Repetition and Transformation

We live our lives in repetition.  So much of our comfort and discomfort is in the everyday cycling through sameness.  Repetition can bring a type of death.  It also can bring a type of renewal.  Renewal to what might have become mundane; the ordinary transformed.

I've taken to like ending my blog each year with a poem post. Below is a year-long series of tweets by poet Ian McMillan, describing the same walk he takes every day, wherein he illustrates the possibility of transformation in an ordinary, everyday sameness.  It is long, so freely skip and play in-between, allowing the impression of a new sameness to fall on open senses.

May 2014 bring the miracle of transformation in ordinary sameness to us all.

Each morning, I get up early and go for a stroll through my ex-mining village near Barnsley; just before 6am, I walk to the newsagent, then down a long hill and up a steeper hill and back home. It takes me about 40 minutes and I tweet about the stroll as soon as I get in. I’m excited by the idea of creating minimalist poetry about a limited canvas, trying to find something new every day from the same mile and a bit. The moon is a regular presence and so is the word “beautiful”. Here’s my selection of some of the tweets I’ve posted since  Christmas Day 2012:

25/12: On my early stroll, by the zebra crossing, one Belisha beacon working, one not, Like the cheapest open-air disco you ever saw.

27/12: On my early drizzly stroll I pretend  I’m in a film noir walking the mean streets of ~LA until a bloke with a dog says “ R8 kid!  Cold ’un!”

28/12: On my early stroll I’m battered by  the breeze, a skiff on the pavement’s lake. A  bit of old Christmas paper like a gull with  holly wings.

29/12: Early stroll. Find a pound coin on the pavement. Beats that 5p I found the other day. Moonlight alchemy!

30/12: On my early stroll I’m struck by the simple beauty of a No Entry sign. The red circle, the white line. It has the power of art.

5/1/2013: Different ways of looking at the moon: gaze, peer, peep, stare, glance, gawp. Pointing sometimes, like today. It was so beautiful.

6/1: Early stroll. The moon hasn’t turned up. I’ve been moon-jilted. Maybe it’s slept in. Sky like an empty purse with no coin in it.

8/1: Early stroll. Beautiful sliver of a moon low in the sky. I could almost touch it. I will. I daren’t. I might. Would it feel cold? I daren’t.

20/1: Just took the snowgrip things off my shoes. They feel like something you might find in the haunted wing of a lingerie shop.

21/1: Early snowy stroll. I find myself trudging, so I try to vary it: jazz trudge/hero trudge/tap trudge/thoughtful trudge/satirical trudge/trudge.

28/1: Early stroll. A man at the bus stop wearily lifts his arm as the bus approaches: it’s an exhausted hand-jive, an almost-signal, a wavelet.

16/2: Early stroll. I come across three discarded pens, and an empty pack of headache tablets. A poet’s passed by, I reckon.

23/2: Early stroll. Here we go, another day to seize, from aubade to nocturne, from first  kettle on to last light off!

1/3: Early stroll. Birds fly across the moon,  blossom begins to appear on a tree down the hill. I’m walking through a haiku, it seems.

3/3: Early stroll. I’ve eaten my apple then find another apple on the pavement. Tempted to eat it, so tempted. Barnsley: garden of Eden. Me: Adam.

8/3: Early stroll. I say Good Morning to a bloke in a camouflage jacket and he seems surprised that I can see him.

9/3: Early stroll. There’s a door in a skip and I’m tempted to open it, go through, find a mystical and magical land. Somebody stares at me from a bus.

10/3: Freezing early stroll. Grit wagon  trundles by and sprays me. Now I’m gritty.  I’ll go home and write a country song and a detective novel.

11/3: Early stroll. By the almost-demolished school, a bunch of red fire extinguishers  like chess pieces waiting for a game. Snow speckling them.

12/3: Early stroll. I see the bloke in the  camouflage jacket again, but walking behind is a man in a hi-vis jacket. His evil twin/ soul/conscience?

