into the world, mindfulness practice then is more than carrying that sense of calm, ground, and centre into the rest of our day. It is choosing the way in which we engage that day: the relationships it brings us in contact with (and how we respect or value those exchanges), the choice points that are often subtly fraught with decisions pitting altruism against personal gain, bringing empathy and compassion into our dealings -- and being mindful in all these choices. All this, secure in the knowledge (now that Harvey's done his math) that we will be more content at the end of that day.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Buddha in the Dugout
Now here's an original thought: 'baseball as a metaphor for life'! Having spent too many hours to count in front of games six and seven of the World Series, it was hard not to absorb some of the wisdom (no groans, please) of the seasoned manager, Tony LaRussa, that pulled the Cards from the brink of elimination likely a few dozen times between mid-August and the finale of the 'October classic'. For those of you who spent great chunks of Thursday and Friday night listening to the attached commentary, it was quite impossible (evidently almost as impossible as St. Louis winning this year's version) not to hear of the unlikely story of overcoming a 10.5 game deficit to catch the Braves on the season's final day; for the 'Carps' (aka Chris Carpenter) beating the Phillies' best (Roy Halliday for those of you who were never a Blue Jay fan!) -- only to face the remaining National League favourites, Milwaukee. Not to be awed by, down to their final strike -- not once, but twice -- this model of resilience and tenacity forcing a game seven. . . and then to win it all (as the cliche goes).
Buried in the blizzard of commentator hyperbole and expressed disbelief was a little gem that just may have some relevance to mindfulness practice. And attributed not to the fickle gods of baseball (be they human or heavenly), nor to the various and sundry candidates for this year's version of 'Mr. October' (turned out to be David Freese clothed in all his mid-western humility). But in fact to the sometime disgraced hitting coach of the Cardinals: Mark McGwire. His advice to his hitters: don't try to hit the ball to a particular spot on the field.
Perhaps a bit of connective linkage between this folksy intelligence and mindfulness may help. The expanded version of his counsel is first, you need to see the ball. (Stay with me here -- we are navigating our way thru' baseball cliche after all.) In baseball parlance, 'seeing' means attending to all the nuances of what's coming down the tube toward you, as batter, at something between 140 and 150 KPH: ball rotation, pitch plane, pitcher release point, etc., etc. That also means resisting the urge to 'predict' what you think might be about to happen -- generally leading to a swing that, in the exaggerated baseball babble of the colour commentator, has you 'coming out of your shoes' (overswinging), 'being late' (thought you'd get a curve and were greeted by 'high heat' -- a fastball), or frankly being embarrassed in some other way. In meditative terminology: being very present.
Once you've 'seen' the ball, concentrate on hitting it to the same spot on the field each time -- according to Mr. McGwire's wisdom, if possible, the middle of the park. Conjures up visions of seven fielders lined up and spaced out (as it were) behind the pitcher, just waiting for the highly predictable, middle of the field smack. Again advice that sounds very counter-intuitive, not to mention counter-productive. Implies that, if the hitter is successful, he will dump the ball to the shortstop or centre fielder each time he makes contact (which, for most of the spear carriers in the game will be about one time in four). Baseball lore demands, given the myriad of different scenarios possible when a batter comes to the plate, that you might 'pull the ball', or perhaps 'hit it the other way', keep in on the ground, slap it, bunt it, knock its cover off, and on and on. Mr. McGwire would have none of this. He rebuts all the naysayers with another truth: the pitch will determine where you hit it; your job is to just hit it. Again, in translation: the universe will provide the scenario -- we don't get to say; our job is to take that circumstance and greet it consistently, bringing to it that same non-judging, fully aware, acceptance of 'what is'. Attempting to control an outcome, wishing the situation to be otherwise (being prepared for a fastball and getting something off-speed) is not part of the deal. The slider down and out over the plate will go the other way; the fastball, squarely meeting a bat swung with every bit as much speed as the ball contacting it, will find its way over the fence.
Not to say that Tony didn't have a piece in all this as well. Following a hugely entertaining, albeit keystone-coppish game six (outfielders tripping over each other, MVP's dropping 'routine fly balls', catchers throwing to the fan behind the centre field fence instead of the second baseman) capped with the dramatic triple, then home run of Mr. Freese, the team's manager had the wisdom to remind his players that yesterday is yesterday -- and it has absolutely nothing to do with today beyond allowing us to show up for one more day of work. Now is now. Then is then -- and ne'er will the twain meet, except for losers. In the words of Jon Kabat-Zinn's catchy book title: wherever you go, there you are.
Buried in the blizzard of commentator hyperbole and expressed disbelief was a little gem that just may have some relevance to mindfulness practice. And attributed not to the fickle gods of baseball (be they human or heavenly), nor to the various and sundry candidates for this year's version of 'Mr. October' (turned out to be David Freese clothed in all his mid-western humility). But in fact to the sometime disgraced hitting coach of the Cardinals: Mark McGwire. His advice to his hitters: don't try to hit the ball to a particular spot on the field.
Perhaps a bit of connective linkage between this folksy intelligence and mindfulness may help. The expanded version of his counsel is first, you need to see the ball. (Stay with me here -- we are navigating our way thru' baseball cliche after all.) In baseball parlance, 'seeing' means attending to all the nuances of what's coming down the tube toward you, as batter, at something between 140 and 150 KPH: ball rotation, pitch plane, pitcher release point, etc., etc. That also means resisting the urge to 'predict' what you think might be about to happen -- generally leading to a swing that, in the exaggerated baseball babble of the colour commentator, has you 'coming out of your shoes' (overswinging), 'being late' (thought you'd get a curve and were greeted by 'high heat' -- a fastball), or frankly being embarrassed in some other way. In meditative terminology: being very present.
Once you've 'seen' the ball, concentrate on hitting it to the same spot on the field each time -- according to Mr. McGwire's wisdom, if possible, the middle of the park. Conjures up visions of seven fielders lined up and spaced out (as it were) behind the pitcher, just waiting for the highly predictable, middle of the field smack. Again advice that sounds very counter-intuitive, not to mention counter-productive. Implies that, if the hitter is successful, he will dump the ball to the shortstop or centre fielder each time he makes contact (which, for most of the spear carriers in the game will be about one time in four). Baseball lore demands, given the myriad of different scenarios possible when a batter comes to the plate, that you might 'pull the ball', or perhaps 'hit it the other way', keep in on the ground, slap it, bunt it, knock its cover off, and on and on. Mr. McGwire would have none of this. He rebuts all the naysayers with another truth: the pitch will determine where you hit it; your job is to just hit it. Again, in translation: the universe will provide the scenario -- we don't get to say; our job is to take that circumstance and greet it consistently, bringing to it that same non-judging, fully aware, acceptance of 'what is'. Attempting to control an outcome, wishing the situation to be otherwise (being prepared for a fastball and getting something off-speed) is not part of the deal. The slider down and out over the plate will go the other way; the fastball, squarely meeting a bat swung with every bit as much speed as the ball contacting it, will find its way over the fence.
Not to say that Tony didn't have a piece in all this as well. Following a hugely entertaining, albeit keystone-coppish game six (outfielders tripping over each other, MVP's dropping 'routine fly balls', catchers throwing to the fan behind the centre field fence instead of the second baseman) capped with the dramatic triple, then home run of Mr. Freese, the team's manager had the wisdom to remind his players that yesterday is yesterday -- and it has absolutely nothing to do with today beyond allowing us to show up for one more day of work. Now is now. Then is then -- and ne'er will the twain meet, except for losers. In the words of Jon Kabat-Zinn's catchy book title: wherever you go, there you are.
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