A client recently raised the question about
doing Continuum when in pain but not doing it to get rid of the pain. How does
that work? Her question reminded me of the concept of wu wei wu or doing not
doing. I felt inspired to talk about being with as providing nourishment rather
than more actively trying to reduce pain. That might be a useful side benefit,
but our challenge is to not make that
our goal.
It is natural when tested by pain, be it chronic
or acute, physical or emotional, to want to get rid of it. Most of us dislike
pain. We pursue what feels good and avoid what doesn’t. When pain becomes
intense, we naturally seek help. Any technique, medication or practitioner offering
hope becomes a beacon, signaling escape from pain.
Health practitioners also usually want to
reduce pain. Often, we go into practice knowing what it’s like to hurt. The “wounded
healer” desires to diminish or prevent wounding. Although possibly expressing unconscious
practitioner needs, we consciously hope to reduce clients’ suffering. Faced
with a client in pain, we do everything we can to help; trying every tool in
our toolkits, every technique we have learned.
When we enter the realm of being, however,
we practice not doing, not trying, not interfering. How can it be helpful to not try to reduce pain? Is that even
ethical?
Nourishment
or Escape?
The example of a baby crying comes to mind.
Would you leave her to cry it out? Or pick her up and try to soothe her,
exploring if she was hungry, wet, or had some other needs? In choosing to
soothe her, what might motivate you? Would you be trying to get her to be quiet,
or have some other intention?
Caregivers wanting to quiet a baby may
stuff a pacifier or breast in the little one’s mouth. They might yell at the
baby or, even more extremely, put a pillow over the infant’s head. All of these
have been known to happen. Babies die of being shaken by distraught parents who
cannot tolerate their crying.
While these methods will quiet the baby
eventually, perhaps indefinitely, caregivers usually have other motives besides
just getting the infant to stop crying. A crying baby can drive a parent to
distraction, but most parents care deeply about their children, wanting them to
not only be quiet, but to survive, even thrive, growing up happy and healthy.
With this intent, they hold the crying baby, perceiving a need. If the baby is
hungry, they want to feed her. They desire to nourish and nurture the little
one, supporting her growth and well-being. Beyond their own need for quiet,
they aim to give their baby what is most supportive and nurturing.
How many of us have such a compassionate
attitude towards ourselves when we are in pain? When we practice Continuum,
treat clients, or engage in any of the practices we engage in, what is our
intention? Often, we want to reduce pain, but we may also have larger intentions,
worth acknowledging.
Considering our role as nourishing and
supporingt, rather than rescuing and fixing a problem, we may discover ourselves
as surprisingly more effective.
I learned this in Biodynamics, where we perceive
the fluid body as highly sensitive to external intentions. Even a
practitioner’s well meaning desire to change a misalignment causing pain may
interfere with the system’s own inherent treatment plan. On the other hand,
aligning ourselves with a deep bio-intelligence enhances the potential for that
intelligence to effectively express itself. Our practitioner orientation supports
the client’s system in accessing the greater nourishment of the Breath of Life.
To this aim, we settle under our busy minds and ego-centered needs to do or
accomplish or succeed at something.
Our cultural conditioning can get in the
way:
What
will my client think of me if this pain doesn’t go away? What will my friends and family
think if I still have this pain after months, or even years, of trying all
kinds of practices and practitioners?
Deepening under such externally imposed
goals can be both challenging and rewarding. Returning to the model of the
embryo, where nourishment equals environment, can help.
Nourished
like an Embryo
Embryos develop according to the context
they find themselves in. As cell biologist Bruce Lipton points out, fetuses
develop differently when mother perceives her environment as safe and nurturing
or as dangerous and threating. Different genes are turned on and off within
embryonic cells in preparation for the environment the little one will be born
into.
Cells forming the embryo also develop
differently according to their immediate environment. They grow, divide and
shape shift according to what surrounds them, informed by messages from other
cells, growing towards nourishing fluids, and protectively withdrawing from
toxic influences.