14/3: Early stroll. A big piece of gold-coloured wrapping paper, lifted by a breeze, flies towards me like a primitive sculpture of a mythical bird.

23/3: Early snowy stroll. A craving for colour in the white. So, thanks to blue bag in tree, green sparkly hat in front of car, crushed marker pen.

29/3: Early stroll. Cold, brilliant blue morning. By the flats where the farm used to be I remember a fire, burning hay. I was 6. My face warms.

30/3: Early stroll. An empty bus passes and I crouch to look at the moon through its moving windows. The driver slows down, thinks I want to get on.

7/4: Early stroll. A mystery by the demolished school: a small box with HARMONICA  written on it but no harmonica in it. I stand and listen: birds.

8/4: On my early stroll my left shoelace unravels itself: so that’s what walking is, a gradual progression that leaves you naked. Better speed up.

14/4: Early stroll. I walk past a door and the smell of toast and the sound of someone whistling and I want to go in and eat and whistle.

15/4: Early stroll. Beautiful visual image of five garage doors in a row, each door a different colour: a green/a blue/a green/a brown/a blue.

20/4: Early stroll. A row of black socks on a washing line seems to be walking in front of a tree just beginning to sprout pink blossom. I find 50p.

21/4: Early stroll. I wish I knew the proper names for clouds, but I don’t. So I’ll call that one George, that one Thinking, that  one Yesterday.

25/4: Early stroll. Meet my brother who looks just like me. Our voices mingle in the morning air. Our breath hangs in sibling sentences.

26/4: Early stroll. I often see that horse in that tiny field but this is the first time I’ve seen that trampoline in the corner. Possibilities.

27/4: Early stroll. That house joined onto the dancing school is To Let. Imagine living there, living near rhythm. Living near jazz and tap.

2/5: Early stroll. I’ve walked up and down these hills for fifty years so I must have worn a groove. I’m erosion on my own.

4/5: Early stroll. I stand, as I often do, where the long-demolished football factory was,  to listen for the sound of ghost footballs  being made.

12/5: Early stroll. An abandoned ironing board near the paint shop. Six snails move towards  it. A bread van lurches as it passes: inside,  rolls roll.

16/5: Early stroll. A runner gasps by. The grumpy bloke who never returns my Good Morning returns it grumpily as we walk through fallen blossom.

18/5: Early stroll. Dandelion clocks in verges. Abandoned football on top of a bus shelter, looking like the moon. Clocks/moon: time/space stroll.

19/5: Early stroll. A tiny snail rushes towards a huge snail. A discarded lipstick sits on the floor, waiting for a smile.

26/5: Early stroll. Bright sunshine, and a full moon dawdling over my brother’s allotment, which is bathed in sunlight, moonlight,  lettuce-light.

30/5: Early stroll. It’s such a lovely morning that I feel my shadow wanting to skip. I try  to resist, but my shadow insists. Roof  pigeons watch.

2/6: Early stroll. Equine excitement on the street: four escaped horses corralled into a  front garden by a passer-by. House owner  still asleep.

3/6: Early stroll. A plane makes a chalk mark across the sky. Passengers look down and  say “there’s @IMcMillan on his stroll. We’re in his tweet”.

4/6: Early stroll. Under a sky the colour of boredom I hold my stomach in as I pass a Slimming World poster and almost tread on a slug.

5/6: Early stroll. Sculptures: the wheelie  bin monoliths, the single stone placed on the low wall, the imperfect pavement circle of spilled pop.

13/6: Early stroll. A home-made (stick and string) bow and arrow on the floor. I pick them up. On the corner: a hubcap that could be  a shield.

15/6: Early stroll. Muggy, damp. Two snails make their slow way towards two discarded beer cans near the roundabout. Party time  next Tuesday.

30/6: Early stroll. A helicopter flies very low over my head just as I walk by a huge white arrow in the road that’s pointing at me. I  walk faster.

6/7: Early stroll. Mist over the valley where the pit was. An empty eggshell on the floor as though the mist has escaped from the egg.

