Planting The Seeds

 My beginners mindfulness group were asked at the beginning to sit quietly for a few minutes. In this time, once they had begun to settle in to the session, I asked them to feel a sense of love for themselves at that moment and feel the sensation grow from their heart outwards. Then I asked for them to feel a sense of peace. Connecting the sense of peace and love (there is a hippy inside us all) I asked for each individual to consider a positive intention (a goal to work towards) for themselves; and lastly, to connect this sense of peace and love with the goal or intention. After a few moments the group were asked to choose some seeds to plant into a tray, all the while remembering the intention, as well as maintaining or re-creating the sense of love and peace. Then, to visualise the seed growing, changing, sprouting shoots and growing into the flower it will become. In this flower is embedded peace, love and the happy goal or intention. Each person was asked to take their seeds home with them, to nurture them as they grow and each day sit for just a few minutes, re-creating the sense of peace and love, even connecting with their seed. Today was about planting for peace. Imagining the plant sending out the peace and love through the roots and into the ground, to spread beyond ourselves and lead to others.Yes, this may all sound very hippy, but there is a point to this. The plant is a metaphor for a goal: the goal (intention) is to bring about positive change in the individual. By nurturing the seed (watering it, maintaining just the right conditions for it to grow) the plant has a much greater chance of survival. By feeling a sense of love for the seed, the love is actually for the self – an unconditional love with which to grow the individual’s self-belief and desire to succeed in their intention. Setting an intention gives the plant a deeper meaning. Feeling motivated to succeed and practising the commitment to succeed is a self-fulfilling prophecy. The plant is receiving the individual’s energy through the commitment to preservation.This exercise is loosely based on Metta meditation, a Buddhist practice which focuses on love of the self; love of a friend; love towards someone the individual doesn’t know/know well; sending love to someone the individual doesn’t like; and finally, sending love out to the individual’s community/the world. It is a powerful exercise, one which can invoke all sorts of emotions – positive and negative – but when practised regularly, it can harbour greater coping mechanisms in everyday life, particularly if the individual faces conflict in any aspect of their life; but can have a positive influence on self-esteem.So get planting for peace and love in your life and in your neighbourhood!

The Seventh 'C'

The more I embed my use of mindfulness into my nursing care, the more strongly I feel about how important it is that as nurses, we make a meaningful connection with our patients.

I started nursing back in 1993. I took a gap year before starting my training, to work in a nursing home. I wanted to develop my basic nursing skills, to begin to learn the art and science of being a nurse.

To me, nursing was about caring. I wanted to care for people. I wanted to make my patients comfortable. I wanted to understand what they were experiencing, as well as empathise with them. I wanted to know everything. I was an eager beaver, keen to do the best I could, but was still very wet behind the ears, completely naive, but full of enthusiasm.

Working in the nursing home was a shocking experience. Standards were poor: the home smelt awful. The residents were not properly looked after, but although I knew at the time the things I was witnessing was wrong, I did not know what to do about it. The company I worked for didn't pay us on time each month (once they arrived at the home to pay us by cheque at 5pm on Christmas eve); they didn't pay the bills on time, so at one point the phone line was disconnected and if we needed to make a call one of us had to leave the home and run 5 minutes up the road to the nearest phone box. The bill for incontinence pads was left unpaid for months, so the new orders were not delivered. We were told to cut up towels to use as pads, or dry the used incontinence pads on the radiators. No wonder the place smelled. No wonder, either, that most of the poor resident's pressure areas were breaking down. I, along with some others, refused to do either of these things, much to the chagrin of the company director.

