Integral Island

I find it mind-blowing how intelligent, sensitive people can have such radically different takes on things. We all have our initial, gut reactions to situations and events, and we long for validation and a sense of resonance with others. So, when I read Ken Wilber’s You’re going to be a star blog and the latest issue of Integral Institute’s Holons Newsletter, I thought to myself: “Sweet Jesus, here we go again. This is everything I hate about the direction I-I is heading. The Integral Baby is heading down the drain with all this bullshit bathwater.”

Then I find these two scathing critiques:

Integral Idols, by Frank Visser, and

Holons: The World of Wilbergral Poseurs, by Tom Armstrong.

While I haven’t always agreed with Frank’s and Tom’s views in the past, this time around they both caused my head to nod and that warm, fuzzy “My sentiments exactly” resonance to pass over me like a pleasant breeze. Validation! I guess I’m not the only one who sees this horse shit for what it is. I wonder what Julian Walker thinks? He’s a “tell it like it is” kinda guy…

Then I go over to Julian’s blog, which I think kicks ass, only to discover that he loves the new issue of Holons (Holons comes through big). How can this be, when Julian and I see eye to eye on so many other things?

My first instinct is to find fault with Julian somehow. Maybe since he’s been recently praised by Wilber and Integral Institute, he’s sipped the Kool-aid and joined the mutual back-scratching fest that raises so many red flags for me. But then I wonder if this is all just my own shadow stuff, and perhaps myself and all the other Wilber Haters are just jealous, secretly wishing we too will someday be acknowledged by the Integral in-crowd.

So, how much do our psychological idiosyncrasies color our responses and opinions? For instance, do I resonate with Sam Harris because when I was ten years old, my younger brother was left brain-damaged in an accident, leaving me angry against God? Maybe it has little to do with the merit of any particular argument about faith and reason. And yet I feel so sure of myself, so certain that I am right and everyone else who can’t see what I see is a fucking moron.

This is why I love real dialogue, why I get so excited about respectful but vigorous debate. There’s just no way to get totally clear of one’s shadow, to get beyond one’s own blind spots, without the benefit of other perspectives. This is yet another reason why I’m so rankled by the recent trends at Integral Institute. True dialogue and healthy debate cannot thrive in an insular atmosphere of high-fiving, hobnobbing, jargon-speaking, label-spewing self-promotion. I worry that Integral Institute will become an island unto itself if it continues its current marketing campaign, and the message will ultimately be lost in a bottle somewhere off the coast of Antigua.

The sound of one cheek flapping

It just keeps getting colder and rainier here in Kentucky, and my wife and I will have to postpone our jog-in-the-park yet again. Of course, if we really wanted to run, we’d put on a poncho and run. And if I really wanted to learn Spanish I’d study everyday, etc. etc. I guess what I really want to do is chill out on this cushy chair and play with my computer, ’cause that’s what I actually do every friggin’ morning.

Last night I gave my “Zen Story” lecture to the kids on the Chemical Dependency Unit. It was a version of the old classic where the zen master holds the student’s head under water for a while, then releases him and says something like: “When you want enlightenment as much as you wanted that breath, you’ll get it.” I had planned to make all these brilliant connections to the recovery process and whatnot, but instead the discussion was mostly about who kept passing gas during group and which kids were making fun of a disabled patient whenever my back was turned.

Working with teenagers–most of whom show no interest in working toward change–can leave you shaking your head at times. They’re just not gonna get it, not gonna really hear anything you have to say, until they’re good and ready, if ever. And when you’re dealing with eighteen kids at the same time, it’s tough to meet them all “where they’re at” because they’re each “at” a different spot. So, you often end up reaching two or three kids and babysitting the other fifteen. What can you do.

I still find myself genuinely caring about every kid, no matter how many times they respond to my best therapeutic efforts with a nasty fart.

