Two months ago I wrote about the body compass and the practice of self-scoring between Plus 10 and Minus 10 about how your body feels about various activities on your "to do" list. Then you think about why you scored the way you did.
The idea is that you will begin to recognise your energy levels as indicators of wellbeing and alignment between what you need to do and what taps into your best energy and talents.
"Shackles on? or shackles off?" is the instant-thermometer version of the same tool. It's quick and stunningly effective. Never mind all the wordy arguments going on in your head. Ask yourself: "What is your gut feel?"
I've witnessed executives do this in hiring situations. There's a mass of paper: CVs, psychometric tests, evidence-based interview questionnaires, and then the head of the panel turns to the interviewers and asks: "What's your gut feel about this candidate? Is there a fit?"
If you want to apply this to yourself, then imagine handcuffs -- we don't need real ones to create imprisonment for ourselves. Then check out your gut feel about something you have to do by asking yourself. "Is it 'shackles on? or shackles off?'" Do you feel manacled by the task ahead, or are you looking forward to it?
Sure, it's instant gut feel and not your well-considered thoughts deliberated on for days. But it is emerging that the speed and quality of what the gut can tell you should not be easily dismissed.
Scientific research supports the importance of gut feel. Brain research shows that both our hearts and our stomachs have brain transmitters. Those age-old phrases "I know with my heart …" and "My gut tells me …" are neuron-based and deserve respect. Brainpower, it turns out, is not purely the domain of the cranium after all.
Candice Pert's Molecules of Emotions tells of scientific research on how the chemicals inside us form a dynamic information network, linking mind and body. Jonah Lehrer's, The Decisive Moment -- How the Brain Makes Up Its Mind demonstrates that "our best decisions are a finely tuned blend of both feeling and reason".
I recently failed to apply the "shackles on? or shackles off?" test, with dismal consequences. For about six days, I was chained to a task from which I could not escape without compromising my integrity.
I'd been asked to be an assessor for students doing a masters in coaching. The official time estimate a student assignment is 90 minutes. I did this 18 months ago for the first time, and it took me about four hours an assignment.
Even if I could improve my efficiency, I did not expect to do justice to the assignment in 90 minutes. Some essays take almost an hour just on the first read-through, and I know from speed-reading classes that I read quickly. I looked at my diary and replied that I could do up to eight assignments.
I had good reasons. First, I like reading as an activity. Second, students often read the most recently published books and I enjoy being introduced to new texts through their essays. Thirdly, there's the ethos about "giving back". After all, I was also a student once and benefited from the feedback of an assessor.
Seven assignments arrived, which I read to get the overall sense. I prepared the feedback templates. Then I started the rereading, taking notes and typing the feedback into the templates.
My heels dragged. My energy flagged. I overshot my self-imposed deadline. I had to do serious bribery, coaxing myself: "After you've finished marking the next assignment you are allowed to … (eat chocolate, read a magazine, telephone a friend, watch TV)." You would need to design your own mini-reward list to make this work for you.
What was so difficult? I'd failed to remember how onerous it is to package the feedback. It's got to be constructive. It's got to be evidence-based. It's got to be carefully written in proper sentences. And there's the stress of deciding on the rating.
"Shackles on? or shackles off?" If I'd taken the test before sending the email about my availability, maybe I would have hesitated to press the send button. This tool doesn't mean you make polarised black or white decisions. It means that you're taking more notice of yourself and what's good for you.
So next time I'm asked? It's not a simple yes or no. There's the "giving back" criterion that I don't want to discount. I'll offer to do four assignments, not eight.
"Miskien is storiemakery, miskien is skrywery, ook 'n manier om in ons tyd, wat allesbehalwe 'n deernisvolle tyd is, deernis te bekom. Want as jy insig het in hoekom mense dinge doen, dan kom die deernis."
International Journal of Narrative Practice Spring 2009 Vol1 ISSN 2041-2207
This new journal is an eclectic publication that draws on different uses of narratives in research, education and practice. As such, it is not confined to any one area or discipline. but welcomes narratives from fields as diverse as the Arts, Humanities, Social Sciences, Philosophy and Ethics as well as from professionals in any area. The publication will come out four times a year (Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter) and the first and second issues will be devoted to presentations and papers from the 2nd. International Narrative practitioner Conference, held at GlyndŵrUniversity in June 2008.
According to the authors narratives have always been a vital part of medicine. Stories about patients, their recovery from illness, as well as the experience of caring for them have always been shared. With the rise of “modern” medicine, narratives were increasingly neglected in favour of “facts and findings” regarded as more objective and scientific. Yet, in the recent years the medical narrative is changing again – patient narratives and the unfolding story between health care professionals and patients are both gaining momentum.
