Take Your Soul to School:
Practical Applications For Holistic
Classrooms
Sharon
M. Abbey
Brock
University, St. Catharines, Ontario
I.
Critical View of School Practices
Current
Trends in Education
During this
time of major educational upheaval and change, school
curriculum has been dehumanized and centralized to include
prescribed topics and standardized testing. As a result,
teaching emphasizes the pragmatic and is mainly concerned
with reportage, logic, analysis, and linearity. Adding
to the stress of radical program modifications and expectations,
teachers are further disconcerted and demoralized by public
criticism and a call for greater accountability. They
face uncertainty about their performance as they grapple
with models of delivery that encourage the discounting
of personal needs in favour of global competitiveness.
The heart and soul has been taken out of education and
there is little or no incentive to risk sharing our deep
spiritual selves. In fact, we are taught to believe that
our humanness and our emotions will interfere with scientific
objectivity and professional judgment.
In much
of the current literature on education, holistic teachers
and environmentalists are critical of these current trends
and practices, pointing out that schools are spiraling
into political rhetoric because the sacred had been driven
out. For example, Palmer Parker (1997) persuasively argues
that we are taught “to live out of the top inch
and a half of the human self, to live only with cognitive
rationality and with the powers of the intellect, out
of touch with anything that lay below that top inch and
a half: body, intuition, feeling, emotion, relationship”
(9). He suggests that we have been educated in a way of
knowing that treats the world as an object to be dissected
and manipulated in order to satisfy our drive for power
and control. In his critique, he emphasizes the school’s
role in promoting and institutionalizing such a limiting
and distancing objective orientation and makes particular
reference to the way teachers convey both a scientific
epistemology and a competitive ethic to students.
Likewise,
Jack Miller (1992) points out that, “we live in
what has been called the age of alienation . . . we tend
to live in a world that is fragmented, and our lives are
filled with the experience of separateness” (43).
In the shadow of these values lies “a profound sense
of isolation from our human wholeness” (35). Such
exploiting goals influence our approach to living as well
as our learning by putting us in an adversarial and competitive
relationship with each other that ultimately interferes
with the well-being of the world.
David
Abram (1996) also observes how surprisingly silent educators
have been in response to the rapid deterioration of the
earth’s ecosystems, the vanishing of hundreds of
endangered species every month, and the consequent flattening
of our human relationships. Ironically, halting the decline
of the planet life-support systems may be the most critical
challenge educators have ever faced. Although humans have
negotiated relationships with every other living element
for as long as they have existed, today we participate
almost exclusively with other humans and with our human-made
technologies. In no way can our relation to the earthly
biosphere be considered a reciprocal and balanced one.
Abram points out that the earth is central to all human
experience and, as such, we must renew our acquaintance
with biological ethics and our vital connectedness to
the sensuous, non-human world.
My
Vision of a Holistic Classroom
With such dehumanizing educational
trends in mind, I developed an educational course to actively
demonstrate and model practical holistic strategies that
address the whole person. Key concepts of holism seem
to deal with balance, interconnectedness, awareness, and
respect. Holistic teaching values the task of self-construction
and self-acceptance and seeks to facilitate learners as
they acquire self-knowledge and self-understanding. It
encourages students to choose different pathways for self-development.
It is both child and culturally centred and involves the
integration of body, mind, and spirit and embraces social
and ecological dimensions of human experience and natural
wonderment. It is my belief that children must be explicitly
taught how to connect with their inner spirit, how to
respect themselves and others, how to nurture self-esteem,
how to become attuned to their bodies and express authentic
feelings, and how to develop a one-ness with the earth
and take action to protect the environment.
In this
course, my intention is to encourage teachers to be more
open to the full expression of self and others. If education
is to be empowering and transformational, it must be about
reclaiming its sacredness and its connection to the vitality
of life. To do so, we need to practice our intuitive capacities
to recover our sense of one-ness, otherness, and inwardness.
As we practice being more fully present and mindful in
each moment, I believe we can begin to celebrate and reclaim
our capacity to wonder and imagine. Finally, I want to
suggest that by learning to live in community and harmony
with all life forms, we can appreciate and protect our
vital attachment to the natural cycles of the planet.
Fundamental to each component
in this course is my belief that knowledge is created
by drawing not only on our perceptions and our reasoning
ability, but also on our intuitions and our creative metaphorical
imagery—a kind of pluristic multi-sensory knowing
that extends beyond the five senses. This involves pulling
prior knowledge synthesized in the subconcious to the
conscious level and requires receptivity and suspension
of logic and rationality. This ability to trust and tune
into embodied cues must be practiced and modeled as a
valued component of school curricula. By embracing such
practices, Parker Palmer (1983)advocates that “we
come to know the world . . . as an organic body of personal
relations and responses, a living and evolving community
of creativity and compassion” (14) and we “create
a classroom practice that would teach us not to rearrange
the world but to learn its intricate relationships”
(38).
Creating a Sacred
Space in the Classroom
Sheri
Klein (2000) asks an interesting question. “What
if the primary concerns of education offered possibilities
for fulfillment, wonder, awe, joy, caring, compassion,
and enchantment?” (7). Classrooms would then become
sacred spaces which she defines as “places of power,
where energies convene and create sites for healing”
(5). Such classroom sanctuaries include aesthetically
pleasing arrangements of artifacts that invite the use
of imagination and enchantment, that focus on renewal,
and that allow students to dream and to be fully present
in the moment. They are physical spaces that embrace sounds
such as music, water fountains, and wind chimes to invite
quiet reflection and a respite from frenetic activity
and over-stimulation. These spaces also offer possibilities
for transformation and for deepening intuitive, creative
and imaginative dimensions of the soul.
