Back to Basics

Recently a regular member of our weekly mindfulness group had made mention of the commonly observed phenomenon of 'getting dumber' as we get older. A now retired teacher, this was not her comment at all on the typical aged-related diminishment of cognitive skills. Rather she was referring to the certainty with which her former adolescent charges would pronounce on near any topic of interest; and how the 'older folk' were really just not up to it anymore. It brought to mind the old chestnut: a little knowledge is a dangerous thing!  And it's corollary: too soon we get old, too late smart.

Her comment dovetailed nicely with an article my wife was reading, in preparation for an upcoming piano examination. Her teacher had commented on the precision with which she played; but had suggested adding 'some colour'. Understanding the 'concept', but not really being too clear on what this might look like in application, she went a-Googling; happening on a blog by Jeffrey Chappell who likened colour, and a number of other 'intangibles' in playing to freedom:

'Freedom means that as you play music, you do whatever you want to do, whenever you want to do it. It means that you drive the music,  not the other way around. . . At an early phase of study, the musician’s job (however) is to be right: to identify what is on the page and to render it accurately. Feeling right is inner and subjective; it is about you. Being right is outer and objective; it is about what is on the page. Having one without the other—it feels right but it isn’t right, it is right but it doesn’t feel right—creates an unsatisfying experience.'

Both of the above seemed to be getting at a few similar, underlying issues. Essentially don't run until you're pretty good at putting one foot in front of the other -- often called 'walking'. And to 'walk' means spending a goodly amount of time and effort exploring the basics of whatever the focus might be. Drill, repetition, study, questioning . . . and perhaps above all else, listening -- which, as most of us realize, requires keeping one's mouth shut; ears open and brain available for new information.

A portion of this past Sunday's Tapestry episode (http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/episode/2013/01/09/worshipping-at-the-altar-of-vodka-and-cocaine/), an interview with Carlos Fraenkel, philosophy professor at McGill, applied an interesting spin to this same challenge. Fraenkel considers engaging in philosophical discussion as essential to the development of the critical thinking process; as well as maintaining an open, self-questioning opportunity to deepen, understand, and revise one's own belief and value structure. His personal and professional experience in a wide variety of teaching environments and in conversation with people from an equally diverse set of religious and spiritual backgrounds, has only strengthened his view that to simply 'swallow whole' a liturgy, value system, political posture, etc. is to truncate one's personal growth and to abdicate one's responsibility to question and to foster accountability.

In Dr. Fraenkel's view, this 'conversation' is, in fact, ongoing, open-ended. In the context adopted above by Mr. Chappell, the only way to 'get it right' is to maintain contact with the 'basics' -- be they in music, spiritual investigation, practice of any sort.

He (Fraenkel) adds one additional caveat. A condition to which we all fall potential 'victim' is that of being born into a particular culture with attendant tenets and belief systems. In short, we 'automatically' absorb those parameters that direct the family, social and work networks, spiritual systems, etc. that predominate in our environment. To 'operate', unquestioningly from those pervasive, even ubiquitous values is to lose touch with 'the notes on the page'. We assume truths -- because they surround us -- which can only be fully understood and empowered when challenged by another (possibly competing, at least different) set of beliefs. Through a willingness to engage this conversation do we 'earn the freedom to improvise' (in Chappell's lexicon); do we fully develop a basis to make healthy and informed choices.

Sandy Hook

How will they heal? Come to terms with a tragedy of which most of us can barely conceive? Of a magnitude we can only associate with wartime. Or mass genocide. The seemingly relentless and too oft repeated struggle has begun again; to make sense of a senseless act, this time perpetrated against twenty-six victims, twenty of whom were under the age of seven, by an individual driven by motives which will be broadly speculated upon -- but never known. Sandy Hook School, December 14, 2012. A scant 10 days before the annual festival of renewal, celebration of birth, and traditionally the time of the child and a child's joys.

It is impossible not to be touched by this catastrophe, to take on as one's own tragedy this dreadful and mindless event. As adults we identify hugely with the parents, the emergency workers, the counselors, the professionals, the community. We empathize with their grief, their sadness, their anger, their confusion. We place this event in a context, as best we can, along side a growing list of similar slaughters of innocents -- and attempt to decide 'where to now?' What points of adult reference does Sandy Hook touch in us? What needs: blame, forgiveness, analysis, judgment, reform? What identities: victim, vigilante, parent?