9/7: Early stroll. A fridge-freezer in a garden like the start of a fridgehenge, and a bus full of people in hi-vis jackets like a sun on wheels.

27/7: Early stroll. Dozens of snails climbing Mr Moody’s garden wall. Slow music on a brick piano. Rose petal patterns on the path.

28/7: Early stroll. Two small blue betting-shop pens on the floor tell a tale of hope. A single stick of rhubarb points Northward.

30/7: Early stroll. Someone has placed a hubcap on a low wall; it’s like a grey metal sunrise. I lean to try and align it with the real sunrise.

31/7: Early stroll. That brick-shaped piece of polystyrene means that someone, somewhere is building a polystyrene house. 4th little  pig, maybe.

2/8: Early stroll. I find a single jigsaw piece by the empty houses. Turn it over: a blue sky. The man on the mobility scooter waves.

19/8: Early stroll. A vivid sunrise over the old pit then, unbelievably, a single orange button by the bakery. The sunrise represented.

22/8: Early stroll. Mist over the valley, the  trees poking like broccoli. The man in the  Men at Work sign is still wearing wellies. The moon hides.

23/8: Early stroll. In the soft-edged rain I  buy a big bag of porridge at the shop then  trudge down the street like a disappointing/surreal Santa.

24/8: Early stroll accompanied by the nihilistic dance music of a burglar alarm. Three party poppers stuck to the wall of the betting-shop: win!

26/8: Early stroll. The few pink clouds fade, reflecting the pink rose petals scattered  on the pavement. Beside the chip forks. And that biscuit.

28/8: Early stroll. Moon like a half-constructed emoticon. A runner pounds by so I increase my walking speed momentarily. As does that  ginger cat.

30/8: Early stroll. Bright cool morning. As I pass the streetlights they go out and I try to ignore the stone in my shoe which nags like  a memory.

6/9: Early stroll. A few leaves on the floor like scouts for autumn’s wagon train. The temporary traffic lights are at red and I stand very still.

11/9: Early stroll. Three white vans pass,  followed by a black van, then a white van. Like a chess game on wheels. One overtakes. One turns off.

14/9: Early stroll. Couldn’t find my glasses  so the sunrise glowed like a three-bar electric fire and the grumpy bloke shone like a  shaky angel.

15/9: Early stroll under shifting, dramatic skies. A white van trundles by, the passenger holding a map. I see it twice more: lost, wandering.

20/9: Early stroll. The moon slips in and out of the clouds, auditioning for a horror film. I stand in front of the new CCTV camera,  holding a cucumber.

22/9: Early stroll. The moon hangs in the  sky like an idea I wish I’d had. Two carers  rush to change a flat tyre. Someone waits in a room somewhere.

23/9: Early stroll. Single lights: the security light illuminating the cemetery, the car  with one headlight like a radioactive monocle, a bathroom.

26/9: Early stroll. Dark and quiet. The man  on the mobility scooter nods as he rattles  by, crushing a discarded Bob Marley cassette, tape waving.

30/9: Early stroll. I eat an apple from my tree under a fingernailclipping moon. The two  grey-haired ladies walk by me laughing. I spit a pip high.

6/10: Early stroll. Vivid constellations remind me how small I am. A man says “Has tha seen a white dog?” Is that it there, shining in  The Plough?

14/10: Early stroll. Morning still as a coat  hanging in a wardrobe. I find a shiny penny beside a red removal van from Cornwall. A man’s cig glows.

15/10: Early stroll. Five minutes later than usual, so I pass different people. The bus shelter is empty. That light is on. That light is off.

19/10: Early stroll. Can you be dazzled by  the moon? This morning I was. A red necklace lies on the path like a jewelled snake. Two  shattered brollies.

21/10: Early stroll. A white cat looks at a white car, as though trying to decide what kind of cat it is. Two people ignore my cheery “Morning!”

22/10: Early stroll. The scaffolding on the pub throws beautiful shadows in the pavement. Raised voices from an upstairs room. A  hedgehog bustles by.