It was a diabolical place to live and work. Most of the care staff did care about the residents, and wanted to make a real difference. We all knew of each individual resident's likes and dislikes (Betty loves cheese sandwiches, but Ethel hates cheese; Sam likes to listen to classical music in the morning with his porridge but Mabel prefers silence to eat hers; Rose always has to sit by the window, to see who is coming in and out of the front door - but everyone of us knew that she sat there each day in the hope that she would see her family walk into the home to visit her - but tragically, that event only took place a couple of times each year; partially-sighted Anne has to have her clothes laid out in a certain way each evening, so that she could find them in the morning). We all knew the routines and we followed them as much as we could, each day. But this did not take away from the fact that dreadful things were going on in that home, things that I could not bear to see. I felt a real connection with the residents, and that was the thread that weaved in the compassion, the care, the (attempted) competence, and the commitment, which led to the courage to communicate the terrible goings on to the authorities.
It was the connection with one or two in particular, that led me to write poems about the struggling, elderly bodies that tortured their fiery minds each day. One lady, on waking each day, would cry, because each night she prayed that she would die, rather than wake in pain each morning, her arthritic joints agonisingly taunting her heart, which longed to walk hand in hand with her husband on the beach, or hug the grandchildren she loved, who smiled at her from their gilded frames on the windowsill. I would try to be in her room before the others, to help her get dressed. Why? Because she insisted on wearing her tight-fitting satin blouses each day, which were almost impossible to bring her tense, creaking arms through. But I had found a way of being able to do so, unlike some of the other staff, who would take out their annoyance of the perceived inconvenience as they wrestled and tugged at the poor lady's arms, roughly pulling and tutting as she winced and cried out in pain. I couldn't bear to see it, so would try to get to her room first and gently, slowly ease her arms out as straight as I could, one at a time, apologising repeatedly, but knowing that the smart, pink blouse the lady wanted to wear, along with her matching lipstick, would make her feel just a little bit better about being alive, a little bit more "in the pink" than she really felt: quite simply, it made her feel human.
In the end, a good year or so after I left and started my training, the home was closed down after several serious complaints from relatives. There were staff there who were deeply caring and concerned about the treatment of the residents, as well as the living conditions and the mismanagement of the company (who subsequently found themselves in the position of being broke, forcing the closure of the other homes they owned, too), but 22 years later, I am still very saddened by the thoughts of the events I witnessed. I wish I could have done more to change the circumstances. I wish I could have stood up to the company and banged my drum louder for more to hear, so that changes could have been made. But I was green, I was naive, and I didn't know what I needed to do to make things better.
Ironically, when I started my training at a London teaching hospital, it was comparative luxury to be able to walk to the cupboard when I needed soap, incontinence pad, sheets or clothing, to see shelves full of everything I needed to be able to provide the basic nursing care required. It was bizarre to me that NHS staff were complaining of a shortage of equipment and resources. On reflection, it showed me just how bad things were at the nursing home I worked in.
On my first night in my nurses digs, I put up the poems I had written about the residents I had looked after on the wall next to my door. I read them each day, to remind me of the sorrow and pain these folks had suffered, in order to do the best for my patients. These and many, many more patients over the years are the connection within me to each one of those I have seen suffering, in pain or anguish, in fear or terror. The connection of human spirit within the nurse and patient relationship is what weaves the sometimes achingly beautiful compassion, care, courage and commitment into the art of nursing. Connection is the thread that holds everything else together. Without connection, the most basic, yet most complex circumstance is flawed.

So, 22 years later, I am no longer green or wet around the edges. I still love my job. I still make mistakes, each one leaving its mark for me to learn from and grow. I have seen so much heartache and pain, like other clinical staff; I have seen miracles, I have seen the fragility of the tiniest life to the vulnerability of the mightiest of men, anguish and grief in many; and joy, pride and acceptance in those too numerous to count.

But now is different. Now I am using my skills in mindfulness to help my patients across a wide spectrum of age, illness and diseases. I am discovering how best to use the connection I can make with my patients, to help them connect with themselves to understand that they can help to ease their discomfort. I am seeing results, sometimes instantly, just with a tweak to the way I work with each individual. So in my clinical practice the six 'C's have another recruit. Who wants to connect with me?

A Moment

In the quiet of your mind, in the silence of your thoughts, you can be completely with the moment. There is no judgement in the present: the presence of your mind simply allows you to drift through, second by second.

