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[post_content] => The other day, an adventurous friend of mine sent me a picture of himself immersed in slurry of icy water. The photo was taken on a rooftop, on a cloudy winter day, with empty ice bags scattered around the metal tub. His eyes were closed and he looked serene, as if in deep meditation.
If you took a photo of me in such a scenario, my facial expression would be a little different – more of a blend of shock and torment. Having a strong aversion to cold water, I’d need a tremendous incentive to voluntarily get into an ice bath. But as I stared at his picture for a while, I felt unease, fascination, and admiration.
It reminded me of my own work in pain management. When a cold stimulus passes a certain threshold, it becomes “noxious cold,” which is interpreted by the brain as pain. Figuring out how to stay comfortable in a tub of ice water is fairly similar to the task of managing severe pain without drugs, which is exactly what I endeavor to teach people.
The arrival of my friend’s picture was a bit of a coincidence as I was recently challenging myself in cold water also. Admittedly, the comparison is laughable, since my version of “challenge” was swimming in a cenote fed by an underground river in the Belizean jungle. The water temperature was probably around 60 degrees, but cold is subjective, and to me, it was pretty uncomfortable. My daughter was already splashing around and demanding that I join her, so I decided to put my “equalization” technique to the test.
I set a foot in the water and felt the skin over my whole body tighten up. I was immediately aware of the inequality – the conflict – between my body and the water. And my reaction to this conflict was physical and psychological resistance, which only intensified the situation. If you’ve ever had a panic attack, you’ve experienced firsthand how unhelpful resistance is.
So, my first step was to stop resisting. And to prove to myself that I wasn’t resisting, I dove completely underwater. Instantly, the experience of conflict between my body and the water was magnified tremendously. I put my attention on my skin – the “frontier” of the conflict – and began to equalize the internal with the external.
As I told myself, “Equalize. Equalize. Equalize,” I imagined that the temperature difference between the interior and exterior of my body was getting smaller and smaller. The interior and exterior were coming together to meet each other, to harmonize. I actively let go of my resistance over and over, softening and relaxing that frontier. Dissolving the conflict.
Normally, I would have been shivering, teeth chattering, skin covered in goosebumps for at least a minute and perhaps for as long as I stayed in the water. But this time I was at ease within about fifteen seconds and I swam contentedly for about an hour. I had a few moments when I felt uncomfortably cold again, but this resolved when I brought my attention back to equalizing the temperature differential once more.
I’ll write more about this process next week, but in the meantime, I encourage you to try it in the simple way that I’ve presented it here. When you experience physical discomfort or outright pain, first, stop resisting. Second, visualize the painful place in your body in the context of the experience surrounding it, and intend to equalize the experience inside the pain with that outside the pain. You can also utilize this technique with a psychological or emotional issue by bringing the issue to mind and then allowing yourself to experience it in your body – there’s always a physical expression to every psychological conflict.
Imagine a fish tank with a removable panel dividing it into two sides. On one side the water is dyed blue; on the other it’s clear. If you shift the panel it becomes porous, and the two waters mix, resulting in an even color. See if you can apply this image to your inner experience, allowing for an equalization between a restricted part of yourself and your greater self, or between yourself and the world around you. See what happens.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
P.S. If you’d like to learn more about equalization and many, many, many more techniques for resolving physical and emotional pain, check out my new online course, Live Pain Free.
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Today is the pre-release for our new book, called Rituals for Transformation, which we wrote over the past year. It feels a little daunting to put it out in the world, because it goes places where our previous works haven’t.
Our earlier efforts were mainly about teaching people how to make material changes in their lives. We taught things like self-care, goal setting, planning, and relationship building. We’ve seen great value in this work, and have tons of success stories to back it up, but we saw a need to go deeper.
While there is so much about our material circumstances that to be grateful for, we feel there’s an even higher aim: a state of wellbeing that’s with us regardless of circumstances. All along, we’ve touched on the psychological and spiritual perspectives that go along with an exceptional life, but this is the first work we’ve dedicated entirely to this dimension.
For us, the most effective programs for change involved being immersed in a group or training for an extended period of time without breaks, and that’s what we intended to create here. It’s a framework for transformation – for healing the mind, changing perspective, and opening to Spirit. A 108-day course for developing the kind of outlook that makes peace and joy accessible regardless of what’s happening in your life.
