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Beautiful Boy by David Sheff

Posted by Diane Morrow on November 3, 2008 in Uncategorized

A journalist’s memoir of his son’s addiction 2008 My favorite thing about David Sheff’s book is his ability to hold two entirely different thoughts in the same paragraph—even in the same sentence. There’s nothing to be done, we have to do everything we can do. We have done everything we can do, we have more to do. Vicki and I agonize over it. Paradox is at the center of this book. And agony. The catalyst for this paradox? Nic, the author’s son, a kind of golden boy—bright, privileged, a surfer, a gifted writer, who, as a young teenager begins trying drugs and who, by his late teens, is trapped in a horrific and destructive addiction to crystal meth. This can be agonizing to watch, even as a reader. Especially agonizing when the bursts of recovery don’t last—when Nic relapses. Again. And again. (I have this memory, years ago, working with addicts, sitting at a meeting, after one of the best and brightest, a young man a full year sober—he’d just relapsed. I remember his friend standing to speak, saying how easy it would be to be furious at him. But then he remembered—his own relapses—how long it took—how long the process took. And he recited one of those lines that people in recovery sometimes use: It takes what it takes. That line has always stuck with me. Recovery as a process. Not just getting sober once. But again—and again—and again. It takes what it takes, even if part of what it takes is another relapse.) Beautiful Boy is about recovery as a process. Not just one treatment facility but several. For this particular family, insurance and other resources allowed them to make repeated treatment a reality. And it’s hard, while reading, not to think of all the families in similar situations who are without such resources for recovery. But that, I think, is another book. In this book, David Sheff, a skilled journalist and an eminently readable writer, is able to give us a feel of the process, his process, as it is happening. In the middle of it. How many times have I promised myself never to do this again, never again live in a state of panic, waiting for Nic to show up or not show up, to check himself in. Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. I will not do it again. I am doing it again. It’s this kind of immediacy that makes the book powerful. And I see this book as good company for any parent who has ever agonized over how much to help when an older child is in trouble. Or for any person who has ever been called an enabler, and who has said now, hey, wait a minute, what’s the difference between enabling and helping, how do you know? And when do you know? Isn’t it sometimes, well, kind of complicated? This book is, among other things, about such complications. Can it be of use to the next person in some kind of similar situation? Maybe. A little. In the introduction, Sheff writes: Why does it help to read others’ stories? It’s not only that misery loves company, because (I learned) misery is too self-absorbed to want much company. Others’ experiences did...

The Enchanted Loom

Posted by Diane Morrow on October 27, 2008 in Uncategorized

More good newsfrom Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain by Sharon Begley A little over ten years ago now, when I was teaching writing at a drug rehab facility, I remember one of the young men, Rusty, a creative and gifted writer, telling me about a visit he’d had just had with a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist had begun him on a medication (I can’t now remember which one) and the psychiatrist went on to tell him that he was going to have to be on it for the rest of his life. He told Rusty that he’d destroyed a part of his brain with the drugs he’d taken and that the destruction was permanent. This is the first story that came to mind as I was thinking about why a book like Sharon Begley’s book, Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain, might be important. What happens when any one of us begins to think—for whatever reason—drugs, genetics, early traumatic experiences, early deprivation—what happens when we begin to think that our brains are permanently and irrevocably damaged? What kinds of decisions might we make as a result of that model? And what might happen—what different choices might we make—if we were to begin to imagine the brain as an enchanted loom? The metaphor is one first used in 1917 by a British neuroscientist, Charles Sherrington. He described the brain as an enchanted loom, ‘where millions of flashing shuttles weave a dissolving pattern, always a meaningful pattern, though never an abiding one.’ It’s such a fluid metaphor. The brain as a kind of frame—wherein different patterns arise and fall back, constellate and dissolve. Meaningful patterns but not abiding. Not indelible. Not etched in stone. To extend the metaphor some: it used to be thought, and it was taught, that once the frame got built—sometime, say, in early childhood—that was the frame you went through the rest of your life with. And if it got dented along the way, which it inevitably would, then that dented structure is what you were stuck with. The implication also being that a dented structure would be likely to weave a rather misshapen fabric—and even perhaps the same fabric, over and over. Not a particularly encouraging model. Neuroplasticity offers something different. A different model.The loom can change.The actual frame can change.The loom is, well—enchanted. Begley builds a story for neuroplasticity by tracing its early history in Chapter 2 of her book. First, she cites the psychologist William James, who wrote as early as 1890 that ‘organic matter, especially nervous tissue, seems endowed with a very extraordinary degree of plasticity.’ Then she outlines a series of studies, performed by a series of scientists, including the aforementioned Charles Sherrington, who early in the last century began to question whether our brain maps were fixed maps. (Brain maps, first laid out in the late 1800’s, are what they sound like they would be—maps of the brain cortex which lay out which parts of the brain are handling what—including both incoming signals—the sensory signals—and outgoing—or motor—signals. Thus, for instance, a specific portion of your brain receives sensory signals from your fingers when they touch a keyboard. Another portion of your brain is associated with moving those fingers. Yet another section of the brain allows you to process what you see...

