By now, many of you have seen the film,"The Secret", which is all the rage among New Agers and Oprah fans. There is much to like about this film. It explains, perhaps for the first time to a mass audience, the powerful "law of attraction" and how you can use it to manifest success and abundance in all the domains of your life: money, career, relationships, etc. Of course, the idea that this law is a secret is more than a bit hyperbolic. The law of attraction has been well known for ages and well documented by many philosophers and theologians. The fact that the film and its accoutrement--books, CD's, and the like--pull on the rising credibility of quantum physics for sustenance is also a bit of a stretch. Quantum physics theories demonstrate that the mind of the observer does, in fact, impact the thing observed, but only when doing experiments at a sub-atomic level.

It has never been shown that our thoughts can actually influence a plane flying overhead (thank God for that, eh?) or stop a car crash. The idea that focusing your thinking on manifesting a bigger house will actually bring you a bigger house, well, no quantum physicist is going to consider this anything more than New Age bunk. No matter. The point of the film is still valid: what we manifest and experience in the world is very much a result of how we think/feel about it, and this is something that we can actively CHOOSE on a minute-by-minute basis.

So, in sum, I like the film. I will recommend it to my clients, especially the parts about practicing gratitude, visualization, and believing. In fact, the part of the film where the narrators talk about how to use these practices in a practical way, by starting each day with an attitude of gratitude, visualizing life as they would like to live it, and then feeling into that experience, in real-time, AS IF it has already occurred--these are powerful practices, and they work.

But--and this is a big BUT-- there is a catch (of course, you knew that I wasn't going to let this pseudo-Hollywood extravaganza get off the hook that easily!). Underneath all the fabulous imagery of fancy cars and big houses and sex-doll girlfriend/boyfriends lies what I consider to be the dirty secret of "The Secret": no matter how powerful the law of attraction may be, using it to acquire more stuff does not necessarily bring joy, or happiness, or calm or peace or anything else remotely close to what we might call "human fulfillment".

In fact, constant attention on HAVING MORE may bring just the opposite: stress, effort, fleeting pleasure then emptiness, and a gnawing, anxious feeling of "never enough". I don't think it particularly hyperbolic to say that the shadow-side of "The Secret"--the emphasis on always wanting MORE--may be downright hurtful--to our souls, to our intimate relationships, and ultimately, to the fragile earth itself (imagine a planet where 6 billion people all clamor to live in a $4 million dollar mansion like Jack Canfield!!).

So where does the film go off track? Not with the description of the law of attraction, that is all well and good, if not particularly scientific. No, the basic theme of the movie is fine and laudable. Where it disconnects from its own goal and integrity (which the skeptic in me thinks was intentional--designed to SELL MORE books/DVDS) is with the question: "what do you want?"

If you watch closely starting from the point where the narrator instructs the viewer to use the power of the law of attraction to "get what you want", you will notice that from here on out what we want (what the producers of this film would argue) is a new bike, a fast car, a mansion, a sexy, beautiful girlfriend/boyfriend (read: object), etc. Nowhere did I hear that we might want any of the following: to be loved, to make a difference, to help others, to give back, to share our talents, to love more fully, to live in peace, to relax, or just to have more time for fun. The focus of the film, and the use of thinking, feeling, and intention/visualization (the "toolset" of the law) is all on how to "acquire" a life-style...and specifically one that would show well on "Lives of the Rich and Famous". Yikes!

Well, you may say, what's not to like? We all like having nice things, and the nicer the better, right? Well, true enough, but here's my beef: many of my clients already have fancy cars, nice homes, vacation condos, and more than their fair share of sexy significant others (at least for a short time). Yet, are they happy? Are they feeling fulfilled? Hardly. Many of them become so attached and identified with the "life-style" of prosperity that they think/behave like addicts (more, more, more) losing sight of who they really are and what they really want.

It is only when you step out of the acquistion game for a moment, and ask the deeper question--who do you want to be?--that the law of attraction really goes to work FOR you. By focusing your thoughts and visualizations on WHO AND HOW YOU WANT TO BE in your life, rather that what you want to HAVE, the universe responds with large and small gifts--bringing us teachers, taking us places, and offering up opportunities for us to practice being what we most value in the world.

