-----Original Message-----
From: Yves Pace [mailto:yves.pace@wanadoo.fr]
Sent: sábado, 8 de Novembro de 2003 10:18
To: amis4@wanadoo.fr
Subject: SAGA magazine November 2003 MIND THE GAPS
Saga is a national magazine in the United Kingdon with a massive
circulation in their over 50 population.
Here is a link to the Web version of the article, and the text of the
article:
SAGA magazine November 2003 MIND THE GAPS
http://tinyurl.com/spr9 -----------------------------------
SAGA magazine November 2003
MIND THE GAPS
Fifteen years ago, Maureen Cleave decided to attend an introductory
class on transcendental meditation - and went away with her own mantra
and a new approach to tackling life's problems. Roughly five million
practise TM - but does it work?
How many thoughts do we have each day? Some conscientious wag has
counted and come up with a figure of 60,000. Of these, 58,000 are
apparently the same thoughts we had yesterday. No wonder we are bored
with our own company.
However, clever people - and in particular creative people - have gaps
between thoughts, which is why they come up with new ideas. Simply put,
this seems to me what transcendental meditation does: it transcends - or
goes beyond - thought, providing these gaps and allowing the mind to
programme itself afresh. You do it for 20 minutes, morning and evening.
I learnt about it 15 years ago. A friend I met on a train had just
taken it up and I was curious. I don't know what I was expecting but
certainly not what happened, which was that after two months I could
climb the stairs without taking a puff of my inhaler. I had suffered
from asthma since the age of six. They said six puffs of the inhaler a
day would fix it, but I was having about 20. After coping with the
stairs, I left the inhaler behind when I went out. Then I went away for
the weekend without it. Then I forgot about it altogether and haven't
used it for years. I learnt that during meditation our oxygen intake
drops by 16 per cent.
Transcendental meditation, or TM, is a technique you learn, like
driving a car. You don't have to believe in it; indeed you can think
it's a load of old rope but if you do it, it will work. You don't have
to sit in the full lotus position with a soppy smile on your face. You
can meditate in an armchair, on trains and in aircraft.
You must have a qualified TM teacher. First there's an introductory
talk, which is free. It's a good idea to take along the person you live
with, so he or she doesn't think you're up to anything creepy. After the
talk, you need never return. All six of us did: my daughter and I, a
schoolboy, a middle-aged woman from South America, a deep-sea diver and
a student. Our teacher was using the ocean as a simile for the mind: the
ocean was rough and choppy on the surface, she said, but silent and
still at its vast depths. The deep-sea diver was happy to confirm this.
If you decide to learn, you pay ?1,280, which is expensive, but you've
got it for life. In a little private ceremony, usually in your teacher's
house, you are given a mantra, a meaningless Sanskrit word suited to
your physiology, and taught how to meditate. It's a grave mistake to
pass the mantra on to anyone else whose physiology it might not suit.
Its purpose is to charm the mind away from thought. After all, thinking
"I must rid my mind of this thought," is just another thought. The
hardest thing is learning not to try.
Then you all meditate together, after which the teacher asks you what
it was like. The diver had experienced exciting fizzing sensations in
his forehead, the student seemed euphoric, and the woman from Latin
America couldn't remember much about it, though she said the 20 minutes
had gone in a flash.
The schoolboy pronounced it "good fun", my daughter thought she might
have dozed off, and my hands had become pleasantly warm. All these
reactions were fine, our teacher said; stress was being released. Over
the next three months we returned four times for group sessions and to
have our meditating practice checked. The teaching of TM has been
handed down over thousands of years by word of mouth. The practice was
brought to the West in the late Fifties by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, a man
with a degree in physics from the University of Allahabad. He lived in
an ashram in the high Himalayas with his teacher Brahmananda Saraswati,
to whom he always refers as Guru Dev. (In the Sixties the Beatles, with
attendant publicity, all went to India to learn TM from the Maharishi).
There are about five million people practising TM in the world, 300,000
of them in Britain.
The concept of "stress" - commonplace today - was first put forward
in the Thirties by Hans Seyle, a Canadian doctor. In the Seventies he
turned his attention to TM and discovered that meditators recovered from
stress and shock much more quickly than others, since when there have
been hundreds of scientific studies that indicate its efficacy in
treating high blood pressure, heart disease and addiction of all kinds,
even heroin. Several studies have been done on ageing: the hormone DHEA
that runs down with age remains at a higher level in meditators, as does
sharpness of hearing and vision. In 1982 the International Journal of
Neuroscience published a study of older people which showed that those
who had been meditating for over three years were 11 years "younger"
than their real age.
I am sometimes asked about the practicalities of meditation. People
listen and then say comfortably, "Oh, I couldn't sit still and
concentrate for 20 minutes," or "I have too many thoughts." Sometimes
they say, "Oh, I learnt but it didn't do anything for me" - and you find
they tried it for just a fortnight.
The Born Agains will say, "You're emptying the mind, the Devil will
rush in." You could ask them what the Devil gets up to when they're
asleep.
Indeed, the mind is curiously alert during meditation: you are far more
likely to hear the first cuckoo or the death watch beetle in the attic.
The Born Agains will tell you there's no meditation in the Bible, but
the Bible is full of it: "Be still then and know that I am God," says
the psalmist. It is the peace of God that passes all understanding. As
my friend on the train said, "Now I know what the Holy Ghost has been up
to all these years."
The Maharishi talks less about what happens during meditation than its
effects on everyday life. He illustrates this by the simile of the bow
and arrow: the further back the bow is stretched, the further and faster
the arrow carries. I like to think that after 15 years and having done
my "A-levels" - the yogic flying course - my work has improved and that
I am indeed the sunshine of our home. Little knots of worry loosen: a
fear of sleeping in the house alone, a fear of death, grudges borne over
years, stabs of guilt about the past. You think of these things and come
to realise that they've gone. One is surprised by new insights.
I now realise not only what the Holy Ghost has been up to but what
poets are writing about. Then there is bliss. This is an irrational
happiness that floods the system - my system all too rarely, but enough
to know what it's like. And when you feel it, you realise you had it as
a child. When you have this feeling on the London Underground in the
middle of the rush-hour, you know you're really getting somewhere.
Copyright 2003, SAGA magazine