When my Tai Chi master told me he was 60, shortly after I started studying with him 13 years ago, I could not believe it. He could have passed for a 45 year-old. The practice of Tai Chi, I was to learn, aims at moving Chi through the body in order to nourish, heal, and increase longevity. In addition to the Yang Short form that he taught us, he also instructed us in Tao Breathing (hsing-ch'i) and combining that with a mental meditation to move Chi to various points in our bodies. This is a brief description of the basic breathing technique, which I will then build on in later posts.
Tao Breathing differs significantly from how we're taught to breathe in school. It is the natural way of breathing and how babies breathe when you watch them sleeping. Sit or stand with the spine straight and perpendicular to the ground. Close your eyes half way. Relax your neck muscles. Press the tip of the tongue lightly against the roof of the mouth.
On the inhale, the abdomen expands. This causes the diaphragm under the lungs to drop, which creates a vacuum and that draws air into the lungs. To exhale, the abdomen contracts and that pushes up on the diaphragm, which expels the air.
Inhale through the nostrils, not the mouth. Make your breath in as long as your breath out--long deep and even, but not forced.
Keeping the tip of the tongue against the roof of the mouth closes a circuit that carries Chi through our body. If you find your mind wondering, focus your attention on the tip of your nose and pay attention to the movement of the air in and out of your body. As you breathe in, feel the air pass through your nostrils, enter your throat, and move all the way down to the deepest part of your lungs. As you breathe out, feel the air traveling back up your throat and through your nostrils.
Watching your breath this way is one of the most ancient meditation techniques. If you find your mind wondering, don't worry. Just bring your attention back to you breath.
Practicing Tao Breathing will improve your concentration and gives you a vacation from all the bothersome and worrisome thoughts that barrage you during our waking hours. The more you practice, the better you will become at this type of concentration and that will help you deal with the stressors in your life. When you feel anxious, just take a moment to practice the Tao Breathing.
Tao Breathing and Tai Chi seem weird to us in the West, however, more and more, research is demonstrating how they actually affect our brain's activities, by fighting depression, changing destructive thought patterns, and helping us manage our emotions. Below are a few references to this research:
Anna Wise-Wrote a book called the Awakened Mind, in which I learned that putting the tongue against the roof of the mouth while meditating actually has an impact on brain waves and that Tai Chi is a moving meditation that can take us to brain states that actually heal our bodies.
Religion Facts: Chi--entry that gives a definition of Chi as vital life force and explains that Tai Chi and breathing techniques move Chi around the body.
John Kabat Zinn--Medical doctor who does research on mindfulness and meditation and most recently focused on using meditation to alleviate depression. His research has shown that meditation has an impact on the right pre-frontal cortex which controls positive thoughts.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Not Controlling but Also Not Succubming: Meditation and Equanimity
Every so often, I get overwhelmed by the myriad events of life. Those times, non-rational thoughts and feelings of victimization often arise, no doubt from the pre-reptilian part of my brain. Despite all the knowledge gained from readings in psychology, self-help, philosophy, tai chi, spirituality and meditation, it still takes me a lot of effort to stop myself and realize that those thoughts are just that--thoughts and not reality. No one is attacking me; my lot in life is not harder than anyone else's; and all I have to do is take a deep breath, notice what is happening, and I can settle myself down and devote my attention to what's needed. It sounds so easy, but I often forget, and find myself wasting energy tilting at windmills in my mind.
This week, I started listening to a book called "Emotional Alchemy" by Tara Bennett-Goleman. She applies Buddhist psychological principles of mindfulness to her practice as a therapist. We are to face life's crises with equanimity and serene composure. Being without reacting is a theme that comes up, again and again, which resonates with the principles of Taoism I've been reading about, for example verse 12 of the Tao Te Ching:
Colors blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavors numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.
The Master observes the world
but trusts his inner vision.
He allows things to come and go.
His heart is open as the sky.
Our habits and thoughts actually become hard-wired into the neural pathways of our brain. To change, we have to practice new thoughts to lay down new pathways. Our pre-frontal cortex is the most recently evolved part of the brain and is what allows us to take all those chaotic feelings and emotions from the older, reptilian part of our brain, and act in ways that are appropriate.
This might sound mumbo-jumbo to some, but Bennett-Goleman cites the work of John Kabat-Zinn and Richard Davidson who have demonstrated the effects of meditation on the pre-frontal cortex. It turns out that mindfulness and meditation has a physical effect on our brains. The left pre-frontal cortex specifically generates positive feelings and dampens negative feelings. They looked at brain activity of those who practiced meditation and mindfulness and saw more activity in the left prefrontal cortex. The meditation actually made the subject stronger at controlling negative emotions.
A psychologist up the street at the Shambala Center in Washington, DC, told us in a meditation class recently, that it takes about 6 weeks for the beneficial effects of meditation to take effect, which coincidentally is how long it takes the average anti-depressant to take effect.