Hey, at least I’m getting a response…

Hall of mirrors

I’m sitting here, hungry for the pizza I’m about to prepare, trying to remember how to say “I’m hungry” in Spanish (I supposedly learned that this morning), and gradually coming down from a late afternoon caffeine buzz. Life is swirling and I can’t seem to wrap my mind around anything solid and stable. I don’t know what the sweet fuck I’m doing, and… wait… here’s a thought: Hole in the sky, on the fourth of July, on the fourth of July.

I’m trying to do too many things at once, but there are so many things to do, and everything takes time, and there’s just not much time, so I have to let so many things go. I want to be Ken Wilber and Bruce Lee and Ze Frank and Thomas Hanna and Alan Watts and Bill Hicks and Henry Miller, when the truth is, they’re not even them, I mean, they’re just ideas I have in my head, symbols of some ideal state of being, projections of squandered potentials and buried intentions. They are hallucinations in a hall of mirrors, dreams in a sleepless, moonless night.

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Wishbone

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It seems I like to periodically put myself in the position of a wishbone, allowing myself to be pulled in two directions, letting the tension build and build until — SNAP!!! — I find myself in one place or the other. In 2000, I applied for doctoral study at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, PA, while at the same time going house-hunting in Chapel Hill, NC, searching for the perfect old house for my friends and I to transform into a Rock N’ Roll crucible for avant-garde creativity. It wasn’t until I received a message on my answering machine from a Duquesne professor, congratulating me for being accepted to the program, that something snapped and I found myself signing the lease in Chapel Hill.

Then in 2004 I fell in love with a girl who received a fellowship to the University of Kentucky. Once again, I wanted to pursue two completely incompatible goals: 1) to live with her, and 2) to stay in Chapel Hill with my friends and bandmates. I tried to do both until — SNAP!!! — I found myself in Kentucky.

Yesterday, I received an email inviting me to interview for a graduate assistantship at Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, MA. I plan to make the trip, and while I hope to get into the program, I also really want to finish my certification as an addictions counselor, which requires that I stay here in Kentucky through the Fall. But, you see, the professor I want to work with at Mt. Holyoke can only take me on as a student if I come THIS Fall. So, yesterday at 3pm I met with my supervisor to outline the plan for taking the counseling certification exam in December, then five hours later I’m emailing a professor in Mt. Holyoke, setting up an interview to attend graduate school in September, 800 miles away!

I can feel the tension building… building…

Missed Connections

More messing around with iMovie:

You: Yellow eyes, black leather jacket, blue skin, a scar across your cheek
Me: Upside-down, inside-out and backwards, in the check-out line you smiled at me
My tongue was tied, I wanted to reach out, just for a taste
Drop me a line, if you remember, some other time, some other place

Just when I thought I found it, I guess it slippped away
The more I think about it, the more I slip away
It’s in my mind, maybe I’ve finally reached the edge
Maybe it’s time, maybe I’ve finally reached the end

I know I’m crazy for asking, but will you love me forever
And wherever you’re going, can we go there together
And whenever we get there, can we lay in the sun

There’s no turning back now, and there’s nowhere to run to
This is all that I have now, this is all it comes down to
And if it comes down to nothing, then there’s nothing to lose

It’s all in this moment, and I can hardly contain it
I cannot control it, and I just can’t explain it
But I know if I blow it, it’ll blow me away

My eyes are wide open, and my dreams are forgotten
There are no secrets unspoken, no feelings are locked in
And if the clock has stopped ticking, then it can’t be too late

Yes, my eyes are wide open, but I can’t seem to wake up
And I can’t put my faith in some shit that you made up
So I guess that leaves nothing but this… weight…

The Tao of Bruce Lee

I’ve been on a Bruce Lee kick (no pun intended) as of late. Okay, maybe the pun was intended. Anyway, I watched the following “Lost Interview” of Lee by the stodgy Pierre Berton. I was struck by the contrast in body language between the two men–Bruce Lee’s animation and joie de vivre compared with Berton’s stiff reserve. The interview inspired me to dig a little deeper into Lee’s philosophy and I was surprised to discover how beautifully he was able to articulate and embody the Somatic/Experiential principles I have been contemplating lately. Check it out:

From Bruce Lee:
Ultimately, martial art means honestly expressing yourself.