Shortly before this tragedy, before our attention was so abruptly drawn to a small town in Connecticut, I had occasion to be speaking with a man about coming to terms with his own constellation of childhood hardships, 'smaller' on scale to be sure, but tragic nonetheless: a young brother's suicide, an uncle's shunning and resulting premature death, a mother's perhaps well-intentioned but projected and scarring mis-parenting and control. We had visited this ground many times before -- but this time there was a difference. As is so often explored in personal work, the concept of writing a letter to an individual, figural to one's emotional development, had occurred to this man; in this case, a communication with his now deceased mother. Freed from the need to actually sending anything, his writing was honest, candid, and direct, citing the struggles and hurts he'd experienced; the presumed psychological impact his childhood was to have on his adult life. What made this exercise unique, in my experience, however, was that he had, in fact, composed two letters: one from his current perspective as an older man looking back; a second, through the eyes of the child, living each day as if it unfolded, different (perhaps) from the one before, without agenda, expectation, judgment, or even context.

The letters were strikingly different. The adult had analyzed the mother figure, compared her (generally unfavorably) to other, more benign influences, struggled with the guilt and conflict associated with both blaming one of the more significant formative influences in his life and needing to make peace with and forgive her. The adult's 'version' of his childhood had, in effect become an oft thought of, well-worn tale, an identity that was one part 'truth' and three parts myth. Familiar in the re-telling, giving the impression of fact; but more interpretation, conclusion, a collection of deductions of how the child must have felt -- than how the child did feel.  The child's letter, on the other hand, was an account of his experiences; to be sure, containing moments of fear, confusion, discomfort, anxiety, shame -- but somehow fresh, renewed each day, freed in large part to be seen and experienced with a beginner's mind, to borrow a phrase from mindfulness literature. 

I was reminded of a film I'd seen a few months ago, Monsieur Lazhar.  It is the story of a supply teacher, employed to take over a classroom of grade four or five children in Quebec, following the in-school suiciding of their former teacher. The teachers in the school and the parents of the young students all have their own 'version' of and solution for the children's recovery from their trauma, ranging from a conspiracy of silence and denial, even removing children to other schools; through the school psychologist's well-intentioned interventions. M. Lazhar himself is not without baggage, having arrived in Canada shortly before, a political refugee seeking asylum from persecution in his home country. While less 'sophisticated' in his approach -- his teaching methods are decidedly 'old school' -- against considerable adult resistance and criticism, he eventually succeeds in giving each child a 'voice' to express his or her unique experience of the tragedy that, courtesy of all manner of adult intention, had become the 'elephant in the room' -- pervading everything, never directly addressed. The healing had begun to happen. Allowing himself the same latitude that he facilitated in his young charges, M. Lazhar too begins to heal -- as he also speaks with a child's candor and clarity.

In the past three weeks -- is that all it's been? -- as I read the never ending litany of responses to, accounts of, speculations around, and analyses of Sandy Hook, I feel the increasing presence of the 'adult'. The projections that spring from the psyches of fully formed, long-entrenched identities, 'mythologies', onto the child. I feel the compulsion to fix, prevent, protect, punish, understand, analyze -- even politicize a tragedy that, in the end, needs be given a voice, a child's voice -- if healing is to happen.

I'll Have Nun Of It!

PB-16 (aka, Pope Benedict XVI) has leapt into the Christmas entertainment sweeps, trumping the Spielberg's  and the Lucas's with his own 'Star Wars Trilogy' -- well, Star of Bethlehem, actually. Jesus of Nazareth, the Infancy Narratives has hit Chapters -- just in time to stuff stockings with the real Christmas Story -- completing the cycle, with the Pope's own 'prequel', as it were. Where would we all be without someone channeling God to help us understand the literal truths of metaphors many of us have been struggling to employ -- just to allow us to continue crossing our chosen thresholds on Sunday mornings? Organized religion -- the great proscriber.

Warning: Tasteless joke

Sister Mary Margaret was completing a census form and had ticked the box marked 'NONE' when queried about her religious affiliation. Looking over her shoulder, Father Tim noticed and was shocked. "Sister, what are you saying?", he asked in alarm. "Not to worry, Father. I've just been doing some thinking lately and realized I'm more a nun -- out of habit!"