I am all in favor of people living prosperous lives. There is nothing inherently "bad" about having nice things or living a life of abundance. But what, deep down in your heart, gets you out of bed in the morning? The house, the car, the wardrobe? For me, what I most want to attract--using my thinking, my intention, my gifts, and my passion--is the opportunity to help others live lives of joy, ease, and vitality. What about you? What question might really foster a "life-shift" in your sense of who you are and why you are here? Is it "what do you want...to have?" I doubt it. Instead, try living, breathing, and using the "law of attraction" to discover your own inner secret. Ask yourself: who do I really want to be in the world?!

Check out the film and let me know what you think...

Cheers!

Dr. J

ps. I want to share a little vignette with you as an "add-on" here...because in retrospect I see that it spawned this entire blog:

Yesterday as I was riding the crosstown bus in midtown Manhattan, all the while thinking about the film, "The Secret", and pondering why it left me so unsatisfied, I happened to witness the following scene playing out before me.

Glancing up from my seat in the third row of the bus, I noticed a very old gentleman with a cane sitting across from me. He had to have been about 80, maybe older, but he still looked pretty vital, if rickety on his cane. Just then a younger man--around 60 or so--ambled on to the bus, and facing down this older guy, seemed to do a double-take. "Excuse me sir," said the 'young' one, "Are you the Dr. Hamilton that used to teach classes in archictecture at the New School?" Looking up from his perch, the old man smiled--as if he'd heard this a thousand times before--and simply said, "Yes, I suppose that's me. What can I do for you?"

"Well, wow!" exclaimed the new arrival, "I always wondered what happened to you and whether I would ever see you again...and here you are. I always wanted to thank you for your wonderful class and tell you how much it meant to me. I wound up going on to graduate school and becoming an architect and I have really loved my career. In fact, I'm actually now wondering what to do in the face of retirement because I don't really want to quit. And in no small way, much of my success can be traced back to you!"

I never did hear the response that the old teacher gave to the no-longer-young student because my bus stop arrived just as he finished his little soliloquy. But as I stepped off the bus, I glanced back to see a swelling smile, and a redolent glow of joy (and a little embarassment) surface on the wrinkled face of the teacher. At that moment I knew exactly what was missing from "The Secret": a deeper truth--perhaps a deeper secret that the blossoming countenance of this octagenarian revealed for all to see: WHAT REALLY MATTERS at the end of life. What will you be smiling about when you're 80?

Sitting here on a sun-drenched, crystalline spring-is-on-the-way kind of morning in New York City, it is hard to believe that only 72 hours ago the snow was flying, the wind was blowing and the temps were sub-zero. Notwithstanding the debate about climate change or global warming, it clearly was an erratic winter. With January being like June and March being like January and June from one day to the next, one thing is for certain: nothing is for certain. It seems that unpredictability, in the weather, in the world, in life, is the order of the day. Reflecting back on that last blast (hopefully) of winter and its aftermath, I can't help but wonder: how do we stay centered? How does one stay grounded, prepared for anything, and flexible in the face of so much change?

Now, I'm not sure that I KNOW the right answer to these questions, nor do I necessarily believe there is one answer, but I do know one thing: if all the change that we find ourselves experiencing is on the outside, the solution will have to be found on the inside. In times of deep turmoil and transition we all need to LOOK INSIDE ourselves and get connected to something that grounds us and holds us steady. The phrase I love for this idea, which I borrow from Dr. Steven Covey (of "7 Habits" fame), is "the changeless core". It is that place inside of you that never wavers, a place of core essence, of peace and calm and KNOWING, that everything will be ok, that you are ok, that all is as it should be. It is the place from which we accept life on its own terms, drop the struggle, drop the complaint and just allow life, nature, people, the weather, and ourselves, to be just as they are. But how do we connect to this elusive place that lies at the center of our being?

