You know it’s not a good idea to look directly at the Sun, don’t you? But, all the same, we are magnetically drawn to sunsets, aren’t we?

Who can resist them?

Watching the huge glowing red ball of fire sink below the horizon is a treat which never becomes mundane. I don’t remember ever noticing the sun setting and thinking, “ho hum”. It draws me towards it.

Sometimes I just watch it through my window, but often I feel almost compelled to go outside and watch. As if moving a few metres closer to it gives me a better view! But, actually, I think the reason I’m drawn outside to see it is that I want to see the breadth of the sunset, want to be able to see the colours in the sky change from one edge of the horizon to the next. It’s not enough to see it enclosed in a window frame.

I read the other day that John Ruskin (you’re going to come across him a lot this year – it’s the 200th anniversary of his birth) like to watch the dawn and the sunset every day. I can understand that.

Here’s last night’s sunset. After the sun has disappeared below the horizon and I can’t see it directly any more.

And here’s a phenomenon I’ve written about before, which entrances me every single time – it’s “The Belt of Venus” – which appears on the Western horizon at dawn, just as the Sun is appearing in the East, this morning.

 

Today’s woodprint is another Hokusai. It shows a group of five hunters warming themselves in front of a roaring fire in the middle of winter.
I think anyone looking at this will be struck by the vivid representation of the fire. The flames and smoke, maybe even the heat (because you can see heat sometimes, can’t you?” leap up as tall as the men and flow, driven by the wind, towards the mountains and the sky.
I then looked at the hunters. A curious group! Why is one of them actually sitting on the snow? Is he drunk? And another one, apparently determined to warm up his bum! Maybe he’d also been sitting on the snow and was now trying to dry his breeks! Then one of them who is warming his hands is obviously finding the fire so hot that while trying to get his hands as close as he can to the fire, he is simultaneously trying to get his face and his body away from it!
They do look a lively bunch, and I suppose my first thought was about human beings inventing fire and how much that had changed the course of history. Our ability to start fires and generate heat enables us to survive cold conditions, explore places we’d previously been unable to explore, as well as warding off wild animals, and greatly diversifying our diet once we applied fire as a method of food preparation (otherwise known as cooking!) – which reminds me about the Netflix series, “Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat” and, their, “Cooked“, by Michael Pollan. I’m a big fan of Michael Pollan, and often recall his fabulous, seven word best diet recommendation – “Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much” –

But then my mind flipped to the more symbolic level and I saw in the woodcut two of the four great elements – fire and water. Fire in the hunter’s bonfire, and water in the form of snow and ice surrounding them.
Flames always reach upwards, don’t they? Which is probably partly why the alchemical symbol for fire is an upward pointing triangle. Traditionally, both, the fire and the upward pointing triangle, are associated with the male principle.

 

I’m not talking gender here, but the centuries old understanding of male and female principles as symbolic forces. The Sun, a fiery ball, is often associated with the male principle, while the Moon, with the female.

 

In the Tarot, The Emperor and the Empress make a similar pair.

In the yin yang symbol, which powerfully conveys the concepts of dynamism and wholeness, the feminine, yin, and the masculine, yang, are shown as equals.

Maybe it’s because my train of thought went off down that track of the unions of these forces, of the power of such coupling, but the next thing I noticed were the two trees on the right hand side of the image. The one, nested into the forked branches of the other. Am I just imagining something here? Or was Hokusai showing us something very important…..how reality is created by connections, by the embrace of fundamental principles or forces. That reminded me of Carlos Rovelli’s beautiful phrase where he explains why we should think in terms of events instead of objects –

The world is not a collection of things, it is a collection of events. The difference between things and events is that things persist in time, events have a limited duration. A stone is a prototypical “thing”: we can ask ourselves where it will be tomorrow. The world is made up of networks of kisses, not stones.
(from “Reality is Not What it Seems”)

I’ve written more about that idea in my book, “Unique in All the World”.

 

 

 

 

In “Sens et Santé” magazine there’s a special feature on Forgiveness, or, in French, “Pardon”.

Psychologists, philosophers and spiritual guides often teach about the power of gratitude. Keeping a gratitude diary, for example, where you note down a list of things you are grateful for each day is a powerful way to fix your attention on the positives in your life, and to break free from the negative loops of rumination and despair.
Forgiveness, is a related, but different skill. Somehow, or at least so it seems to me, it’s not talked about as much as gratitude is. Maybe because forgiveness is more deeply connected to religious teaching? I don’t know.
Whatever the reasons, I think this feature in “Sens et Santé” is very welcome, and timely, given the depth and breadth of feelings of anger, resentment and hatred which we are witnessing at this time in the world.