In sacred classrooms, Shelley
Kessler (1991) observes that spirit and clarity of purpose
are at the heart of the teaching enterprise and teaching
presence is authentic, open-hearted, and fully alive.
These are safe, trustworthy places where the integrity
of the student is respected as well as the needs and boundaries
of the teacher. Sacred classrooms foster both interpersonal
and intrapersonal development in order to strengthen relationships
and nurture social-emotional competence. Teachers who
create such spaces are warm, alive, spontaneous, connected,
and compassionate. They are open to perceiving what is
happening right now, responsive to the needs of the moment,
flexible enough to change directions, and able to let
go of inadequate agendas and invent new approaches on
the spot. They are willing to feel deeply and are genuinely
moved by what a student expresses. They are able to interpret
body language and hear the feelings behind the words.
In order to achieve this state of full presence, teachers
might take some time for solitude before teaching and
include daily meditations into their plans in order to
attend to now-ness on a regular basis.
What is the Soul?
Most
of us have an innate understanding of soul even though
it is impossible to define. Intuitively, we know it has
to do with genuineness and depth. Definition, however,
is an intellectual endeavour, as Thomas Moore (1998) reminds
us, and the soul prefers the imagination. It presents
images that are not immediately intelligible to the reasoning
mind—fleeting impressions, desires, intuition, dreams,
stories. Parker Palmer (1997) states that the soul is
“like a wild animal: tough, self-sufficient, resilient,
but also exceedingly shy . . . But if you are willing
to go into the woods and sit quietly at the base of a
tree, that wild animal will, after a few hours, reveal
itself to you” (9).
Lance
Secretan (1997) suggests that the soul is the immortal
or spiritual part of us and the source of our deepest
longings and passions. He describes it as “our essence—our
emotional and moral fiber, our warmth, and our force.
It is the vial part of us that transcends our temporary
existence; it is our nobleness within . . . the essential
‘more’ that exists in our lives” (28).
While Secretan emphasizes the higher values that the soul
pursues such as grace, harmony, co-operation, and reverence
for life, Moore (1999) also suggests that the soul is
deep and bottomless. He believes that the soul involves
a going down as well as a going up, “becoming more
ordinary, more humble, more a part of the earth”
(4). It involves attending to small details in everyday
life such as cooking, colours, spices and places to walk
in order to make them extraordinary, magical and sacred.
According
to Marianne Williamson (1995), “while the soul is
always present, it doesn’t appear in our lives automatically.
Soul requires our attention and reflection” (xvi).
For Jack Miller (2000), the soul is not a finite entity
but rather an animated, loving energy that ‘dwells
in paradox and does not approach life in a linear manner”
(27). According to Miller, “the soul hides while
our minds analyze, memorize and categorize” (29).
For Moore (1998), the soul is the source of all desires,
fears and images that spontaneously arise in our imagination.
It “enters life from below, through the cracks,
finding an opening into life at the points where smooth
functioning breaks down” (27) In
her attempt to define the soul, Marion Woodman (1995)
believes the soul to be the bridge between body and spirit—“the
uniter of opposites” (33).
However,
Tanis Helliwell (1999) distinguishes the body or vessel
which she calls the ‘personality’ from the
soul or spiritual being. While the personality is transitory
and finite, the soul is eternal and timeless. The personality
relates to the outside world and the soul relates to the
inner world and does not judge or attach itself in any
material sense. For her, the personality’s essence
is ‘doing,’ while the soul’s essence
is ‘being,’ and we must strive to bring both
into balance in order to create a life worth living. In
most cases, she observes, we are so focused on doing that
we leave little time for being. Helliwell believes that
the soul specifically chooses a particular physical vessel
and personality to accomplish the task it sets for itself
in this lifetime. As such, the soul knows the purpose
of our life and only by listening to the soul will we
be able to hear what it is we are meant to do. As Helliwell
states, “the soul knows your life’s purpose
and the personality has the gifts to fulfill it”
(24).
For Helliwell,
a soul-infused personality is self-actualized, joyful,
creative, truthfull, and self-directed. She suggests a
four-step process to bring this about. First, one must
create a healthy vessel for our soul. Second, one must
strengthen the vessel with purposeful intention and deliberateness.
This is a stage of dependence and a focus outward on doing.
During the third stage, one must empty the vessel. This
requires looking inward and exercising independence. At
this level one must be willing to let go of old habits
in order to change and transform oneself. Finally, the
vessel is refilled and one becomes self-actualized and
interdependent.
Gary
Zukav (1989) believes that humans are evolving from five-sensory
to multisensory beings whereby they can better appreciate
the consciousness of the soul. When the soul is recognized
and valued, it begins to infuse the life of the personality
and the personality comes fully to serve the energy of
its soul and achieve authentic empowerment. The very reason
for our being, Zukav argues, is to align our personalities
with our souls. Since the soul is not confined to time,
each personality that becomes an instrument for the soul
contributes to the evolution of its soul. After an incarnation,
the soul returns to its immortal and timeless state of
compassion, clarity and boundless love. Secretan concludes
that “we are souls seeking a human experience, not
humans seeking a spiritual experience” (28).
Challenges
and Barriers that Limit Soulful Teaching
A paradox arises when we try
to define the spiritual self in rational terms such as
“a greater purpose beyond the self” . . .
“an all encompassing energy” . . . a sense
of wonder for our universe” . . . “ an awareness
of being part of a bigger universe” (Johnson 1999,
45-47). It is difficult to lend credence to something
that cannot be perceived or identified by traditional
scientific procedures. The more we try to pin down a collective
image of the spirit the more elusive it becomes. Furthermore,
the spiritual or inner domain cannot be evaluated with
standard measures and, as a result, is treated with suspicion
or disregard in schools. In fact, “as objective
rationality, based on scientific reductionism and materialism,
emerged as a dominant legitimized worldview, the ‘spiritual’
realm was denigrated and relegated to a separate religious
category” (Johnson, 42).