In due course this led to the formation of Narrative‐based Medicine (NbM). The term was coined deliberately to mark its distinction from Evidence‐based Medicine (EbM), with NbM propagated to counteract the shortcomings of EbM (Greenhalgh 1998; Charon/Whyer 2008). But what does this term actually contain? Is it a specific therapeutic tool, a special form of doctor‐patient communication, a qualitative research tool, or does it just signify a particular attitude towards patients and doctoring? It can be all of the above, but depending on the field of application, a different form of narrative or practical approach is called for.
This article gives a systematic overview of NbM: a short historic background; the various narrative genres; and an analysis of how genres can be effectively applied in theory, research, and practice in the medical field, with a focus on possibilities and limitations of a narrative approach.
In medical practice, three different, although overlapping, areas can be distinguished:
1. Learning about the patient and carers’ perspective for research and training. For this area we will offer a classification of the various narratives.
2. The narrative approach in actual medical practice, through understanding the narrative structure of medical knowledge, and narrative‐oriented, doctor‐patient relations.
3. Narratives as evidence – narratives from social science research and narratives derived from medical practice and patient encounters are a source of knowledge for evidence, beyond the gold standard of randomized controlled trials of evidence‐based medicine.
According to Murray storytelling is not just the domain of the professional writer. “Rather, we are all natural storytellers – we construct and reconstruct our worlds through the stories we exchange (Murray, 1997, 1999). These stories are not simply spun out of fantasy but engage with the social and material world in which we live. In this paper I want to explore the role of narrative for everyday making sense of cancer.
The advent of serious illness is a crucial turning point in our lives that causes us to reflect upon our materiality and the transitory nature of our lives. According to narrative psychology the person begins to grasp the meaning of a crisis by creating a story about it (e.g. Bruner, 1987). A central belief in Western society is that our lives have a form of linearity and continuity (Becker, 1997). A challenge to our expected organized storyline can lead to disorientation. The experience of illness represents a crisis for the patient and for their families. On initial diagnosis the individual can experience substantial existential dislocation. It is through narratives that sick people can define themselves and clarify their relationship with their bodies and with society. In this paper the author discusses how narrative shapes our understanding of cancer in everyday life.
Mark Johnson in The Body in the Mind makes the case that:
"The centrality of human embodiment directly influences what and how things can be meaningful for us, the ways in which these meanings can be developed and articulated, the ways we are able to comprehend and reason about our experience, and the actions we take. Our reality is shaped by the patterns of our bodily movements, the contours of our spatial and temporal orientation, and the forms of our interactions with objects. It is never merely a matter of abstract conceptualizations and propositional judgements.
Human bodily movement, manipulation of objects, and perceptual interactions involve recurring patterns without which our experience would be chaotic and incomprehensible. They are gestalt structures, consisting of parts standing in relations and organized into unified wholes, by means of which our experience manifests discernible order. When we seek to comprehend this order and to reason about it, such bodily based schema play a central role." (p. xix)
Thus, "Through metaphor, we make use of patterns that obtain in our physical experience to organise our more abstract understanding. Understanding via metaphorical projection from the concrete to the abstract makes use of physical experience in two ways. First, our bodily movements and interactions are structured, and that structure can be projected by metaphor onto abstract domains. Second, metaphorical understanding is not merely a matter of arbitrary fanciful projection from anything to anything with no constraints. Concrete bodily experience not only contrails the "inputs" to the metaphorical projections but also the nature of the projections themselves, that is, the kinds of mappings that can occur across domains." (p. xv)
For example, "Balancing is an activity we learn with our bodies and not by grasping a set of rules or concepts. First and foremost, balancing is something we do. The baby stands, wobbles, and drops to the floor. It tries again, and again, and again, until a new world opens up — the world of balanced erect posture.
We also come to know the meaning of balance through the closely related experience of bodily equilibrium, or loss of equilibrium. We understand the notion of systemic balance in the most immediate, preconceptual fashion through our bodily experience. There is too much acid in the stomach, the hands are too cold ... Things are felt as 'out of balance.' There is 'too much' or 'not enough' so that the healthy organization of forces, processes, and elements is upset " (pp. 74-75)
This review by Dan Lloyd, Professor of philosophy at Trinity College, Connecticut on two new books on the embodied mind appeared in the American Scientist.
SUPERSIZING THE MIND: Embodiment, Action, and Cognitive Extension. Andy Clark. xxx + 286 pp. Oxford University Press, 2008.
OUT OF OUR HEADS: Why You Are Not Your Brain, and Other Lessons from the Biology of Consciousness. Alva Noë. xvi + 214 pp. Hill and Wang, 2009.
Sum res cogitans. “I am thinking substance.” With these words, written in about 1640, René Descartes simultaneously created the modern mind and gave it a huge philosophical headache. Cartesian dualism opened an abyss between mind and matter, which was good news for mechanistic physics. But “thinking substance” was thereby expelled from nature, and psychology has labored ever since to bring the mind back into the scientific fold—an effort that has culminated with the rise of cognitive neuroscience. A modern-day Descartes would perhaps say, “I am synaptic substance,” or, to be more accurate, “I am the information transmitted across neural networks.” Sum cerebrum.
