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Previously I wrote about how community is like medicine. Our circle of fellow humans goes through this amazing journey with us . . . encouraging us, witnessing us, screaming with us on the roller coasters, and holding our hand when we take our last breath. My orientation in that article was toward what community can do for us, but it’s at least as important to look at what we can do for our community.
I was reading about a Native American grief ritual described by Black Elk, and while the ritual itself was interesting, what stuck with me was his assertion that long-held grief isn’t good for a person or the community to which that person belongs. That is, when someone is mired in suffering, this can have a negative impact on their community.
You can probably think of plenty of examples where a glaring state of imbalance, such as rage or terror, could result in behaviors that are detrimental to others. But the effects of less dramatic, often chronic negative states are subtler. What happens – besides their own discomfort – when a person is trapped in depression, anxiety, or grief for years? One repercussion is that they have a diminished capacity to fully show up in their community. We might think, “Well, the community doesn’t really need me to be at my best,” but imagine going to a place where almost everyone was depressed, afraid, or angry. Such places do exist, of course, and you can feel it as a palpable mass degradation of the human spirit.
These days we may feel that we don’t have any real obligation to our community, which is so different from how humans have operated for most of our history. Today community may be seen as an entirely optional part of life. We can live in near isolation while anonymous members of our community manage the utilities that provide us with power, water, and internet, take away our garbage, maintain our roads, even deliver our groceries. It feels like independence, but in truth we’re more dependent than ever on an infrastructure other humans maintain – we just don’t know who those humans are.
We’ve lost our sense of responsibility to our community. It’s due in part to the feeling that our government is huge, remote, and corrupt. But if our response is to disengage, the situation can only get worse. If anything, the sense of disconnection from our elected representatives and neighbors should magnify the need to do what we can to make a positive difference. It’s not just an obligation, it’s also an opportunity. If we can recognize and accept that our quality of presence affects others, this may inspire us to be our best selves. And it’s not just a matter of what we do but also who we are and how we are. Becoming fundamentally well inside helps heal the community. Imagine how healthily a community of fundamentally well people manages challenges.
If you’ve been struggling, I don’t mean to make you feel guilty as well; that won’t help you or your community. Rather than focusing on the negative impact your unwellness might have on your community, consider that getting well is good for you and it’s good for your community. Sometimes it’s easier to do it for others than for yourself.
Years ago, I read A Course in Miracles with friends. If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s a book on spiritual awakening with a section of scripture and a year-long workbook of daily lessons. It’s not for everyone, but I gained some valuable insights from going through it. One of those insights occurred when I encountered this passage: “Lesson 66: My happiness and my function are one.”
Whereas I had tended to think of my happiness as a personal thing – sometimes even a selfish thing – this spiritual book was telling me that being happy (true, causeless happiness) is one of the greatest things I can do for the world. As I meditated on it, I saw clearly that the happy people I’ve known were like lights in every setting they entered. Without even intending it, they had a therapeutic effect on everyone they encountered. Not only did they tend to uplift those around them, in an unspoken way they communicated that this is a possibility for you, too. Happiness is a perspective, a choice. If I can choose it, you can choose it.
Being happy makes us more peaceful, compassionate, and creative. It gives us the freedom to see a bigger picture, rather than focusing on what’s wrong or bad. Even just one happy person in a room full of scared people can change the whole atmosphere – and the choices that community makes.
So I encourage you to consider this week:
- Who am I and what role do I play in my various communities?
- How have I been affected by the genuinely happy people I’ve known?
- What do I believe stands between me and being one of those happy people?
- What happens when I make a conscious choice of how I’m going to show up in a given setting?
- When I give, what do I receive?
- How do I feel when I put myself in service to others?
- Where could I dedicate myself to more actively resolve any unhealthy patterns of thought, communication, or behavior?
- How will I be different as I heal, and how will I affect my community differently as I release my baggage?
- When will I choose happiness?
Be well,
Peter
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When I first delved into cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) as a psychology major, I remember thinking, “This is an evolution for humans.” CBT focuses on examining and challenging one’s thoughts and beliefs, changing related behaviors, and building coping skills and emotional regulation.
Of course, there is a long philosophical tradition of examining the nature of human thought and behavior, but the advent of cognitive and behavioral psychology in the past couple centuries infused these concepts into mainstream culture in a profound way. It’s now common for people to talk about their thoughts as something separate from themselves, and to routinely employ behavior modification techniques in all areas of life.
I had a mentor in my early 20s who was a big advocate of CBT, and at the time I told her I had been exploring methods for healing the memories of traumatic events. I felt both rebuffed and inspired when she said, “You’re wasting your time. We don’t need to go back and relive our childhood or spend the rest of our life lying on some shrink’s couch analyzing everything that ever happened to us! All that matters is, right now, are you going to be at the mercy of your thoughts and automatic behaviors, or are you going to manage whatever comes up in a conscious, intentional way?”