30/10: Early stroll. I wish I could save this morning’s light in a shoebox and release it on a gloomy December afternoon.

1/11: Early stroll. In the heavy mist, a discarded 2p coin gleams like a fallen moon. I pocket it. Hens cluck at me from behind a hedge.

3/11: Early stroll. The sky is a delicate,  questioning blue. That green box I moved off the road yesterday waits for me on the  pavement, frostily.

5/11: Early stroll. Rain flecks my glasses and a man in a black coat and black hat passes with a black dog on a lead. Only the lead is visible.

18/11: Early stroll. A light goes off in a bedroom and on in a kitchen, as though light has  fallen downstairs. Loaves are put on the  bakery shelves.

22/11: Early stroll. Perspective and slope make that man as tall as a tree. A red van parked by a white van: wine on wheels.

24/11: Early stroll. A tennis ball sits in the  pavement like a failed idea; the two older women who walk most mornings smile at the Christmas lights.

26/11: Early stroll. The moon is a huge grin in the sky. The dead cat by the Post Office looks oddly peaceful. The paper boy’s head is down, hood up.

28/11: Early stroll. The moon is in and out of the clouds. My old house is empty, but it has new windows. I lift a fallen bin. It clatters.

30/11: Early stroll. A clear sky vivid with stars and an astonishing sliver of almost-orange moon. Two skinny men in tracksuits appear from shadows.

2/12: Early stroll. Over several months that cardboard box has turned to mulch. It has a time-based beauty. I slip on it, laugh, slip again.

3/12: Early stroll. I’m held by the sight of leaves falling from a tree in the cemetery. The man in the paper shop draws his wife a map.

5/12: Early stroll. Those hedges have been trimmed so the view down that back street  is different. I refuse simile, even when I see a red glove.

6/12: Early stroll. A woman in bright white shoes waits in a darkened bus shelter. A kid goes by on a bike with his hands in his pockets. Puddles.

7/12: Early stroll. Sign on a lamp post: LOST BLACK LAB. A man whizzes by on a bike, coat flapping like a super-hero’s cape. Cycleman!

8/12: Early stroll. A man comes out of his house, looks at the ladders on top of his van as though he’s contemplating climbing them to the moon.

13/12: Early stroll. The ginger cat beside the tarpaulined caravan. The tattered circus poster. The lit snooker table in the empty pub.

Turning Toward: An Approach to Addiction

One of the wonderful aspects of navigating a wellness coaching business is finding my strengths along the way and attracting those that would resonate.  I am surprised to be surprised finding out who I am.  And I am even more surprised at the people who find their way to me for support and assistance.  There, more often than not, is a shared vibration which makes even the stickiest, difficult work a joy for us both.

Whereas most nurses are very directive, that is not my favorite approach (although it has been fun to play the bossy role at times).  The bodyworker-artist in me finds my own and other's difficulties intriguing.  In relation to a healing or dealing with a habit, I can do all the linear list making a client could ever want, but what I really love and find most effective, is collaborating.  In regards to wellness, I don't personally like being told what to do, and I have found most autonomous, self-directed adults feel likewise.  I like figuring things out with the light guidance of others.  I like to be empowered in the process, not directed by an other's force (well meaning or not).  So, creating relationship with one whom helps and making relationship with that which needs attention is an adventure worth exploring.

One of the approaches I've used successfully as of late with addiction (in particular smoking) has been focusing compassion on the parts of oneself that needs smoking to survive.  Forget about the external addiction.  Who in this person needs, craves, longs for cigarettes?  Don't quit smoking out of inner/outer pressure from others or out of shame.  Quit smoking because you don't need it anymore.  Heal the original wound.

The parts of a client that need smoking are vulnerable.  The last thing they need is contempt, ridicule, disappointment  and rejection coming at them.  They hardly can admit their existence out of fear of being seen as weak, pathetic and pitiful.  Working with people to divulge these delicate areas in themselves, works best if  humor is in play.  Also, creatively using trance state, movement and play in venues that a client appreciates and relaxes in, is useful.  Buoyancy and play help in the suspension of fear and negativity.