In each second, a murmuring of thoughts or ideas can rush to you, consume you, engulf you; or you can choose to acknowledge the burst and see it wash over you, or pass you by like a cloud in the sky. See each thought as a gift to yourself: the process of thought is one that only you can control, and is yours to accept and allow to pass by without judgement; or one to hold on to and keep. It is not for I nor another to tell you how to use this thought, it is not for me to tell you how that thought will affect your whole Self.

The gift is not really in the thought, but in the deed of your own action, and the consequences once the choice has been made.

 The gift is not in the action, but in your own Self, because you are your own thoughts, you are your own deeds, you are your own consciousness.

The gift is your life, of which You Are. You are the Life, you are your own Truth, you own your own Path.

As you live each day, be the one you long to be. Be the kindness you want to see in others; be the love you want to feel. Love yourself unconditionally as you love others. Be as gentle with yourself as you would be with a newborn baby, and feel that soft connection of who you are within.  Walk each moment knowing that you have created that step in your whole self, putting one foot in front of the other, as well as the steps in your mind as you act out your thoughts and decisions. Just be.

So in each passing moment, be accepting of who you are just in that second, holding no judgement of the thoughts that come to mind, but live it knowing that these thoughts are the essence of who you are. 

Heart Box

I am having something of a parental re-vamp, at the moment. There have been a lot of changes at home, lately, bringing with them a number of challenges. It's OK to have these challenges in life, I think, but I want to be conscious of my parenting by being able to connect with my children as much as I can, in order to understand them. I want them to understand their own feelings.

That said, they are pretty good at being able to articulate their thoughts and fears. "I just don't know how to work this out" was a tearful remark made by my 5 year-old son, recently. This sentence stung my heart, because I could totally feel his pain and confusion in the midst of all these changes we are going through. I don't expect him to be able to "work this out"; I don't expect him to be able to process this all like an adult; I do expect wobbles and tears and fears and that is why I am doing my best to be able to keep this line of communication open, for my children to know that they can talk to me about their feelings; and for them to know that their feelings are completely valid and acceptable.

I want them to know that I know it's hard for them and that I am trying to make things better for them. I hope that I am, because I don't think I can try any harder than what I'm already doing.

Part of the work I have been doing in the schools I did some sessions with, involved choosing one of the printed intentions I'd organised. Intentions are sentences or themes which inspire the child (or member of staff) and can choose to follow each day. They select a sentence out of the box, and decide whether or not they are going to go ahead with it. It is a voluntary thing, but the idea is to practice mindfulness using this intention as they go about their day. My aim is for the individual to reach the end of the school day, and think, "yes, I achieved this" when they reflect back on their activities, conversations, lessons, and feelings. Reflection is a mindful activity in itself, and good practice in which to be thankful for ourselves and others, and think about how to modify any behaviours that the individual wishes to change - or to be able to simply identify a need to modify a behaviour/thought/intention etc - for the better.

I decided that today I would bring this into my home, because it gives us all a focus. It gives each of us a chance to not only pick an intention at the beginning of the day, but to re-connect with each other at the end of the day at our evening meal, give each other support, praise, encouragement and reflect together. My aim is that this will bring us closer together as a family, to give recognition for each other's feelings, as well as reinforce and grow our love.

What do you think? How do you bring emotional development into your family? I'd love to know and learn from other's experiences, so please share! Thank you.