True observation begins when one is devoid of set patterns.

A good martial artist does not become tense but ready. Not thinking yet not dreaming, ready for whatever may come. A martial artist has to take responsibility for himself and face the consequences of his own doing. To have no technique, there is no opponent, because the word “I” does not exist. When the opponent expands I contract and when he contracts, I expand. And when there is an opportunity, “I” do not hit, “It” hits all by itself.

A martial artist who drills exclusively to a set pattern of combat is losing his freedom. He is actually becoming a slave to a choice pattern and feels that the pattern is the real thing. It leads to stagnation because the way of combat is never based on personal choice and fancies, but constantly changes from moment to moment, and the disappointed combatant will soon find out that his “choice routine” lacks pliability. There must be a “being” instead of a “doing” in training. One must be free. Instead of complexity of form, there should be simplicity of expression.

All fixed set patterns are incapable of adaptability or pliability. The truth is outside of all fixed patterns.

Art is the expression of the self. The more complicated and restricted the method, the less the opportunity for expression of one’s original sense of freedom. Though they play an important role in the early stage, the techniques should not be too mechanical, complex or restrictive. If we cling blindly to them, we shall eventually become bound by their limitations. Remember, you are expressing the techniques and not doing the techniques. If somebody attacks you, your response is not Technique No.1, Stance No. 2, Section 4, Paragraph 5. Instead you simply move in like sound and echo, without any deliberation. It is as though when I call you, you answer me, or when I throw you something, you catch it. It’s as simple as that — no fuss, no mess. In other words, when someone grabs you, punch him. To me a lot of this fancy stuff is not functional.

Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.

By adopting a certain physical posture, a resonant chord is struck in spirit.

Eliminate “not clear” thinking and function from your root.

Ever since I was a child I have had this instinctive urge for expansion and growth. To me, the function and duty of a quality human being is the sincere and honest development of one’s potential.

If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo.

If you want to learn to swim, jump into the water. On dry land, no frame of mind is ever going to help you. In building a statue, a sculptor doesn’t keep adding clay to his subject. Actually, he keeps chiselling away at the inessentials until the truth of its creation is revealed without obstructions.

Knowing is not enough, you must apply; willing is not enough, you must do.

Learn the principle, abide by the principle, and dissolve the principle. In short, enter a mold without being caged in it. Obey the principle without being bound by it.

Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable.

Put every great teacher together in a room, and they’d agree about everything; put their disciples in there and they’d argue about everything.

Styles tend to not only separate men — because they have their own doctrines and then the doctrine became the gospel truth that you cannot change. But if you do not have a style, if you just say: Well, here I am as a human being, how can I express myself totally and completely? Now, that way you won’t create a style, because style is a crystallization. That way, it’s a process of continuing growth.

The great mistake is to anticipate the outcome of the engagement; you ought not to be thinking of whether it ends in victory or in defeat. Let nature take its course, and your tools will strike at the right moment.

The height of cultivation runs to simplicity. Halfway cultivation runs to ornamentation.

The void is no mere emptiness, but is real, free and existing. It is the source from which all things arise and return. It cannot be seen, touched or known, yet it exists and is freely used. It has no shape, size, colour or form, and yet all that we see, hear, feel and touch is “it”. It is beyond intellectual knowing and cannot be grasped by the ordinary mind. When we suddenly awake to the realization that there is no barrier, and has never been seen, one realizes that one is all things, mountains, rivers, grasses, trees, sun, moon, stars, universe are all oneself. There is no longer a division or barrier between myself and others, no longer any feeling of alienation or fear. Realizing this, results in true compassion. Other people and things are not seen as apart from oneself, on the contrary, as one’s own body.