The article is primarily based on the works of Thomas Baumgartner, a researcher in neuroscience at the University of Berne, in Switzerland, and Robert Enright, Professor of Psychology at the University of Wisconsin, in the United States.

I took two main points of learning from my reading of it.
One is the connection between forgiveness and the brain’s capacity for “theory of mind”. It seems the same network of areas in the brain is active when either forgiveness or “theory of mind” is taking place. Theory of mind is the ability to imagine another’s experience, their thoughts and feelings. It develops in human beings around the age of four years old. Before that we think that whatever we know everyone else knows. There’s no understanding that someone else might have different knowledge from our own. There’s a clue in this neurological association, because forgiveness involves the ability to step outside of our own circuits of rumination and self-focus.
That’s the second point of learning for me, actually, and it takes up much of the article.
Robert Enright says it is important not to confound forgiveness with reconciliation. Reconciliation is the bringing together of two people to help them to rebuild confidence in each other. Forgiveness, he says, in contrast, doesn’t require us to have confidence in the other person. He also points out that forgiveness is not about excusing someone, it’s not about saying what they did was fine, nor is it about forgetting. It’s not about saying “I don’t care”, or “I’ll let go and just not think about this any more”
Instead he describes forgiveness in three steps.

  1. First, recognise the wound, or the hurt.
  2. Second, decide to stop nourishing the negative feelings of resentment.
  3. Third, and he says, this is the hardest part, feel compassion for the perpetrator.

Helpfully, he unpacks both steps two and three to show how they are both powerfully linked and actually work together in a kind of positive feedback loop. The one, enhancing the other.
We can only shift our attention, if we direct it somewhere else. That’s a beginning. Deciding, I’m going to interrupt the negative loop. When I become aware of thoughts of resentment and rumination, that I decide at that point to focus on something else.
What else?
Well, towards the other person. Think about both their differences from you, and their commonalities with you, and, if you can, learn about their vulnerabilities and their weaknesses. Once you understand what you have in common with the other, as well as what’s different about them, and focus on their weaknesses, then it is easier to feel compassion for them. It’s easier to even build feelings of good intention towards them, suspending your legitimate claims to vengeance and anger, and choosing instead wish them well.
Oh, that sounds easy in a sentence of two doesn’t it? But he accepts that this, third step is by far and away the hardest. It’s not a magic wand he says. It takes willpower, continued effort, and time. It’s not a quick fix.

The article comes with a nice little set of references at the end, and despite the fact it’s a French language article, the references are all English language ones. Here they are –

 

 

 

 

I’ve just finished reading Philippe Dubois and Élise Rousseau’s “Petite Philosophie des Oiseaux”. It reminds me a book I read last year – Emanuele Coccia’s “La vie des plantes”. Both books look at a non-human realm of life and use reflections on the lifestyles and life strategies of, in the first case, birds, and in the latter, plants, to stimulate the reader into reflecting on aspects of what it is to be human.
I’ve never read any books like these in English, so they are a validation of one of my main reasons to retire to France from Scotland – to learn another language and explore a whole other way of thinking and living.

Migration

There are lots of fascinating, even astonishing stories about birds in the “Petite Philo…” book. For example, the “bar tailed godwit” (which has a much nicer French name – “La barge rousse” – which migrates back and forward between the Alaska and New Zealand. It flies non-stop 11,000 km (that’s over 6000 miles) in about a week, meaning it flies at 70 km/hr! All that in a bird which weighs only about 300 grams. Can you imagine? How does it fly all that way without stopping even once? Apparently, when it sleeps, only half of its brain sleeps, the other half staying awake. How would you fancy developing that skill? (Mind you only using half your brain isn’t that uncommon – ha! ha!)
Lots of birds migrate of course, and nobody knows how they find their way so precisely that they return to the exact same nesting sites every year. Think of the cuckoo whose parents abandon it into another bird’s nest when it is just an egg, but when ready, the chick flies off and travels to Africa from Europe! How does it know how to do precisely that?
The Artic Tern is the most traveled of all the migrators. Here’s what wikipedia has to say about it –

A 2010 study using tracking devices attached to the birds showed that the above examples are not unusual for the species. In fact, it turned out, previous research had seriously underestimated the annual distances travelled by the Arctic tern. Eleven birds that bred in Greenland or Iceland covered 70,900 km (44,100 mi) on average in a year, with a maximum of 81,600 km (50,700 mi). The difference from previous estimates is due to the birds’ taking meandering courses rather than following a straight route as was previously assumed. The birds follow a somewhat convoluted course in order to take advantage of prevailing winds. The average Arctic tern lives about thirty years, and will, based on the above research, travel some 2.4 million km (1.5 million mi) during its lifetime, the equivalent of a roundtrip from Earth to the Moon over 3 times

When you read something like that it’s kind of hard to hang onto a belief that human beings are the most superior of all the animals. We need our rather flawed GPS systems to navigate. They just do it.