What I have been finding in many people who depend upon smoking, is they do so because it takes the edge off of their loneliness, frustrations, sense of isolation, misery, grief, feeling of abandonment, or friendlessness.  People who smoke (maybe who struggle with any addiction or hard habit) have had a trauma around one of these mentioned areas that they could not then and have not since been able to navigate.  They started smoking when their girlfriend left them back in high school, or the kids went off to college or lost a job, etc.  Or they started smoking to quell a sense of self-inadequacy, disappointment, disillusionment.  Over time, smoking became inextricably linked to relief from these emotional states that are hard to admit to oneself or others.  Emotional states that are unbearable (without a cigarette).  This is the human condition.  In practice, this is what surfaces, the pictures that unfold, the stories that get told.  The feelings linked to the smoking are usually more shaming for the client than the actual smoking.

So, how does this compassion approach work?  What I do is set an intention with the client to not change anything overtly, but to watch, observe and even honor the need by caring for the needy-one.  This allows change to unfold organically, naturally, non-violently.  We watch the ritual of smoking; the reliable time around the urges, how a cigarette is actually handled from beginning to end, the thoughts and feelings in the inhale, the exhale, the smells and other sense involvement. I encourage practicing a suspension of judgement or self criticism during the study; it frees up that which is curious and interested.  Clients record heavy/light usage times, when is the best cigarette of the day, when is the time it is most negligible.  They record the sense of who in them requires a drag or two (the bored, defiant teenager, the lonely child?).   We also record the external and internal stressors, the hiding of it from certain places and people, when is it enjoyable and when is it repugnant.  In this process, they (and I) begin to become more familiar with what the habit of smoking is to this unique organism, what it means to all/most of themselves, the joy and sorrow around it, connected to it and the pleasure/displeasure present. And we are easy (even playful) about it.  Hell, brimstone and cancer threats are not required.

What happens in this approach is the person inside who has this habit is less shrouded in shame, becomes more self-accepted.  A curiosity is cultivated. It doesn't become about "breaking" the habit, it's more about the interesting self who participates in the habit and all the accompanying circumstances and history that support it.  It becomes an awakening of sorts that is freed from the previous inevitable guilt.  When clients start to emerge out of their shame and guilt over the addiction, I've witnessed a soaring sense of creativity and intuition from them, which then becomes like a beacon toward a movement of change.  Seemingly all of a sudden, they decide their living situation needs tweaking to abate their loneliness.  Or they acquire a pet, join a church, or take up an art class.  Experiencing this vivid creativity, they begin to feel what it is like to be more themselves.  This phenomenon by itself is enormously comforting.  And then, quite anticlimactically one day (in their own time) it is decided, "You know, I don't think I want to have smoking in my life anymore.  I don't need it." Like giving up old clothes that don't feel right anymore. And every time this happens for a client, there is a new Wow for me.  It's incredible how natural and non violent the action is.  The stopping wasn't based on withholding, denying, shame or judgement. It's based on a healing seated in a global sense of self love.

Post smoking cravings and urges are there, but taken in perspective, because they've been studied with compassion.  One senses one's dimension; no longer held in these mean, contemptuous pigeonholes of "weak", "addict", "hopeless, never to change",  "disgusting", etc.  The secret corners have been exposed to benevolence.  Someone loving, kind and occasionally funny has partnered up with them--- themSelf.  They truly are no longer alone or friendless or isolated.  They've evolved caring witnesses within in the process of courageously facing their history, undisclosed feelings and their truth.