The embodiment of freedom, Chapter two

From the traditional scientific viewpoint, people are observable, manipulable objects. Traditional doctors study people’s bodies; traditional psychologists study people’s minds. From the somatic viewpoint, people are more than just bodies understandable and approachable on a bio-physical level, and minds understandable and approachable on a psycho-social level. We are equally self-sensing, self-moving, self-aware, self-expressing, self-responsible subjects–we are somas. Somas who not only are shaped by their relations with the environment and other people in observable ways, but who also profoundly affect their own state of functioning through subjective beliefs, expectations, and through the power of their own self-awareness. Hanna and Wilber would agree that the first-person perspective discloses unique data, complimenting the third-person view of the human being, making it possible to move toward an integral understanding that recognizes the whole human.

Experientially-oriented therapy and somatic education are two distinct approaches with a common goal: to help people to move from an inefficient, unfulfilling, unhealthy mode of functioning to one of increased efficiency, fulfillment and health. That is to say, both approaches aim for transformation of the whole-person. On the surface, it appears each addresses separate levels of human experience, somatics being about improving people’s bodily functioning while therapy works to better psychological functioning. While the terms bodily and psychological do indeed refer to qualitatively distinct modes of experience, they are quite inseparable at both the structural and functional levels. As Hanna noted, all human experience–whether perceived as thinking, feeling, tasting, seeing or jumping–is a reflection of the functioning of the entire human soma, which is coordinated by the processes of the central nervous system.

As we discussed, from an objective vantage point, all our perceptions of self and world are routed through our brains via sensory nerves, while all our movements in the world and inside ourselves flow out from our brain down the spine via motor nerves. We saw how, through intelligent use one’s self-sensing abilities, a state of sensory-motor amnesia in a given area could be reversed by somatic learning. The implications that this understanding has for the field of psychology become evident when we consider the various qualities of psychological experience in their rootedness to this very same sensorimotor system. In fact, psychological modes of expression, such as thinking, verbalizing, and imagining, can all be understood in terms of the somatic process of movement, while the psychological constructs of self-consciousness and self-awareness can be understood in terms of the somatic process of self-sensing.

At first blush, such an understanding might appear reductionistic, but as we consider this perspective in light of both scientific (third-person) and somatic (first-person) data, we’ll see how such an understanding can only add to the psychological view and vice versa. If one understands that all self-expression manifests as the autonomous movement of living bodies (somas), then many of the characteristic problems plaguing contemporary society–typical forms of stress, fatigue, back pain, depression, anxiety—can be seen as the result of individuals’ diminished capacity for movement. This is easy to see when we’re looking at so-called physical problems, like back pain, but things get a little slippery when we consider mental processes, like thinking.

Integrating first and third person perspectives, Hanna noted several studies investigating the relationship between thinking and motor activity. Edmund Jacobson, who developed the clinical procedure called progressive relaxation, conducted research that showed: 1) when subjects engaged in abstract thinking, speech muscles were predominantly activated, and 2) all mental activity decreased to the degree that muscle tension decreased. In another study, researchers found that subjects were ineffective in mentally focusing on anything while all their muscles were paralyzed (by a curare-type drug that did not cause any lapse of consciousness).

Roland Davis found that when subjects worked out multiplication problems “in their head,” the muscles of the subject’s dominant hand moved as if he or she were writing. Working with a subject who reported auditory hallucinations, F.J. McGuigan found that, using electrodes placed about the subject’s speech muscles, there was a subtle, ongoing movement in these muscles beginning precisely when the subject reported hearing the voices (as if the subject were actually speaking to himself!). These and many other scientific studies suggest an undeniable connection between mental activity that is perceived as being “in our minds,” and motor activity going on “in our bodies.” Neurophysiologist Roger W. Sperry has gone as far as to conclude that the entire output of the human thinking mechanism goes into the motor system, so that when people think, they are activating motor neurons.