References
to spirituality still make most educators uncomfortable.
David Whyte (1994) argues that “to understand the
soul we cannot turn to science for a description. Its
meaning is best given by its context” (14). As a
result, the needs of the soul have been largely ignored
in schools, institutions, and workplaces primarily because
“it refuses to be quantified in a way that satisfies
our need to plan everything in advance” (14). We
have few contemporary models and little tolerance for
seeking ways to move beyond the dimensions of time and
space or to free ourselves from a mechanistic worldview.
The challenge becomes finding effective methods of applying
soulful teaching to actual classroom practice and convincing
others to do so.
Ironically, in our increasingly
solitary and isolated society, it seems safer to stay
objective and avoid nurturing the evolving selfhood of
our students. Teachers who allow themselves to be fully
present to their students are vulnerable and must be willing
to take risks and allow themselves to be known to their
students in full partnership. For example, they are cautioned
about the criminal implications of touching and hugging
students and yet, Phil Cousineau (1995) advises teachers
to pay attention to the very way they touch others, reminding
them that “the soul emerges through our fingertips”(165).
As I struggle to become a co-participant
in community with my students and to create safe and trusting
classroom spaces that invite original inquiry and value
everyone as a teacher and an authority figure, I continually
confront the tensions and frustrations of letting go of
my own agenda or purpose in order to make room for more
student voices. This also entails being open and responsive
to the needs of the moment, flexible enough to shift gears,
and “to have the repertoire, creativity, and imagination
to invent a new approach in the moment” (Kessler,
1991, 13). Students, for their part, must also be willing
to take an active responsibility in the shaping of the
curriculum.
It is easy enough to identify
the elements necessary to create a sacred classroom where
the soul is felt and responded to and to mount persuasive
arguments that support and justify the need for holistic
curricula in schools. However, it is quite another matter
to actually develop such a classroom and apply principles
of spirituality in everyday practice. So many aspects
of our culture today offer children mixed or confusing
messages about soulfulness and the classroom must become
a safe place to discuss and sort out these elements. Children
will be more understanding of others when they come to
understand themselves, they will be more responsible if
they have been responded to, and they will be more goal-oriented
when their basic needs are met.
In
addition, Michele Borba (1989) argues that self-esteem
will only become a viable component in classrooms if it
is built into elements of all subject areas. She reminds
us that “too many students exist in the shadows.
Their potential and capabilities will never shine because
they are clouded by self-doubt or by lack of self-worth,
which affects all aspects of their being” (xvii).
In order to refocus attention on children’s inner
needs in schools, she suggests a curriculum built on five
components: security (feeling comfortable and safe), selfhood
(acquiring self-knowledge and a feeling of individuality),
affiliation (a feeling of belonging, acceptance, and relatedness),
mission (a sense of purpose and motivation in life through
realistic, attainable goals) and competence (a feeling
of success, control, and accomplishment).
II.
Practical Strategies to Encourage Holistic Teaching
The
First Class
Before
the first class, I arrive at least two hours ahead of
time. I bring a great deal of material with me. I have
a brightly coloured table cloth to drape over a large
table and I place on it some photographs of my family,
my pets, and my sacred spaces, a container of wild flowers
I stop and pick on the way. I also display some treasured
artifacts that tell something about me such as a rock
from Ireland, a sea shell, theatre programs, travel brochures,
gardening gloves, jogging shoes, letters from my children,
books I have written, a bottle of my favourite wine, my
good-luck touchstone, and a favourite book of poetry.
I bring a tape player and play quiet music. I mount collages
and poetry that I have created around the walls. I move
the chairs into a circle and place a letter I have written
to each student on the seats. I create a special environment
that is inviting and pleasing— not at all like a
typical university lecture hall. I try to use myself as
a role-model in order to invite students to begin to really
focus on knowing themselves mindfully. As students begin
to arrive I mingle with them and sit in one of the chairs
beside them. I do not immediately introduce myself as
the instructor. I do my best to dismantle any power hierarchy
before it forms.
Through
the use of relaxation mediation and guided imagery, I
invite students to be silent together as a way of connecting.
Then, by passing a large stone from person to person,
a ‘talking circle’ (Graveline, 1998) is created
in which each person in invited to share something unique
and meaningful about his/herself while others listen and
affirm. As the instructor, I try to model a deep connection
with myself and invite the group to come to know and trust
each other and to support their wholeness with compassion.
I believe that compassion cannot be taught but must be
discovered and lived. During subsequent classes these
communal rituals are practiced and expanded upon as each
student takes a turn facilitating one session related
to a metaphor or image he or she has selected. As they
work in small response groups, they help each other connect
with their spiritual knowing and probe for deeper inner
meanings of self. At the end of this class, I ask students
to write their initial impressions of this course. Although
some students feel uncomfortable at first or wary of the
intent, most are positive and confirming .
The Use of Metaphor
I explain
to my students the metaphorical significance of the objects
on my table display during our first class together. Against
a backdrop of quiet music, I share with them a personal
metaphor in which I use the symbol of a bottle of wine
to deeply examine an understanding of myself as a learner.
I also read a wonderful children’s picture book
Wilfred, Gordon, McKenzie Partridge by Mem Fox (1984) to illustrate how a little boy come
to understand the complex concept of a memory through
the use of symbolic objects. I then invite students to
begin to consciously tap into their own metaphorical skills
by collecting meaningful artifacts. I remind them that
metaphorical thinking improves with practices and depends
on the combination of deliberate and purposeful sensory
awareness, memories of past experiences, and a keen desire
to seek deeper self-awareness. The first course assignment
is to write a personal metaphor. I ask students to bring
a first draft to the second class. These are shared in
triad groups that are formed the second week. These three
students tend to form strong trusting bonds by working
closely together throughout the course. They listen and
support each other’s work, provide confirmation
and guidance for the tentative journey inward, and eventually
celebrate in each other’s new insights and personal
growth.