I’ve thought a lot about this in the decades since. My mentor was of the mind that we don’t need to figure out why these painful or dysfunctional patterns keep coming up, we just need to change our response to them, and eventually we’ll transform our psychological makeup in a permanent way. I believe there is real value to this approach, and also . . . sometimes I think we need to go back.
When it comes to our healing and growth, here are three good reasons to revisit your past:
(1) If you’re constantly managing your response to a recurrent pattern, it might be more efficient to get to the root of the pattern and dismantle it (or at least mitigate it) so that it doesn’t come up much, if at all. Of course, you can also use cognitive and behavioral strategies if it does arise.
(2) There is potential for deeper self-awareness, insight, and growth through visiting your past and coming to understand the factors that went into making you who you are. These are opportunities to forgive, correct misunderstandings, reframe our stories, and revise or erase beliefs. While it’s totally possible for many people to be happy without going there, it’s probably not possible to be self-actualized without making peace with your past.
There are some caveats. Analyzing your past can be taken to a self-indulgent degree. It can retrigger old trauma. And most common, it can make us feel worse as we work through it (and experience it without resistance, perhaps for the first time) – though this usually gives way to greater freedom. Thus, it’s important to do this work when you’re feeling relatively stable, with a clear sense of why (what you hope to accomplish), and with the tools and/or support to do it in a way that’s likely to turn out well.
(3) Finally, some people seek total liberation from our programming, i.e., the ego. Once this urge awakens in us, it often never goes fully back to sleep. If you’re in this boat, you may find value in recapitulation.
I read about recapitulation in a Carlos Castaneda book when I was 18 and it seemed unfathomable. Castaneda, a Peruvian anthropologist-turned-apprentice of shamanism, was instructed by his teacher to write down his entire life story, from his very earliest memories, including every person he had ever met. This process, he was told, was necessary to free him from his worldly attachments. It took him years. I remember thinking, “I could never do that.”
Since then, I’ve encountered various forms of recapitulation in my other studies of shamanism, and I now feel it’s more doable than I previously believed. Could it take years? Absolutely. But you’ve got time, and it’s not an all-or-nothing proposition. Every time we release some piece of baggage, it’s like dropping a sandbag from a hot air balloon. We’re that much lighter and freer – even if we’re not “done.”
As we go through our history, we find countless moments that have a certain weight or charge. They exist in a state of incomplete resolution. Taken together they have a powerful influence on how we show up in the present. They can make us dwell in the past and fear the future. They can cause us to live within a fraction of the spectrum of what’s possible. In short, they limit our freedom. As we loosen our history’s grip on us, we thus loosen the grip of our ego, and we more readily access our true essence and potential.
I stumbled upon my own recapitulation process while doing somatic releasing practices. In a nutshell, all our history with a charge – everything that doesn’t sit neutrally in us – can be experienced through the body. There is a physical expression and felt experience to all of it. And in willingly visiting it, experiencing it without resistance, and accepting it, we promote its resolution.
If this is unfamiliar territory for you, just try this: Bring up something about your current life or your past that you wish were different. While holding this in mind, expand your awareness to include what you feel in your body. You will perceive a certain unease. As you meet it and even invite it, the unease loosens. (Sometimes this takes a little practice, especially if you’re not accustomed to feeling your feelings. If you’re interested in diving deeper into this process, check out our workbook called Freedom.)
When we do this work we inevitably find layers of holding. We release one layer and discover another layer, and so on. In my case, I began to recognize the layers faster than I could process them, so I started writing them down. Hundreds of cords, linking me to my past, pulling on me, distorting my present self. The list grew at the same rate that I crossed things off it. I’m not nearly done, but I feel much lighter.
I’m not saying a person can’t show up in a clean and authentic way until they release every conflict or resentment they’ve ever had. What I mean is that a thorough recapitulation facilitates ego liberation – something that’s beyond the scope of CBT and, frankly, not of interest to most people.
In my own process, I found that I was sometimes inspired to move my body in certain ways to assist the release of a sticky pattern, which is an integral part of some somatic therapies. Interestingly, it’s also a technique used in shamanic recapitulation. As Sandra Ingerman and Hank Wesselman explain in their book, Awakening to the Spirit World, we can facilitate the “unraveling” of a memory (or the emotional charge attached to it) by spinning. This can also be accomplished by turning the head or twisting the body from side to side, and the authors say they believe this is also why EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) works. They recommend spinning or turning while breathing deep into the memory and its associated emotions, accepting it, and intending to release it.
I believe recapitulation also occurs to some extent automatically, especially when we’re ready for it: in dreaming; in meditation, when we are sometimes spontaneously presented with something from the past that needs to be “cleared”; in yoga and exercise; and very often under the influence of entheogenic (psychedelic) substances, especially when used intentionally as medicine. This is why psilocybin mushrooms are rapidly gaining a reputation as one of the most effective therapies for attaining peace at the end of life.
I’m curious to hear from readers about your experience with the different approaches I discussed. Have you used CBT, and did it help? Have you dug into your past to heal yourself? What methods did you use, and how did it go? Have you done a large scale recapitulation? What was the outcome? Please share.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Are You Willing to Go All the Way Back?