Just to complicate by introducing a third thread, and on a (marginally) more serious note, I'd had opportunity to hear interviewed the philosopher/mystic associated with the Findhorn Community in Scotland, David Spangler. He was discussing his views on planetary citizenship and contrasting it with the chronic (and intensifying) issue of 'silo building' -- the 'us and them' distinction so fondly supported politically and religiously. He was appearing on a program loosely built around (yet another) prediction of 'The End Days' -- amongst the legion of doom and gloomers, known as the end of the world. Seems the Mayan calendar is ending its (for some) last cycle on December 22, 2012. Personally, I've always dreaded the year when the Milk Calendar would no longer arrive as a free insert in one of the holiday editions of the local rag; but frankly, its absence never really triggered End Days angst in me. But maybe I just don't know how to read the 'signs' properly; too smug by half I suppose.  With the end of the world, of course, comes another phenomenon -- for some longed-for, for others ridiculed: the Rapture!

Now to attempt to pull all these loose threads into something other than a misshapen sweater.  Let's try working backwards -- somehow seems fitting, given themes herein addressed! The Rapture, for those who aren't card-carrying Republicans and/or Christian fundamentalists (although the overlap is astounding; Note to self: do a Chi-square analysis on this relationship sometime, post-retirement), is that hour when all 'true Christian believers' will be swept up to heaven.  And the dregs (that would be everyone else) better start investing in ice cubes and air conditioners -- it's gonna get hot!  (Second Note to self: Read Tom Perrotta's The Leftovers). This is the final sorting out of the good guys from the bad -- talk about the ultimate in silos -- and will coincide with the end of the world (whether predicted by the Mayans or the guy on the street corner with his hand-lettered sign: REPENT, NOW! )

Spangler occupies quite the opposite posture from the 'rapturists'. The latter group appear almost to be salivating, waiting for this great validation of their (unique and quite exclusive) beliefs -- a sort of 'bring it on, we're ready!' stance. Spangler, on the other hand, suggests that hitting the 'reset button' -- (didn't work real well with Noah and not sure things are all that different now; the boats are just bigger) is neither responsible nor, in fact, even sane. He advocates adopting a (and here's a novel idea) unified, global approach, driven by consolidation, not isolation. Admittedly this is a tall order, given the degree of entrenchment at almost every level of individual, community, state, and national beliefs; paralleled equally in our parish, denomination, and ultimately, faith systems. Far more palatable, apparently, to hunker down in our own little value system -- and wait for the End Days.

So what to make of our good Sister Mary Margaret. Is it possible that the 'incredible shrinking church' (and the proliferation of the Nones) is in any way associated with a growing number of folks' distaste for 'belief branding'. 'Better dead than red' thinking may just be being displaced by 'better none than . . . ' -- you fill in the blank). Signing on to a belief system that requires rigid adherence to a proscribed perspective is just not that appealing anymore. And in fact stifles the very spiritual introspection and exploration that (given current research findings) characterizes the Nones. This growing group is, contrary to stereotypic view, a very spiritual bunch vs. a bunch of lazy agnostics too self-absorbed to commit to a faith system.

And finally, PB-16. Not to beat up on Catholicism, but come on, Joe! A literalist, selective, exclusive view may make for a good stocking stuffer in some (few) households, but more than anything else it perpetuates an 'editorial policy' commenced in the 3rd Century, when organized religious systems commenced in earnest the vetting of 'what to leave in; what to leave out' -- and have been hard at it ever since. Picking and choosing those 'stories' that support not just religious, but political and power-hungry agendas; and burying (in some cases, quite literally) the rest.

One final thought. The current version of 'Revelation', the apocalyptic final (for now) book of the Bible, is evidently not the only revelation written in and around the 1st Century -- it just happens to be the one that contains detailed instructions on how to build a better silo. John of Patmos' visions made the cut evidently as much for that reason -- and has provided fuel for versions of the End Days ever since (freely interpreted to fit the going politico-religious needs of the day). The others -- largely concerned with personal, spiritual healing and enlightenment -- were rejected. Apparently not sufficiently dire, proscriptive, or narrow. Oh well, it won't matter in another two weeks or so. Counting down now, all together. . .