Metaphorical
thinking begins with experiences rather than words,
challenges conformity and taps into ‘right brain’
energies essential for holistic learning and personal
meaning-making. Janet Burroway (1992) contends that symbols
are unavoidable in life. Words are “unwieldy and
unyielding, and we leap over them with intuition, body
language, tone, and symbol’ (283). Humans function
symbolically all the time, according to Burroway, because
“we rarely know exactly what we mean, and if we
do we are not willing to express it, and if we are willing
we are not able, and if we are able we are not heard,
and if we are heard we are not understood” (283).
Objects and artifacts tend to store our memories and emotions.
The object then becomes a symbol of the event that triggered
the emotion, impression, or sensory experience by substituting,
comparing or interacting to construct new images. Objects
become metaphors when we attach positive or negative emotions
to them.
According
the Lakoff and Johnston (1999), metaphors are universal
and are based on embodied images created through our sensory-motor
system. They are extraordinarily powerful tools to explore
the unknown in terms of the known, to invoke multiple
perspectives, to peel back layers of meaning and to disrupt
established categories—making the abstract more
accessible and the imaginative more possible. Thomas Moore
(1998) believes that “when the imagination is allowed
to move to deep places, the sacred is revealed (286).
By legitimizing sign systems and modes of representation
other than printed text, Pugh, Hicks and Davis (1997)
suggest that we open new doors for students to explore,
build, and demonstrate their knowledge. Both metaphorical
and intuitive perceptions are illusive and non-rational.
They alert us to patterns rather than parts, and to the
imagined as well as the literal.
Intuitive Thinking
During
the next class, I introduce my students to their intuitive
powers by inviting them to complete Philip Goldberg’s
“Who Is Intuitive?” Inventory (1983, 110-113).
The results are discussed in triad groups and students
are encouraged to open themselves up to perceptual possibilities
beyond the five senses for the duration of the course.
Intuitive insights are often more apparent after this
discussion and I remind students to look for intuitive
messages during mediation and visualization exercises.
Some students focus on their dreams and tap into this
intuitive realm by keeping dream journals. We then compare
our personal orientations along two intersecting grids—intuitive/sensory
and feeling/thinking. I invite students to consider how
these scales could be applied to children in their classrooms
and how this personal knowledge would influence their
curriculum.
Although
intuition is hard to ‘prove,’ we observe its
impact on our lives every day. However, it will flourish
only where it is valued and understood. As Renee Welfeld
(1997) points out, we often become disconnected from our
bodies and our intuitive wisdom because we have been taught
to believe that the mind is superior to the body or have
been convinced to be critical of our body. According to
Welfeld, we lose “a deep sense of harmony and balance
that arises when you know yourself to be—body, mind,
and soul—at one with the Universe” (7). Although
intuition always offers useful wisdom it takes time to
‘hear’ it properly. As Shakti Gawain (1995)
suggests, learning to trust your intuition is an art form
and takes time to perfect. If you are willing to act on
what you believe to be true, you will learn very quickly.
If you hold back, it might never happen.
The word
holistic has often been ascribed to intuition, inferring
that intuition gives knowledge of wholes as opposed to
just parts and that wholes are greater than the sum of
their parts. The parts and their sum can be discerned
through rational analysis, but the greater
can only be conceived through intuition. It is experiential
rather than conceptual, a realization and a feeling, an
intimate identification with a wholeness. Intuition is
a flash that comes instantaneously and in that instant
might be contained an extraordinary amount of information.
It is not linear or sequential but instead, seems to suppress
time. It has no clear boundaries. Intuition is an illusive
image that Virginia Jagla (1994) describes as “a
grasp at knowledge that connects the subconscious and
the conscious mind. It pulls prior knowledge synthesized
in the subconscious to the conscious level at an opportune
moment for immediate insight” (36-7). Mona Schulz
(1998) points out that intuition hits are sudden, immediate
and unexpected, often not the result of any deliberate
thought process. They bring with them a feeling of confidence
and certainty and inspire us to become creative and open
to imaginative alternatives. She identifies several general
characteristics of intuitive messages: a sense of certainty,
a sudden creative gestalt, nonanalytical, emotional, and
empathetic (30).
Tanis
Helliwell (1999) takes the meaning of intuition into the
spiritual realm and declares it to be a tool of the soul
that speaks to us through our bodies. Although intuitive
information comes to us all the time, we learn to ignore
it and devalue it. By development our intuitive awareness,
we can align ourselves to the soul. Once activated, intuition
will not easily be shut off. For Helliwell, intuition
is a gift of the sixth chakra or third eye which require
receptivity and suspension of logic and rationality. The
soul dangles intuition like a worm to tempt the personality.
She believes that the human brain is a part of the larger
hologram of the universe and the two continually interpenetrate
and reflect each other. According to Helliwell, intuition
is “a lens that can glimpse the soul’s purpose
and a way that the higher Self can communicate with the
lower self to give it practical answers to problems we
face” (284-5).
Gary
Zukav (1989) goes one step further by asserting that intuitions
are messages from the soul that are intended to assist
the soul on its evolutionary journey. These are indicators
of “a loving guidance that is continually assisting
and supporting” (81). To receive intuitive messages
clearly, Zukav points out that we must become aware of
our feelings, honour and trust the guidance received,
and keep an open orientation toward life and the universe.
Schulz believes we also get our intuitive messages “through
the holes in the soul—through our physical problems…or
disease of the body” (33).
