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Pacific Northwest Magazine By Richard Seven
The Pleasure Of The PresentTake a deep breath and unwind
What about now? Forget about tomorrow; it's too far away What about now? Close your eyes; don't talk of yesterday; It's too far away, too far away What about now? — singer-songwriter Robbie Robertson Well, what about it? Chances are, most of you have already run the gauntlet of stores, catalogues and online sites and now await the Christmas payoff, when expectations are unwrapped. So today, this in-between day, seems ripe for experiment. What if we simply enjoyed the day. Maybe focusing on an hour or two or even moment by moment? Is it possible to stop rushing and expecting and fixating and fantasizing and ruing and stewing? Can we forget about presents long enough to be present?
To be in the here-and-now has never been harder, the matrix of variables and stresses never more complex. Our techno-fed brains seem in a constant state of fragmenting. You could'a should'a done this or that or maybe you can in the future if only this or that falls into place. The stilling of our minds to the point of awareness or satisfaction — no matter how fleeting — is as rare as, well, the last deep breath you took. Here's one way to look at it: Our brains have essentially two modes of transportation. The authors of "Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy for Depression" call one "doing" and the other, "being." Doing is bent on accomplishment, striving to resolve where things are with where you want them to be. It's why you get things done, but it's also why you just can't seem to let things go. It's never quite satisfied, causing judgments to loop over and over in your head. Being is just that. It goes with the flow, simply taking in the moment. It's the surfer who crashes and climbs right back on to ride the next wave. It is the vacation most of us never seem to take. Unfortunately, in our society, "doing" tends to bully "being." Doing believes breaks are for sissies. That's why it can take several days of vacation before you feel like you're on one. It's no wonder. Achievement, productivity and strength are so prized that we often treat life as a drag strip. We are serial planners, but also junkies of instant gratification with all its side effects, like being neurotic, unhappy, greedy and harried. Now, we expect gifts. Yet, doing and being co-exist just fine in some people. They relax in lines. They don't flip you off in traffic. They create art that's beautiful because of its honest simplicity. They separate work and play. They don't want as much because they know what they need. They take in what's about them and focus. They show grace. Neuroscientists are picking the brains of Buddhist monks. They see hope in answering both physical and mental ailments. Some scientists have gone so far as to label this level of mindfulness and the concept of "consciousness" as the "last great mystery of science." The concept of mindfulness contains various definitions and levels. Essentially it is about focusing on the present with full participation but without judgment. It is about controlling your mind instead of letting it control you. The practice is used for treating everything from depression to pain to addiction. It also is used to help those who simply want to function better. These practices and other methods take work, and when you get right down to it, each strategy concerns itself with the same central question: "What about now?" I SAT ALONG a rectangular table inside a downtown high-rise conference room lit only by what noon sun seeped through the blinds. When one member of the Dialectical Behavior Therapy Center of Seattle tapped a singing bowl that sat before him, he, I and four therapists closed our eyes, held still, hands on laps, and paid attention to our breaths. I had been asked to stay as still as possible and resist the urge to cough or scratch. Instead, I was told, I should acknowledge the sensations and let them pass as if they were on a conveyor belt. That was so I could experience the power of being present, but I was more concerned about not disturbing the others. My nose itched from the very second I closed my eyes. I thought about how one quick scratch would be enough to last me the whole 20 minutes, but I held still and it dissipated soon. I did fixate on the beep, beep, beep of a truck backing up on the street five floors below. I thought about nonsense someone had said earlier that day, and whether I should peek to see what others in the room were doing and if I should take notes. A funny thought jumped into my head, pushing me to the brink of chuckling. I beat it down by thinking of tragedy. It's surprising what bounces around your brain when it's not on a mission. In fact, my thoughts ping-ponged the entire time, but the session went fast and I felt more refreshed than I do most mornings when I awake. The therapists do this every workday at noon for 20 minutes as part of their mindfulness practice. It often is the first thing they teach clients. When I told them how miserably my mind performed, they told me there is no right or wrong. You acknowledge thoughts as they come and move on. One therapist says she imagines herself sitting by a waterfall, dribbling her thoughts onto floating leaves that get carried downstream. And you practice. The ability to acknowledge thoughts and feelings, put them in their place and move on is the key. Most of us get stuck. The training comes in developing the ability to bring your mind back from the chatter to the point: the moment. Stacy Shaw Welch, a therapist with the Anxiety and Stress Reduction Center of Seattle (part of the Dialectical Center), says finding time for reflection in this season of "shoulds" is especially important. Accepting even hard truths can bring peace. People who practice mindfulness learn to discern the difference between pain, which is inevitable, and suffering, which is what we tend to add. She suggests starting small. "Try just sitting, and focusing attention on the breath — how it feels, the air as it comes in and out, etc. Distractions will arise and your mind will move away from the moment — thoughts, emotions, physical sensations — just notice, gently, with kindness, and bring your attention back to your breathing. Try this for 5 or 10 minutes to start out." THIS TALK OF MINDFUL contemplation might strike you as somewhere between impractical and woo-woo, but it's essential for many, including