Knowing how busy people are these days, we made it so that you can benefit from it even if you’re only able to dedicate a modest amount of time and energy (though we encourage participants to invest more whenever possible). Each day involves a small amount of reading (just one page), meditation, writing, and applying the day’s lesson throughout the day. By the 108th day, you’ll be in a different place.
It’s a journey that’ll change you. If you’re someone who fears change, rest assured that the change we’re talking about is for your highest good. This means it may not be what’s easiest or fastest, but it’s the deepest and the realest kind of change.
- How would it be if you felt trust rather than fear in times of uncertainty?
- What if you were at peace with your body, regardless of its appearance or function?
- How would life be different if you weren’t controlled by your thoughts and emotions?
- What would life be like if you were able to focus on all the things you’re grateful for, rather than being consumed by the problems?
- How would it feel to be okay with whatever happens?
- What would it be like to experience yourself as one with the Source of everything, playing in this life while always remembering that you are loved and connected?
Sound good? We’re with you. This is the kind of life we want, too. We’re engaged in this work day in and day out, and we’ll be doing it for the rest of our lives. There’s a challenge and an opportunity in every moment. And there’s great joy and inspiration in sharing this process with others. That’s why we decided to write this book – so there will be more of us consciously walking the path together, sharing support, shining a light on darkness and untruth, jointly rising to the occasion.
We’d love to have you join us.
Be well,
Briana and Dr. Peter Borten
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Getting good at nearly anything requires a certain amount of discipline. At the very least, you need the discipline to practice it on a regular basis. You’d expect this for learning violin or karate, but you might not think you’d need it in order to have a peaceful and positive mind.
And perhaps you don’t. But if it’s a struggle for you to maintain a clear, lighthearted, optimistic outlook – if you find yourself often in bondage to a negative mind that has taken the driver’s seat – I would bet that your mind could use some discipline.
Around age 18, I discovered Carlos Castaneda’s books. In case you’re unfamiliar, Castaneda was a doctoral student at UCLA in the 1960s and 70s who studied the use of magical practices and psychedelic herbs by the Yaqui Indians of northern Mexico. After some detective work, and a few meetings with charlatans, he managed to track down the real deal: a secretive shaman named don Juan Matus. Castaneda was bumbling and boastful, and he tried to impress the shaman with his minimal knowledge of these practices.
Don Juan wasn’t fooled, but he kept Castaneda around because he saw in him the makings of a shaman or nagual. In a relationship similar to that of Daniel and Mr. Miyagi in the Karate Kid (but much stranger), don Juan put Carlos through rigorous trainings of body and mind, and fed him a variety of powerful hallucinogenic plants.
All of this was fascinating and mind-opening for me at the time, but there was one element of the training that, while less bizarre, was actually more poignant. Don Juan was intent on teaching Carlos to discipline his mind, and whenever Carlos became anxious or depressed, the shaman would admonish him to stop indulging in his mind’s melodrama. As my teenage self read the word indulge, it really cut through me. My late teens had been full of plenty of melodrama, and I couldn’t help wondering if don Juan would have considered it indulgence. It certainly hadn’t felt like I had any choice in the matter, but what if I did?
Thus began a lifetime’s journey to understand the difference between ME and my mind. To discover my power . . . and lose sight of it . . . and rediscover it . . . and lose sight of it . . . and rediscover it. And because I decided to go into medicine, I’ve had the opportunity to witness and assist many others through the same exploration. Central to the process is the recognition of choice. As it pertains to discipline, this means being disciplined to remember you have a choice and being disciplined to repeatedly exercise this power.
When you suggest to someone in the throes of anxiety or depression that there is an element of choice in their psychological experience, it’s not uncommon for them to feel guilty, offended, and defensive. Because the implication, of course, is that they’ve been making things bad for themselves – that it’s their fault.
But the notion of fault can only serve to degrade the process. While the recognition of choice – AKA free will – is empowering, fault is disempowering. It leads us to think things like, “Why would I do this to myself? Why can’t I stop it?” The answer to those questions is, respectively, confusion and habit. Responding to feelings of fault (blame) with forgiveness and compassion for oneself will neutralize it, and this, too, requires discipline.