Swapping brain for mind bridges the metaphysical gulf, but lesser dualisms still haunt cognitive science. The popular thought experiment of a “brain in a vat” captures the intuition that cognition and consciousness depend exclusively on the machinery between our ears. In the standard vat tale, one is asked to imagine that one’s brain has been removed from one’s body and placed in a vat of nutrient fluids, and that all of its normal neural inputs and outputs are being simulated by a supercomputer. The brain has no way of knowing whether it is in a skull or in a vat. Can we be sure that this is not our current situation? How do we know that anything beyond our brains is real rather than virtual? The moral of the thought experiment seems to be that the neural representations of body and world are only indirectly related to real external things. Is this state of affairs an anachronistic “Cartesian materialism,” with a neural computer on one side, and the body and world on the other?
A contemporary movement in cognitive science looks beyond this lingering dualism, promoting “extended cognition” and “embodiment” as crucial components of the science of mind. Andy Clark, author of Supersizing the Mind, and Alva Noë, author of Out of Our Heads, are preeminent expositors of extended and embodied cognition, and their two books represent the state of the movement, complete with its internal tensions.
Clark critiques what he calls the “brainbound” model, which depicts the mind “as essentially inner and, in our case, always and everywhere neurally realized.” He puts forth a contrasting model, which he refers to as EXTENDED, “according to which thinking and cognizing may (at times) depend directly and noninstrumentally upon the ongoing work of the body and/or the extraorganismic environment.” He further characterizes this model as follows:
According to EXTENDED, the actual local operations that realize certain forms of human cognizing include inextricable tangles of feedback, feed-forward, and feed-around loops: loops that promiscuously criss-cross the boundaries of brain, body, and world. The local mechanisms of mind, if this is correct, are not all in the head. Cognition leaks out into body and world.
The first section of Supersizing the Mind surveys work in which considerations of embodiment and extended informational resources have transformed theories of perception, cognition and motor control. Consider the problem of walking—easy for us, but a challenge for robots, especially if their walking is highly engineered via exact mechanical control of every joint, precalculated in a central controller. Such highly motorized and micromanaged movement is inefficient both physically and computationally. Biological walking, in contrast, exploits the “passive dynamics” of the material body. We ride on springy, free-swinging limbs. Once set in motion, animal bodies like ours saunter on their way with minimal shoving and shaping from the brain.
Our bodies lighten the load for our brains in many other ways as well. Expressive gestures, including words, Clark observes, are not merely communicative output but may also “function as part of the actual process of thinking.” Gestural information can interact with language. As we talk (to others and to ourselves), we also listen, using our bodies and words as reminders and abbreviations. Outsourcing is truly powerful, however, when we exploit the myriad cognitive scaffolds of the world around us, particularly the world of artifacts. In general, when information is available in the environment, we will use it instead of framing a “brainbound” thought. For example, to play the video game Tetris, one must anticipate whether moving shapes will fit together. To test for a match, one can manipulate the shapes mentally or try out the rotations on screen. Skilled players use on-screen manipulation rather than tax their minds.
The picture of mind that emerges in Clark’s treatment, although not “brainbound,” remains neurocentric. He portrays the brain as a lazy genius at the center of a loose confederacy of tricks and tweaks. Some of the outsourcing involves symbol manipulation and some involves shortcuts that eliminate the need for language (or other symbols) altogether. Clark’s vision loosens up cognitive science itself: Good old-fashioned computational models still have a place, albeit a diminished one. We need to be alert to every kind of computation (including dynamical systems of distributed representations) and, more important, to the diversity of vehicles for computation, many of which are outside the head.
One consequence of the extended approach is a “hypothesis of cognitive impartiality”:
Our problem-solving performances take shape according to some cost function or functions that, in the typical course of events, accord no special status or privilege to specific types of operation (motoric, perceptual, introspective) or modes of encoding (in the head or in the world).
Cognition doesn’t care how or where it occurs! Extended theorizing in the spirit of this hypothesis could reshape cognitive science, embedding embodied human life in an ecology of useful and symbolic objects, a flow in which neural activity is one eddy among many.
Extended cognition entails a supersized mind, and much of the second part of Clark’s book defends the philosophical idea that mind itself leaks into the world. The core argument is really “Well, why not?” Worldly activity with cognitive scaffolding accomplishes many of the same ends as neural computation and evidently saves the brain a lot of bother, so why not let the mind be where the work is done? In particular, philosophical views about beliefs, regarding both what they are and how they fit in the life of the mind, seem neutral about where a belief is located. It might be spread among the synapses, or on a microchip hardwired into the brain, or in a handy notebook—any of those media could preserve all the features of the belief. Critics search for some “mark of the mental” that will keep thinking inside the skull, but Clark counters that in some cases these lines in the sand are the result of mistaken analyses of the mental, and in other instances, they are lines easily crossed by extended minds.