Wisdom and Mindfulness

"Pssst! Wanna become a wiseman? Just in time for Christmas? Then step into my office."  Well maybe it's not quite that simple. Picking up a Rolex knock-off or a pirated CD or two, perhaps. But wisdom has to be earned, acquired, built slowly -- so that just about the time we retire, don the fluorescent orange vest, and start offering our hard fought knowledge to the kids at the school crossing (if they'll listen), we get it! Right? Those would be the polarities, the extremes of the process, I suppose. A fake beard and some hokey robes from a guy in an alleyway or a lifetime of careful study and training.

A recent book by Steven Hall (Wisdom: From Philosophy to Neuroscience) takes a valiant stab at trying to quantify and define (from a 'hard science' perspective) this sprawling and ephemeral quality. And, apropos this blog, comes up with some surprising and gratifying parallels with mindfulness practice.

Hall notes that historically wisdom has been associated with age -- specifically, the older we get, the wiser we get (or are perceived to be). That would be right up to the point where we start leaving on the stove burners and showing up in the driveway of the house we lived in two moves ago -- and calling it home. The image of the 'old crone' as wise woman, the sage as the beaded elder, community wise man are the usual associations. Last time I checked, the image of an adolescent in a hoodie with jeans slung just below his hipbones may convey 'street smart' -- but not particularly wise. In the 1950's psychologist Erik Erikson did his bit to entrench this view of old as wise with his eight-stage developmental chart; identifying the final stage (typically commencing in his view at about age 65) as one of 'ego integrity' and, when successfully engaged, producing feelings of wisdom in the individual. (The downside of Erikson's stage was despair, regret, and bitterness -- the stereotypic 'grumpy old man'.)

Where Hall's discussion caught my particular interest, however, was more in his cataloguing of the behavioral traits associated with wisdom. I was immediately struck by the overlap in his list with features generally associated with mindfulness, making it much more than an 'old person's game': emotional regulation (even-handedness), patience, dealing with uncertainty, tolerance of other perspectives, acceptance of diversity, ability to judge without being judgmental, capacity to 'reset' after exposure to adversity, altruism (operating outside the 'ego'). And the list goes on.

The concept of emotional regulation and our 'characteristic' response to challenge deserves some elaboration. Marsha Linehan, a psychologist best known for her work with a very 'challenging' disorder, Borderline Personality, immediately came to mind with her formulation of the 'wise mind'. She conceives of this 'place' as the overlap of two polarities in the individual: the emotional mind and the reasonable mind. Emotional reactivity (typically seen as highly volatile, variable, impulsive, and changing responses to frustrating or angering situations) -- and essentially the 'opposite' of emotional regulation --  is a central problem for the borderline. Accordingly, Linehan employs a number of mindfulness techniques that allow one to reconcile these two very different 'states of mind'; the one (reasonable), the cooler, logical, planful side of thinking; the other (emotional), the 'feeling aspect', and albeit the one that kicks quickly into gear, often without the pause for considering consequences, etc. The resultant 'blending' or balancing of these two states (achieved through mindfulness practice) is very strongly, even in Linehan's terminology, associated with wisdom.

A second aspect of the wise person that Hall underscores is the capacity to 'reset'. This one too echoes a very central psychological application of mindfulness, highlighted in the recent work of Zindal Segal and his colleagues as they too use mindfulness training and practice to address another potentially debilitating state: depression. Segal's approach emphasizes the importance of gaining control of 'automatic thinking', noticing when one is being pulled into 'mindless' routines and accordingly setting off on a train ride that sees one participating in and being victimized by one's failure to, again, pause and consider -- far down the track before awareness occurs (if it ever does). The wise person, conversely, notices this process early on, makes a choice (dependent on the need of the context, not reflexively or automatically), and is able to experience the event (often one involving some kind of undesirable or adverse elements) and pull himself back -- essentially restoring order, balance (vs. careening down the track).

Finally Hall makes a strong case for practice. Citing the work of Richard Davidson with experienced meditators, hard-wired data (i.e., changes in types of actual brain activity) support the contention that regular practice essentially builds a wise mind. By regularly 'rehearsing' and applying principles that form the core of mindfulness technique (bolded above), the 'wise mind' develops over time -- right down to supporting brain structure. So essentially wisdom does (or can) vary with age -- but we have to nurture it. It evidently doesn't happen on its own. And it certainly doesn't 'magically' appear -- just because we're getting older (or grow a beard!).