Learning to be Mindful
Through Breathing
To begin
practicing mindful awareness, I encourage my students
to attune themselves to their own breathing. In order
to be fully mindful, we must try to see what lives in
a moment before putting anything into it. According to
Andrew Weil (1997), a focus on breathing is an ancient spiritual tonic
that disengages us from our outer thought processes, enlivens
us and restores harmony to the whole nervous system. However,
as Beryl Birch (1995) explains, most of us become shut
off from our solar plexus, our main energy storehouse,
our emotional life force, our prana
(in Sanskrit) and because of this physical disconnection,
we breath backwards. Instead of sucking in our belly and
breathing only from the upper chest, I teach my students
to relax and expand their belly when they inhale deeply
and tighten their abdominal and intercostal (between ribs)
muscles back and up, press rib cage down and back toward
the spine to push up their diaphragm when they exhale.
In this way, stale air is expelled and the oxidation of
tissues is improved (Goldberg, 1983). Relaxing after each
exhalation will allow the lungs to begin to pull air back
in all by themselves.
Firstly,
in simple Breath Observation,
I instruct students to place their tongue in Yoga position,
gently against the roof of the mouth and touch their thumbs
and forefingers to keep energy circulating in the body.
We breath naturally and simply focus on the point where
our breath changes from an inhalation to an exhalation.
Next, Exhalation Reversal I ask students to begin their breath cycle with the
exhalation instead of the inhalation. This puts us in
touch with the diaphragm and reawakens our inward attentiveness.
Another way to attune ourselves to our breath in through
Nostril Breathing.
Begin by breathing in through the nostrils counting 1—4,
hold the breath counting 5—7, and release the breath
through the mouth counting 8. With each inhalation, notice
which nostril is dominant or taking in most of the air.
This is an involuntary process that changes from side
to side periodically. In a variation of nostril breathing,
I ask students to press on nostril closed with their thumb
and breath deeply and slowly through the other nostril.
After holding that breath for a few seconds, switch nostrils
and release the breath through the other nostril. Next,
I introduce Stimulating Breathing which involves rapid in-out breathing through the nose
(in contrast to panting through the mouth). The increased
muscular effort of the neck and diaphragm is noticeable
as well as the pumping of the chest (bellows breathing).
This is a good for stimulating wakefulness as well. Once
these variations have been demonstrated, students take
turns leading the group in an exercise of their choosing
in order to encourage the practice of mindfulness at the
beginning of each class.
According
to Thich Nhat Hanh (1975), “mindfulness is the miracle
by which we master and restore ourselves” (21).
For him, “there is only one important time and that
is now” (116). “Our breath,” he says,“
is such a fragile piece of thread. . . it is the bridge
from our body to our mind. . . which makes possible one-ness
of body and mind” (37). Mindfulness begins with
feeling at home in your body, feeling real and alive to
yourself, feeling the space that your occupy, feeling
subtle movements of energy within yourself, the taste
of food, the weather on your face. Each of these moments
become moments of wonder and awe—true causes of
celebration.
Renee Welfeld (1997) reminds
us that mind and body are closely interconnected and that
our body is “the keeper and transmitter of our feelings
and emotions . . . experienced as a movement of energy
within the body” (2-3). For her, each part of the
breathing process has a symbolic meaning. Each time you
inhale, you reestablish the cycle that initiated life
outside the womb. In one sense, you begin life anew each
time you breathe in. With the space that follows inhalation,
the promise of a new beginning can be deeply felt. Exhalation
represents the emptying out that must precede becoming
full again. It is a moment of surrender and trust that
the next breath will be made available to you again. The
moment after an exhalation is a time to pause, reflect,
and feel a profound sense of well-being—a time to
be at the centre of your immediate universe. This often
requires practice and mindfulness. Several techniques
are offered that involve letting go, opening up, and allowing
some prana into tight, closed-down areas of the body.
Learning
to be Mindful Through Meditation
Mediation and visualization are
also effective ways to activate mindfulness, to become
open an attuned beyond the five senses, and to listen
to the soul. Meditation is a natural tool for relaxing
the conscious mind without clouding awareness (Weller,
1997). The body, mind, and senses are brought into balance
(Carrico, 1997). In this deep stage of relaxation the
heart rate and consumption of oxygen decrease. Deborah
Rozman (1994) explains that meditation opened her heart
and mind to what inner peace and wisdom really could be.
‘Meditation
with a specific focus’ is the easiest to start with.
It is suggested that students focus on their breathing
(Nhat Hanh, 1975), one of the body chakra centres, an
action such as walking, a candle or other physical object,
a mantra (a repeated sound, phrase or chant such as ‘om’,
‘ring-rong’) or a creative image. To introduce
this experience I ask students to walk around the room
and focus on the movement of their feet. Typically, we
are more aware of placing each foot on the ground rather
than lifting each foot up. By shifting our focus to the
‘letting go’ process, we are able to remind
ourselves that we cannot move forward unless we let go
of something else. I ask students to pick a place where
they often walk and practice this walking meditation whenever they walk there.
Students
are also asked to set time aside to mediate at the same
time every day, in the same place. They are reminded to
assume a straight sitting posture with the chest open
and the neck free. Rest hands on knees with thumb and
fore-finger lightly touching. Start with two or three
minutes and work up to ten or twenty. Allow the mind a
little time to unwind and don’t go into the mediation
with any expectations or pre-conceived thoughts. There
will be many obstacles of distraction at first. The technique
will become personalized and improve with practice. Often
meditations will lead to creative insights or inner wisdom.