October by Robert Frost

Posted by Diane Morrow on October 20, 2008 in Uncategorized

A poem to an October morning 1913 O hushed October morning mildThy leaves have ripened to the fall;To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,Should waste them all.The crows above the forest call;To-morrow they may form and go.O hushed October morning mild,Begin the hours of this day slow,Make the day seem to us less brief.Hearts not averse to being beguiled,Beguile us in the way you know;Release one leaf at break of day;At noon release another leaf;One from our trees, one far away;Retard the sun with gentle mist;Enchant the land with amethyst.Slow, slow!For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—For the grapes’s sake along the wall. With this poem, I’m struck most by the sound of it. I feel like I can hear a voice speaking inside my head as I read. The voice has a certain timbre, even a kind of music. Begin the hours of this day slow. A poem to an October morning. A plea to an October morning. Slow, slow! I’m struck by the repetition in this poem. Whole lines. Words. And the repetition of sounds at the end of lines—mild and wild and beguiled. Fall and all and call. And then, gradually, new sounds introduced at the end of lines.The O in go and slow.The E in brief and leaf.The A in day. Recently, I was reading something about toning, the chanting of a series of sounds—especially vowel sounds—to create harmony within the body. This is not a topic with which I’m terribly familiar but it’s a topic that interests me, and it interests me how it might intersect with poetry. How reading certain poems—especially aloud—might create or recreate a sense of harmony within the body. Slow, slow! I wonder if there’s something about the O sound that slows us down—or that could slow us down. That could make an October morning seem suspended, as if it were moving in slow motion. One leaf falling at break of day. Another at noon. Slow, slow! _______________________________________________ Of interest: A recording of Frost reading this poem aloud. On an excellent site that includes a number of recordings of Frost reading his poetry. A brief article on vowel sounds and toning from a site called Sound Intentions A short piece on Mitch Gaynor, an oncologist, who integrates sound healing into his medical practice The Road Not Taken, a nice book-length selection of Frost's poetry which includes this...

Long Quiet Highway by Natalie Goldberg

Posted by Diane Morrow on October 13, 2008 in Uncategorized

A memoir of a woman waking up through the practices of writing and Buddhism 1993 Natalie Goldberg has published ten books. Seven of these I’ve read, including her first book, Writing Down the Bones, and her most recent, Old Friend from Far Away, a book reminiscent of Bones but skewed more toward the writing of memoir. This book, her third, remains my favorite. I began rereading it on one recent Sunday and ended up finishing nearly the whole book that same day. It was a September Sunday. I also cleaned the porch, swam laps, bought a flat of giant pansies, fixed supper, carried on conversations, listened to music. But between all that, and among all that, I read Long Quiet Highway. My mind seeming to get quieter and quieter as I read it. Clearer. More awake? The subtitle of Ms. Goldberg’s book is Waking Up in America. If there were a central question to the book it might be this one: What exactly does it mean to be awake? What might it mean to wake up in America or anywhere else? What might writing have to do with it? What might Buddhism have to do with it? First, the long sleep, as counterpoint. She describes walking through the halls of her high school in Long Island: . . . hair pulled back in a pony tail, walking lonesome down those halls, up and down many flights of stairs, going into Latin and Algebra classes, passing rest rooms and janitor storage rooms, lost for a whole century of my life. She describes a “doomed lethargy.” A feeling of “disconnection from the present.” Then, moments of awakening:A moment in English class when the teacher turned out the lights and told them to listen to the rain. to connect a sense organ with something natural, neutral, good. He asked me to become alive. I was scared, and I loved it. A moment after graduating from college, alone in a rented room, writing a poem about a chocolate cake. It held my entire childhood. I smelled the baking, the garbage in the streets, heard the cash register ring, felt the newsboy on the corner, saw the green container they used to box the cake. This was all coming up from someplace inside me. I wrote my first real poem. I had never felt this way before. Sensory awakenings. A sense of re-connecting— A moment in front of a sixth-grade class as a teacher in Albequerque, New Mexico when her chest begins to ache and an image comes to her that her heart is opening like a giant peony. One thing leads to another after that. She leaves her teaching job and goes to live at the Lama Foundation, a kind of spiritual camp. She moves to Boulder and studies with Chogyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist teacher. Eventually she travels to Minneapolis. She meets, Katagiri Roshi, a Zen Buddhist monk, and asks him to be her teacher. For me, this is the moment at which this book becomes absolutely compelling. The moment that pulled me in and kept me reading all of one Sunday. This in spite of the fact that the moment itself is in many ways quite ordinary. It occurs in the kitchen of the Zen Center in Minneapolis. Roshi is wearing...

Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain by Sharon Begley

Posted by Diane Morrow on October 6, 2008 in Uncategorized

An informative and well-written overview of the research on brain plasticitywith a foreword by the Dalai Lama 2007 Part One: An Introduction This book is better than it’s title. Not so much a one-size-fits-all set of instructions for training your mind—in fact not that at all—but rather a systematic review, in clear plain language, of the relevant neuroscience. By the time you come to the end of this book, you might well begin to suspect that we’re training our minds all the time—at the same time changing our brains—whether we’re aware of it or not. And you might even find yourself wanting to design your own personalized set of instructions. That said, this is also somewhat of a dense book—there’s a lot of information here. And I’m thinking that rather than try to brush by all of it on one page I’m going to offer an introduction here—enough to give a sense of the book—and then over the next couple months I’m going to take a few of the chapters and look at them more closely. So, an overview—courtesy of the 5 Ws. WHAT AND WHEN?A meeting of the Mind and Life Institute in 2004 on neuroplasticity. This meeting offering the occasion—and the structure—for Sharon Begley’s book. The history of the meeting is interesting. Back in 1983, an entrepreneur in California, Adam Engle, who was also a practicing Buddhist, heard that the Dalai Lama was interested in science. Engle got the notion of making something happen, perhaps a meeting of some sort. Aware of Fritjof Capra’s book, The Tao of Physics, his first thought was that physics would become the science of interest. He met with Capra, and found him “lukewarm” to the idea. Not long afterward he got a call from a neuroscientist, also a practicing Buddhist, by the name of Francisco Varela who had met the Dalai Lama at a conference on consciousness. He is reported to have told Engle on the phone: “you don’t want this to be on physics; cognitive science makes much more sense.” Thus the Mind & Life Institute was born. A bevy of cognitive scientists meeting periodically with the Dalai Lama and Buddhist scholars. This particular meeting on neuroplasticity is number XII in the series. WHERE?The conference was held at Upper Dharamsala, in Northern India, the Dalai Lama’s home in exile. The meeting took place in the Dalai Lama’s compound, and I appreciate that Sharon Begley gives a sense of the place: “forested with pines and rhododendrons; ceramic pots spilling purple bougainvillea and saffron marigolds surrounding the widely spaced buildings.” WHO?Five neuroscientists andThe Dalai Lamaalong with assorted others—including scientists, Buddhist scholars and students, philanthropists, and journalists—-(all these folks are at the meeting but few speak—mostly the book is about the work of the 5 neuroscientists as it pertains to plasticity; occasionally the Dalai Lama speaks) WHY?The central question of the conference: Does the brain have the ability to change, and what is the power of the mind to change it? WHAT DO I WISH THIS BOOK WOULD HAVE DONE?(An extra W)I wish the book would have offered more of a sense of dialogue among the scientists and the Dalai Lama along with the Buddhist scholars and students who were also present. Much of the book is presented as summaries of research. When...

How to Begin a Reading Journal

Posted by Diane Morrow on September 29, 2008 in Uncategorized

4 Ideas for Reading —-and Healing 1. Make a list. This may well be the simplest way in the world to begin keeping a reading journal. Begin a list of books you've read–or are reading. Book and author. Date. If you’d like to do this on-line, you can do it nicely at LibraryThing, a site where you can catalog up to 200 books for free. And tag and sort them if you like. And record a few comments. Such comments becoming a way to ease in–if one so wishes–to keeping a slightly more elaborate reading journal. Setting up an account at LibraryThing is about as easy as it gets. And the whole site is just kind of appealing. (Link below.) An entry on LibraryThing looks like this: 2. Make a two-column journal. This was the method for keeping a reading journal that I learned in grad school–and the kind of journal we were required to keep in a course on teaching literature. A simple and surprisingly useful reading/learning practice. So, two columns– In the left column something quoted directly from the text. A brief passage. A line. A word. Anything that jumps off the page or that you'd like to remember for some reason. In the right column a response of some sort to the quote, in your own words. The two columns eventually creating a kind of dialog between reader and text. Back and forth. 3. Create a journal in two colors–or more. A modification of the two-column journal. When I'm writing on the computer I find two columns awkward to use. And I've sometimes found it helpful to use two different-colored fonts instead. Or just two different fonts. Or, even simpler, put brackets around my own thoughts and words. I don't know why this seems easier and better than working with quotation marks—but somehow it does. For me it encourages that sense of dialog with a text—-the back and forth. For instance———- If the brain was changeable then we would change. And if the brain made wrong changes then we would change incorrectly. It was easier to believe there were no changes.Fred Gage, p. 7Sounds kind of like a poem. The heart of the book? 4. Open Google Notebook [Note: I have recently learned (thank you) that this fourth option only works if you've already uploaded and started using google notebook. Otherwise, it would seem that they have stopped offering it. And I'm not sure yet what a good substitute would be. Alas, there are always changes.] Have you ever had the experience where you found something on the web and then later you try to find your way back but you can't for the life of you get back there? Google Notebook is a way to create a trail of pebbles. And it can become, in the process, a way to keep a reading journal. Because you can open a new note not just to clip a passage–or image–from a website—but for anything. If you open a note to clip something from the web you have a web journal. If you open a note to write something about a book you're reading you have a book journal. And the two can be combined. Setting up Google Notebook requires a few more steps than starting, for...

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