Living in the moment

I think that’s one of the main themes of the book, actually. In one passage they say (and this is my translation, so sorry if it’s not perfect! The Aegithalidae are what we call, in English, “tits”. In French, they are “mésanges”).

But the little tit, does she have any need of the idea of death? No, certainly not. Because making the most of every moment, appreciating every seed she gleans, every ray of sunshine, she does all that already. She doesn’t need someone to teach this truth, she doesn’t need to philosophise: she is already wholly immersed in her life.
The tit doesn’t look forward, doesn’t make plans, doesn’t put things off until tomorrow, doesn’t imagine that things were better in the old days. She lives.

Intelligence

One of my favourite chapters in the one about intelligence, subtitled with a phrase, which, in English, would be “Bird brain!”
When we call somebody bird brained we’re insulting them. But is it true that birds are not intelligent creatures? No!
Just because they have relatively small brains, doesn’t mean they must be relatively stupid. The authors point out that some men have even tried to claim that they are intellectually superior to women because men have bigger brains the women! That hasn’t worked out so well either, has it guys? In fact, birds’ brains have twice as many synapses (connections) in them than the brains of elephants, chimps, or other mammals.
After musing a bit about just what is intelligence anyway? After considering the issue of different kinds of intelligence, including musical and emotional, they describe a number of quite amazing bird behaviours.
Did you know that Blue Jay looks ahead to winter by collecting nuts and seeds and burying them for colder months to come, but if they see another Blue Jay, or other bird, watching them, they’ll pretend to be burying food when they aren’t really?
Some crows have been observed places nuts on the road at traffic lights, when the lights are at red, then when they turn green, the cars run over the nuts to crack them open. The crows wait till the traffic light turns red again, then swoop down to get the nuts.
An experiment done on magpies involved putting a red mark on their brow. When the magpie saw itself in a mirror, it tried to scratch off the red mark.
There are many other examples.
The question the authors ask is shouldn’t we consider that adaptive intelligence, learning how to change your behaviour according to the conditions and environment, actually one of the best kinds of intelligence to have?
As we heat our planet up, fill our oceans with plastic, and our soil with toxic chemicals, it’s tempting to think we’ve got a bit of catching up to do when it comes to adaptive intelligence!

 

 

Nuccio Ordine argues that “usefulness”, when thought of as that which has utility, which can make money, or which can be practically applied to solve a problem, limits our capacity to be fully human. His thesis is that utility has its limits, but in recent times, I think particularly during industrialisation and the spread of capitalism, utility has acquired a dominant position. He argues that this dominance impedes our ability to become fully human and live satisfying lives.
His own idea of “usefulness” is “everything that helps us become better” – by which he means anything which helps us grow, anything which helps us to develop and, to live more meaningful, richer lives.
He is concerned about “the logic of profit” and how political leaders nowadays are always talking only about money. He claims that leaders in the past, for example spiritual leaders, would teach about value, honor, and purpose…..qualities and values in life which couldn’t be purchased. What’s worse he says, is that this overwhelming emphasis on money isn’t making life better for most people. He gives the examples of the 2008 financial crash and the use of austerity measures by Western governments since, and he also cites the huge growth in inequality especially over the last few decades.
All of that is maybe not so earth-shattering. I’m sure we’ve all thought about those things before, and we probably find ourselves in conversations about that a lot. But then things start to get really interesting when he says

“In the universe of utilitarianism, a hammer is worth more than a symphony, a knife more than a poem, and a monkey wrench more than a painting: because it is easy to understand the efficacy of a tool while it is ever more difficult to understand the utility of music, literature, or art.”

That’s a beautifully written passage and at that point I begin to think, hey, yes, isn’t that true? How much does music, art and literature mean to me? A lot! But I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why that’s “useful”.
I don’t listen to music, look at art, read or write to some “end”, to “achieve some goal”. And I think there’s something in there for me to remember, because I think when I write non-fiction, like these blog posts, maybe I’m consciously, or at least sub-consciously, writing to make things better. In other words, writing for a purpose. Yet, I often find it annoying when I read texts written by others who have that same goal! Elisabeth Gilbert says in her “Big Magic” book…“please don’t write a self-help book”?