Guided
Imagery & Visualization
Guided
imagery is a tool to unlock creativity, promote relaxation,
and to use your natural creative imagination in a more
conscious way. According to Maureen Murdock (1987), these
exercises “help [us] tune out the distractions and
demands of everyday life and to focus on being”
(19). I begin with her simple Relaxation Exercise (20) in which I read from a prepared text. Participants
close their eyes and let their minds envision as I read.
In this exercise each part of the body is tightened and
relaxed in succession. Another of Murdock’s exercises
The Waterfall of White Light (22) calls forth an image of a white beam of light
entering the top of your head. Its healing energy flows
through the whole body. Other guided images include undersea
adventures, spaceships, balloons, wheels, plants, fire,
earth cycles, inner body explorations, mirror reflections,
desert islands, waves on an ocean, and inner sanctuaries.
Drawings of their images can be included in their journals.
Near the end of the course, after attentiveness and mindfulness
have been practiced, I introduce The Inner Shaman exercise (Feinstein & Krippner 1988, 41). After
an inward journey, participants pass through an arch and
image their inner guide who conveys some important information
to them. Participants are also directed to ask their guide
a question after which they leave the image when an indicated
signal is heard. During the course, students are encouraged
to lead the guided imagery sessions as well.
Creative
visualization is a technique of using your imagination
to create what you want in your life (Gawain, 1995). It
involves understanding and aligning yourself with the
natural principles that govern the workings of the universe
and learning to use these principles in the most conscious
and creative way. Holding a thought in your mind creates
an energy force that attracts and creates that form on
the material plane. Whatever you put out into the universe
will be reflected back to you. We always attract into
our lives what we think about the most. The visualization
process involves four steps: set your goal, create a clear
idea or picture, focus on it often, give it positive energy.
Affirmations are an important element in the process -
a strong positive statement that something is already
so. It is a way of making firm what you are imaging.
After
relaxing in a deep, quiet, meditative state of mind, I
ask my students to image themselves in the environment
that they would like, doing what they want successfully
and harmoniously, receiving appreciation and appropriate
compensation. I invite them to add any other details that
are important to them.. They must feel within themselves
that this is possible, experience it as if it has already
happened. Imagine it exactly the way it should be. Repeat
this short exercise often, perhaps twice a day. If the
desire and intention to make a change are clear, chances
are good that some type of shift will take place.
Creativity and Imagination
Julie
Cameron (1992) describes creativity as a spiritual experience.
As both an artist and a teacher, she believes that by
acting creatively the universe is able to advance. Once
we remove the blocks, the flow moves in. Opening your
creativity, she contends, changes us from something bobbing
on an vast electrical sea to a more cooperative part of
the ecosystem (1).
In order
to encourage students to explore their innate creativity,
I introduce them to Cameron’s creative practices.
First, I invite them to write three pages of stream-of-consciousness
notes every day that we call ‘morning pages.’
These morning pages are a kind of meditation that leads
to a connection with a source of wisdom within. The second
practice is what Cameron calls the Artist’s Date.
This is a two hour block of time set aside each week to
nurture creative consciousness of the inner artist. This
inner artist needs to be taken out, pampered and listened
to, according to Cameron. As she suggests, “spending
time in solitude with your artist child is essential to
self-nurturing” (19). We must be self-nourishing
and alert enough to consciously replenish our creative
resources as we draw on them. This involves the active
pursuit of images gleamed through deliberate attentiveness.
Throughout the holistic course, I suggest that students
keep journals to record meditation experiences, dreams,
images, and introspections as well as impressions and
questions provoked in class. These are not handed in or
marked by me. They are for personal reference only.
Although
art occupies the margins in schools, imagination is closely
connected to the soul and must be affirmed. As John Dewey
saw it, imagination is the gateway through which meanings
derived from past experiences find their way into the
present. Maxine Greene (1995) talks about imagination
as a “search for openings without which our lives
narrow and our pathways become cul-de-sacs” (17).
For her, imagination is the felt possibility of looking
beyond our incompleteness for something more, enabling
us to make new connections among parts of our experience.
In fact, Greene concludes that “it may well be the
imaginative capacity that allows us also to experience
empathy with different point of view, even with interests
apparently at odds with ours . . . where we can come face
to face with others” (31).
Arts-based Inquiry
Art and
image-making is often an engaging way for people to realize
wholeness and bring to consciousness what they know at
deeper levels (Carbonetti, 1998). Image making connects
our inner selves to something universal, transporting
us back and forth between past and present, self and other,
personal and archetypal. Image work helps to make contact
with imagination, the deepest voice of the soul and to
extinguish usual modes of analytical thinking. After all,
the earliest beginnings of our experiences are nonverbal
images.
In a
way, drawing is a type of meditation. It is embodied energy
made visible. Painting, drawing, poetry, and journal writing
are all ways of making it available for contemplation.
To encourage the intuitive artist within to emerge, I
ask students to make a series of ten scribble drawings
with eyes closed, using both hands, standing and sitting,
turning the paper in any direction, and using different
materials such as pencils, water-colours, markers, pastels,
and acrylics. After each drawing students free associate
and try to discern images emerging from the scribbles
that may represent interior dialogue with the soul. In
some cases, very noticeable patterns are clearly present
in all ten drawings. I also emphasize that it is all right
not to know what an image might mean in a cognitive sense.
It may take time to unfold its meaning or merely be a
fragmentary gestalt that will grow with time. I encourage
students to trust their inner knowing and let the image
do the guiding and instructing.
As art
therapist Pat Allen (1995) points out, “ the image
process is a journey [and] to come to an absolute conclusion
about an image is to rob it of its power as a guide (61).
Instead, she suggests following it patiently “like
a trail of bread crumbs as far as you can” (74).
Allen cautions that the primary obstacle to drawing is
losing focus on the subject and shifting consciousness
to judging the results. However, she also believes that
it is important to honour the resistance and get to know
your inner critic. The critic holds valuable information
and can mature and change into a compassionate helper
if you are open and accepting to this process.