an artist who finds de-cluttering part of inspiration. Janice Giteck is a longtime professor at Cornish College of the Arts and a respected composer and musician who writes contemplative music rich with emotional texture. Some say you can feel her music. She often works on commission, so her music must connect with her specific audiences, but must also be authentic to who she is. As a Buddhist and meditation practitioner, she digs deep, stripping layers to get as close as she can to what matters. "I went to a retrospective of (Spanish painter) Joan Miró some years ago at the Guggenheim in New York. The building's a spiral with seven levels, and at the top was his earliest work and at the bottom were his most recent. What struck me was that it got simpler and simpler the later he got, to where the paintings were these huge canvases with a splash of color and a few blotches and that was it. And they were magnificent. Like haiku. But he was able to get there, I think, because of the more complex phases he worked through." Giteck kept two postcards she bought at the exhibit and put them on her piano for years to remind herself to slow down, let the music flow, one breath at a time. Do you know why Mozart is so beloved and so fascinating to both philosophers and psychiatrists? One reason, says Giteck, is that his melodic phrasing often only lasts the duration of a breath. He connected to our rhythm. Giteck just turned 60 and finds herself looking inward, not outward, as a young artist tends to do. And as Miró did late in his career, she tries to find meaning in impulse and austerity. "In music as in other art forms, you can get this great idea and then ask yourself, 'How do I develop this?' And you can develop it so much — sometimes too much to the point that you end up murdering it. You've cut it up, pushed it this way and that until it no longer breathes. I'm trying to trust that what comes out is good enough and represents who and what I am and have to say." Going with the flow is also essential to Aikido, a martial-arts form that focuses on neutralizing an opponent's aggression and energy. It emphasizes blending, not attacking. Kimberly Richardson, chief instructor at Two Cranes Aikido dojo in Seattle, says it is based on finding inner peace and applicable everywhere. "When someone is coming at you in life with anything, be it too much ill will or love, how do you take that deep breath and come back to the moment? How do you center yourself so you can see past their projection? It's very much useful in our daily lives. Aikido teaches us to reach for peace, no matter the circumstances." LET'S FACE IT, a lot of tomorrow will be about stuff. Stuff can make us feel better, especially when it's given with love. But stuff piles up and needs to be put in its place. People who live simply have learned to handle the flow and pileup. Many of us equate "living simply" with self-deprivation. It need not be, says Seattle's Janet Luhrs, author of "The Simple Living Guide," a practical book. De-cluttering is at the heart of her advice. She suggests de-cluttering not just our homes but our lives and attention spans as well. In that regard, living simply is really living deeply and deliberately. People who live simply work to fit stuff, money and work around the lives they choose, not vice versa. As she writes, "Simplicity is stopping for a moment and asking what the heck are we doing with our lives." She suggests that people who live simply share one basic attribute: contentment. They learn to appreciate what they have and realize the difference between want and need. And with contentment, she says, comes being aware of what's here and now. We also have our share of technological stuff to deal with. The same e-mail that allows us to spread social and business tentacles presents constant interruption and distraction if we allow it. Just think about the scattered menu the morning inbox represents. David Levy, a professor in the University of Washington School of Information, has made this uneasy relationship the focus of his examination. He is working on a documentary and planning to write a book on the subject. This year, he taught a course titled "Information and Contemplation," which in these search-engine days of quick answers seems, at best, an oxymoron. Students recorded how they used e-mail and the Internet. Most noted feelings of distraction and angst, and some took it upon themselves to alter how and when they used it. Levy strives to find balance between the speed of technology and the pace at which he wants to live. He forgoes e-mail and Internet access from Friday to Saturday nights to observe the Sabbath, and suggests everyone consider some unplugging from time to time. Why not try it for a couple days? The e-mails won't go anywhere. RODNEY SMITH, GUIDING teacher of the nonprofit Seattle Insight Meditation Society, spent several years as a Buddhist monk in Thailand and many more years at a Seattle hospice. He leads retreats, classes and workshops and helps those of us in the fast lane to slow down and enjoy the scenery, to separate reality from spin. He says many of us don't appreciate the world about us because we're distracted by the shortcuts and baggage we generate in our heads. "Living by thought is a little like driving your car by looking in the rear-view mirror because you're looking after an event has occurred," he says. "If you look at the reflected quality as the truth you miss the actual truth, which is in front of you. How can you feel connected looking in the rear-view mirror?" It's not an easy thing to break a lifetime of habit and suddenly get our eyes back on the road. It takes a lot of practice. He suggests starting with short moments, like paying deep attention to brushing your teeth, or the sensation of driving (which means turning off the radio, at least) as a way to edge toward appreciation of the here and now. "During my hospice training, I spent a lot of time at the bedside of the dying. Sometimes they call their loved ones to their bedside to express appreciation for a life lived together, which they didn't have time to do before because they had asserted that they were going to live forever. But when you know your life isn't going to last forever — which is a moment of mindfulness — you take account of and appreciate the present. "Why wait?" Richard Seven is a Pacific Northwest magazine staff writer. He can be reached at rseven@seattletimes.com.
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