O'Grady Psychology Associates

Psychotherapy, Marriage Counseling, Neuropsychological Assessment

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The Church of the Backyard: Finding Comfort in Nature

For many years I have met with a group of women one Friday morning a month. Around our kitchen tables, we light a candle, have a moment of quiet, and then sip tea together as we read from a variety of spiritual works. In recent years, we often turn to poetry. Most of our meetings have a theme, yet an unexpected ritual has arisen: we open the kitchen doors and go out into our host’s garden. Like watching our children grow, we notice the seasonal changes in each other’s gardens and how they’ve evolved from year to year.

Nancy died about six years ago. She was sick for a long time and unable to get to the church she had regularly attended, but she found her temple in the “church of the backyard.” During our kitchen-table meetings, we often remarked on the garden’s healing influence.

Emily Dickinson, a poet who rarely left her home or garden, wrote:

 Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

 Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

 God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.

Research has shown that time in nature is one of the eight therapeutic lifestyle changes (TLCs) that enhance well-being. Watching critters, gazing at plants, and listening to birdsong or the low hum of insects brings us back to earth. And back to our Self.

Temples are places of quiet, of worship, and transcendence. Sacred spaces are found in all cultures and faiths around the world, and go back to before recorded history. The essence of a temple is stillness, as in Mary Oliver’s poem “Today”:

Today I’m flying low and I’m

not saying a word

I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

 The world goes on as it must,

the bees in the garden rumbling a little,

the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.

And so forth.

 But I’m taking the day off.

Quiet as a feather.

I hardly move though really I’m traveling

a terrific distance.

 Stillness. One of the doors

into the temple.

 The temple is a doorway which, upon entering, we put away the “voodoos of ambition” and ego so that we can access the inner voice. Being in nature—whether a park bench, camping, or in our backyard—promotes reflection and quiet. The world goes on as we sit observing and listening. We are replenished before we return to our daily routine.

In mindfulness-based cognitive therapy, we do a five-minute “seeing” or “hearing” exercise to become aware of how easily the mind wanders from observing into judgment. You hear a cough, or loud, thunderous walking from the office above, or snoring from another participant, and critical thoughts immediately arise: “How annoying! Am I going to get sick? Who’s snoring? Why can’t I pay attention? Focus!” Through practicing awareness, we can see how easily our slippery mind moves away from paying attention to the sounds as sounds, or from what we’re viewing as only patterns, shapes, color, and movement, to categorization and criticism.

As I wrote this post, I picked up the new book The Art of Stillness: Adventure in Going Nowhere by Pico Iyer. As in all things synchronistic, one line randomly caught my eye and spoke to me, Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz: “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

If you would like to listen to a short guided meditation using the imagery of a temple, click on the link below. Temple meditations have been used in many healing traditions.

Temple Meditation

 

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The New Year, Rebirth, and Obstacles

Photo credit: Bahman Ferzad
Photo credit: Bahman Ferzad

By the third or fourth week of January, many of us are reevaluating our lives. We’ve either made resolutions (and perhaps already broken them) or we are resisting this ancient practice with awareness of the years of collapsed intentions when previous New Year’s hopes didn’t pan out.

Yet we continue to be drawn to the symbolic cycle of each New Year because we crave growth and change. Like the snake, the symbol of healing (seen in the Rod of Asclepius), we long to shed our skin and emerge from the constraints that hold us back.

Stories of rebirth offer hope that change is possible, and that we can be made new again. The parts of ourselves that we’ve outgrown—the aspects of our personality and our life that keep us stuck, can be discarded, making room for new growth. With each new year, we imagine ourselves in new light—and set intentions to change.

Images of rebirth in faith traditions, in myths, and in nature symbolize the cycle of death, liberation, and ultimately rebirth. The Phoenix, for example, is a mythical bird that was said to live 500 years, burst into flame, and then arise from its own ashes after three days. This image represents the recurring cycle of resurrection, immortality, and the indestructible nature of the spirit, as well as the pain and destruction necessary to this cycle.

In the Gospel of John, Lazarus is raised from the dead after being buried four days in a dark tomb. Jesus tells Lazarus—still wrapped in the cloth that bound him—to get up and come to the entrance of his tomb. He commands Martha and Mary, Lazarus’s sisters, to unbind their poor brother so that he can be free to live life with fullness. Imagine that you can unbind yourself from whatever darkness holds you.