As with most challenging spiritual questions the solution is found by seeking out a good teacher. This past weekend, as I retreated to my cozy lair and just watched the parade of snow and sleet and ice and wind float by my window, I noticed something else: a spiritual teacher in action. Holding steady, calm and changeless under the onslaught of Mother Nature's tirade, were the trees. Solemn, uncomplaining and stately. In the space of 24 hours, I watched as a giant oak went from sun-dappled to rain-drenched, to bowed over in the icy wind, to snow-capped, to finally, upon waking on Saturday, fully chrystallized with icicles dripping from every branch. Emerging from the underworld of the storm, the tree burst forth as a diamond, a delicate glass-blown Christmas ornament shimmering in the breeze. And through all the transmogrifications, the mighty oak stood its ground, unmoved, unshaken. Peaceful. A perfect role model for how to be in the world.

At the time, observing the tree in full regalia, I only thought of how beautiful it looked, how stately. It wasn't until the next day, during my yoga class, that its profound message hit home. Standing before a wall of glass that looked out onto a frozen tundra of ice-laden trees (ok, not exactly a tundra at the intersection of 14th st. and Union Sqaure, but you get the idea), my yoga class was instructed to stand tall and straight, legs hip-width apart, with our hands clasped in prayer at our heart-center.

For a long moment, I stood perfectly still, listening to my breath, gazing out at the icy wonderland, enjoying the delicious contrast of the warm, spacious yoga studio juxtaposed against the burning chill of frost and ice that lay only a few feet away. The instructor then told us to find a tree outside the window and focus on it. Holding, for balance, our gaze on the tree outside, she told us to lift one leg off the ground and place the bottom of our foot against the other leg, against the upper thigh if possible, the higher the better. Then, standing on one leg, breathing deeply from our core, we were told to raise our hands towards the ceiling and spread our arms outward and skyward in full, if awkward mimicry of the trees which held our gaze. "This is 'tree pose'", the instructor said, "Your opportunity to balance, hold center and breathe from a place of grounded connection to your inner core".

"As you hold steady on one leg, breath deeply," she said, "and think of the nerves and blood vessels coursing through your body, from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingers. See if you can feel the pulse, the circulation, the essence of life, moving and flowing, at all times and in all circumstances. This is just life, in you, doing its thing, with ease, no matter what is happening all around you."

Like a tree in a storm, I thought to myself. The perfect teacher, wherein the weather may swirl around in constant agitation and upheaval, but the sap of life just continues to flow, uninterrupted, undisturbed on the inside. Life doing life.

So the next time you feel ungrounded, reactive to others moods or behaviors, when you feel yourself being blown off course by circumstances beyond your control, stop for a moment, stand on one leg, take a deep breath (or two) and be a tree! It is a powerful practice. Hold steady for as long as you can with one foot pressed against the upper thigh of your other leg. Find a tree to serve as your role model. Bring yourself fully into the present moment...and reconnect to that place in you that is unwavering, steady, still. Allow the tree to show you the way to your changeless core, to help you find the way home.

In closing today's post I want to share a favorite short poem of mine. It is by the wonderful and moving poet, David Whyte...and it goes like this:

Lost

Stand still. The trees ahead
and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here.
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger.
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers.
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it you may come back again.
saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you.
You are surely lost. Stand still.
The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.


Cheers,

Dr. J

Why is it that so-called "spiritually awake" people are often the ones who trip, fall, and end up in the papers? Just this week I was reminded of the hubris of many so-called spiritual teachers who just don't walk their talk...I went to my local Zen/yoga center where I've been practicing meditation and yoga for a couple of years only to discover that the feds had closed the place down. According to my yoga instructor, the owner (a yogi, meditation teacher and massage therapist)was arrested for "inappropriate behavior" with his clients. She didn't know the details, but something fairly egregious must have happened in order for the FBI to get involved. My suspicion is that the massage component of the center was a cover-up for something with slightly less integrity. Oy, will we never learn.