Hanna put it this way: “thinking is movement–actual movement of the living body.” He further noted that whenever we sense anything, what we are sensing is movement of some form. We often speak of being emotionally moved by an experience to communicate that we’re feeling or sensing some emotion. However, when one makes themselves as hard as stone through intense contractedness, one becomes to that degree immovable in terms of emotional experience. Since emotions are a variety of psychological experience with such clear ties to bodily-felt sensations, it is relatively easy to understand how one’s psychological awareness of an emotion is really not other than one’s bodily sense of that emotion. In other words, the knowledge or awareness that “I am angry” is possible only to the extent that I feel or sense certain changes in my bodily experience–perhaps an increase in heartbeat, the hairs of my neck standing on end, muscle areas clenching. Likewise, the bodily movements associated with that sense can be understood as an expression of that sense/awareness. Pissed off, I might express myself with a frown and clenched fists; or I might be moved to scream or pound my fists on something (hopefully not someone). And as we have seen, to suppress emotional expression is to dull our capacity to sense or to be aware of our feelings. So, in terms of emotionality, we can see how sensori-motor association is essentially the same thing as awareness-expression association.

The point of all this is to support the following notion: many of the physical as well as psychological problems characteristic of contemporary society will continue to be poorly understood and ineffectively approached until the somatic foundations of human experience are taken more fully into account. This somatic/experiential perspective, which has been outlined above, is a point of view which takes into account both third-person and first-person data, and thus has much to offer the traditional paradigm of human health, which relies rather exclusively on a third-person perspective.

At the core of this somatic/experiential understanding are the somatic processes of self-movement and self-sensing. The idea here is that many of the diseases plaguing modern people are best understood not as psychological disorders where are minds are out of whack, nor as physical problems of bodies falling apart; rather, we are faced with functional disorders that are the result of people’s diminished capacity to sense the state of their own somatic functioning and subsequent inability/unwillingness to move from that embodied awareness. Hanna sums it up nicely:

In functional disorders, what is required is not the exchange of words with the “mind,” nor is it the exchange of chemicals and substances with the “body.” The requirement is a change in the living system’s awareness of its own functioning. The somatic system needs more information of itself and more efficient control. In sum, the distorted human soma needs new sensory information and new motor control.

The embodiment of freedom

Julian Walker is getting some discussions going about mind-body transformation, a favorite topic of mine. In fact, about ten years ago I wrote an entire master’s thesis about embodied transformation, and after mentioning this to Julian, he’s asked me to say a bit about it. For a while now I’ve intended to revisit and expand on these ideas, in light of another decade of living. Perhaps this (relatively) brief overview will inspire me to pick up the thread and follow it along a bit further:

Well Julian, it’s like this. At some point it occurred to me that my whole point of view, my basic mode of experiencing life, would shift during certain moments from a dissociated, half-alive, going through the motions type thing, to a wakeful, clear-minded, energized state of pure awesomeness. Basically, I became fascinated by my peak experiences. There seemed to be a quality about them that was not dependent on content or context. In other words I felt like the same process was happening regardless of what I was doing. I got the funny feeling that I was peaking or “peeking” into the same place, or entering the same state of consciousness, whether I was hitting a groove on the guitar, entering “the zone” on the athletic field, writing a poem or a song, having great sex, communing with nature on a hike, or getting showered with insight during meditation.

My master’s thesis was really nothing more than a sustained inquiry into this process of personal transformation, which I defined as a shift in one’s basic mode of experiencing toward greater vitality, awareness and expressiveness. I found that various theorists and practitioners understood transformation in different ways, but I also noticed a common thread between the approaches that moved me the most. Psychologists interested in transformation talked about the movement from unconsciousness to consciousness; the spiritual folks spoke of the journey from ignorance to awareness or enlightenment; creative thinkers were interested in moving from inside to outside “the box”; somatic practitioners worked toward refinement of sensitivity and an expanded range of movement.

It was the somatic perspective, I thought, that could ground an integral, multilevel understanding of the transformative process. I was searching for some basic principles of transformation with which I could generate a unique set of practices, in a sense building an Integral Life Practice program from the ground up. I appreciated the maps of others, but I yearned to wander from the well-worn paths, to know the joy of making my own way through the wilderness. I also felt that the somatic perspective, especially as understood by Thomas Hanna, had the potential to radically transform our understanding of both psychological health and spiritual growth. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if these loftier endeavors were plugged into an understanding of somatic education, they would become far more efficacious paths, less prone to pitfalls.