Then he says

“Now it is important for me to underline the vital importance of those values that we cannot weigh and measure with instruments calibrated to assess quantitas and not qualitas. And, at the same time, I wish to make a claim for the fundamental nature of those investments that do not produce immediate returns and cannot be turned into cash.”

People not data

Well, that’s right up my street again, because I have felt for a long time that the most important aspects of medical practice are NOT what can be measured with the machines, but rather the qualities which individuals experience.
I’ve never really been satisfied by visual analogue score systems that try to reduce human experiences and stories to numbers in a range. I remember once having dinner with some dentists after having delivered an address to their annual meeting. The subject was symptoms, such as pain….what they meant. One of them told me about a chronic facial pain clinic which they’d taken over from their predecessor. They were a bit taken aback when they asked the first patient, “How are you doing?” and they replied “9”, then the next patient did the same thing. “How are you?” “7”. The whole clinic proceeded that way. Puzzled, he asked one of the clinic nurses what was going on, why were people responding to his questions with numbers? “Oh, Dr. X, your predecessor devised a scoring system for pain and he trained the patients to tell him what number on the scale represented their pain level. If someone began by telling him a story about what had happened since their last visit, he’d say “Stop. I want the next thing that comes out of your mouth to be a number. Nothing else!” He was pretty scary.”
Numbers aren’t a good way to understand human beings.
However, the author says more than that….he says he wants to make the case for investing in what does not produce immediate returns or money. He wants to make the case for curiosity, from the satisfaction that arises from understanding something better, for the joy of wonder, and for all those apparently “useless” activities that make us human – singing, dancing, drawing, painting, and the pursuit of knowledge.

Effort and passion

“True, everything can be bought. From legislators to judges, from power to success: everything has its price. But not knowledge: the price to be paid for knowing is of a completely different kind. Not even a blank check would allow us to acquire mechanically what is the exclusive fruit of an individual effort and an inexhaustible passion. No one, in short, can tread the laborious path to learning in our stead.”

Learning takes effort. It’s a personal pursuit. Nobody can learn for you. The key there for me is “the exclusive fruit of an individual effort and an inexhaustible passion” – effort and passion – a great combination!
Nobody can learn something for us. Knowledge doesn’t just appear. You can’t just buy it from a shop. It takes time and it takes effort. And there is the key – it’s in the living – it’s in the personal “journey” (oops, don’t like that word very much), it’s in the everyday experiences which gradually make us who we are. He quotes from Dickens’ “Hard Times” on this subject, describing his character, the teacher, Thomas Gradgrind’s approach to education –

“In this life, we want nothing but Facts, sir; nothing but Facts!” The enemy of teaching open to imagination, sentiments, and affection, Gradgrind is introduced “with a rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket … ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to.” For him, education and life are reduced to a “mere question of figures,” to a “case of simple arithmetic.” Just as the young pupils are considered to be “little pitchers before him, who were to be filled so full of facts.”

He also quotes Socrates –

“It would be really fine, Agathon, if knowledge were able to flow from the fullest to the emptiest among us and all we had to do was to be in contact one with the other, like the water that flows along a woollen thread from the fuller goblet to the emptier one.”

That reminded me of when I was a teenager. My best friend and I were insatiably curious kids, always finding things out together and conducting our own experiments. We came across the notion of sleep learning. So my friend hooked up a cassette player to two long wires attached to an old loudspeaker we’d salvaged from an old valve radio, and placed the speaker under his pillow. He got me to recite his French vocabulary for the week onto the cassette tape and set the recorder up with a timer so it would come on during the night and play him the words in his sleep…….didn’t work! He didn’t remember a single one of them!!
So learning doesn’t come without effort!

Mutual benefits of sharing

The next point Nuccio Ordine makes is that knowledge challenges the laws of the market place because we can share our knowledge with others without making ourselves one bit poorer. In fact, it’s the opposite – when we share our learning we both gain – both teacher and learner.

“I can teach a student the theory of relativity or read together with her a page of Montaigne thereby giving rise to a miraculous virtuous circle in which both the giver and the receiver are enriched at the same time.”

My experience of teaching, especially in Japan, was that every single time I learned something. I never came away thinking I’d been giving something away in the sense of losing something, or that I was making myself poorer. I felt that I, too, had gained. I learned a new way of explaining something, or I saw a new connection, or I learned a different way of looking at something. I always came away feeling enriched.

