TAS practice

From Dan Siegal in the most recent Garrison Institute newsletter:

The prefrontal cortex does three things. Number one, it allows self-awareness to develop. The amazing irony of reflective practices is that as you develop the capacity to have more attunement to yourself, you actually start dissolving what Einstein called the optical delusion of your separateness and, ironically, the more you become in tune with yourself, you realize the notion of [self] (in my case, Dan) is just an illusion. In fact, we are all a part of an interconnected whole. So, reflective practice is the opposite of self-indulgence; it’s self-liberation. And this, I believe, needs to be taught in every school. We need a program called, ‘No prefrontal cortex left behind.’ The prefrontal region is able to see the truth, because the truth is we are all interconnected.

Number two, this area of the brain (and studies on reflective practice show these areas get thicker) actually can regulate the sub-cortical distress. In people who develop what is called “mindfulness traits,” you actually can show how inhibitory peptides are secreted to calm the lower, distressed areas in the brain.

Third, in middle prefrontal development, through contemplative practice, through reflective practices, [you develop] the ability to see and shape the internal world by tracking and transforming this flow toward something called integration. What I believe happens — and all the studies suggest it is true — is that when people do this, they start making not only “me maps,” but “you maps.” They become more empathic. Then they start making something we can call “we maps,” where they realize we are actually in this together. When you do that, compassion and kindness become integrated and natural to the prefrontal cortex, [perceiving] our membership in the larger family, as natural as the breath is to life. [“We maps”] have the potential to actually awaken our larger human family to the need to preserve the Earth.

These are the postulated neural pathways for empathy, self-awareness, and tolerance of pain and ambiguity that are reinforced by mindfulness practice. This is what the TAS curriculum and school structure continually supports and develops.

The context for Siegal's argument is that developing these qualities make one more receptive to see the big picture, in this case, the vast environmental changes overtaking so much of the planet. It is a leap from science into psychology (a little snark there, excuse it please) but is an interesting direction nonetheless.

But let this be stated clearly: measurable, observable, and enduring changes in brain structure are the results of mindfulness and meditation practice. This is what TAS is based on. We've been practicing this longer and more comprehensively with teenagers than anyone else. It works.

Another item from the world of science that will gratify all you alternative types....deep tissue massage clearly decreases levels of the stress hormone cortisol (as well as a precursor- arginine vasopressin). Light massage increases oxytocin, "a hormone associated with contentment", according the the NY Times article.

Get frequent massages and meditate as much as you are able. Life will get better. Or rather, if life seems better, then it is better.

Why Listen to Your Teacher?

Most mornings at TAS begin with meditation and a short talk. Traditionally, these are called "dharma talks", where a teacher addresses the students and develops on a particular theme, or gives something quite like a performance. For years now, headmaster and principal have either begun or ended morning meditation with these. Young meditators need context and direction, and the dharma talks provide these.

Often I bring my affectionate and mellow water dog, Milton, to school with me. He tends to follow me around for a while, and then settle into whomever it is most tempted to rub his belly and scratch between his shoulder blades. In the morning, as we herd the students into the large room we use for meditation, yoga, and martial arts, Milton follows along. But for some reason, we have decided that animals should not be in that room- perhaps this is a vestige of Catholic upbringing and sacred spaces- and poor Milton is barred.

This brings a few comments of protest from the students, who doubtless agree that the sensation of a nuzzling dog is a fine antidote to the tedium of sitting quietly. A typical koan- a zen puzzle- leaps to mind: does a dog have Buddha nature? And a conflict between convention: no animals in sacred space, and tenet: all beings are interconnected, is joined.

Koan is a long avenue of study in Zen. I have little experience with it formally. Yet any student of philosophy, or deep lover of art, or person deeply engaged with any spiritual tradition recognizes the provoking value of parodox. In koan study, the teacher presents paradoxes that cannot be resolved by rote or by logic, and the student meditates upon it until it becomes completely enmeshed in their subjective experience. And it is the free apprehension of one's own subjective experience that is the topsoil for the sudden insight into a particular koan.

Koans are tests of a uniquely Zen sort. But they are not, in my limited understanding, tests that a teacher "subjects" a student to. But rather, they are the very relationship itself, in instant awareness to the student, an awareness that the teacher has facilitated and exposed herself to. They are also a chance to notice the difference between one's habitual thinking and one's genuine experience. They are mutual, the very "I-Thou" that Martin Buber wrote of, in contrast to the "I-it" of relationships that transfer goods and knowledge, that dominate, or otherwise create distance between two people.

In our tradition, existence itself- everyday life- is a koan, a paradox. And why not? Isn't perceiving life as irreconcilable to one's own dearly held notions a tremendous kick in the rear? Isn't it a great spur to personal growth? This can't be "taught"; it must be experienced. And in a school, a student's primary experience should be between teacher and student. It should be an experience, not easily reduced to a formula, something that strikes both as open ended and filled with risk: something alive.

A koan, then, for the student at TAS is simply "Why listen to your teacher?". There is no particular answer for that question. Every student must answer it for themselves. Obviously, "because I said so" won't work. Nor will "because your parents (or school district) is paying for this education". A student must look deep within and notice what it feels like to be in such a relationship, one fraught with so much risk and responsibility. It is easy to shy away, or to stick in a box, call it "school" and walk away at the end of the day. Our new students often struggle with how disruptive our teachers are: all day long the usual teacher-student, cat and mouse game is undermined. We have few rules and no punishments. In the end, the question is always "why bother, why am I here?".

Why listen, indeed.

A New Week...

A few quick updates, while I try to figure out a posting schedule that will actually work...

First, we begin the year with 24 students, more than we usually have. Over the last two years we have angled for a younger group- that is, more students who enter as freshman or sophomores. This allows for much longer exposure to the practices of meditation, chores, and good eating.

Second, our four year curriculum is fully underway. The art and all academic programs are moving along nicely.

Third, we have reorganized our teacher/advocate responsibilities. Instead of one teacher being responsible for 5 or 6 students, a pair of teachers looks after the younger half of the school, and another pair looks after the older half. A third teacher makes sure that any students with learning difficulties is fully advocated for in all goings on at school.

Other new items: meditation every Thursday at 6:15- all are welcome; our open house is Tuesday, October 4th at 5pm.