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Attention Must Be Paid

Posted by on January 24, 2012 in Blog, Healing Poetry, Healing Resources

Attention Must Be Paid

  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the act of paying attention and what that means.  Last year around this same time I came across a cover article in Newsweek entitled Grow Your Mind.  It was by Sharon Begley, author of Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain, a book on neuroscience and Buddhism that I read some years ago and liked quite a bit.  This past week, I found myself going back to the article because of something I remembered her saying about the act of paying attention.  I found this: One of the strongest findings in neuroplasticity, the science of how the brain changes its structure and function in response to input, is that attention is almost magical in its ability to physically alter the brain and enlarge functional circuits. Attention is almost magical. I went back to her book, and found a section in chapter 5: “Attention Must Be Paid.”  In it she informs us that any moment, awash as we are in sensory experience, “billions of neurons are being tickled.”  Billions!  But only a fraction of those neuronal connections register or are stored, even briefly, in our memories.  Which of the billion?  The ones we direct our attention toward.  “Attention,” she says, “pumps up neuronal activity.”  It has physical effects. To support this physical effect of attention, she tells of an experiment with monkeys conducted some years ago by Mike Merzenich, a neuroscientist now at UCSF.  For six weeks monkeys were simultaneously bombarded with 2 kinds of stimuli: a series of taps on their fingers and a series of sounds coming in through headphones.  One group of monkeys was taught to attend to the physical taps through the use of a reward—juice—when the monkey noticed changes in the rhythm of the taps.  A second group was taught to attend to the sounds by getting juice whenever they detected a change in the sound pattern.  Both groups were receiving identical stimuli—taps and sounds—they were differentiated by which kind of attention was rewarded.  When the monkeys’ brains were studied at the end of six weeks it was discovered that those who had attended to their fingers had a 2-3 fold expansion of that part of their brain cortex devoted to fingers—and no change at all in their auditory cortex—even though they’d been exposed to the sounds.  The opposite group showed opposite effects—no change in the finger portion of their cortex and significant changes in their auditory cortex.  Attention changed what was registered—and processed.  Attention changed the physical substrate—and wiring—of the brain. It’s a remarkable finding.  Begley quotes Mike Merzenich and his colleague, who make this bold statement in the wake of their findings: Experience coupled with attention leads to physical changes in the structure and future functioning of the nervous system.  This leaves us with a clear physiological fact . . . moment by moment we choose and sculpt how our ever-changing minds will work, we choose who we will be the next moment in a very real sense, and these choices are left embossed in physical form on our material selves (159). His words could be a poem: Moment by moment We choose and sculpt Our ever-changing minds. We choose who we will be The next moment— These choices embossed On our selves.   This boggles...

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Writing and Healing on the Radio

Posted by on September 20, 2011 in Blog, Healing Resources

Writing and Healing on the Radio

Last month I had the good fortune to get an invitation from Anne Hallward, a psychiatrist in Portland, Maine, who hosts a weekly show called Safe Space Radio.  She was doing a series on writing and healing and invited me to participate in a phone interview with her. The show aired last week and is now available: Writing and Healing on the Radio I have to admit—I was initially wary of listening to it.  It’s not as if I didn’t feel the interview had gone well.  Anne has a gracious style of interviewing (she reminds me a bit of Terry Gross from Fresh Air) and I felt during the interview that she’d made a wonderful space for me to talk about a subject which I love.  But I was still wary.  I’m sometimes not so crazy about the sound of my recorded voice. So this past Sunday, I listened to it for the first time.  I put the 30-minute interview on my iPod and took it with me on a walk.  Maybe it helped that it was a beautiful day.  And it definitely helped that Anne has skills with interviewing and editing.  I walked and listened to the podcast and I realized something.  It isn’t really so much anymore about my voice or how I sound.  The interview isn’t really about me—and I love this.  It’s about writing and healing.  It’s about these experiences I’ve had and these things I’ve learned in different places and somehow it became this opportunity to try to weave them together to make something.  This felt at the time of the interview—and feels again now—like a gift.  To be able to try to make coherent, however imperfectly, some of my thoughts on writing and healing—some of which have been simmering for years.  To weave together some of what I’ve learned in all these different places, going back—yikes!—to when I was in my twenties. I’m grateful for the generous space Anne made, the easy conversation within which I was able to share these thoughts and stories.  And it’s nice too to think that someone might hear one such story and find it of use. The radio show itself is a great resource on a range of topics.  I’ll write about this more soon. Meanwhile, here, again, for convenience, is the 30 minute podcast—thoughts and stories on writing and healing on the radio with Dr. Anne. Writing and Healing on the Radio If you click the link, you’ll notice it will open a flash player to hear the podcast. If you right-click the link you will have an option to save as an mp3 and make it portable. See also: Safe Space Radio: A Live Forum for Courageous Conversations [Image on post is a clip from banner photo at Safe Space Radio]...