Then read this –

“The gaze fixed on the objective to be attained makes it impossible to grasp the joy of little everyday gestures and to discover the beauty that pulses through our lives: in a sunset, in a starry sky, in the tenderness of a kiss, in a flower that blooms, in the flight of a butterfly, and in a child’s smile. Because, often, greatness is perceived better in the simplest things.”

Oh, isn’t that beautiful?? I love, love, love that! And there it is – “l’émerveillement du quotidien” – the wonder of the everyday….my favourite! If we fill our lives with the busy pursuit of short term goals, the days slip by, literally, without us noticing.

He says –

“Kakuzo Okakura, in describing the tea ritual, identified the pleasure of picking a flower to give to a lady friend as the precise moment in which the human species rose above the animals.”

Here’s the value of not only noticing, but choosing to share. Isn’t that where art, music and knowledge excel? I thought of the cave art I’ve seen in France. All those animals painted in the depths of the caves, something which took so much effort, but why? Nobody knows. Maybe that’s because we are so busy trying to figure out what use the art was, that we miss, not only the sheer pleasure of creation and the satisfaction of creation, but also how art adds meaning and purpose to life.

That got me thinking too about the cup and ring markings on the stones in Kilmartin valley. How nobody can explain them either. But maybe they are art not utility?

Seeing beauty and choosing to share it with another – that is a characteristic which makes us uniquely human.

“Being an artist,” says Rainer Maria Rilke in a passage from Letters to a Young Poet, “means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without fear that after them may come no summer.”
Not “reckoning and counting” but “ripening” – ooh, lovely. I love to watch the new buds appearing on the trees in the Spring, the opening of the bright green new leaves from the buds and the sudden appearance of the blossom.

Nuccio mentions Ionesco in the book,

“the need to imagine and create, is as fundamental as the need to breathe”

which is a slight twist on my previously understood “stories are as fundamental as breathing” But I agree, where would we be without our imagination and our creativity?

“Especially when there is an economic crisis, when the temptations of utilitarianism and the wickedest egoism seem to be the only star and the only lifeline, we need to understand that it is precisely those activities deemed useless that could help us escape from prison, save us from asphyxia, transform a dull life, a non-life, into a fluid and dynamic one, oriented toward a curiositas for the spirit and human affairs.”

Curiosity

That made me think of the whole purpose of my “heroes not zombies” blog. It touches on my core value of “curiosity” – curiosity and wonder as drivers in life, as opposed to the desire to possess and consume…..

Here’s another passage explaining his theme –

“While the biophysicist and philosopher Pierre Lecomte du Noüy invited us to reflect on the fact that “in the scale of beings, only man performs useless acts,” two psychotherapists (Miguel Benasayag and Gérard Schmit) suggest that “the usefulness of the useless is the usefulness of life, of creation, of love and desire,” because “the useless produces that which is most useful to us, which is created without shortcuts, without saving time, over and above the mirage created by society.”

Empathy and connection

Time for another insight which is shifting my thinking – this time he quotes the author, Mario Vargas Llosa –

“Mario Vargas Llosa, on receiving the Nobel Prize in 2010, rightly pointed out that “a world without literature would be a world without desires or ideals or irreverence, a world of automatons deprived of what makes the human being really human: the capacity to move out of oneself and into another, into others, modeled with the clay of our dreams.”

There’s the bit that struck me – “the capacity to move out of oneself and into another…” It’s not just that these “useless” activities are for fun, pleasure, or to satisfy curiosity. It’s that they move use out of ourselves and into another – stories do that for sure. Paintings do it. Music does it. I think of concerts I’ve been to where I feel moved to tears from the sheer power of the SHARED experience of the music with the other fans.

A work of art doesn’t ask to be born

“If we think about it, though, a work of art does not ask to come into the world. Or to borrow another splendid observation by Ionesco, the work of art “asks to be born” in the same way “as a child asks to be born”: “A child is not born for society’s sake,” the dramatist explains, “although society claims him. He is born for the sake of being born. A work of art too is born for the sake of being born, it imposes itself on its author, it demands existence without asking or considering whether society has called for it or not.”

I like this too. Another “satori” moment – all this creation, all this art, does not “ask to be born” – just like how we do not ask to be born – we are not born for the sake of society – or even to promulgate a few strands of DNA as Dawkins would have us believe! Can you think of art this way? Again I thought of Elisabeth Gilbert and how she talks about the muse – how if we don’t grasp it, it’ll travel off to find someone else who will!

Freedom

This book really resonated with me. It affirms the value of things like “blue sky thinking” instead of goal-orientated or problem-solving activities. It affirms the value of quality over quantity. But it also sings about FREEDOM – the freedom to BE, to BECOME, to explore, to follow your curiosity and your creativity – not to get to a particular place but JUST COS! Just cos its fun, it’s wonderful, it’s satisfying.