Presence

There have been frequent occasions where, whilst on a run, I have been greeted by this wonderful sight. The sun, reflecting on the ocean as a silvery-white glow, its gentle yet persistent beams striking through the clouds. Today's view, however, got to me so much I was almost breathless with awe (and it was not the result of running away from the inquisitive cattle in the adjacent field).
There was just something about the scene that was so powerful I could feel it in my chest, a rush of love and happiness to be able to witness the beauty that was there, in front of me. Free for anyone who could see it, to soak up the gift the eye gives to the soul. Who could look at this and not feel a stirring in their heart? The simple pleasure of being able to tune in to the surroundings and experience that moment of happiness.
I stood still, and drank up everything around me: the crisp, cool breeze that danced around the field; the chattering birdsong, mingled with the occasional "moo" from behind the hedgerow, and the loud sighs of waves meeting land; the delicate salty smell lingering in the air and the taste on my lips; the contrast of the dark blue sea, the heavy clouds, against the green of the fields and the striking sunlight on the water. I stood still, and took everything in. A few moments of stillness, where I closed my eyes, and listened to myself. I could only hear the quiet of my breath, and the joy of the moment, a tangible sense of peace for myself, the words "thank you" whispering in my mind, and gratitude for everything around me. What more could I ask for, at such a moment, other than the gift of presence?

Fear-Less

One day, in the summer holidays, I took my five year-old swimming. He was under-confident and clung to me, having lost all the confidence he had gained in his swimming lessons, before the summer holidays began. Then the alarm for the 3-minute warning of the wave machine sounded. He panicked, began to shiver and asked me to take him out of the water.
"It's OK to be scared", I told him. He tried to pull me towards the shallow end, but I held him tightly, and stayed where we were. I decided to use this as a mindfulness opportunity. "I can feel how scared you are. What is it that worries you the most?" He replied, "being pushed over by the waves". So we had something to work on. "That's a possibility. You're scared of the danger, aren't you? That's OK, we can work with this, too. Are you still feeling really scared?" He nodded. "That's OK. But you know that right now, it is safe for you to feel scared, because I am here and I won't let you get into danger." He began to loosen his grip around me. I empathised with his feelings, naming his emotion (fear), and together we accepted the fear. As the wave machine began swirling the water around, he had already acknowledged that he was scared, accepted his emotions, and been given a safe space to experience it. When he accepted that his fear would not be realised, he relaxed a bit.
At this point, I moved a few paces deeper into the water, the waves colliding around us. He allowed me to do this, and I asked him how scared he was. "Not as much as I was" he said. Then he asked to get down and go under the water with me. We submerged ourselves for a few seconds, holding hands, before resurfacing. He was jubilant: "I did it!" He suddenly found his confidence, and he directed me to the shallow end, where we jumped over the waves together. His moment of fear in the past, replaced with fun and confidence.
I have used this sort of technique for all sorts of moments where fear is the thread of the situation. In all cases, once the fear has been acknowledged and accepted, the process of overcoming it can begin. Fear will remain as long as it is unexplained, or unidentified. By tapping into the fear and unravelling it, it can be overcome.

Child's play

Two giggly voices are echoing around the room, interspersed with the sound of paintbrushes dabbing furiously onto paper, and accented by the occasional SPLAT! of bare feet jumping up and down on the spot. This is the activity of two children painting, first thing on a Sunday morning. Oblivious to the November wind and driving rain outside, they are fully immersed in painting a forest: this one has purple, red and green apples growing there. Aw, how sweet! It also contains poo, but we won't dwell on that...

As the two friends continue to paint, they are unaware of everything else around them. I wonder if they would even notice if a horse clip-clopped its way across the kitchen, as they are really enjoying the act of creating this picture, together.

When they finish, they stand back a bit and admire their work. I ask them to imagine being in the forest: they immediately press their noses against the paper and try to get into the picture. "can you imagine how those apples smell" I ask them, and they both take in a big breath through their noses, as if to smell the fruit. Then they are done; they abandon their work of art, and run off to engage in the next activity, the painting forgotten in an instant, and replaced with the next delight.

It's easy to be a child in terms of living in the moment: to focus the mind and the body completely on whatever it is they are doing, block out the outside world, and totally immerse themselves in their present experience. If you've ever got involved in a task and become completely focused on it - then looked at the clock and surprised yourself by the unnoticed passage of time - this is what young children are like for most of their day. Lucky them: I might have to try it, myself!