Regardless of age, perceived safety
promotes growth, while threat triggers
protection mode. One of the most helpful
things to offer ourselves and our clients is a sense of safety. Safety, and
anything that supports our sense of it, is nourishment.
Fluid
nourishment
Fluidity is also nourishment. Our embryonic
tissues are fluidic and juicy. Embryos consist almost entirely of water, a
highly resonant element. Founder of Continuum Movement, Emilie Conrad, notes
that our fluids resonate with the rhythms of the both the planet the cosmos.
When our tissues, like those of the embryo,
are soft and fluid, they are nourished by receiving information they need
through resonance. In injury and dis-ease, they tend to densify, becoming
isolated from the whole and losing touch with essential information flow. Cancer
cells, for example, seem to dance to a different drummer, indifferent to the
rhythms of their host organism.
Health depends upon fluidity and its resonance.
As A. T. Still, founder of Osteopathy wrote,
“He who is able to reason will see that this
great river of life must be tapped and the withering field irrigated at once,
or the harvest of health be forever lost.”
In health, as in the embryo, our tissues
and cellular communities dance in resonance with the whole of our body, our
being and our larger community. Mother Earth is always there, holding us in her
ample lap, while she, in turn, is supported by the whole of the cosmos. We are
nourished on all these levels. Simply returning to resonance with these fields
within fields waters “the withering field”, often more effectively than
applying more active techniques.
Resting
into a Larger Whole
In taking care of ourselves and others, we
can remember the embryo growing in relationship to its environment. Deepening
to orient to the larger whole, pain ceases to be experienced as the whole of us
(or our clients). Widening our view, the wound gains access to a larger whole
and its resources. Our field of resource and nourishment grows and the problem
can more easily be addressed within it.
Widening our perspective supports health and
healing, and provides needed nourishment. This is challenging however until we
slow down.
Slowing
into Being
We are not designed for the speed of the
modern world. We undergo constant stimulation from electronics, commuting, and
even just from knowing so many more people than we would in a quieter
traditional village. Our nervous systems are repeatedly overwhelmed with input
and demands for immediate response. Within
a world of speed, our sympathetic fight-flight nervous system is on over-drive,
while our para-sympathetic system often numbs us. This protection mode
contributes to a myriad of modern dis-eases, mostly unknown until recent
history.
The simple act of slowing down can benefit
and feed us in so many ways! For example, when a cranial client settles on the
treatment table their digestive system often begins gurgling.
In sympathetic mode, digestion is
relatively shut down. Only those functions essential in emergency mode are active.
Slowing down, our bodies can register safety. The saber tooth tiger is gone. Miraculously
we were not eaten! Digestion can resume. Other physiological activity supported
by the parasympathetic system also returns. We enter rest and rejuvenation
mode. Our immune system begins to do its job more effectively once we know we
are likely to survive long enough for it to matter. Somatic repair teams return
to work. The body begins to mend.
Emotional healing also happens more readily
when we slow down. In speed, we tend to function automatically. Lacking time to
consider alternatives; we engage the same old patterns repeatedly, unable to
perceive the safety of the present moment. When trauma patterns are triggered,
we are sucked into them, reinforcing neurological pathways involved. We feel
powerless to make significant changes.
Slowing down, we have more possibility of
perceiving and accessing the options available for us. We can recognize safety.
Our true potential becomes more apparent.
The
Path of Least Resistance
In speed, we take the path of least
resistance. It’s a bit like moving house and finding yourself
The next time we approach this same spot,
we may find ourselves taking the old path because it is easier. Without pausing
to evaluate the situation, we might miss the new path, which is still
relatively unclear. We walk right past it. Then, realizing at some point we are
back on the old path, we wonder, how did we get there? Choosing a new path initially takes awareness
and work. Each time we pause and make the choice to take the new path, it
becomes clearer, while he old one gradually becomes overgrown.
Slowing down can be a key to creating new
pathways, in our bodies, our relationships and our lives. New options become
apparent. Nourishment begins to flow. Old patterns may then seem less important
or even less relevant. We may be surprised to discover the old pain is gone.
Instead, something new is emerging.