“Free men” have no problems with time and have to account to no one, whereas “servants” are ruled by the clock and by a master who decides”

 

I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious. ALBERT EINSTEIN,

 

It is pleasure, not possession, which makes us happy. MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE, Essays

 

Flexner

The book finishes with an essay from Abraham Flexner who created the Flexner Institute at Princeton University – an institute which offers academics of many disciplines some time there where the only thing they have to do is turn up and take part – nobody tells them what they should or shouldn’t research or teach. They are encouraged to dream, to imagine, to follow their curiosity and to inspire each other – and it goes on and on that way – the academics don’t work there for life – they go for a few months or years and then return to their other universities, jobs etc – then maybe years later will go again for another spell. Wow! I’ve never heard of such a thing! I’ve often heard university academics talk about how they were fed up chasing funding – that every single grant had to be applied for, fought for, and it had to be shown how the research would be USEFUL!
In this final essay, Flexner gives many examples of how scientists who were simply pursuing their curiosity, following a sense of wonder and a desire to simply understand more, often made discoveries which later led to world changing inventions. Others saw something practical or applicable in their discoveries and turned them into useful technologies, but they were building on the those very “blue sky”, free, thoughts and activities of their “less practical” predecessors.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, as I’m sure you can tell. It’s a healthy riposte to the bean counters!

 

 

Buddha Kyoto

Mindfulness has become very popular, especially in America, where it has been pioneered by Jon Kabat-Zinn and others, but also in Europe. The French term for mindfulness is “en pleine conscience”  – which more literally translates as “in full consciousness”.
I think it’s become so popular because it’s so helpful, particularly in the field of mental health where it has been developed through “Mindfulness Based Cognitive Therapy” (MBCT) to treat depression, and through “Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction” (MBSR), which does what it says on the tin.
But it’s more than a psychological tool for easing mental disturbances. It’s been found to influence the patterns of neurones and their connections (synapses) in the brain. Yes, it seems to actually have an influence on not just the function, but the shape, of the brain. This takes it into a realm beyond that of a therapy for diseases. As it develops the brain, so it can expand the mind. In other words it seems to have the potential to aid creativity, the growth of emotional intelligence and to increase resilience.

 

Freedom vs control
All through my working life as a doctor I was keen on therapies which did more than merely reduce suffering. A treatment which simply suppressed symptoms or kept a disease process under control, while potentially valuable (because who wants more symptoms and more disease?) was never that satisfying to me. I was always way more impressed with a therapy which enabled people to deepen their understanding of themselves and their lives, and free them up to grow and develop, to make life changing decisions, and, in so doing, to transform at least some of the underlying factors which caused their illnesses.
Mindfulness meditation is one such therapy. But then so are the exercises which enhance cardiac coherence, like “Heartmath”. And so are other meditation practices, whether they be “Vipassana meditation”, “transcendental meditation”, guided visualisation or “compassion meditation”.

 

Paying attention and non-judgement
As best I understand it, there are two fundamental tenets of mindfulness –
Paying attention
Non-judging
I would claim that these were the key tools of successful medical practice long before “mindfulness” became so popular in the West.
The absolute best I could ever do for any patient required that I paid attention to them, giving them my full focus, living together in the present time and place of the consultation. And that I listened with a determination to do two things – to understand them (through empathy), and to help them. I often thought that these were exactly the reasons why people came to consult me – to be understood, so that they could understand what was happening in their lives, and their bodies; and, to be helped, because they’d reached a place where they couldn’t solve their difficulties alone.
The non-judging part was equally crucial, because it’s one thing to pay attention, but if you judge what you hear it’s very hard to hear clearly. Judgement stops thought, as Hayakawa, the “general semanticist”, wrote in “Language in Thought and Action”

“A judgement is a conclusion……The premature judgement…often prevents us from seeing what is directly in front of us”

 

Diagnosis
Of course a diagnosis is a kind of judgement. It’s a summing up of the patient’s story, their symptoms and their signs. Diagnosis surely is the key to successful treatment. If you don’t know what you are treating, how can you offer the best treatment? So, I wasn’t against judgement as such, just “premature judgement”. In other words, trying to avoid reaching a diagnosis before I’ve paid sufficient attention.