Throughout, the overarching practice of discipline is to pay attention to where your mind is going, and to not let it get away with taking you to dark or fearful places. And Mr. Miyagi, don Juan, and any Zen monk would probably add, practice the discipline of being deliberate about everything you do.
The life of a Zen monk, if fact, can teach us a lot about discipline. Discipline is not necessarily army boot camp or the One-Grape-a-Day Diet. It doesn’t imply restriction or deprivation as much as a continuous application of attention. (Our attention is more scattered than ever, due to the many things with screens in our lives.) Zen monks are, by and large, carefree and light of heart. And this results from prioritizing what is here and now, what is real, what is precious, over the moody demands of a wayward mind. Such a practice actually works best when guided by love – when you simply care too much about yourself to let your consciousness be degraded by mental bondage.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
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[post_content] => The other day, an adventurous friend of mine sent me a picture of himself immersed in slurry of icy water. The photo was taken on a rooftop, on a cloudy winter day, with empty ice bags scattered around the metal tub. His eyes were closed and he looked serene, as if in deep meditation.
If you took a photo of me in such a scenario, my facial expression would be a little different – more of a blend of shock and torment. Having a strong aversion to cold water, I’d need a tremendous incentive to voluntarily get into an ice bath. But as I stared at his picture for a while, I felt unease, fascination, and admiration.
It reminded me of my own work in pain management. When a cold stimulus passes a certain threshold, it becomes “noxious cold,” which is interpreted by the brain as pain. Figuring out how to stay comfortable in a tub of ice water is fairly similar to the task of managing severe pain without drugs, which is exactly what I endeavor to teach people.
The arrival of my friend’s picture was a bit of a coincidence as I was recently challenging myself in cold water also. Admittedly, the comparison is laughable, since my version of “challenge” was swimming in a cenote fed by an underground river in the Belizean jungle. The water temperature was probably around 60 degrees, but cold is subjective, and to me, it was pretty uncomfortable. My daughter was already splashing around and demanding that I join her, so I decided to put my “equalization” technique to the test.
I set a foot in the water and felt the skin over my whole body tighten up. I was immediately aware of the inequality – the conflict – between my body and the water. And my reaction to this conflict was physical and psychological resistance, which only intensified the situation. If you’ve ever had a panic attack, you’ve experienced firsthand how unhelpful resistance is.
So, my first step was to stop resisting. And to prove to myself that I wasn’t resisting, I dove completely underwater. Instantly, the experience of conflict between my body and the water was magnified tremendously. I put my attention on my skin – the “frontier” of the conflict – and began to equalize the internal with the external.
As I told myself, “Equalize. Equalize. Equalize,” I imagined that the temperature difference between the interior and exterior of my body was getting smaller and smaller. The interior and exterior were coming together to meet each other, to harmonize. I actively let go of my resistance over and over, softening and relaxing that frontier. Dissolving the conflict.
Normally, I would have been shivering, teeth chattering, skin covered in goosebumps for at least a minute and perhaps for as long as I stayed in the water. But this time I was at ease within about fifteen seconds and I swam contentedly for about an hour. I had a few moments when I felt uncomfortably cold again, but this resolved when I brought my attention back to equalizing the temperature differential once more.
I’ll write more about this process next week, but in the meantime, I encourage you to try it in the simple way that I’ve presented it here. When you experience physical discomfort or outright pain, first, stop resisting. Second, visualize the painful place in your body in the context of the experience surrounding it, and intend to equalize the experience inside the pain with that outside the pain. You can also utilize this technique with a psychological or emotional issue by bringing the issue to mind and then allowing yourself to experience it in your body – there’s always a physical expression to every psychological conflict.
Imagine a fish tank with a removable panel dividing it into two sides. On one side the water is dyed blue; on the other it’s clear. If you shift the panel it becomes porous, and the two waters mix, resulting in an even color. See if you can apply this image to your inner experience, allowing for an equalization between a restricted part of yourself and your greater self, or between yourself and the world around you. See what happens.
Be well,
Dr. Peter Borten
P.S. If you’d like to learn more about equalization and many, many, many more techniques for resolving physical and emotional pain, check out my new online course, Live Pain Free.
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