Today, I want to write about spiritual hubris, or what my friend Judy, co-author of our forthcoming book, Life-Shifting: Mastering the 6 R's of Self-Renewal, (yes, we are tinkering with the title!) likes to call, "ego masquerading as spirit". All too often, it seems, we find ourselves engaged with spiritual teachers, friends and partners who somehow come to believe that once you've meditated for a few years, done lots of yoga, practice a healing technique, or become a therapist, that somehow you're finished with your ego, and that base human behaviors or your almighty shadow (!) are a thing of the past. Think again.

One of the shadows of the New Age approach to spirituality seems to be that we come to believe that we can somehow transcend our humanity, to shed out base humanness. This is pure fantasy, of course. The deeper truth is that all the spiritual work in the world will not help you to stop burping or shitting or farting or reacting or raging or nagging or judging or any of the myriad animal behaviors that comprise the human BEING doing his or her thing in life. To my mind, the pay-off of real spiritual work is integration, not transcendence.

With this in mind, I want to share a personal story with you, a shadow story of sorts, one that won't find itself in "Chicken Soul for the Soul" anytime soon, but nevertheless may offer its own gifts--of humility, humanity, and humble pie. I'm writing this today so that I will remember it myself the next time my ego tries to convince me that I'm "beyond that stuff". Perhaps you'll recognize yourself here, or someone you know, and take to heart the soul teaching in this rather mundane, but poignant "chicken wing" story.

This past Sunday night my partner and I hunkered down in front of the tube to watch a movie. We ordered in sushi (very New Yorker of us, no?) and also brought to dine some of the leftover fried chicken wings that we had stored up from the less healthy night out the night before (Saturday night indulgences). All relaxed, cozy and comfy, we drank wine, talked, and munched away. Towards the end of the meal, there was one chicken wing left on the plate. I reached for it and, about to take a bite and tear it apart, said something to the effect of, "don't you want this last wing? If not, do you mind if I eat it?" Of course, my teeth were already sinking in to the tasty flesh before my partner had mouthed his answer, which was, something like, "no, I was saving that piece to have for lunch tomorrow." Oops, too late. I had taken the bite, eaten the poison, and ruined the evening.

As I recall, in response to my having taken the fatal bite out of his precious next-day repas, he rolled his eyes and sighed, becoming pretty pouty. Of course, I felt like a schmuck inside (guilt, guilt, guilt) but on the outside I said something sarcastic like, "well, why didn't you say something before. I didn't know it was that important to you. I thought we were sharing!" Now what actually happened in these heightened moments was probably quite different from what I am now recounting, but no matter. The upshot is that he was pouty and disapppointed, and I was sulky and irritable. Yuck. We proceeded to both shut-down and sit in silence for a long time. Finally, I put down what was left of the chicken, told him coldly to take it home, and basically stewed in my reactivity. Yikes, where's the punchline? Where was the fun, tickly, response that I could have chosen instead, one that would have lightened the air, affording us the chance to laugh at ourselves and our pettiness and dissolve the entire episode into giggles? Nowhere to be found. And what's worse is that much later, when we were more ready to "process" what had happened, he calmly and succinctly told me that he thought that I'd been "more angry" in recent days than usual. Ouch. Me? Angry? I don't think so. I've done my work, seen my therapist, chanted my mantras and stretched out upside down against the wall enough times to know: I am no longer angry! Ummmmm.

Jump tape to next day's yoga class. The teacher is sharing with us the theme of the class: how to manage your resistance, your reactivity, and your impulse to flare up with negative energy if things don't go your way, by staying centered, breathing deeply, and observing your mind's tendency to react. In that grounded and aligned space of balance and openness, you have options. You can react; you can feel your reactions, then you can let it go. A fine teaching. We were to watch our bodies and see how our mind (our egos) sometimes reacts with judgment, criticism, even anger when the pose becomes too difficult or the instructions get too complex or come too quickly. (Reminded me of a time when one of my own yoga students at a retreat told me after a class that during "crow" pose he thought my voice reminded him of screeching chalk on a chalkboard...um, humbling.) Anyway, lo and behold, I didn't even have to wait five seconds into our wonderful teacher's directions before I had an opportunity to practice: my teacher was on the next mat.