Alva Noë’s target is consciousness, and in broad terms his position is compatible with Clark’s. Noë writes that in Out of Our Heads his central claim is that to understand consciousness—the fact that we think and feel and that a world shows up for us—we need to look at a larger system of which the brain is only one element. Consciousness is not something the brain achieves on its own. Consciousness requires the joint operation of brain, body, and world. Indeed, consciousness is an achievement of the whole animal in its environmental context. I deny, in short, that you are your brain.
Even in this passage we see an ambiguity that runs throughout the book. (Unlike Noë’s thoughtful and thorough Action in Perception [The MIT Press, 2004], Out of Our Heads is a manifesto of hyperbolic claims resting on sketches of argument.) Is it that we are not merely our brains (which is Clark’s view as well), or that we are not our brains at all? How completely “out of our heads” are we? The radical possibility runs through passages like this one, in which Noë describes what he refers to as a “sensorimotor, enactive, or actionist approach”:
Seeing is not something that happens in us. It is not something that happens to us or in our brains. It is something we do. It is an activity of exploring the world making use of our practical familiarity with the ways in which our own movement drives and modulates our sensory encounter with the world. Seeing is a kind of skillful activity.
This theory of perception has strong echoes of J. J. Gibson’s “ecological approach” to perception, along with the embodied phenomenology of Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Seeing is certainly skillful activity, but is that activity mediated by anything like an inner representation, or by a state of conscious awareness that either guides the activity or results from it? Noë repeatedly edges toward elimination of inner states, only to hedge:
We ourselves are distributed, dynamically spread-out, world-involving beings. We are not world representers. We have no need for that idea. To put the point in a provocative way, we are, in Merleau-Ponty’s memorable phrase, “empty heads turned toward the world.” And as a result of this, our worlds are not confined to what is inside us, memorized, represented. Much more is present to us than is immediately present. We live in extended worlds where much is present virtually, thanks to our skills and to technology.
We have no need for representation—at all? Or is it that our worlds are not confined to what is inside us, those innards nonetheless enacting cognitive, computational and conscious processes?
There is much to be gained by recognizing the intricate embedding of consciousness in the body and the world. Cognitive science (including the study of consciousness) has been shackling itself with its brainbound assumptions. Consciousness depends on its embodied embedding, but should it be identified entirely with the myriad couplings and loops the brain surely exploits?
This question is in play between Clark and Noë. Each disputes the other in passing. For Clark, one of the distinctive features of conscious awareness is the capacity to disengage from enacted specifics. Driving a car, for example, requires precise enactive sensorimotor coupling for beginners and experts alike, but for the practiced driver the details drop out of awareness. Noë’s view identifies consciousness with all the activities of the extended mind and thus implies that skilled enactors remain aware of everything engaged by their performance.
Clark also enlists clever experiments and reports of brain deficits that suggest a dissociation of awareness from sensorimotor knowledge. Familiar optical illusions make objects that are in fact identical look as though they differ in size, but when one reaches to grasp them, one’s fingers open to the same (correct) extent regardless of context. The eye-to-hand loop is not fooled by appearances, however things may seem to the conscious mind. Similarly, some brain lesions can impair the ability to describe a scene while sparing the capacity for fluent sensorimotor interaction, whereas other lesions have the opposite result. Thus there seem to be two partially distinct systems, one mediating fluent behavior and the other generating the model of the world available to consciousness.
From Noë’s point of view, to supersize the mind while leaving consciousness inside the head seems arbitrary, if not fainthearted. Any such distinction regards one fantastically complex information processing system as conscious, while declaring another, equally complex system, not. What’s the difference?
An expansive, totalized theory of consciousness like Noë’s solves the problem by dissolving it:
The problem of consciousness, then, is none other than the problem of life. What we need to understand is how life emerges in the natural world.
Descartes framed the modern mind with a sentence beginning “I am . . . ,” launching centuries of debate about how to complete the thought. But until now, that first-person grammatical form has been the eye of the storm, a nexus of subjectivity to which a world appears. In a truly post-Cartesian world of looping, evanescent, chattering, clattering networks, the problem of consciousness may simply disappear. The sum may turn out to be less than the whole of its parts.
Dan Lloyd is the Thomas C. Brownell Professor of Philosophy at Trinity College, Connecticut. He is the author of Radiant Cool: A Novel Theory of Consciousness (The MIT Press, 2004) and is currently working on a book-length philosophical dialogue titled Ghosts in the Machine.
The article below celebrates the birth of South African philosopher Marthinus Versfeld one hundred years ago. It appeared in Die Burger of 10 Augustus 2009 and is written by Prof Anton Van Niekerk head of the department of philosophy and director of the Centre for Applied Ethics at the University of Stellenbosch, South Africa.