According
to Allen, images reveal that we are holographic beings,
living multiple lives. However, as she points out, “we
often get stuck in one view of self and lose the richness
of our multiplicity” (10). She believes that images
often come to inform us of embodied messages that are
not consciously apparent and they have an “integrated
effect on the mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual
totality of a human being” (xvii). In addition,
Allen argues that “all that is unexpressed is saved
and recorded in the body, like a careful scrapbook. .
. and the contents of our mind, when left unexamined,
exert a strong influence over our behaviour. These unexamined
contents can be a source of our resistance to living fully
and joyously” (59).
Our soul’s
deepest wish is for us to see this resistance, according
to Allen. She also reminds us that “the image is
the messenger of your soul and never comes to harm you”
(60). In fact, Allen argues that “the soul narrates
your deepest truth through image and metaphor” (82).
To know our soul, she contends, “is to become free
of the power exerted by the contents of the mind to limit
us” (60). In support of this position, Thomas Moore
(1998) adds that, “we care for the soul by honouring
its expressions, by giving it time and opportunity to
reveal itself, and by living in a way that fosters the
depth, interiority and quality in which it flourishes”
(248). “The first step in caring for the soul,”
he suggests(1997), is to “get out of its way and
let our full genius emerge (5).
Collage Work
Images
and pictures in books or magazines can also inspire and
trigger memories and feelings, according to Margot Sunderland
(1993).
The process of
image synthesis in collage work involves the skill of
suspending judgement and of being open to serendipity,
as Lynn Butler-Kisber (2002) points out. At some point,
the intellect releases the intuitive. As she suggests,
visual images are inherently more ambiguous and multifarious
than text, allowing us to move to an intuitive, associative
state where images find us and speak to us on a holistic,
emotional level.
I demonstrate
how this intuitive process works using a series of my
own poetry and collages to reveal how emerging images
drew out issues, albeit surprising, that are worthwhile
for me to explore further. I explained to students that
upon completing the first collage I noticed the pair of
red hands in a prominent position on the page. To me,
the hands seemed swollen and covered in blood. Free association
led me to thoughts about mothers who care for others at
the expense of self. I titled the work Red Hands
and wrote a poem about maternal sacrifice. In the second
collage of the series, I deliberate ly looked for magazine
images of hands and covered the page with these. As I
reflected on this collage, I immediately noticed that
all the hands were severed at the wrist and disembodied.
This led to another poem entitled Cutting Off Our Hands
that addresses war and the loss of control as hands that
originally worked in the earth were encouraged to operate
machines and weapons. In the final work of this trilogy,
I used photographs of my mother’s hands and explored
themes of loss, aging, and grief.
Often
such emotional experiences cannot be reduced to words.
Words, in fact, can distort the meaning of experiences
and result in an over-generalized or insufficient understanding.
Words often lose their power to represent subtle variations
of meaning. Translating feelings into images rather than
words can be less threatening and help make an inner impression
more visible and tangible. Because most of our waking
thoughts appear in images, image making is also a familiar
process.
Like
intuitive and metaphorical thinking, image-making must
be practiced in order tap into the endless stream of messages
that are available to us every day. This process begins
by being fully present and aware in the moment. I encourage
students to notice what pleases them in order to become
acquainted with their own personal aesthetic energy. It
is a matter of noticing the essence of things, seeing
infinitude in the ordinary—colors, shape, textures,
and details both centrally and peripherally.
As a
way of drawing forth their inner images and critics, I
have students bring magazines and scissors to class. I
ask them to rip out images that appeal to them without
trying to consider any reasons or patterns for their selections.
After these images are collected, they form collages by
gluing these images onto large posters. Photocopies of
family photographs can also be used. I suggest that students
display their collages at home and study them closely
before the next class to determine any inner wisdom that
might emerge from the image patterns. During the following
class students work in their triad groups, listening to
initial interpretations and adding new insights from other
members’ perspectives. We are nourished by viewing
images made by others that resonate within us as well.
We alternate between the role of witness and receiver.
Often our initial metaphors emerge again in these collages.
As an
extension of this collage work, I introduce to my students
to the concept of a ‘Smile Book.’ On the cover
they paste magazine pictures of people with great smiles.
I then ask them to bring in photos of themselves to include
in this book. We focus on our own smiles and write descriptions
of these. On the next few pages they write about things
that make them smile or cut our newspaper stories that
bring on a smile. We watch each other over the course
of the next few classes and write descriptive notes about
how smiles from others make us feel. Sometimes we draw
secret names at the beginning of the class and make sure
we smile at that person at least once during the day.
I conclude this exercise by reading a section from Thich
Nhat Hanh’s book on ‘Mindfulness’ (1975)
in which he suggests maintaining a half smile to affirm
that you are in complete mindfulness and that nourishes
this mindfulness (43).
Mandalas
Another
visual exercise I introduce is The Mandala.
I explain that mandalas are archetypal circle motifs that
have been produced in every known culture. They appear
in our dreams and in the early art work of young children.
For this reason, many psychologists including Susanne
Fincher (1991) conclude that mandala symbolize a safe
refuge of inner reconciliation and wholeness. Perhaps,
the circle in encoded in our bodies through our connectedness
with the motion of atoms, planets, and orbits or the shape
of the sun, the moon, and the eye. It is the basic pattern
of dances, cardinal direction, and zodiac wheels.
I begin
with a guided visualization in which students image a
circle in the middle of their forehead. As they breath,
the circle begins to grow until it encompasses the room
and then the universe. After about a minute of silence
to contemplate this image, students are given circular
pieces of paper and asked to draw their mandala as they
stay with the feeling of being one with the universe.
