Tend Your Mind's Garden

--- By Will Meecham, MD, MA

We choose our world. Plato suggested humans select a life prior to birth, then live it in a state of amnesia. Perhaps that’s true, but that’s not the point of this essay. For the moment, consider the inner experience. When you think about it, doesn’t what happens inside our brains have a bigger influence on our contentment than what happens outside? And aren’t the two more separate than we appreciate in day-to-day life? Even though the environment constantly touches our senses, and so shapes our minds, it is not hard to make a distinction between the inner world and the outer one. And it’s the inside that makes us happy, or drives us insane.

Somewhere ‘out there’ sits the cosmos. It consists of things we call ‘matter’ and ‘energy’. Outside of our minds, substances and forces move, fluctuate, and interact. We have good scientific descriptions of how this works, but we don’t experience it directly. All we have access to are the patterns of nerve signals that enter our brains by way of nerves. These nerve signals come from complex sense organs such as eyes and ears. They also arrive from scattered sensory cells (in our skin, organs, and tendons) that provide our sensations of touch, bodily condition, and movement.

It takes effort, but try for a moment to fully acknowledge these facts about the separation between the mind and the physical world. Scientists and philosophers debate about the nature of the ’self’ that makes use of incoming data. But even without understanding the ’self’, it is helpful to grasp that our minds depend on sense organs for contact with the universe. Sensory systems are the windows through which we view our lives.

These concepts can be used to improve mental comfort. As a personal example, the teeth in my upper jaw sometimes throb, probably because of jaw clenching. But for some reason, my lower teeth feel fine. So here’s where I get to choose my world: in my mind, I can either attend to the upper molars, or the lower ones. It used to seem like the aching was outside my control; it shouldered its way into my consciousness. Not that the pain was awful, life disrupting agony. The discomfort meant little more than annoyance. But whether I wanted to suffer with it or not seemed irrelevant.

A few days ago, I remembered something taught in chronic pain classes. Rather than paying attention to the upper teeth, I shifted my focus to the lower ones. Very quickly the toothache abated. Discomfort persisted, but without me centering on it, its intensity died. I’m not talking about pushing sensation away, only about shifting attention.

I hope this example makes clear how readily we can alter experience by attending to different sensory input, such as lower jaw versus upper. Or we could look at the flowers on the roadside rather than the litter. What’s more, we can use selective attention in other ways: we can turn toward pleasant memories, and create helpful thoughts. Recently, in the midst of one of my depressions, I listened to a friend’s advice to remember happy times when feeling sad. Naturally, it seemed like the facile suggestion of someone never tormented with true despair. But he did have a point. Just as we can choose which tooth to listen to, we can select which memories to replay in our heads. Similarly, we can decide whether to dwell on our fears, or imagine our dreams for the future.

Sound familiar? These days, most people treated for mood disorders learn about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It’s been proven to help people who suffer from anxiety and depression. It teaches how to steer the mind away from troubling waters. The goal is not to live in denial or avoid problem-solving. But why dwell on situations we cannot change, or worry about stuff that we can’t prevent, and that hasn’t happened.?

Many religions promote mental discipline. Buddhism literally makes a science of it. But spirituality is not required to gain the benefit of self-guidance. There are many books that teach CBT, and the idea of ‘positive thinking’ has been written about for at least a hundred years. My goal in this note is to give the perspective that humans exist in biological structures of unthinkable complexity, and that consciousness (whatever it really is) can direct inner experience. Gentle tuning of attention and thought can aid our perpetual search for peace. Rather than succumbing to the dreaded ‘bipolar’ label, or suffering hopelessly with the onus of ‘depression’, we can begin to take charge of our interior worlds.

Obviously, these techniques by themselves will not resolve severe mood crises. Much can be written about how to gain the self-love necessary to embrace strategies that promote contentment. But recognizing the distinction between inner world and outer reality is a useful step on the path toward ease of mind.