The lotus flower is another symbol of rebirth.  The Sanskrit word for lotus, pankaja, means “mud-born.” Although rooted in mire and nourished by decomposed matter, the lotus rises each day and opens radiantly into the light. Throughout the day the flowers turn to face the sun as it moves across the southern sky. After sunset the petals close into a tight bud before the lotus descends into the murky soil of the pond or river. We are not separate from the earth. We grow from it and each day is a new beginning. All arises and passes away.

We must be willing to let go of parts of ourselves that do not serve us well. That might mean something as seemingly small as forgoing coffee in the afternoon so we sleep better at night, or as large as leaving a job or relationship that no longer fits who we are becoming. Growing into our fullness requires that we accept the mud from which we come.

Photo credit: Bahman Ferzad
Photo credit: Bahman Ferzad

The butterfly is a ubiquitous symbol of transition, growth, and rebirth because of how the crawling caterpillar enters its cocoon and is transformed into the delicate and graceful winged butterfly. But this process needs effort to work, as Paulo Coelho describes in his Dec. 2007 blog entry “Lesson of the Butterfly.” A man watches “a butterfly struggling to emerge” and decides to help it by cutting open the cocoon, but the butterfly never flies, never even opens its wings, remaining shrunken and shriveled:

What the man – out of kindness and his eagerness to help – had failed to understand was that the tight cocoon and the efforts that the butterfly had to make in order to squeeze out of that tiny hole were Nature’s way of training the butterfly and of strengthening its wings.

Psychotherapy is not painless. People wanting to change must face fundamental aspects of themselves that no longer (or never did) serve them. The obstacles we confront help us to be whole; avoiding them never does.

It’s popular in social media to present lists of “5 ways to cure” this or that. Such lists simplify and distort what is often difficult inner work. Some psychotherapy sessions are smooth and feel-good, but if every session is like that, the work may not be deep enough—for surely change involves difficulty.

We can be born anew each day, and in every moment. Many traditions teach lessons about renewal. Mindfulness meditation, when done regularly, can provide the foundation to live each moment and then let go of it as the next moment comes.

What are the important images in your life, and what do they say about you? Find the images that form inside you, as you listen to stories, poetry, or in the silence of the meditations. Your image could be a butterfly, a lotus flower, even a humble loaf of bread (which can’t be made without punching and kneading). Allow images to form in your awareness, and then bring insight and understanding to what they might symbolize.

Think of a story that was central to you and your development. For me, the tortoise and the hare was important, and one I have returned to many times in my dreams and as I face challenges.

You cannot live without dying. You cannot live if you do not die psychologically every minute. This is not an intellectual paradox. To live completely, wholly, every day as if it were a new loveliness, there must be dying to everything of yesterday, otherwise you live mechanically, and a mechanical mind can never know what love is or what freedom is.

~ J. Krishnamurti

We need stories to grow.

Habits are hard to change. There are ways to help you keep realistic resolutions. This NY Times article summaries several studies that show ways to make good habits stick.

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Procrastination: Scratching Items off the Mental To-Do List

When tasks overwhelm
Getting Unstuck: Finding Flow Again

A lot of our stress comes from holding our undone tasks in mind; the more we have, the more they weigh upon us. Sometimes it’s not our actions but the actions we’re not taking that cause us stress. If we can generate ways to off-load the things on our to-do list from working memory, we are freed to focus on one thing at a time, relieving a sense of burden and at the same time allowing us to be more productive.

Full Engagement & Wholeheartedness

This idea of doing one thing at a time with full engagement of attention has been seen as crucial to a sense of well-being by many observers. In David Whyte’s book Crossing the Unknown Sea, he describes an exchange with Brother David Steindl-Rast, who says: “You know that the antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest? . . . The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.” (p. 132, emphasis original)

Finding Flow in Difficult or Unpleasant Tasks

This idea of full engagement as a part of well-being was observed by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who researched the concept of “flow.” Tapping into this idea, he observed that when people are engaged in an activity that is moderately challenging( neither too easy nor too hard), allows some creative problem-solving, and absorbs the mind, they report that they can be lost in a task with little sense of time passing. On emerging, they feel a sense of satisfaction: pleasure in achievement, but also pleasure in the intrinsic reward of being fully engaged in something interesting.