Using a set of guideline questions (Dahlke, 1992), students
analyze the construction of their own mandala and what
it might reveal at the intuitive level. I ask them to
identify repetitive patterns and numbers, where they began,
the colours used, the degree of symmetry, abstraction
and preplanning, and tolerance for ‘mistakes.’
Next
I show students a series of slides showing a variety of
mandalas created by artists, native people, and children.
Some are created with paint while others are created with
objects and natural material such as leaves, feathers,
and stones. Using insights developed from our discussion
of these slides, I ask each student to create another
mandala based on more deliberate planning and bring it
to the next class. I facilitate another visualization
exercise in which I invite them to imagine walking around
inside their mandala and to write about this experience.
Once again, I use my own images and written descriptions
as an example of freeing the intuitive self.
The
Power of Sound, Chanting, and Drumming
One
of the course experiences that I enjoy the most is the
drumming/percussion session. Based on the work of Jonathan
Goldman (2002), I point out to students that everything
in the world is in a state of vibration including the
human body. Every part of the body has a healthy resonant
frequency and when it vibrates out of frequency a dis-ease
is created. By listening to music that is high in harmonic
content, we can charge the cortex of the brain, reduce
respiration and heart rate, alter blood pressure, and
lover brainwave activity. “We are truly a celestial
orchestra filled with sound,” according to Goldman,
and sitting in silence enables us to begin to know the
inner symphony that is ourselves” (81). By using
musical instruments such as drums and chimes, technical
tools such as tuning forks and even our own voice (including
laughter), we can bring about significant changes in our
energy fields (chakra centres). The sacred chants and
mantras from ancient Hindu and Tibetan cultures are believed
to serve this purpose.
To
introduce this concept, I ask students to sit with straight
backs, imagining an invisible thread running straight
up from their navel, up through their heart, between their
eyes and out the top of their head. Taking in a deep breath,
I instruct them to sigh loudly as they exhale. Often,
I am aware that students are self-concious and reluctant
to create these primal sounds at first. It is sometimes
easier to use the long and short vowel sounds or to sing
C – E – G – C on the harmonic scale.
When I ask them to notice what part of their bodies resonate
with a high pitched or low pitched sound, they readily
discover that high notes vibrate in the head and low notes
vibrate in the chest or gut. Then, using the drums, I
introduce the concept of resonance and entrainment. By placing the palm of the hand on the surface of the drum as we vocalize
sounds, it is apparent that the sound in one vibrating
body reaches out and sets another body in motion. In fact,
a more powerful rhythmic vibration of one object such
as a drum can change the less powerful rhythmic vibration
of another object and cause them to synchronize their
rhythms.
When the whole class plays a
drum beat together, this experience of entrainment is
very therapeutic and almost hypnotic. A group synergy
is created that unifies and transcends the individuals
involved. As Robert Friedman (2000) suggests, “the
drum fulfills the human need to be heard, to find simplicity,
and to make connections with the heart, mind, and soul
of others” (21). The reasons to drum are multifold,
as Tom Klower (1997) points out. Drumming creates a primitive
creative force, transporting us out of the mind and into
the body. It connects the psyche and the spirit, penetrating
the deepest layers of consciousness and centring our attention.
It reduces stress, stimulates neural pathways, endocrine
and immune systems, causes the pituitary gland to secrete
hormones, and enhances immunity. It is also an easy instrument
to play and impossible to make a mistake. Any sound works.
By
leading students through a series of short exercises initially,
a spontaneous improvisation session always emerges. We
begin by imitating our heart beat, emphasizing the first
or last sound in each pair. We then speed this beat up
to double time or quarter time and then slow it again.
We experiment making different sounds in the centre or
rim of the drum. We drum out the syllables in our names
or drum familiar nursery rhymes. We then create nonsense
phrases or ‘scat’ to imitate such as dum
diddle dum dum. We play follow the leader or bring each drum into
the circle one at a time and then fade them out the same
way. CD recordings of drumming music can also be used
to vary the effect. However we proceed, I notice that
everyone smiles and enjoys the experience.
Curriculum
Implications
In order
to implement a holistic curriculum in schools, it is my
belief that we must start with the teachers. Only by experiencing
the power of embodied knowing first-hand can teachers
be persuaded to balance doing and being and to value elements
of subjectivity and humanism that might conflict with
the status quo of institutional learning. Only by connecting
to their own inner spirit and self-worth can we hope to
counteract competition, power, and control in classrooms
with such non-tangible ways of knowing beyond the five
senses as intuition, creativity, and wonder. As holistic
role models, teachers can effectively influence their
students to live mindfully in the moment, to appreciate
their connectedness both inwardly and outwardly, and to
maintain harmonious and healthy relationships with self
and others. Teachers must become advocates for nurturing
the heart and soul of our students as well as their minds.
This
shift in traditional thinking is an immense challenge
that extends far beyond the boundaries of the classroom
but it can begin with small steps. Including holistic
learning into pre-service and in-service teachers’
courses can have a positive impact, as my course evaluations
attest to, and would provide a good foundation for future
teachers (see table 3). Adapting selected topics from
this course to pilot in classrooms would also provide
valuable data to support program changes as well. Offering
workshops for parents would help to engage the community
and raise the level of awareness about the impact of experiences
that touch the whole person. In many cases, parents need
to be convinced that subject content and high scores on
tests will not necessarily ensure fulfilling, purposeful
lives for their children as long as self-worth and authentic
personhood are ignored in schools. I invite other educators
to take up this challenge, add to these course experiences
and become attuned to embodied, soulful learning in their
own lives. Let’s make classrooms spirit-filled sanctuaries
where the worthiness of personhood thrives and is celebrated.
References
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Activity
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feelings. UK: Winslow.