Link to audio of blog:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/in6yhw192orac0c/Untitled%206.aiff

Synchronicity

Mists clear; webs appear,

residue bejeweled.

Spoked motif of passing bike.

Sunday afternoon, stuck in Ikea's Marketplace somewhere between the tapers and the tea towels, the mobile on my belt commences to ring (and vibrate!). As my wife pinballs from display to display, I'm daydreaming a bit, wondering if the butcher had heeded (or even heard) my voicemail detailing the butterflied turkey instructions we'd left for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. I resign myself -- if he got it, he got it; if not, it's hotdogs and beans for ten. The vibro-ring persists and I am pulled from reverie. "What time ya comin' in to pick up da boid?". "Rick?". "Who the _____ else would ask ya dat?" I marvel at the universe and its interconnected wonders (not to mention Rick's skill with a boning knife) and speculate on the chances of that particular thought floating up at the precise moment the butcher decides to call and to see if he's going to be stuck with a splatch-cocked gobbler in his display case.

Coincidence. Perhaps. But, come on, at that exact moment in time! Not likely. Ten days ago I'd left a message with a man in Newfoundland responsible for evaluating applications for registration to practice in that province. Part of this process is having a 'police check' executed (to shake out any skeletons that may have found their way into one's closet over a lifetime). I'd mis-read the requirements and, having to return to the station to expand the search (i.e., to include the garage and basement, as well as the closet!), I was in the process of completing a second form. The phone rings / vibrates. "David?". "Yes." "It's John with the NL Psychology Board. Apologies for not getting back to you sooner. . ." Now this is getting really weird!

Carl Jung has a word for these experiences. He calls them synchronous events:  meaningful coincidences. Now, if I was as smitten by The Secret as a shamefully large segment of the self-help book consuming population seemed to be, I might be inclined to take this as 'proof' that those compelling vibes I'd put out to the universe (or taped to my bathroom mirror) were just 'coming back to me'.  But I'm not and I don't. If I strayed a little too far over that fine line that divides sanity from its less desirable twin, I might be inclined to 'read in' a bit of too much into these moments, perhaps seeing some causal connection between my thought and the events that immediately follow. But, last time I had my oil checked, I was neither paranoid nor schizotypal -- no magical thinking resident here!

Still there must be something between the outright dismissing of these occurrences as nothing more than an 'accident of timing' (or worse, not noticing at all!); and assuming oneself to be so potent and figural in the grand scheme of things as to be able to influence this marvelous coalescence of events.  (Almost sounds like intercessory prayer to me.)  In fact, the idea is far from new. Indra's web is a lovely, 19 centuries old image that captures what the Buddhists would call interpenetration (aka, coalescence, inter-connectedness) wherein all phenomena are intimately bound together, one to another.  Covering the universe, this web or net has, at each 'knot' a jewel, each holding the reflection of all the other jewels. These 'pearls' are variously interpreted as points of energy, individual souls, events; in their total, representing all such instances of same. And underscoring how each of us is connected with every other. Alan Watts, the British philosopher and popularizer of Buddhist thought in the West, likens this to a dew-laden spider's web, the water droplets mirroring all others.

The haiku at the top of this piece took shape, coalesced as it were, as I was riding one early morning in Tuscany. The fog had lifted; but, with its passing and its 'remains', it had summoned forth the myriad spider webs at the road side. Normally unnoticed, near invisible, the mists had condensed on the delicate silk bringing them into sharp relief -- and into my consciousness. Had I attended even more closely, I would have seen my own reflection, mirrored in each of those thousand prisms, connected to but seemingly so unrelated and separate from those passing structures. One's regular practice (whether it be a daily sit or a daily ride!) is a best way of opening us to Indra's web; making the room to notice these seemingly inconsequential 'knots', jewels. Easy enough to dispense with them as trivial or the product of a troubled mind. But a reminder nonetheless of the ties that bind us all -- if only we pay attention.

I'm 100% Sure!

"Nothing is certain except death and taxes." Two and a quarter centuries ago, almost to the day, Benjamin Franklin shared this wisdom with a French colleague. Evidently things have changed significantly since 1789. Nowadays folks seem to be certain about almost everything. Just ask  'em.