Within six inches of me, gangly and unfettered by social grace, the guy on the mat next to mine proceeded to sweat, grunt, and move in every direction except the one being offered as an instruction. His energy was all over the place, his physicality was imposing and he was anything but grounded. During the class, no less than four times, he got up and left the room, stomping by me (in smelly socks, yikes!) with grunts and groans, muttering complaints about the class being too dificult. He had obviously had a bad day, and was committed to making sure that I would be joining him.

I just tried to focus, to breathe, to stay centered and unmoved by his presence. It worked, sort of. I got through the class without any major disruptions, but truth be told, by the end I was ready to throttle this guy. I knew in my heart that I should just "let it go" and relax, but the New Yorker in me was pissed: I had paid my money, I wanted my personal space to be inviolate; I wanted to be LEFT ALONE! Yikes. Where was my compassion for this guy? Well, the good news was that I did find a bit of loving energy in me towards the end. After all the stretching and breathing and centering--and attempting to stay inside rather than focus on him--I did feel a well of a giggle coming up through my throat as he fumbled to roll up his mat. And with the humor came the empathy and with the empathy came the compassion. I smiled sympathetically at him as we stood waiting to put away our mats, and lo and behold, he abruptly APOLOGIZED for disturbing my practice, saying that he had, in fact, had a bad day. I was bowled over, and awakened instantly to his humanity, and to mine. We wound up laughing together about the trials and tribulations of being a "spiritual" New Yorker...

The good news about me, for those of you who are now wondering whether I really should be practicing in a healing profession, is that I do not need three strikes on the head to get the message--two good blows to my ego are usually enough. I am just human--sometimes demanding, controlling, even difficult and judgmental. AND, I am more often compassionate, sensitive to others, empathic and deeply loving. I am here to heal and be healed, and there are glorious teachers placed before me on a daily basis. Like this guy on the mat, and my partner.

The gift of our "chicken wing" moments, for those of us committed to becoming more fully compassionate and loving human beings--which for me are the goals of a spiritual path--is being reminded of our innate humanness, our limitations, our blindspots. Through practices such as meditation and yoga, we can become less reactive, more centered, more able to respond in ways that support constructive outcomes when things go awry. But we should never fall into the trap of thinking we are invulnerable or ego-less. We are all susceptible to a momentary flash of selfishness, rage, or pique. With practice these reactive moments come less often, are less severe, and linger less long...but they will still come, and for that we should be thankful. Likewise, let's be thankful for the brothers, lovers, partners and friends who bring them to us, for unlike the guy who runs (ran) the Zen/yoga center, they keep us on track...and...out of jail!

So take heart. Be human. Be humble. Next time you have a "chicken wing" moment, take a deep breath, giggle at your ineptitude, and give yourself a great big spoonful of compassion. Doctor's orders.

cheers,

Dr. J

"What happens to a dream deferred? / Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun?" From "Harlem", a poem by Langston Hughes (1902-1967)...

Recently, I discovered a wonderful new book called "Mindfulness and Psychotherapy", edited by christopher K. Germer, Ronald D. Siegel, and Paul R. Fulton. In this book, perhaps for the first time, fully credentialed clinical psychologists explore the applicability of mindfulness practices derived from Eastern contemplative traditions for the treatment of depression, anxiety, and other serious psychological disorders. Basically, this book tells therapists how, when, and why to use meditation techniques as an adjunct to psychotherapy, something that I've been doing for years. As a therapist who has respectfully practiced and studied the healing ways of Eastern, Native American and indigenous cultures for a number of years, it is a revelation to finally see these disparate worlds colliding in a positive,and affirmative manner. I highly recommend this book to anyone whose interests span the chasm between Eastern spirituality and Western psychology.