This approach is really a larger commitment to know oneself, and yet also does happen to be effective in habit cessation.  People who appreciate this inside-out work,  are the types of clients I am interested in and whom seem to be attracted to my wellness work.  I can and have done the directed, linear approach. But, it is not that interesting to me.  It requires but a perfunctory formation of a relationship to self, other or the issue. If it is at all successful, it's almost always partially so.   Compassion work is a commitment but it lasts a lifetime; once you get a taste, a gist of it, it's pretty easy to access and keep as a consistent constant in one's life.  It actually becomes almost impossible not to actively know it.  It is Love in action, something one begins to find, they can't live without.

Provide and Protect

I am writing about protection because it's been coming to my front door in one aspect or another over the last few days.  One of the rules about protection is when it comes to your threshold,  you sit up, pay attention and do what you need to do (provide) to be safe and, well.... protected.

The word "protection" tends to raise red flags.  But in my mind, protection is as benign as brushing your teeth routinely or getting your oil changed on the car every few months. Care and a thoughtful maintenance are precursors to both providing and protecting.  For both realists and alarmists, protection is required when one is vulnerable, in a weakened moment, or partial to victimization at a given time.  As a generalization, responsible parents are exemplary at this and I've noticed as a group, men also are very good at it, when cued into that part of their nature.  Call it sexist, call it chivalrous, there is something comforting in watching men vigilantly watch out for their women folk in the myriad of ways that they do.

Protection comes in many forms; who you are, what you believe, what rituals you are familiar and comfortable with will dictate what form will serve you.  Every religion has their symbology which can serve as protection.   Christians have worn crosses around their necks for centuries for (Jesus') protection.  Veils required in some religious houses hearkens back to the dark ages when veils were seen as a protection from evil spirits (bad spirits skim off the head gear and avoid synagogue/temple entry?). High thresholds (18") at the entry of traditional Chinese abodes are meant to trip up evil spirits. If you were the mythological god Achilles, you'd know what you would have to protect. And so it is with us.

We know our weaknesses.  And we are usually aware of what to do to keep ourselves from harms way.  Some examples:  Heated buildings-cold weather winter combination brings chafed skin conditions; we protect and provide by using extra emollient lotions, increased vitamin C and E intake (bolsters and strengthens cell structure, inhibiting breakdown) and cover overexposed skin to water and the elements.

Flight or fight responses are protective mechanisms.  A vulnerable person in a threatening situation could get their rankles up, be peskily annoying, scream, argue or take the fall back approach of disappearing or acting ignorant/stupid.  Any one of these choice of expressions is an individual's hedged bet that they will be left alone or be helped (squeaky wheel gets the grease, no matter what squeaky sounds like).

Then we have provide and protect tactics when dealing with energy; our own or others.  Talismans like jewelry, stones, pendants that have significance (have been blessed, come from a strong source) are often used.  My mother used to tell me engagement rings (even though they came first) went second over wedding bands as a source of protection for the marriage. Prayer or ritual around safeguarding one's own energy field in preparation of a difficult encounter or anticipated negative field is useful.  "Power" clothing and certain colors are psychic and psychological protection for perhaps an intrepid meeting. The main action is one of creating an intention while including provisions that become a reassuring reminder.

What would be a meaningfully considerate act to ourselves when approaching a threat?  The very consideration of the question is the first step in providing protection and a thoughtful care gesture to oneself.  Things and situations that threaten, scare and steal energy from us cannot always be avoided.  Entering the crucible is often necessary for our arising.  But considering what protects our energy, rituals that support our being--- is a self-care approach that affirms a right self-Love.

Creativity and Wellness

“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions.”  – Albert Einstein

Creativity is an aspect of the spirit, the free flow of (divine?) energy through the Self/self.  Creative impulse is dependent upon the senses to manifest.
Our visual, auditory, tactile, kinesthetic, gustatory and olfactory 'receptors' or senses, are the conduit from which creativity flows through and from.  Our sixth sense, proprioception (the general sensation of our bodies, including intuition), is also a receptor to creative expression.