Hanna rejected the distinction between psychological and physical problems, instead using the term “functional problem” to describe limitations of the unified organism in its capacity for both self-sensing and self-expression. Central nervous system functioning is fundamental to all behavior and experience, according to Hanna. Ken Wilber would agree with this, although he would point out that psychological and spiritual levels of being are more “significant.” In any event, from a somatic viewpoint, there’s no separation of psychological from physical health, and the majority of the typical “mental” and “physical” diseases of our society are learned as people adapt to a culture that supports dissociation and alienation.

So, if we want to ground our understanding of transformation in the living body, we can start with the most fundamental aspect of the central nervous system–the division between sensory and motor processes. Our perceptions of the world outside our bodies, as well as our perceptions of our internal bodily states, come into the brain via sensory nerves. And every action we express, every movement we make in the world and inside our selves flows out from our brain and down through the spine by way of motor nerves. This structural division is functionally integrated within a single neural system, the brain integrating the incoming sensory information with outgoing commands to the motor system.

The continual interplay of sensory information and motor guidance is referred to in contemporary neuroscience as a feed back system which operates in loops. As Hanna describes it, “the sensory nerves ‘feedback’ information to the motor nerves, whose response ‘loops back’ with the movement commands along the motor nerves. As movement takes place, the motor nerves ‘feedback’ new information to the sensory nerves.” Acknowledging that there are indeed physical and psychological problems that are the result of structural deformity and/or physiological imbalance, Hanna argues that many of the health problems afflicting people today are not about bodies or minds breaking down, but about individuals who have lost conscious control of their somatic functions. These functional problems are ones in which the person suffers from a loss of memory: the memory of what it feels like to move in certain ways, and the memory of how to go about moving in certain ways. This type of memory loss is what Hanna calls sensory-motor amnesia, a state of diminished self-awareness that is quite reversible–that is to say, a state that can be transformed.

Sensory-motor amnesia involves a dual loss of both conscious control of a particular area of motor action and conscious sensing of that motor action. As the human organism adapts to repeated stressful conditions, whether resulting from cultural conditioning or from uncontrived environmental circumstances (like extreme ecological conditions or biophysical trauma), there is a loss of conscious voluntary control of specific somatic functions. For example, faced with the stress of ridicule and/or punishment for crying or screaming out in public, the sad or angry child will contract certain motor areas of the soma (i.e. muscles) in an effort to hold back their authentic response. Crying or yelling out simply cannot happen when the corresponding muscle systems are held motionless, because crying and yelling are the movements of those motor areas. As this stressful response of contraction is activated again and again in similar situations, the response eventually becomes habituated and the child loses awareness of it (i.e. the muscle contractions can no longer be consciously sensed) and control of it (i.e. the child cannot voluntarily relax the contractions). The child has been successfully conditioned not to emote in public.

This innate tendency of human beings to develop automatic, unconscious responses in the face of stressful stimuli (i.e. the process of conditioning) was well documented by researchers such as Pavlov and Skinner. Hanna describes the loss of conscious volitional control as sensori-motor amnesia so as to emphasize two essential facts: 1) habituated, involuntary responses, like all somatic processes, are a reflection of sensori-motor functioning, and 2) what becomes unconscious, forgotten, or unlearned, can become conscious again, remembered, and re-learned. Thus, sensori-motor amnesia can be reversed by somatic learning.