It’s important, then, not just to focus on the product of your work—the outcomes, the problems solved, the things you get to cross off your list—but also the process. If in addition to achieving good work you are also using your skills and challenging yourself to improve, that, in and of itself, is gratifying.

A recent study, reported on in a New York Times piece, explored how people make decisions—and turned up some surprising findings. Researchers asked subjects to carry a bucket down an alley; they could pick a bucket close by, or an identical one closer to the alley’s end. Believing that people are inclined to save physical effort, the researchers expected that people would pick the bucket farther away, which would require less carrying. Instead, most people chose the bucket near them at the alley’s start.

Working Memory- The Mental Scratch Pad

They tried this experiment in eight different ways with the same result. Why? Researchers believe that people engage in “procrastination”—taking on tasks ahead of time because it feels so good to get it off our minds, even if it’s more work. We can also call this “offloading working memory.” Working memory refers to holding information in mind for a short span of time, just long enough to complete a brief task, as opposed to short-term or long-term memory, which stores information for later use.

Working memory is a mental scratch pad: once an item is completed, it’s crossed off and thrown away. You may remember from Psych 101 the magic formula 7 +/- 2. On average, humans can hold seven bits of data in mind at one time—plus maybe two on a good day, or maybe just five if you’re tired or stressed. There is a limit to what you can hold in your head at one time. That’s why phone numbers are seven digits.

If we try to hold too much information in our heads at once, it feels stressful, so we’ve developed strategies to offload tasks from your working memory. If you can confidently say, “I know I can get to that later; I don’t have to think about that now,” then you’re freed to focus on just the one thing in front of you. This is the reason behind to-do lists.

The Myth of Multitasking

The idea of doing one thing at a time is something we come back to again and again. It is impossible to do constantly but is something to aim for because of the greater feelings of satisfaction it produces. Multitasking is a myth: when you divide your attention between tasks you are less productive and less accurate.

It’s understandable that people want to offload from working memory, but answering trivial emails (tweets, phone calls), sharpening pencils, and so on, may seem like accomplishing things, but they pull focus from the important tasks. We have to select which of these to respond to and which will get done later.

Of course, a lot of what makes us human—and so successful—is our ability to plan and think ahead: we inhibit automatic, impulsive responses in favor of thoughtful, controlled responses. The kids in the famous impulse-control study who were more successful at inhibiting had higher GPAs, SATs, and higher-paying jobs in comparison to the kids who couldn’t stop themselves from going for the marshmallow. At the same time, we know that scholastic achievement does not necessarily make people happy and that restraining all impulses can make for a life without spontaneity and joy. Finding the balance is a crucial component for happiness.

What is it that makes us feel happy? Maybe it’s the wrong question. It is not happiness we should be seeking; we need to engage in meaningful work. As Eleanor Roosevelt wrote, “Happiness is not a goal, it is a by-product.”

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The Present Moment and Transformation

Mindfulness and transformation.Research reported in the respected journal Science, in an article titled “Just think: The challenges of the disengaged mind” by Timothy D. Wilson et al. (345, 75 [2014]), presented results summarizing 11 studies where participants were first given an electric shock; all participants admitted that the shock was unpleasant, and said they would pay to avoid it. Researchers then asked the subjects to sit in the empty room and entertain themselves with their thoughts without cellphones, iPads, or other distractions. There were only two rules: you can’t get out of your chair, and you can’t fall asleep. Participants did have the option to press a button and receive a shock again.

The mind is its own place, and in it self

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

 John Milton, Paradise Lost

 Very much to the researchers’ surprise, the study found that 70% of the men and 25% of the women chose to shock themselves instead of just sitting there with their thoughts—remember, for no more than 15 minutes.

Researchers ran the test in a lab with college students, but also with older subjects (recruited from churches, farmer’s markets, etc.) in their homes, and they tried to replicate the study with a wider sample of people minus the electric shock. They found that these folks also had difficulty sitting still for 15 minutes alone to entertain themselves with their thoughts. Over half the people admitted to cheating by using their phones. The majority said that hated the experience—it was boring.