“If you do not answer the noise and urgency of your gifts, they will turn on you, or drag you down with their immense sadness at being abandoned.”-- Joy Harjo, Crazy Brave

Wellness is deeply related to the contact we have or don't have to our innate creativity.  In a way, our relationship to our creativity-- the essential 'juice' in our life, is how we know ourselves.  It's our Home.  Satisfaction, Pleasure, Wonder, deep Feeling all live there; the place where meaning resides and where we long to be. If we are cut off from this, we are cut off from ourselves and our health will be negatively and profoundly impacted.

“Creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties.” ― Eric Fromm

Being related to one's creative spirit is to be engaged in some measure to joy, curiosity or wonder.  Hence, in this relationship, many of the body's relaxation markers are usually in full effect, countering normal stress.  It is most often fun, enjoyable and deeply pleasing to one's being to be in the creative.  Even when problem solving, or weighing creative responses to a 'call' of the imagination, the sifting and dissemination of one's creative impressions are both interesting and relaxing, even though there might be considerable stimulation.

There is no downside to exploring and participating in one's creativity.  And, there are a myriad of reasons why it is damaging not to do so.  Mostly, one cannot really know oneself, one's purpose without opening to the wild-woolly, quietly-sublime spirit that lies within.  And not fully knowing, or frequently experiencing that in one's unique journey in a lifetime-- well, it's just not good for you.


“We tried to make something much more holistic and simple. When you first start off trying to solve a problem, the first solutions you come up with are very complex, and most people stop there. But if you keep going, and live with the problem and peel more layers of the onion off, you can often times arrive at some very elegant and simple solutions.”
 -- Steve Jobs

Creativity takes many forms through life's continuum.  Watching small children exploring their creativity is like experiencing the force of an open fire hydrant.  They gush forth energetically; their stream of imagination, powerfully raw. There is no holds barred, no clamping down or editing themselves, no self-consciousness.  They ride the tumultuous rapids known as their flow, ecstatic in the wild ride.  As we age, creativity becomes more nuanced and sublime.  With maturity comes an ability to listen more deeply and globally.  We have a more seasoned willingness to step back and watch the force unfold, rather than ride the rapids of the creative known in an earlier period.  It tends to be a slower, measured and richer experience after 40 as opposed to the intense, tumultuous experience of a younger person.  We trust the process.  As Jobs says above, a [mature] person has the patience and experience to keep peeling the layers away, staying with the question, problem, participating in crafting the experience in the process.  It's a different type of transformation.

Transformation is the by-product of being in the creative state.  Whether it be breathing through the development of a mathematical equation for those so inclined, or following the body's impulses in a movement exploration be it sport or art, the creative spirit strikes Home differently in all types, indeed all human beings.    

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.” ― Martha Graham

What makes for a state of wellness is complex.  But inextricably linked to it is the health of the spirit.  The health of the spirit is founded in the creative.  The first few words of Graham's statement above are also familiar words used to describe wellness:  vitality, life force, energy.  If you possess these qualities, you are considered robustly healthy.  Spirit illnesses, like addiction, chronic anxiety or misery, grief or depression are serious states of dis-ease that leave our creative reservoirs and health coffers empty.  It is as if a firm lid is on the wealth of our interior riches, our vitality and life force, as Graham puts it.  Those who suffer this, suffer illness; a loss of essential capacity, a compromised refuge to the Self.

Creativity and Wellness are essential operating elements to being a Whole person.  They are inextricably linked and pay service to the other.  As a culture, we must start seeing and nourishing this relationship, instead of denying its importance.  This relationship is not negligible; our health and wellness depend upon it.

Rebirthing

If it is true that trauma (and ecstasy) are stored in our cells and tissues, impacting our psych and function through our life in subtle and poignant ways, then it would make sense that the events of our birth (and perhaps even conception and gestation) would also be embedded in the deep foundation of who we are.

Aileen Crow and Sandy Jamrog have a chapter in Encyclopedia of Childbearing, Oryx Press, 1993, titled:  "Spontaneous Rebirthing", in which they say: "A person's own experiences of being born, whether or not they are remembered, determines many of their deepest and most basic beliefs.  These are called birth-engendered beliefs.   Beliefs are not just abstract thoughts; they are psychophysical realities.