Which would you choose?
This week, I started listening to a book called "Emotional Alchemy" by Tara Bennett-Goleman. She applies Buddhist psychological principles of mindfulness to her practice as a therapist. We are to face life's crises with equanimity and serene composure. Being without reacting is a theme that comes up, again and again, which resonates with the principles of Taoism I've been reading about, for example verse 12 of the Tao Te Ching:
Colors blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavors numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.
The Master observes the world
but trusts his inner vision.
He allows things to come and go.
His heart is open as the sky.
Our habits and thoughts actually become hard-wired into the neural pathways of our brain. To change, we have to practice new thoughts to lay down new pathways. Our pre-frontal cortex is the most recently evolved part of the brain and is what allows us to take all those chaotic feelings and emotions from the older, reptilian part of our brain, and act in ways that are appropriate.
This might sound mumbo-jumbo to some, but Bennett-Goleman cites the work of John Kabat-Zinn and Richard Davidson who have demonstrated the effects of meditation on the pre-frontal cortex. It turns out that mindfulness and meditation has a physical effect on our brains. The left pre-frontal cortex specifically generates positive feelings and dampens negative feelings. They looked at brain activity of those who practiced meditation and mindfulness and saw more activity in the left prefrontal cortex. The meditation actually made the subject stronger at controlling negative emotions.
A psychologist up the street at the Shambala Center in Washington, DC, told us in a meditation class recently, that it takes about 6 weeks for the beneficial effects of meditation to take effect, which coincidentally is how long it takes the average anti-depressant to take effect.
Which would you choose?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
A Week of Grace
Two weeks ago on Saturday, January 30, 2010, my sister-in-law called me. She was with my brother and father in the emergency room of a hospital in Indiana. My father had fallen in his shower and suffered a blow to his head. He was bleeding in three places in his brain. The ER doctors had just told them that my father's condition was mortal: he would be admitted to the hospital, but would not leave. He might be expected to live 2 or 3 more days.
Dad had been living in an assisted living facility for 3 years since my Mom had to enter a nursing home because of dementia. Mom passed two years ago in January of 2008. Dad took it hard after 68 years of marriage and spending the previous 8 years being her primary caregiver. His health has been declining since then. After a year, he had to give up driving. In June of 2009 he suffered a stroke, which caused his speech to slur. However, Dad recovered enough from the stroke so that he could return to his assisted living apartment.
In September, however, he had another stroke, and once again he returned to his apartment. After that, my two oldest brothers flew in to spend a week with him. I planned to drive my family out there to spend Thanksgiving with him. I called him before my trip, and it sounded as if he knew the inevitable was coming.
"It seems that you kids have been discussing my demise," he said.
"We're worried about you."
"Well, I'm ready to join your mother in heaven."
That gave me pause. Normally, I would have tried to cheer him up, or change the subject, or tell him he wasn't going to die. Fortunately, I realized that would have been the result of my own discomfort and unwillingness to accept the reality of the situation and would have been even kind of demeaning to him. Before my Mom died, the dementia had made it impossible to have such a conversation with her. So I took a breath and it came to me what to say:
"I will miss you," I said.
"You know," he said. "Every time I walk into my apartment and see that picture of my parents, it still brings tears to my eyes. I still miss them."
His father died 46 years ago, in 1964 and his mother in 1970, when I was 15. He had just given me a valuable lesson. Grief and loss stay with us forever. It is a part of life. You acknowledge the feelings, you integrate them into your character, and you continue to live life to its fullest.
I asked him to forgive me for any hurt I might have caused him over the years.
"Oh, that's all part of being in a family, he said. "We both forgive each other, I'm sure."
When my mother died, I did not rush back quickly enough to arrive before she passed and I regretted that. This time, I vowed not to let that happen, so I immediately got online and booked a flight for my daughter, Simone, and me for the next day. My wife and other daughter could not leave that day and we agreed they would come for the funeral.
After we arrived on Sunday, we drove right to the hospital. The doctors had initially designated "comfort care" for Dad, which meant no food or liquids and basically to let nature take its course. My niece and nephew had driven up from Bloomington and my brother, his wife, and his son were there as well. Dad lay in bed. He looked terrible. He didn't have his dentures in and I barely recognized him. He did have a IV in his arm, and his condition had been upgraded to "do not resuscitate." My brother woke him up and Dad recognized me and Simone. We talked to him briefly and he fell asleep.
The next day, talking to doctors and nurses, we learned it appeared the bleeding in the brain had stopped and the were going to start Dad on Occupational and Physical Therapy with the goal of returning him to his assisted living facility. Of course, we were gladdened but we felt we had just gone through an emotional wringer. We had come anticipating the worse and now learned he had a reprieve.