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After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Uncomfortable Conversations: Diffuse the Discomfort by Speaking Up
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Previously I wrote about how community is like medicine. Our circle of fellow humans goes through this amazing journey with us . . . encouraging us, witnessing us, screaming with us on the roller coasters, and holding our hand when we take our last breath. My orientation in that article was toward what community can do for us, but it’s at least as important to look at what we can do for our community.
I was reading about a Native American grief ritual described by Black Elk, and while the ritual itself was interesting, what stuck with me was his assertion that long-held grief isn’t good for a person or the community to which that person belongs. That is, when someone is mired in suffering, this can have a negative impact on their community.
You can probably think of plenty of examples where a glaring state of imbalance, such as rage or terror, could result in behaviors that are detrimental to others. But the effects of less dramatic, often chronic negative states are subtler. What happens – besides their own discomfort – when a person is trapped in depression, anxiety, or grief for years? One repercussion is that they have a diminished capacity to fully show up in their community. We might think, “Well, the community doesn’t really need me to be at my best,” but imagine going to a place where almost everyone was depressed, afraid, or angry. Such places do exist, of course, and you can feel it as a palpable mass degradation of the human spirit.
These days we may feel that we don’t have any real obligation to our community, which is so different from how humans have operated for most of our history. Today community may be seen as an entirely optional part of life. We can live in near isolation while anonymous members of our community manage the utilities that provide us with power, water, and internet, take away our garbage, maintain our roads, even deliver our groceries. It feels like independence, but in truth we’re more dependent than ever on an infrastructure other humans maintain – we just don’t know who those humans are.
We’ve lost our sense of responsibility to our community. It’s due in part to the feeling that our government is huge, remote, and corrupt. But if our response is to disengage, the situation can only get worse. If anything, the sense of disconnection from our elected representatives and neighbors should magnify the need to do what we can to make a positive difference. It’s not just an obligation, it’s also an opportunity. If we can recognize and accept that our quality of presence affects others, this may inspire us to be our best selves. And it’s not just a matter of what we do but also who we are and how we are. Becoming fundamentally well inside helps heal the community. Imagine how healthily a community of fundamentally well people manages challenges.
If you’ve been struggling, I don’t mean to make you feel guilty as well; that won’t help you or your community. Rather than focusing on the negative impact your unwellness might have on your community, consider that getting well is good for you and it’s good for your community. Sometimes it’s easier to do it for others than for yourself.
Years ago, I read A Course in Miracles with friends. If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s a book on spiritual awakening with a section of scripture and a year-long workbook of daily lessons. It’s not for everyone, but I gained some valuable insights from going through it. One of those insights occurred when I encountered this passage: “Lesson 66: My happiness and my function are one.”
Whereas I had tended to think of my happiness as a personal thing – sometimes even a selfish thing – this spiritual book was telling me that being happy (true, causeless happiness) is one of the greatest things I can do for the world. As I meditated on it, I saw clearly that the happy people I’ve known were like lights in every setting they entered. Without even intending it, they had a therapeutic effect on everyone they encountered. Not only did they tend to uplift those around them, in an unspoken way they communicated that this is a possibility for you, too. Happiness is a perspective, a choice. If I can choose it, you can choose it.
Being happy makes us more peaceful, compassionate, and creative. It gives us the freedom to see a bigger picture, rather than focusing on what’s wrong or bad. Even just one happy person in a room full of scared people can change the whole atmosphere – and the choices that community makes.
So I encourage you to consider this week:
- Who am I and what role do I play in my various communities?
- How have I been affected by the genuinely happy people I’ve known?
- What do I believe stands between me and being one of those happy people?
- What happens when I make a conscious choice of how I’m going to show up in a given setting?
- When I give, what do I receive?
- How do I feel when I put myself in service to others?
- Where could I dedicate myself to more actively resolve any unhealthy patterns of thought, communication, or behavior?
- How will I be different as I heal, and how will I affect my community differently as I release my baggage?
- When will I choose happiness?
Be well,
Peter
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[is_tax] =>
[is_search] =>
[is_feed] =>
[is_comment_feed] =>
[is_trackback] =>
[is_home] =>
[is_privacy_policy] =>
[is_404] =>
[is_embed] =>
[is_paged] =>
[is_admin] =>
[is_attachment] =>
[is_singular] =>
[is_robots] =>
[is_favicon] =>
[is_posts_page] =>
[is_post_type_archive] =>
[query_vars_hash:WP_Query:private] => a097e456dd6a6f35f33e32daab6269e7
[query_vars_changed:WP_Query:private] =>
[thumbnails_cached] =>
[allow_query_attachment_by_filename:protected] =>
[stopwords:WP_Query:private] =>
[compat_fields:WP_Query:private] => Array
(
[0] => query_vars_hash
[1] => query_vars_changed
)
[compat_methods:WP_Query:private] => Array
(
[0] => init_query_flags
[1] => parse_tax_query
)
)
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