Everybody knows that tension interferes with breathing and efficient muscular function.   What is not common knowledge is that unresolved perinatal experiences can initiate patterns that tend to live on throughout a person's whole life on a non-verbal and non-conscious level.  Birth-engendered beliefs are anchored in the body, in the musculature, the fascia,and the cells of the body.  They live in the body's memory, in breathing and movement patterns which condition perception and the interpretation of experience.  They affect behavior and relationships throughout life, as Stanislav Grof (1985), Arthur Janov (1983), Sondra Ray and Bob Mandel (1987) have shown."  Also,  "Birth-engendered beliefs can help or hinder a woman's experience of giving birth.  For example, a belief such as,"Nothing good comes easy" may interfere with the birth process by functioning as a non-conscious imperative that must be obeyed.  Patterns of unresolved conflict tend to repeat themselves.  When a prospective mother experiences a spontaneous rebirthing, an opportunity is being presented to complete some important learning about her own birth that might otherwise interfere with her giving birth to a child."

These "patterns of unresolved conflict" can be said to be a type of PTSD (Post traumatic stress disorder) and as mentioned in an earlier post, Somatic Healing, can often be effectively dealt with working with a competent bodyworker.

Rebirthing is the actual intention a bodyworker and client have together to go back to the moment of birth and hopefully resolve the conflict or trauma present, through movement, sound and breath (talk not usually being the primary therapeutic modality).  Rebirthing also can occur spontaneously if one is an altered state, deeply relaxed or experiences a trigger that sets the memory into play.  The latter could be a PTSD reoccurrence unless facilitated by a competent bodyworker.

"Living as they do in the body, birth-engendered patterns and their accompanying beliefs are accessible to receptive, non-invasive touch,and to an attitude respectful of the purpose behind the person's rebirthing experience.  we have found that the use of hyperventilation to induce emotional involvement is unnecessary."

'In the old days', rebirthing was accomplished through specific (and in my opinion, contrived and static) breathing patterns.  This approach itself was rough and unto itself, tended to be somewhat traumatic.  A gifted bodyworker these days uses the basis of healing relationship to encourage the right breathing pattern for the right moment (naturally arrived at by the trusting client);  as Crow/Jamrog indicate above, receptivity, non-invasive touch and a respectful attitude are key to a successful rebirthing experience.

"People sometimes go into spontaneous rebirth experiences during bodywork sessions when they are encouraged to pay attention to sensations, feelings and movement impulses.  Releasing tension might also disrupt habitual holding patterns that may be covering early traumatic conflict, and so stimulate spontaneous rebirth experiences. "

This statement of Crow/Jamrog would indicate the imperative need to engage a seasoned bodyworker with whom to evolve a trusting, healing relationship.  Such a practitioner should be sensitive and experienced in recognizing subtle tensions and physical patterns, is able to witness movement tensions and has the maturity to be discriminating in action in order to facilitate a healing.  A successful rebirthing is a liberation.  It makes possible and provides capacity when there was none prior.

Aileen Crow has been an Alexander teacher since 1969.  She taught at ACAT in New York City until she formed her own AT training program in 1978.  She is a Creativity Counselor in private practice in NYC and in New City, NY, is a Laban Movement Analyst (since 1969) and a Dreambody Process-Oriented therapist.   Her most recent interests are calligraphy, Solo Focusing and transforming trauma.

Aileen's more recent writings have been in A Moving Journal (1993-2006 ),  AuthenticMovementCommunity Blog, and the Journal of Authentic Movement and Somatic  Inquiry (JAMSI) AuthenticMovement.Journal.com.

Sandra Jamrog  is a Teacher and Practitioner of Body-Mind Centering, an Infant Developmental Movement Educator and a Childbirth Educator.  She is certified with The National Certification Board for Therapeutic Massage and Bodywork and a New York State Licensed Massage Therapist. Sandra has been working with birth and parenting since 1974