My oldest brother had arrived the same day we had, and my second oldest arrived on Monday. My sister had been to see him with her husband earlier in January. We called her and Dad's spirits were buoyed. Every day, Dad got stronger and stronger. He was able to sit up, and use a stroller to get to a chair one day. The next day, he was able to walk with the stroller around the ward. Eventually, they started him on pureed foods and he started to look less gaunt.
Dad appeared to have had a miraculous turnaround. Throughout the poking and prodding and moving him around, he remained happy. He loved having his children around. When he was awake, he joked and watching him interact with the nurses was to watch countless acts of kindness and grace. He was teaching us how to be loving and how to live.
By Wednesday, he was released from the hospital and went back to the rehabilitative care ward connected to his assisted living center. We anguished a bit. Would he be able to return to his assisted living facility. If not, would insurance cover the costs of the rehabilitative care or use up all his savings? Would he have to be moved to the wing where my mother died and just spend his last days waiting? And if could regain the ability to take care of himself, we worried the same thing would happen again. Our family talked about these things over long meals, while reminiscing about our childhoods and telling stories about Mom and Dad. Our time together was bringing us closer. Being able to talk about these things with people I've known my entire life felt very comforting.
On Thursday, when Simone and I arrived to visit him, my older brother, who had arrived before us related something my dad had said earlier. "He said he felt worthless. That he was a bother to all of us. Then he said that tonight was going to be the night that he died." Later that day, his doctor visited. We went over the CAT scans with him to review the areas where he bled and to discuss his prognosis. He said that Dad had fallen after fainting, either because of low blood pressure or a skipped heart beat. When we related what my dad had said about passing, the doctor said, he took it very seriously when older people say things like that.
"For some reason that science can't explain, they seem to know when the hour is upon them. Your Dad has his Christian faith, which for him means he knows he is going to join your mother in heaven, which is a great comfort to him. That is a great blessing. Even if he doesn't pass tonight, fortunately, he is awake and alert and not like a good number of the people who live here."
That night we all slept fitfully, expecting to receive a call from the home telling us to come quickly. On Friday morning, when we arrived, he was sitting up, chatting and made no mention of his earlier premonition. We accompanied Dad to occupational therapy and marveled at how dextrous and coordinated he was after what he had just been through. He was present and took every new task as it came and gave it his full attention. He was living in an appreciated every moment. More lessons for us.
My second oldest brother had to leave on Saturday, so we decided to celebrate Dad's 95th birthday on Friday night instead of the actual day, Sunday. We brought in cakes and ice cream and sang happy birthday. He beamed as his great granddaughter, just 9 months old, cruised around and sat on his lap.
Simone and I were scheduled to leave on Sunday morning. Before our flight, we drove down to see Dad one last time--for his birthday and to say goodbye. He was fully dressed, having gotten up for breakfast, but lay asleep in his bed. We woke him to say goodbye, but he soon fell asleep. We left him to sleep, both feeling very blessed to have been able to spend this week with and learn from him.
Today, I picked up a copy of the Tao Te Ching, and found the following verse, which seemed so relevant.
(Verse 50 of the Tao Te Ching)
"The Master gives himself up
to whatever the moment brings.
He knows that he is going to die,
and he has nothing left to hold on to:
no illusions in his mind,
no resistances in his body.
He doesn't think about his actions;
they flow from the core of his being.
He holds nothing back from life;
therefore he is ready for death,
as a man is ready for sleep
after a good day's work."
Dad had been living in an assisted living facility for 3 years since my Mom had to enter a nursing home because of dementia. Mom passed two years ago in January of 2008. Dad took it hard after 68 years of marriage and spending the previous 8 years being her primary caregiver. His health has been declining since then. After a year, he had to give up driving. In June of 2009 he suffered a stroke, which caused his speech to slur. However, Dad recovered enough from the stroke so that he could return to his assisted living apartment.
In September, however, he had another stroke, and once again he returned to his apartment. After that, my two oldest brothers flew in to spend a week with him. I planned to drive my family out there to spend Thanksgiving with him. I called him before my trip, and it sounded as if he knew the inevitable was coming.
"It seems that you kids have been discussing my demise," he said.
"We're worried about you."
"Well, I'm ready to join your mother in heaven."
That gave me pause. Normally, I would have tried to cheer him up, or change the subject, or tell him he wasn't going to die. Fortunately, I realized that would have been the result of my own discomfort and unwillingness to accept the reality of the situation and would have been even kind of demeaning to him. Before my Mom died, the dementia had made it impossible to have such a conversation with her. So I took a breath and it came to me what to say:
"I will miss you," I said.
"You know," he said. "Every time I walk into my apartment and see that picture of my parents, it still brings tears to my eyes. I still miss them."