Somatic learning is a process that results in the expansion of an organism’s range of volitional consciousness. This process takes advantage of the feedback/loop nature of the sensori-motor system and is described by Hanna in the following way:

“If one focuses one’s awareness on an unconscious, forgotten area of the soma, one can begin to perceive a minimal sensation that is just sufficient to direct a minimal movement, and this, in turn, gives new sensory feedback of that area which, again, gives a new clarity of movement, etc. This sensory feedback associates with adjacent sensory neurons, further clarifying the synergy that is possible with the associated motor neurons. This makes the next motor effort inclusive of a wider range of associated voluntary neurons, thus broadening and enhancing the motor action and, thereby, further enhancing the sensory feedback. This back-and-forth motor procedure gradually ‘wedges’ the amnesic area back into the range of volitional control: the unknown becomes known and the forgotten becomes relearned.”

So it is that a diminished state of self-awareness and a diminished range of conscious responsiveness can expand and transform at the basic level of sensor-motor functioning. Our emotionally inhibited child, now an adult, can learn to pay focused and sustained attention to subtle sensations in the forgotten contracted muscle areas and thereby recover in awareness the sense of being perpetually held back and fatigued. With this awareness that “I’m contracting my muscles” and “I’m holding myself back,” comes the realization that one can now begin to relax those inhibitions.

Although I’ve chosen to illustrate this transformative process with what would normally be considered a “psychological” example–the emotionally inhibited person–, the practice of somatic education (as typified by Hanna’s work and Feldenkrais’s Functional Integration) is normally applied to what are thought of more as “physical” problems. Middle-aged to older adults with gross-level range of motion restrictions or distortions, often the result of trauma or injury, are more typically the clients of somatic therapies. Many people who seek out and engage in somatic practices are primarily looking to feel better and healthier on a physical level, not especially considering the implications the work has for whole-person growth and healing.

The psychological implications of “body work,” although increasing evident and acknowledged, seem to be less than adequately understood. The example of the emotionally inhibited person hints at how an understanding of sensori-motor function can contribute greatly to psychological perspectives of personal transformation and vice versa. An integral viewpoint promises a deeper understanding of how various transformative practices can be utilized in a complimentary fashion to most effectively support an individual’s capacities for self-regulation, health and growth. This integral understanding also allows for the articulation of basic principles that can be applied to any number of experiences and life situations, principles that anyone can use to create their own unique practices and approaches to personal transformation.

Coming to our senses

Many people are familiar with Jon Kabat-Zinn from his books Wherever you go, There you are and Full Catastrophe Living. He’s been on my radar for a while, but now that I’m considering a move to Massachusetts, I am especially interested in his work at the Center for Mindfulness at UMASS Medical School.

Last night I watched the following video of Kabat-Zinn speaking at the University of San Diego. I was impressed with his down-to-earth, no-nonsense way of communicating the essence of mindfulness. Check it out:

The deep blue beyond

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Sometimes all I can do is just hang in there. My work at the hospital is wearing me down more and more each week, and I’m getting the feeling–sorta like a dull nausea in the pit of my stomach–that my days on the Adolescent Chemical Dependency Unit are numbered. I’ve been doing this for about three years now, and perhaps this kind of burnout is simply inevitable. I’ve not yet in my life been able to stand a full-time work routine for more than a few years without needing to make a change. Working forty hours a week at any one thing has always struck me as mind-numbing and counter to a life of embodied spirituality. At least for me, that’s been the case. I can only trudge on for so long. Of course, the job has also been edifying in many ways, but somehow, on balance, it feels like a losing battle that will eventually end with a bayonet in the belly.

It’s hard to maintain a strong sense of hope when you spend too much time in a psychiatric hospital. Lately, our unit has been accepting patients with serious criminal backgrounds. Criminality and drug problems often go hand in hand, but there’s a difference between a kid who commits crimes to support a drug habit and a criminal who happens to use drugs. Most of the kids I’m working with right now look at our treatment center as a softer and easier alternative to jail time. They don’t want my help, unless it’s geared toward getting them out as soon as possible with minimal effort and hassle. I’m expending tremendous amounts of energy throwing out life preservers to kids who don’t think they’re drowning. They swat away whatever I offer, and I can only watch as they drift further out of reach. It feels like the ship is sinking, and I’m setting aside a life preserver for myself as I look out with trepidation into the deep blue beyond.