What is going on here? Why is it so hard to entertain ourselves with our thoughts that people will actually resort to painfully shocking themselves just for something to do? Why not just stay in the moment and wait it out? Partly, reflecting back and looking ahead are just human nature, something our big brains allow us to do and a big reason for our evolutionary success. Because we can think ahead and formulate goals, or review the past and learn from it, we can accomplish stunning achievements like writing novels, building bridges, and curing diseases (not to mention more ordinary but still essential accomplishments like saving for retirement). But that’s not the whole story.

While being past- or future-minded can have benefits, it’s clear that mindfulness—staying in the present moment—offers essential benefits as well. The present moment is the only one that truly exists. It’s only in the present moment that we can feel peace, fulfillment, and harmony. And it’s only in the present that we’re free to choose. That’s why people meditate and why so many religious traditions include some kind of mindfulness exercise.

But researchers in the study found that even subjects who had experience with meditation and mindfulness found it only slightly easier to sit still without distraction. I’ve found this in my own practice. When I explain mindfulness to my psychotherapy clients, they understand the concept and its value on an intellectual level, and may even experience a sense of pleasurable release during some meditations. Even though my clients have come to me for help in dealing with life’s burdens, and even though they get good results from meditating, it’s still not easy for them to practice mindfulness regularly.

So, what comes up for people when they sit alone with their thoughts? We experience restlessness, discomfort, boredom, and irritation. Sitting in stillness, letting moments come and go and staying with the quiet space, gives room to encounter the self. We come face to face with our anger, our envy, our jealousy and our pride. Those feelings are unpleasant and it is easy to want to be quickly rid of them. Switching the channel in our mind to a diversion such as a show, a game, or a piece of chocolate cake takes us temporarily away from the difficult emotion. We don’t want to feel like a jealous person, for example, because that gives way to other feelings such as guilt—which makes us feel worse. Our self-concept takes a beating when we give it time in the quiet moments.

But if we are to enlarge our Self and be fully alive, we have to face the darker sides. As Goethe writes in “The Holy Longing”:

 And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow,

you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

To be at home on earth, learn to sit with yourself in the present moment.

 

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Happiness and Pleasure Born of Reverie and Reflection

Photo credit: Vicki DeLoach

When I was little and living in lush, sweaty Georgia, my mother would take me and my brother out to the lawn and we’d pick delicate white daisies, carefully connecting stems end to end to make a halo or a crown. Secluded from other cares, for me those afternoons before being called to dinner felt eternal, endless. We didn’t ask to watch TV, the only screen available back then. And if we were lucky, the day would turn dusky and bands of lightning bugs would appear, making their mystical dance around our heads, flying just low enough so we could catch a few in our glass jars. I always released mine after a few seconds, hoping they would remember me as kind and come back again the next evening.

Daisies don’t grow in the grass in California where I live now. Bugs do. They crawl up and down gigantic blades in a determined march to get to the other side of the lawn. When my twins were little, we’d get down on our forearms and elbows and watch their surprisingly fast journey. Then we’d roll onto our backs and look at the clouds, finding comical animals, monsters, and castles. Absorbed in our thoughts, time moved much slower than the clouds and bugs. When my husband called us to dinner, we strolled to the house, calm and happy.

Several years ago, we tore up the grass to save water. I don’t see the bugs up close now, but I see the honeybees and hear their sweet music, along with the birdsong.

Long before Gautama became enlightened while sitting under the Bodhi tree, he experienced a calm, peaceful reverie as a boy while sitting under a rose-apple tree in his father’s field. This Buddha-to-be watched the grass being churned in the fields and noticed the bugs being displaced by the plow, some dying and some surviving. Contemplating the transitoriness of life with calm awareness, he experienced the state Buddhists refer to as jhana—a rapture and pleasure born of seclusion from the usual demands of life. This glimpse was lost in memory for many years, until that day under the Bodhi tree when Gautama realized that life brings suffering, yet it also brings a way out.

Meditation is one of the paths that bring awareness, insight, and calm. These states of meditation where the mind is free from craving, aversion, sloth, agitation, and doubt, are experienced when we can be alone without demands of daily life pressing us toward the ever-present distractions that impinge daily. Watching clouds or bugs with nothing on your mind may bring about that first state of meditation, just as it did for Buddha. Taking time with no purpose, but to sit still, listening and observing, may bring surprise and joy.