His father died 46 years ago, in 1964 and his mother in 1970, when I was 15. He had just given me a valuable lesson. Grief and loss stay with us forever. It is a part of life. You acknowledge the feelings, you integrate them into your character, and you continue to live life to its fullest.
I asked him to forgive me for any hurt I might have caused him over the years.
"Oh, that's all part of being in a family, he said. "We both forgive each other, I'm sure."
When my mother died, I did not rush back quickly enough to arrive before she passed and I regretted that. This time, I vowed not to let that happen, so I immediately got online and booked a flight for my daughter, Simone, and me for the next day. My wife and other daughter could not leave that day and we agreed they would come for the funeral.
After we arrived on Sunday, we drove right to the hospital. The doctors had initially designated "comfort care" for Dad, which meant no food or liquids and basically to let nature take its course. My niece and nephew had driven up from Bloomington and my brother, his wife, and his son were there as well. Dad lay in bed. He looked terrible. He didn't have his dentures in and I barely recognized him. He did have a IV in his arm, and his condition had been upgraded to "do not resuscitate." My brother woke him up and Dad recognized me and Simone. We talked to him briefly and he fell asleep.
The next day, talking to doctors and nurses, we learned it appeared the bleeding in the brain had stopped and the were going to start Dad on Occupational and Physical Therapy with the goal of returning him to his assisted living facility. Of course, we were gladdened but we felt we had just gone through an emotional wringer. We had come anticipating the worse and now learned he had a reprieve.
My oldest brother had arrived the same day we had, and my second oldest arrived on Monday. My sister had been to see him with her husband earlier in January. We called her and Dad's spirits were buoyed. Every day, Dad got stronger and stronger. He was able to sit up, and use a stroller to get to a chair one day. The next day, he was able to walk with the stroller around the ward. Eventually, they started him on pureed foods and he started to look less gaunt.
Dad appeared to have had a miraculous turnaround. Throughout the poking and prodding and moving him around, he remained happy. He loved having his children around. When he was awake, he joked and watching him interact with the nurses was to watch countless acts of kindness and grace. He was teaching us how to be loving and how to live.
By Wednesday, he was released from the hospital and went back to the rehabilitative care ward connected to his assisted living center. We anguished a bit. Would he be able to return to his assisted living facility. If not, would insurance cover the costs of the rehabilitative care or use up all his savings? Would he have to be moved to the wing where my mother died and just spend his last days waiting? And if could regain the ability to take care of himself, we worried the same thing would happen again. Our family talked about these things over long meals, while reminiscing about our childhoods and telling stories about Mom and Dad. Our time together was bringing us closer. Being able to talk about these things with people I've known my entire life felt very comforting.
On Thursday, when Simone and I arrived to visit him, my older brother, who had arrived before us related something my dad had said earlier. "He said he felt worthless. That he was a bother to all of us. Then he said that tonight was going to be the night that he died." Later that day, his doctor visited. We went over the CAT scans with him to review the areas where he bled and to discuss his prognosis. He said that Dad had fallen after fainting, either because of low blood pressure or a skipped heart beat. When we related what my dad had said about passing, the doctor said, he took it very seriously when older people say things like that.
"For some reason that science can't explain, they seem to know when the hour is upon them. Your Dad has his Christian faith, which for him means he knows he is going to join your mother in heaven, which is a great comfort to him. That is a great blessing. Even if he doesn't pass tonight, fortunately, he is awake and alert and not like a good number of the people who live here."
That night we all slept fitfully, expecting to receive a call from the home telling us to come quickly. On Friday morning, when we arrived, he was sitting up, chatting and made no mention of his earlier premonition. We accompanied Dad to occupational therapy and marveled at how dextrous and coordinated he was after what he had just been through. He was present and took every new task as it came and gave it his full attention. He was living in an appreciated every moment. More lessons for us.
My second oldest brother had to leave on Saturday, so we decided to celebrate Dad's 95th birthday on Friday night instead of the actual day, Sunday. We brought in cakes and ice cream and sang happy birthday. He beamed as his great granddaughter, just 9 months old, cruised around and sat on his lap.
Simone and I were scheduled to leave on Sunday morning. Before our flight, we drove down to see Dad one last time--for his birthday and to say goodbye. He was fully dressed, having gotten up for breakfast, but lay asleep in his bed. We woke him to say goodbye, but he soon fell asleep. We left him to sleep, both feeling very blessed to have been able to spend this week with and learn from him.
Today, I picked up a copy of the Tao Te Ching, and found the following verse, which seemed so relevant.
(Verse 50 of the Tao Te Ching)
"The Master gives himself up
to whatever the moment brings.
He knows that he is going to die,
and he has nothing left to hold on to:
no illusions in his mind,
no resistances in his body.
He doesn't think about his actions;
they flow from the core of his being.
He holds nothing back from life;
therefore he is ready for death,
as a man is ready for sleep
after a good day's work."
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