In the article Van Niekerk notes that Versfeld himself stated that his entire intellectual life was a reaction to the mind-body duality of Descartes. For Versfeld everything in nature was infused with spirit. True spirituality, he said, doesn’t require a rejection of everything to do with the body. Rather it is about discovering the extraordinary in ordinary things - a flower, a sunset, community and definitely good food and wine.
Van Niekerk writes that according to Versfeld, ones spiritual life is therefore not about ideas, philosophy or even ones prayer life. He who looks after the small, everyday things will discover in these things, eternity and the joy of the creation and the creator.
To speak about a person’s spirituality is to speak about his embodied being – the way he walks, the way he blows his nose, the way he looks after his dog and his garden. And also the way he eats.
Versfeld’s book Food for Thought, Van Niekerk feels, testifies to the philosophy that humans are what they eat.The food that we eat builds the body and therefore the soul indicating our state of embodiment.
(My summary and interpretation)
Die volheid van sy lewe
Artikel deur Prof Anton van Niekerk, dosent in en voorsitter van die departement filosofie en direkteur van die Sentrum vir Toegepaste Etiek aan die Universiteit van Stellenbosch.
Marthinus Versfeld is vandag presies 100 jaar gelede, op 11 Augustus 1909, gebore. Gedurende sy leeftyd, en nog steeds, was en bly hy een van Suid-Afrika se bekendste filosowe.
Die katalogus van die J.S. Gericke-biblioteek in Stellenbosch dui 17 boeke van hom aan (daar is waarskynlik meer), waarvan die meeste in Afrikaans geskryf is, ten spyte van die feit dat hy vir sy hele professionele lewe professor aan die Universiteit van Kaapstad was.
Die begrip “filosoof” ontgin egter nie naastenby die spektrum van beskrywings wat ewe goed op hom gepas het nie: Afrikaner, Christen, Rooms-Katoliek, kenner en bewonderaar van die Oosterse mistiek, natuurliefhebber en -kenner, tuinier, en, les bes, bobaas kok.
Die mens Versfeld is ’n mengsel van komponente wat, in kombinasie, so onwaarskynlik, maar ook so verrassend lyk soos sommige van die disse waaroor hy met soveel entoesiasme geskryf het.
Dit is ’n onbegonne taak om in hierdie beperkte ruimte reg te laat geskied aan die rykdom van idees wat in sy werke na vore kom.
Een deurlopende tema verdien egter spesiale vermelding.
Dit is sy insigtelike waardering van die feit dat die onderskeiding tussen goed en kwaad nie saamval met die onderskeid tussen materie en gees, of tussen liggaamlikheid en spiritualiteit nie.
Die verskil tussen ’n goeie en ’n slegte mens lê nie in die feit dat die een meer sensueel ingestel is of meer goed het as die ander nie.
Die slegte mens is egter die een wat nie sy goed besit nie, maar deur sy goed besit word, en daarom nie in staat is om ’n broodkorsie met sy mede- mens te deel nie.
Die goeie mens daarenteen loop, omdat hy ’n pelgrim is, altyd gevaar om sy goed te verloor – en, paradoksaal genoeg, besit hy daarom sy goed op ’n meer betroubare manier as die slegte mens.
Wie sy lewe, en sy goed, ten alle koste wil behou, sal dit verloor, en wie bereid is om sy lewe te verloor, sal dit red, of liewer, sal gered word.
Een van Versfeld se belangrikste insigte was in die aard van spiritualiteit.
Hy skryf dat sy ganse intellektuele lewe opgegaan het in ’n verset teen Descartes, die denker wat ons wou wysmaak dat liggaam en siel, gees en materie, skeibaar is.
Vir Versfeld, daarenteen, is die ganse natuur deurspek met gees.
Hy het ons bewus gemaak van die geestelikheid van klippe, berge en bome.
Ware spiritualiteit beteken nie om af te sien of weg te draai van alles wat liggaamlik en aards is nie.
Een van die min “suiwer geeste” waarvan ons weet, is immers die duiwel self.
Ware spiritualiteit beteken om die ongewone te ontdek in die gewone, om genade raak te sien in ’n lenteblom of ’n sonsondergang, om onderlinge gemeenskap te beleef in die genieting van goeie kos, om die persoon van Christus te ontdek in die konkrete, aardse tekens van brood en wyn.
’n Mens se geestelike lewe, skryf Versfeld, is daarom nie in die eerste plek hoe jy idealiseer, filosofeer of gestemd is in jou gebedslewe nie.
Om oor ’n mens se gees te praat, is om oor die volheid van sy lewe te praat, hoe hy loop, hoe hy sy neus blaas, hoe hy omsien na sy hond en sy tuin.
Hy wat getrou is in die klein, alledaagse dinge, ontdek in hierdie dinge die ewigheid en die vreugde van die skepping en die skepper.