A few weeks ago, I had occasion to hear neurologist, Robert Burton interviewed on the topic of his newest book: On Being Certain: Believing you are right, even when you're not!  The chat was a portion of a program examining 'the moral high ground'; and Burton's particular piece was built around the possible neurological bases for these highly compelling feelings of certainty by which we seem so possessed.

I've always found myself somewhere between amusement and bewilderment --  but never surprised -- when listening to the 'data' that creationists trot out when defending their view that the planet is some 6,000 years old -- predicated on nothing more (at least originally) than the collected writings found in a single book.  Even a good wrap in the noggin with a Tyrannosaurus Rex shin bone doesn't seem to knock much sense into them. Most of we 'rational' folk are not particularly surprised by either the arguments or the rabid expression of same flowing from the fundamentalist's mouth. There is just no question. These are absolutes. Again, just ask 'em. (On second thought, unless you've got some considerable time to waste, don't bother!) Or take your common garden cult member. End of the world: sure -- have another glass of Kool Aid and get ready for lift off. Or, having put my time in consulting on a small psychiatric unit, one was not especially nonplussed by the firmness of some residents' belief that the radio was monitoring their conversations and thoughts; or that that injection would, without question, turn them to wood (bet you didn't know that pretty panelling was actually called 'knutty pine'.)

News flash! Certainty is not the exclusive province of the fringe dwellers of our world. Scratch any advocate, litigant, short-changed shopper, any adolescent, preacher, car owner, feuding spouse, political party lobbyist, or angry neighbor and you'll find, just below the surface, adamant belief in one's being right about something or other. So much for death and taxes.

Take for instance the radical shift our thought processes undergo as we make near any decision of moment in our lives. About half a century ago, a psychologist name Leon Festinger floated his theory of Cognitive Dissonance. Imagine going car shopping. You probably have some idea of what you want to buy -- but that only narrows it down to, say Toyota, Honda, and Hyundai. You consult Consumer Reports (bad on Hyundai for lying about their fuel economy; shame on Toyota for selling those sticky gas pedals) -- and Honda pulls a little ahead of the pack. But wait, your neighbor has been a devoted Toyota owner for decades and you've never heard him complain; let alone drive through the garage door before it's fully open. But Hyundai is getting rave reviews. OK, close your eyes and jump. In the driveway now sits a shiny, new Hyundai Santa Fe. That's when Leon's theory kicks into full gear (so to speak). We immediately become fans only of the good press around our most recent purchase; and we absolutely covet every little hint of weakness, flaw, or failed performance rating of the 'bad guys' (that would be Honda and Toyota). We are in the process of reducing our cognitive dissonance, our mental split around what we've just done. We are in the throes of convincing ourselves that we've made the most logically correct, rational, and fully evidence-based choice. We become increasingly certain of our position.  It matters little that mere days before we waffled and compared, test drove and talked -- utterly at sea over which was the better vehicle! We are now 100% sure of our decision, based on little more than, well . . . our need to be certain.

Back to Dr. Burton. As if our psychological inclinations weren't enough of a problem, the good doctor adds a whole other layer of challenge: our brain itself works to dig the 'hole of certainty' a little deeper. His review indicates that not only do we struggle to reduce our split psyche (a la Festinger); but that when we adopt an entrenched, highly committed (dare I say rigid and unyielding!) position, our brain responds in a way similar to eating a large bag of Ken's best French Fries or chowing down on a Scooper's triple chocolate brownie waffle cone. In short, it acts like we've just given it a treat of the week! The 'pleasure zones' light up like a Christmas tree.

Be it Robert Burton, Bertram Russell, or John Stuart Mill, restoring a little balance, a little equanimity to these extreme positions can only be a good thing. Russell's summary observance was that most of the evils man has wrought against man can be traced to feeling quite certain about something that, in fact, was false. Doesn't take a lot of imagination to fill in some pretty compelling and gut-wrenching examples of this statement!

