Mindfulness Meditation and Detachment I
I wonder if there isn’t a certain danger of arriving at a position of emotional and intellectual detachment if one follows the precepts of Mindfulness Meditation as outlined by its founder and chief spokesperson, Jon Kabat-Zinn.
Before saying even a single word more, I’d like to list my qualifications for making such an accusation:
I have none whatsoever.
I have never done a formal Mindfulness programme, have only read one of Kabat-Zinn’s books (the unfortunately-titled Full Catastrophe Living), and of the secondary descriptions and articles I have read – many in scientific journals — pretty much all of them have been very, sometimes wildly, favourable.
Here’s a fact about Mindfulness: It works.
Moreover, if I do have any kind of valid criticism, I am not all that sure I am justified in laying it at the feet of Kabat-Zinn himself, nor his many followers and practitioners. Quite the opposite: I am pretty sure he is not preaching detachment, or at least wouldn’t want to. But as I said in the opening paragraph, I fear that through following the programme, there is a danger of arriving at that position.
Here’s why:
The basic thrust of the 8-week programme is to help us to live in the present moment. The position is that we are so caught up in our emotional and intellectual (thought-oriented) lives that we effectively forget how to live. Through a progressive series of lessons involving meditation and starting with just being conscious of your breathing, the Mindfulness programme attempts to teach us that we are much more than just our thoughts and emotions. It says we have a physical presence, grounded in the here and now, which we have largely forgotten. The very first chapter is entitled “You Have Only Moments to Live”, but it is not discussing your impending death. Instead, its play on words relates to the notion that real life can only be lived in the moment. True healing can only come about when we re-discover this fact, and when we come to realise that thoughts and emotions are only passing phenomena, which need to be put back in their place.
“Healing” is perhaps a key word here. It should be noted that the movement at least originated as an aid to people suffering from intense and chronic stress, pain and illness. At its founding, at least, it was developed as a cure or a therapy, and not a recreational activity.
To a certain extent, then, detachment is built right into the programme, as Mindfulness’s key strategy represents an attempt to separate the individual from the emotions, thoughts, injuries and illnesses that cause him or her to come to the Mindfulness clinic in the first place. The point is to discover how not to be overwhelmed by what ails you.
And I would repeat what I wrote a few paragraphs ago: Mindfulness works. It has proven successful in dealing with chronic pain, helping people through the intense stress of cancer treatment, seems to be one of the few strategies that works for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and various other major psychological problems. At the less extreme end of the scale, it seems to be successfully used to help people cope with stressful jobs, family situations, emotional setbacks, and so on. It has even been used as a kind of preventative treatment; indeed, some say it is better to learn Mindfulness before you need it.
So what’s not to like?
First, it is worth remembering that the programme was developed for people with pretty dire problems. In such situations, dire measures are required. We’d amputate an infected limb to save the patient, and be fully justified in doing so. Therefore, detaching from our emotional or intellectual lives, putting our thoughts and emotions “in their place” is certainly justified in extreme psychological or emotional situations. And indeed, unlike the amputated limb, which is gone forever, our emotions and our thoughts can return to play a healthy and balanced role in our lives when the grave danger has passed.
But Mindfulness is now being used in much less extreme circumstances: as a way to cope with non-chronic stress, minor pains and smaller emotional setbacks. It has joined the self-help movement. You can “Do Mindfulness” guided only by books and tapes. I believe that in such situations, detachment, either emotional or intellectual, although certainly not inevitable, is a danger, and is an excessive price to pay. You wouldn’t be justified in amputating a limb simply because one of its joints had developed moderate, temporary pain.
Put in another way, I think the danger arises for those who don’t genuinely need Mindfulness, but want to use it as a bit of light-weight self-help. In order to explain this point, perhaps I should detail how I came to Mindfulness.
Basically, I had gone through an emotional and painful time at the end of a long-term relationship. I suppose I would like to think I was far from needing any kind of clinical help, but I was in a pretty bad way. A friend mentioned how Mindfulness helped her cope successfully with the stress of cancer treatment. She has since become a practitioner of Mindfulness. At the same time, I came across more and more very positive articles on Mindfulness in the general and scientific press. Mindfulness was (and is) a hot topic. When respected scientific journals sit up and take notice, so do I.