 

Always more to discover
Ah, yes, I’m sure you’re thinking….so what is “premature” and what is “sufficient”?
And those are great questions. The answers to which are always “time will tell”. You can never be 100% in any particular moment that you’ve grasped the full story, that you’ve completely understood. In fact, it was quite common that patients would tell me towards the end of the consultation that they’d never told anyone the things they had just told me. But I’d respond to that by saying I don’t think anyone can be fully understood. In fact I think we each spend a lifetime trying to better understand ourselves and I’m not sure any of us reach a final, full point of understanding. There will always be more to discover.

“There will always be more to discover”

would be one of my mottos.

 

The ongoing relationship
Even when I’d made a diagnosis and initiated a treatment, it was important to follow through and follow up. To meet the patient again after an interval and to begin the loop of the spiral – to pay attention and to listen without judging. Failure to do that meant I’d potentially mis-judge how helpful the treatment was for this individual, and would deny me the opportunities to understand them even better.
It wasn’t unusual to hear a story from a patient which transformed my understanding of them, a story told by them several years into our therapeutic relationship. People who had told me several times things they said they’d never revealed to anyone else, could, after many, many consultations, tell me something of fundamental significance which they’d never even hinted at before. That kept me humble and reminded me of my motto “There’s always more to discover”.
I should just add here that my experience of sharing work with colleagues showed me time and time again that I could never say I was always the best person for the patient to work with. Other colleagues would discover things I’d never discovered, just as I’d discover things they’d never discovered. “There will always be more to discover” reminded me to be humble. I should never claim that I was “The One” who “knew best”.

 

Personalised Medicine
I think it’s those last two points which are forgotten about by some of the adherents of “Evidence Based Medicine”. The only way to know if a treatment is effective for this individual is to continue to pay attention, non-judgementally, to them. The Randomised Controlled Trials, and met-analyses, might help you to select a treatment but the proof is always in the experiencing, the personal experiencing. Only this patient can tell you whether or not their pain is improved, they are sleeping better, they feel less depressed, they can move more easily, or whatever. Only the changes in your measurements of this individual’s body can reveal the success or otherwise of this treatment. The truth is revealed in the follow up.

 

Personal benefits of medical practice
Finally, I think the work of a GP is a kind of mindfulness training in itself. When consulting at a rate of about ten or fifteen minute intervals you encounter a lot of different people in one day. For each and every one of them you have to be fully present and give them your complete attention. The moment they walk out of the door, and the next patient walks in, you have to stop thinking about them and switch your attention to the person right here, right now. It’s a continuous practice of attending, letting go, and attending again. It’s also a great non-judgement training. Again and again you seek to avoid rushing to conclusions, and again and again, you have to be prepared to drop your diagnosis because now you see there is a better one.
I felt blessed in many ways working as a doctor. Paying attention and listening without judging allowed me to reach levels of understanding with others which felt like a privilege. And, maybe it helped my brain while I was at it! I’d like to think so.

Hokusai. Floating bridge

This is another of Hokusai’s prints, this time it’s a floating bridge.
When I looked at this first I thought why doesn’t the bridge go straight across the river? Why is it on a curve like that? Then I read that it is a floating bridge. Floating bridges are made from small boats or “pontoons” tied together. It moves with the flow of the water.
Have you ever seen such a bridge? Ever walked over such a bridge?
I haven’t.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t look at it and feel very confident. But this is a winter scene and it’s clear that the bridge, like everything else in the scene, is covered with snow. Well, snow and ice I suspect! With that realisation my already low confidence level plummets. Cripes! Really? Walk across a floating bridge that’s covered with ice and snow?
You’d have to be desperate, wouldn’t you?
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s a journey you’ve made many, many times, without any difficulties or disasters. So your confidence is actually high.
I often wonder about the phenomenon of confidence. How we get on a plane, or a train, or get into a bus or a car, and don’t really consider for a moment that we might not get to our destination, or even that we might not get there in one piece. But how many people are injured or killed traveling in cars, buses, trains or planes, or boats for that matter, every year? None of their journeys worked out for them.
But we can’t live like that, can we? We can’t live with the constant fear that the journeys we’ve made time and time again without any problems might turn out to be our last this time?
So we gain our confidence from our experience and we set off, probably not even giving it a second thought.
I suppose that’s the alternative to being paralyzed by fear – to cope with things as they happen – or, to put it another way, to cross the bridge when we come to it!