Mr. Mill believed that people benefit from listening to the points of views of others; ones that are different from our own. He maintained that it was not about convincing the other or having them change their mind; it was about remaining open ourselves. Far from undermining our perspective, this opening compels us to remember the roots or grounds of our opinion or belief -- the very reasons we adopted the position in the first place. Otherwise we behave 'mindlessly', responding from a rote, well-rehearsed, and automatic position without intention, choice, or consideration. If this all sounds very close to the tenets that underpin a mindfulness practice, it's no coincidence. I know that for sure!

The Key To (just about) Everything

A teacher of mine once suggested to me, not to put too fine a point on it, that 'insight, without action, is bullshit!' This would have been one of those moments when I had become firmly mired in my head -- unable, in his often inspired view, to translate all those tantalizingly tempting thoughts into experience of any kind. Thinking had pushed feeling well into background. He could have just as easily reversed the comment: acting, without awareness is . . . well you know the rest.

A breakfast table conversation recently had expanded -- as they often do -- to include chat about the 'active ingredients' in all manner of psychological interventions. My wife had encountered some material on attention deficit 'treatments' that seemed to be directed at the neurological bases of same. And had commented that, along with the usual medications, a whole whack of different kinds of therapies were being considered, including cognitive behavioral strategies (so much in vogue currently) and some mindfulness training as well. And it started me thinking . . . As I mulled over the sundry 'stripes' that therapies seemed to boast as 'unique' approaches to treating equally diverse issues, it occurred to me that many (dare I say, most) shared a key element: presence.

While it may seem like a statement of the obvious, if one isn't fully engaged, present and accounted for, no intervention is going to be very effective. Take for example the aforementioned treat of the week (or month. . . or decade), CBT (aka cognitive behavioral therapy). This is a now half-century old -- and very useful, I might add -- method of helpfully modifying the 'way people think'. Primarily directed at 'distorted styles of thinking' (personalizing, polarizing, catastrophizing, over-generalizing, filtering, etc.), the protocol is to divide one's process into a series of progressive steps -- often called the columnar method. Identify the trigger event, situation. Label the mood or feeling(s) attached to that situation. Highlight the 'hot thoughts' -- these being the 'faulty conclusions' that tend to derail us. Catalogue the 'evidence' for and against these (often flawed) conclusions. Then finally, on the strength of this 'balance sheet', formulate a more 'balanced experience' of said situation.

Each progressive stage of this protocol requires that we fully and dispassionately (non-judgmentally) examine the 'column' that we presently occupy (be it situation, feeling, thought, or behavior). And secondly, most importantly, resist the compulsion to 'jump to conclusions' (another example of distorted thinking, btw), getting ahead of ourselves. For this process to 'work', the sine quo non (the 'without which there is nothing') is awareness, mindfulness.

My wife pulled me back with a very useful analogy. 'All well and good -- but you still have to do something with all that wonderful awareness'. The metaphor is that of driving down the highway in a nice, new, and electronically sophisticated car. Long before the zoned-out human occupants of said car tune into an impending flat tire, the on-board computer has detected a subtle decrease in pressure and illuminated the appropriate warning light for us to consider. That would be awareness. And that would also be the point at which myriad extraneous thoughts, choices, conclusions kick in for the human operator -- and take us away from the present moment. Is it raining (avoidance)? Could it be 'just a glitch' (denial)? Do I have time to have a flat tire? (Hmm) When did I last check to see if I even have a spare? (guilt, anxiety). And so the light continues to glow, the tire continues to deflate, and finally, grudgingly, we pull over, compelled to actually address the issue at hand.

My wife's point: we need team work. Awareness is a necessary -- but not sufficient -- condition for change, growth. Without it, we're left with the sense that 'we've been here before -- with the same old outcome'. Repeating the same old mistakes, stuck in the same old tapes; and not even knowing it. With it, we've created the necessary forum or platform for change. But we still have to pull over and change the tire.

For many of us (evidently in the mind of my teacher, I would be among the 'us'), sitting on a regular basis may be experienced as 'not working'. We don't feel noticeably less anxious, our minds still wander all over the place, we still get depressed, have disturbed sleep, lose our tempers. What perhaps has shifted is our awareness of these processes ('tuning in' earlier in this process), a reduced emotional reactivity to same (acceptance, to a degree), an increased sensitivity to change in this process (not generalizing so much, a reduced compulsion to catastrophize) and a resolve to continue making room in our lives for this forum of awareness. But if we don't notice the sensor light . . .