Vir my bly Food for thought, Versfeld se “kookboek van ’n filosoof” steeds een van sy boeiendste geskrifte.
Die mens is wat hy eet.
Kosmaak is nie slegs die produk van idees nie, maar reflekteer idees en produseer idees.
Die kos wat ons eet, vorm die liggaam, en daarom die siel. Dat ons moet eet, is die tasbaarste herinnering aan hoe radikaal aards, liggaamlik en potensieel genotvol ons lewe in die wêreld is.
Kos verraai daarby ’n mens se herkoms en skep jou omgewing.
’n Plek soos Kaapstad, Versfeld se tuiste, dank volgens hom sy ontstaan aan niks minder nie as groente en sop.
Die Kaap as woonplek het immers tot stand gekom vanweë die Hollanders se stigting van ’n verversingspos ten einde te voorkom dat hul matrose op die lang seevaarte na die Ooste skeurbuik kry.
Maar belangriker: Ons skep ’n omgewing, ’n gehumaniseerde omgewing, deur die produksie van kos.
’n Mens hoef net ’n rit deur die Bolandse distrikte te onderneem om onder die indruk te kom van hoe die voorkoms van die wêreld waarin ons leef, beïnvloed is deur en vanweë die produksie van kos karakter kry.
Die Bolandse landskap is immers een van wingerde en boorde, soos die Mediterreense landskap geskep word deur olyfbome en die Ceylon-landskap deur teeplantasies.
Maar ons bou ook paaie, ontwikkel skeepsroetes, ontwerp voertuie, bou fabrieke en produseer voorwerpe ter wille van die voorbereiding en genieting van ’n goeie maaltyd.
Ons mag Versfeld en sy werk nie vergeet nie.
By min ander mense kon ons die ruimheid, die buigsaamheid om van ander te leer en daardeur verander te word, beter leer as by hom.
Ek het die voorreg gehad om sy begrafnis in 1995 te kon bywoon; seker die mees onkonvensionele “uitvaart” wat ek tot nog toe meegemaak het.
Op die eenvoudige touhandvatselkis was ’n pampoen en veldblomme.
Die diens was in Mowbray se Katolieke kerk; wierook het gebrand, en Boeddhistiese inkantasies was net soveel deel van die gebeure as die eucharistie.
Dis is die soort mens en die soort ruimheid wat ons sal kan laat oorleef in hierdie land.
It is well known that the when stressed the levels of adrenalin and cortisol in the body rise to support a "fight or flight" response. It speeds up the heart rate, redirects blood flow to major muscle groups, slows down digestion and changes other autonomic nervous functions to assist the body in dealing with the threat whether real or perceived. In the previous post we saw that scientists are now able to explain the mechanism that results in the stress response causing premature cellular aging as well as the development of disease processes. Studies indicated that the stress hormone cortisol suppresses immune cells' ability to activate their DNA-protein complexes called telomerase. According to the study the cells of persons under chronic stress have shorter telomeres. This compromises genetic stability and cellular life span. Once the perceived threat is gone, however the stress response is replaced by the relaxation response. All body systems are designed to return to normal function. If however, the hormones remain elevated in the bloodstream for long periods of time, as in the case of chronic psychological stress, it wears down the immune system and could lead to premature aging and disease. The answer seems to rest in controlling cortisol levels in the body and having a massage is one way of lowering stress hormones.
A number of studies have investigated the positive effects of massage therapy on elevated cortisol levels:
Cortisol decreases and serotonin and dopamine increase following massage therapy by Tiffany Field, M Hernandez-Reif, M Diego, S Schaneberg and C Kuhn in Int J Neurosci 2005 Oct;115(10):1397-413. Touch Research Institute, University of Miami School of Medicine, Miami, Florida 33101, USA. Abstract: In this article the positive effects of massage therapy on biochemistry are reviewed including decreased levels of cortisol and increased levels of serotonin and dopamine. The research reviewed includes studies on depression (including sex abuse and eating disorder studies), pain syndrome studies, research on auto-immune conditions (including asthma and chronic fatigue), immune studies (including HIV and breast cancer), and studies on the reduction of stress on the job, the stress of aging, and pregnancy stress. In studies in which cortisol was assayed either in saliva or in urine, significant decreases were noted in cortisol levels (averaging decreases 31%). In studies in which the activating neurotransmitters (serotonin and dopamine) were assayed in urine, an average increase of 28% was noted for serotonin and an average increase of 31% was noted for dopamine. These studies combined suggest the stress-alleviating effects (decreased cortisol) and the activating effects (increased serotonin and dopamine) of massage therapy on a variety of medical conditions and stressful experiences.