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Writing and Healing Idea #15: Listing What Remains

Posted by on November 21, 2006 in Healing Resources, Writing Ideas

This writing idea springs directly from the passage by Andre Dubus that I posted. Because it occurs to me that before embracing what remains it might sometimes be helpful, simply, to list it. You can make a list of what remains. And then you can, if you like, take this list and carry it with you. You could carry it with you through the holidays. You could carry it in a wallet—or in a purse—or in your pocket. You could, I suppose, write it in tiny print and fold it and place it in a locket. And then you would always have it there with you—like a reminder—what...

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Writing and Healing Idea #13: Making a List of Lifelines

Posted by on November 5, 2006 in Healing Resources, Writing Ideas

I wrote a few days back about having a few lifelines in place if and when you decide to do any writing about things that have broken. You can now, if you want, and if you haven’t already done so, formalize that. You can make a list of your own personal lifelines. Here are some questions that might help you in putting together your own list: Are there places you can go when you feel like something is falling apart? Are there places where you’ve been in the past that are safe and comforting? Can you imagine these places when you need to? Are there resources that make you feel safe and nurtured?   Certain foods? Certain objects? Photographs? Poems? Letters? Books? Particular songs? Particular music? Would it be useful to create a playlist?   Is there someone you can call when you feel like something is falling apart? A friend? A counselor? Is there someone you can call to mind? (This can be a person, living or dead, who you know well—or perhaps someone you have never met.) Is there something or someone or even some words that you can remember—and call to mind—when you feel like something is falling apart? Make your list as short or as long as you like. Save your list. Take it out and consult it as...

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A Word of Caution about Writing and Healing

Posted by on November 2, 2006 in Healing Resources

Some of the writing ideas I’ve put up on this site have to do with writing about difficult or painful experiences. Though research has shown that this kind of writing can, over the long haul, be healing, research has also shown that, in the immediate aftermath, writing of this sort can sometimes feel painful. On his website, James Pennebaker, a preeminent researcher in the field of writing and health, offers this advice, which applies in particular to writing that deals with upsetting experiences: Many people report that after writing, they sometimes feel somewhat sad or depressed. Like seeing a sad movie, this typically goes away in a couple of hours. If you find that you are getting extremely upset about a writing topic, simply stop writing or change topics. I think this is sound advice. Some people may wonder: how upset is too upset? For me, an analogy to yoga is sometimes helpful here. I once had a yoga teacher tell us that when working on a new pose it’s prudent to stretch just a bit beyond where one has been before—stretching into that “good” and bearable kind of soreness—and holding that stretch for ten seconds, fifteen seconds, twenty seconds—but not stretching into frank pain. Stretching that is too painful can cause a kind of rebound effect: it hurts so much the next day that you may never want to go back to the class or ever think about yoga again. Writing can be like that. Writing that becomes too painful can make us want to shy away from the process. So, just a bit of a stretch—a bearable stretch. I also think it’s helpful to remember lifelines—those things that reconnect us to a sense of safety and comfort and belonging. And then we can call on those lifelines when we need them—when we, for instance, stretch ourselves a little farther than we intended to stretch. A healing place can be a lifeline. A healing resource can be a lifeline. Healing language. A friend. A counselor. A doctor. A teacher. A nurse. . . . Perhaps one of the most important things to know when writing about difficult experiences is to simply recognize when one is becoming overwhelmed–oh, I’ve gone farther with this than I intended–and then to pull back: to take a break. To go outside and look up at the...

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