In the chapter on treating depression, there is wonderful anecdote about how one therapist used the power of one single raisin to break through the diagnostic barrier we so matter-of-factly call "depression". I loved this story because it perfectly illustrates one of the foundational principles of my "Life-shifting" approach to transformation and self-renewal: we are not our LABELS. So much of our self-worth and self-esteem is wrapped up in how we identify ourselves--our titles, our addresses, our resumes, our family ties, even in some cases, our diagnoses! Yet, it is only when we wake up and realize that we are much more that our surface identifications that we become open to possibility and free to choose other options for our lives. The label "depression," it seems to me, is rapidly becomeing one of the most egregious examples of this process of over-identification. In this case, following a tactic openly propogated by pharmaceutical companies, more and more of us are self-identifying as "depressed" and reaching for the pills! Eventually, if big Pharma has its way, we will ALL be diagnosed as depressed and the market for anti-depressants will cover the entire population. Now that is a marketing coup!

But I do digress. Ok, I'll get off my soapbox now and share the raisin story: a patient comes to a therapist with a rather severe case of depression, that he states has drained him of vitality, happiness, and joy. He says that he has been depressed for years, and knows no other state of being. After a few sessions in which they work to create a sense of relationship and safety, the therapist asks him if he is willing to do an experiment with mindfulness. The patient rather reluctantly agrees, willing to try anything to "get off those drugs". In the experiment, the therapist has the patient practice ten minutes of silent sitting, focusing on his breath, guiding him into a state of deep relaxation and calm, becoming aware of himself, his surroundings, and especially, the sensations of his physical body. The therapist then takes a single raisin, and asks the patient to put it in his mouth, to slowly roll the raisin around in his mouth, to feel the sensations in his mouth, and to focus all his attention on the experience of flavor, texture, and movement as he savors the raisin.

After swallowing the raisin ( we are assuming here that the patient LIKED raisins!) and bringing the patient back slowly into the room, breathing lightly, and staying relaxed, the therapist asks the patient to describe what happened with the raisin. In recounting the experience, the patient uses words like pleasurable, sensuous, tasty, and delicious. The therapists asks the patient if while he was tasting the raisin he felt depressed. The patient sat back and reflected for a moment and said, of course, he was ALWAYS depressed. Yet, when asked again to truly reflect on those ecstatic moments of raisin heaven, the patient had to admit that the experience of tasting the raisin was one of pleasure, not depression.

This experiment between raisin, therapist and patient probably lasted ten minutes. Fifteen tops. Yet, it changed everything. The patient literally woke up to a new reality: he was not always depressed. Depression may have been a good part of his experience, but it was not his whole reality. It was as if the raisin brought in the sun and shined a light on this over-identification with the label, "depressed". Think about it. We are all unhappy at times, sometimes longer than others. Sometimes we find ourselves in pain and the need for help is real. BUT, the window of possibility, the opening to something else, also ALWAYS exists. We sometimes just need a tiny, wrinkled nugget of golden sunshine to remind us of who we really are.

One of the foundational premises of "Mindfulness and Psychotherapy" is that the practice of meditation is designed to bring our experience of ourselves out of our swirling thoughts about the past and the future, and, at least momentarily (and for longer and longer periods as we practice) into the present moment. By sitting quietly, focusing our attention on our breath and the sensations in our body, we become more awake to our present state of awareness. In time, we become aware of the transient and chaotic state of our thinking mind, learning to simply observe our thoughts, feelings and sensations as they shift constantly. In this manner, it becomes possible to begin to detach from our thoughts and connect to our vital and vibrant core--to momentarily glance through the fogged window of judging and labelling out onto that pristine landscape of joy and self-acceptance. Ultimately, the goal of mindfulness practice is freedom; freedom from our attachments to our thoughts about who and what we think we are...even including, possibly, depression.

So what, who and where are the raisins in your life? Are they golden nuggets of sunlight that serve to remind you of your beautiful, vibrant, life-force? OR are they just dried up grapes--symbols for lost dreams like in the Langston Hughes poem--withering and hardening under the glare of loathsome labels like "depression". Either way, the "life-shift", the shift of perspective away from the darkness and out into the light of possibility, is always only a moment away.

You only need to sit still, relax, grab a box of raisins, and breathe...

Happy Munching!!!

Dr J

ps. I am not in cohoots with the California grape-growers union, no matter what the papers say...:-)