Effects of Massage in Acute and Critical Care by Richards, Kathy Culpepper RN, PhD; Gibson, Robin RN, MNSc; Overton-McCoy, Amy Leigh RN, BSN in AACN Clinical Issues: Advanced Practice in Acute & Critical Care: February 2000 - Volume 11 - Issue 1 - pp 77-96. Abstract: This is a discussion of the results of a systematic review of 22 articles examining the effect of massage on relaxation, comfort, and sleep. The most consistent effect of massage was reduction in anxiety. Eight of 10 original research studies reported that massage significantly decreased anxiety or perception of tension. Seven of 10 studies found that massage produced physiologic relaxation, as indicated by significant changes in the expected direction in one or more physiologic indicators. In the three studies in which the effect of massage on discomfort was investigated, it was found to be effective in reducing pain. In only three studies was the effect of massage on sleep examined. The methods for measuring sleep were unclear in two of the studies, and results were inconclusive in the other. Further research is needed to investigate the effect of massage on discomfort and promoting sleep. In their article Massage & Stress: Understanding the Research which appeared in the International Journal of Therapeutic Massage & Bodywork: Research, Education, & Practice, an open access, peer-reviewed publication of the Massage Therapy Foundation, Dr Cynthia Piltch and Martha Brown Menard, PhD, discuss the need for massage therapists to understand the effect that stress has on their patients and how massage can help alleviate those effects. Follow the link to read the full article. Dr. Cynthia Piltch is a Certified Therapeutic Massage therapist and holds a Ph.D. in Health Policy, Boston University. Her dissertation looked at Work and Mental Distress: A Comparative Analysis of the Experience of Women and Men MPH in Health Planning and Administration University of Michigan. She teaches at the Cortiva Institute-Muscular Therapy Institute and is an adjunct faculty member at the Northeastern UniversitySchool of Nursing and Tufts Medical School. Martha Brown Menard, PhD, CMT,has been in private practice since 1982 and teaching research literacy since 1997. She is the author of Making Sense of Research, and serves as Director of Research at Potomac Massage Training Institute in Washington,DC.
In today’s world we are expected to be busy all the time. We are expected to work long hours and chase from one place to another. Being stressed seems to have become a lifestyle choice, in fact possibly a status symbol.
After all , those who cannot complain of high stress levels can’t possibly be successful. So to be part of the in-group better we join the I-don’t-know-how-to-relax set.
But be careful before buying into that way of life. It seems that not only actual stress but even just our perceptions of being stressed may lead to premature aging and disease.
Over the years a number of scientific studies have shown a link between chronic psychological stress and conditions such as cardiovascular disease and weakened immune function but until recently the exact mechanisms by which stress influences disease processes was unknown.
In 2004 Science Daily reported that although a study published in the November issue of Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, a UCSF-led team reported that psychological stress may exact its toll, at least in part, by affecting molecules believed to play a key role in cellular aging and possibly, disease development.
The team determined that chronic stress, and the perception of life stress, each had a significant impact on particular DNA-protein complexes called telomeres that promote genetic stability. Telomeres play a critical role in determining the number of times a cell divides, its health, and its life span.
Previous studies have shown that an enzyme within the cell, called telomerase, keeps immune cells young by preserving their telomere length and ability to continue dividing. Short telomeres are linked to a range of human diseases, including HIV, osteoporosis, heart disease and aging.
The UCSF study involved 58 women between the ages of 20 and 50, all of whom were biological mothers either of a chronically ill child (39 women, so-called "caregivers") or a healthy child (19 women, or "controls").
One of the most important findings of the study was that the perception of being stressed proved to have the same effects on the body as actual stress. According to Science Daily “the most striking result, (showed that) the telomeres of women with the highest perceived psychological stress - across both groups - had undergone the equivalent of approximately 10 years of additional aging, compared with the women across both groups who had the lowest perception of being stressed. The highest-stress group also had significantly decreased telomerase activity and higher oxidative stress than the lowest-stress group.”
According to co-author Elizabeth Blackburn, PhD, Morris Herzstein Professor of Biology and Physiology in the Department of Biochemistry and Biophysics at UCSF the study provided the first evidence that chronic psychological stress and the way a person perceives stressmay change the rate of cellular aging.
Lead author Elissa Epel, PhD, UCSF assistant professor of psychiatry states that these findings “suggests a cellular mechanism for how chronic stress may cause premature onset of disease. … Chronic stress appears to have the potential to shorten the life of cells, at least immune cells."
But how does stress negatively influence the workings of telomerase causing people to be more susceptible to disease?
The answer came in 2008 when UCLA scientists found that the stress hormone cortisol suppresses immune cells' ability to activate their telomerase. This may explain why the cells of persons under chronic stress have shorter telomeres.
When stressed the levels of cortisol in the body rises to support a "fight or flight" response. If the hormone remains elevated in the bloodstream for long periods of time, though, it wears down the immune system.