The house where I live is surrounded by vineyards. Not for wine making, but for the production of cognac. Each line of plants is known as a “wire” and each of the owners plant out, tend to, and harvest a certain number of wires.
There are no fences or hedges between each vineyard, but some of the wires run north to south, whilst others run east to west, or even on a diagonal. I don’t know how each person knows where their “patch” begins and ends but there are workers in the vineyards pretty much every day of the year, except Sundays.
Every single plant is tended individually, pruned back to two main branches, one running forward along the wire, and the other in the opposite direction.
I don’t know how many years of healthy productive life the plants have but there are three main phases of the vineyard, which you can see clearly, all at the same time in this photograph.
I just looked out of my window the other day towards sunset and spotted how I could capture all three phases in the one shot.
What you can see here are four distinct areas. The nearest and furthest away rare the currently active productive vines. These are the ones from which the grapes were harvested last year, and will be again, this coming year. In the middle there are two very different areas. The one nearer us shows an old, spent, field of vines in the process of being cut back and ripped up. Just beyond them in the grassy zone are rows and rows of new plants, each one protected by its own plastic tube.
It struck me, when I looked at this, that I could see the past and the future embedded in the present. I thought it was a vivid representation of the fact that time isn’t linear, it’s cyclical. There are cycles of seasons throughout a year, cycles of seeding, nurturing, growing, pruning, and removing the vines. And these cycles of the vines extend beyond single calendar years to encompass whole lifetimes of this remarkable plant.

Today’s woodcut is by the famous Japanese artist, Hokusai (you know, the one who painted “The Wave”). It’s one of his “36 views of Mount Fuji”. The first thing which struck me when I looked at it was enhanced by the physical construction of this little accordion-print book that I have – each work of art is reproduced over a two page spread. In this case, the left page depicts what is in the foreground and the right, the distance. I find something immensely pleasing about that balance, or harmony. You can see the whole and the part all at once. You can see the “view from on high”, the overview, and the details of what is right in front of you, all at once.
That immediately provokes a train of thought in my mind about the two fundamental ways of engaging with the world which we humans have access to, thanks to our left and right cerebral hemispheres. The left, you might remember, favours a narrow focus of attention on parts, while the right gives us a broader focus on the whole. Beautiful.

What I notice first is Mount Fuji, which, apparently was the artist’s inspiration for this series. Then I see the white snow covered landscape at its feet, and the endless blue beyond. I then turn to the left and see the little wooden pavilion with a group of women on the terrace. There are four of them. One is carrying a tray of food and drink, another turns to look her way. The third is pointing enthusiastically at something, and the fourth is turning to respond to her. Again, that’s a lovely balance…two people catching the attention of two other people. One to what’s right here in front of her, and the other to what lies in the distance.
My book says that the scene shows a young woman enthusiastically pointing at the horizon. So, I return to the image and look to see if I can see what she is pointing at. It could be the horizon. By the way, do you notice how the further away part of the scene is the bluest part? That is a very, very common phenomenon. Here’s a couple of my own photos showing that –

It’s also something you can see reproduced time and again in paintings. The poet, Rebecca Solnit, writes the phenomenon of the blue distance beautifully in her essay collections, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost”.

The woman who is pointing, is she pointing at the horizon? Or at the mountain? Mountains are surely attention magnets. Growing up in Scotland I feel that mountains are in my blood. The shapes of specific mountains become very familiar to us, and Mount Fuji in Japan must be one of the most revered mountains on the planet. But maybe she’s pointing at the birds? Did you notice them? Birds always catch my attention. I love to sit in the garden in the summer and look up to see a few buzzards skimming the air currents gracefully, so high they aren’t much bigger than specks….a bit like these ones in this print.

You know, I think that’s one of the reasons why I write, take photos and share what I create. I’m the one enthusiastically pointing, saying “Oh wow! Look at that!!” I do that all the time. I do it when I’m by myself, when something catches my attention, moves me, or provokes a moment of wonder. I’ve written a number of times about the French phrase “L’Émerveillement du Quotidien” which captures this idea of being amazed by the so-called ordinary. In fact, the booklet which accompanies these woodblock prints says that it’s a “groupe de voyageurs s’émerveille devant le plus gros sommet du Japon” – a group of travellers amazing themselves in front of the highest summit in Japan – I like how French uses reflexive verbs – adding the “se” or “s’” in front of a verb – I can’t quite think of an English language equivalent.

Yep, that’s what it looks like to me – people amazing themselves. What a great thing to do! I love it when others do that too. It delights me when someone shares something they’ve noticed with me…..especially something which amazed them.

I hope this delights you too…..

 

I stumbled across something called the Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards today and several of them made me laugh.

I also remembered a couple of photos I took while out on a walk a few years ago. It was lambing season and I thought I’d just take a photo of a cute lamb.

In fact, I took a couple of photos in quick succession, and it wasn’t until I got home and uploaded the photos to my computer that I discovered just what a cheeky lamb it was!

With hindsight I think you can see the same character in the first photo!