So I thought I would dip a toe in the water, and bought what I was told was the Mindfulness Bible. As mentioned earlier, this is called Full Catastrophe Living, and carries the by-line (at least on the cover of my copy, the 15th anniversary edition) “How to cope with stress, pain and illness using mindfulness meditation”
To be fair: if I had have seen the equivalent to “Full Catastrophe Living” as a label on a bottle of some kind of stress medication, at the time I certainly would have not taken it, as it was advertising itself as serious stuff for serious illness. I was hurt, but I wasn’t in that category.
The first thing you attempt to do in Mindfulness is be aware of your breathing while simply adopting a comfortable, still position: sitting upright, or lying in bed. You are meant to let go of your thoughts, and concentrate on whatever aspect of your breathing interests you. Perhaps it is the rhythm of the breathing itself, the sense of air flowing through your nostrils, how your chest or stomach rises and falls with each breath, and so on. If your thoughts or emotions do invade, take note of the fact, but return to concentrate on your breathing. What could be simpler?
The fact is, it is incredibly difficult. I was very surprised to discover that for about the first 20 minutes, I couldn’t manage more than three breaths without my thoughts taking over. These were not always related to my painful situation, and could often be things as mundane as remembering items for my shopping list, or deciding what needed to go into the next load of laundry. In the end, I think a couple of times I managed to get five mindful breaths off before thoughts invaded. This was extremely frustrating, doubly so when I reflected that counting was a kind of thinking in itself. Discouraged, I wondered whether I had accomplished any Mindfulness.
I contacted my friend, and she surprised me by saying that she thought five mindful breaths in a row was pretty good going for a first attempt. She said I had to accept it, calmly, and persist. And of course deep down I knew she was right: this was never meant to be a quick fix (the book certainly doesn’t propose instant solutions, and the official programme lasts 8 weeks). Still, I was annoyed by how little I seemed to have achieved, was surprised by how little self-control I had. I found myself angered by my own invasive thoughts. To a certain extent – and only to a certain extent – my frustration made me feel I was worse off than before I had started.
I suppose every human endeavour has its highs and lows, with common techniques and strategies working better for some than for others. The simple, Mindful breathing in bed exercise never really connected for me, but something else really did.
It was winter when I made my first attempts at meditation, and during this particular season I was lucky that the weather seemed consistently good on Saturdays. I live near a ski resort, and as Saturdays are transfer days, with very few people on the slopes, the resort offers discounts on day passes. I spent a lot of very nice Saturdays, skiing hard, the whole day, on my own. One morning I decided to try the Mindful breathing on the chair lift.
In place of the frustration of my normal breathing exercises, this came as a delightful revelation. Sit comfortably on the chair, close your eyes, and simply be aware of the sensations that come your way. The first lift I take early in the morning initially passes over a stretch of forest, and it was fantastic to feel the gentle breeze in my face, the flashes of warmth and light through my closed eyelids as the pine trees eclipsed the early morning sun. A bird called repeatedly, flying above me from left to right, and I could even hear its flight path and the beat of its wings. Later in the same journey, the lift traverses a piste. Voices ahead became audible well before I’d cleared the forest, then gave way to the sound of skies traversing directly below, then behind me. I felt a keen sense of motion, gentle, yet progressive. Above the tree line I was in the sun all the time, heard more people, became aware of the vibration as chairs ahead of me traversed the pulley system, and was surprised to feel how strong the bumps were when my chair went over the same. I’d barely noticed them before.
All of a sudden – to my near shock – the ride was over: I was at the final station, literally before I knew it. I opened my eyes, was temporarily blinded by the light, and had to scramble to get the barrier up in time not to be carried round for an embarrassing return journey. It was a truly wonderful experience; what was normally the drudgery part of skiing had turned into a fantastic pleasure. I skied quickly down the piste that took me to the bottom of the same chair; not to enjoy the skiing, but to repeat the chair ride. Thus my experience of Mindfulness on the ski lift. It was truly fantastic.
So I repeat my question of earlier: What’s not to like?
For the answer to that, you’ll have to wait for part 2 of this essay.