Pain is a simple enough concept to grasp. You stub your toe, shout, perhaps utter a few expletives, rub it better and it eventually fades. But neuroscientists are realising that pain is much more complex than anyone thought possible, comprising not just physical sensations, but emotional ones too. Pioneering studies are providing insights into why some people experience debilitating chronic pain long after an injury has healed, as well as why some are more prone to pain than others, and why certain people never recover from bereavement.
“Pain is much more than mere sensation. The psychological component is at least as important as the physiological processes giving rise to it,” says Dr Jonathan Brooks, a scientist at the Centre for Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging of the Brain, at OxfordUniversity. His research centre scans the brains of people with chronic pain and compares them with those of healthy people.
While most pain goes away as an injury gets better, sometimes it remains for months or even years, long outlasting its original purpose. Chronic physical pain is debilitating and can cause disability, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. It is also very common. A group from the University of Washington reported in the journal Archives of Surgery earlier this year that 63 per cent of patients who had sustained serious trauma still had injury-related pain a year later. It was most common in the 35-44 age group and in women, and least common in those with a college education.
Other chronic pain conditions include arthritis and lower back pain. In the latter, a physical source can be identified in only about 10 per cent of cases. No one really knows why some people experience chronic pain and others do not, but recent imaging studies at NorthwesternUniversity, Chicago, have found a series of abnormalities in the brains of chronic pain sufferers in which the part linked to decision-making (the prefrontal cortex) is reduced, while an area of the prefrontal cortex linked to emotion is hyperactive. What is known for certain is that the brain changes in those with chronic pain so that they experience pain differently from the way they did before.
We all have a system for suppressing pain when necessary so that we can flee attackers even when injured. Those who suffer from chronic pain appear unable to access this and cannot use distraction as a means of suppressing pain; their brains seem to amplify pain signals rather than inhibit them.
Treatment for the condition comprises both physical and psychological interventions, says Dr Michael Platt, the lead clinician for pain services at St Mary's Hospital, London, part of Imperial College Healthcare NHS Trust, where he holds weekly pain clinics. “Most physicians realise that you have to heal the mind as much as the body. For example, if you have pain, then depression is worse, and if you have depression, then pain is worse.” He adds that gaining a better indication of which parts of the brain are involved in pain sensations may lead to better treatments for patients.
We all respond to pain differently
Scientists are increasingly realising that everyone responds to pain differently. “There are many physiological and psychological factors that determine how much pain you feel,” says Dr Brooks. “Personality, how worried a person is, and, in the case of women, the time in the menstrual cycle, can all have an effect.”
He adds that our genes can also influence our sensitivity to pain. This was first brought to the attention of scientists by the “ginger-whinger” syndrome. Anaesthetists reported that redheaded women complain of pain more than other patients, and consequently need more pain relief. Why? Not because redheads are wimps; it was later discovered that their genetic make-up makes them less sensitive to certain types of pain medication.
Neuroscience is also revealing a host of similarities between emotional and physical pain. In the same way that in some people injury can cause long-lasting chronic pain, science reveals why some will never get over heartbreak.
Professor David Alexander, the director of the Aberdeen Centre for Trauma Research, has been involved in many disasters: the 2004 tsunami; Iraq; and the recent earthquake in Pakistan. He is not surprised about the link between physical and emotional pain. “If you listen to people who are damaged emotionally, they will often translate their pain into physical similes: ‘my head is bursting, my guts are aching', and so on. The parallel is very strong.”
It is only in the past few years, however, that scientists have begun to investigate what is going on in the brain during an episode of emotional pain. The neuroscientist Mary Frances O'Connor, of the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), is one of the scientists who has propelled emotional pain up the research agenda. “We're at a very new time when we can use technologies to look at the brain and the heart.” Naomi Eisenberger, one of her colleagues at UCLA, has shown which parts of the brain are active when we feel emotional pain. She devised a computer game in which participants were made to feel left out. Simultaneous brain scanning revealed that the pain of being socially rejected was processed in much the same way in the brain as physical pain, and in the same area, the anterior cingulate cortex, which is located towards the front of the brain, roughly at the height of the temples.
Eisenberger theorises as to why this should be so. Pain is often interpreted as a warning, so that you take your hand away from a hot surface. Social relationships are crucial to our survival as a species. In dangerous situations, a lone human being is in peril, whereas a group may survive. “The social attachment system piggybacked on to the physical pain system to make sure that we stay connected to close others,” Eisenberger says. Being wrenched from another or rejected by a group is painful, so we learn to avoid it.
A related issue is “complicated grief”, which O'Connor estimates occurs in about 10 per cent of people, who fail to adapt to bereavement over time. Her imaging work shows that this sort of grief activates neurons in the reward centre of the brain, giving addictive-like properties to memories of the lost one. There is a strong suspicion, as yet unproven, that sufferers might also be among those who experience the greatest levels of chronic physical pain. This is an area that deserves urgent research because of its terrible emotional and physical toll.
