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The following has been adapted from an article titled
"Exploring an Act of Will" published in "Journal for Anthroposophy,"
Winter 1995, Several years ago I asked a particularly sensitive and
thoughtful student what he had noticed about a movement he had just done.
He replied that he noticed a lot of things, and proceeded to list some of
them. He wanted to know what was important. How was he to prioritize his
observations, to find meaning in them? His question helped me see the
importance of Alexander’s discoveries in consciously organizing our
observations and actions. If what we experience of the world is the way it is
changing, one important question is "how small a change can I notice?" The
second physiological fact that I use to guide my observation is that my
sensitivity to a change in a stimulus is proportional to the absolute
level of the stimulus present. For example, in a dimly lit room I would
notice the addition of a single candle, but in a sunlit room I would not
be able to see a change in the level of lighting due to one candle. In an
objective sense, the amount of light added is the same in both cases, but
our ability to see the change in the level of light is very
different. These two ideas can already suggest an approach to finding
out how we do something. The first suggests that we look at what changes
when we go from one activity to another, when the contrast is greatest.
The second suggests that we look at the beginning of the new movement
before the level of stimulus is so great that we are unable to observe
subtle changes. As I suggested earlier, we might observe going from
standing to walking, stopping as soon as we know we are moving. Alexander
began his explorations by observing his ordinary speaking, then looked for
a difference when he began to recite. The three changes that he observed,
pulling his head back, depressing his larynx and sucking in his breath,
all happened before he made the first sound of his sentence. After
observing these things as he began to recite, he could then see that he
was also doing them to a smaller degree in his ordinary speaking, that is,
he became more sensitive in his observation. With enough persistent experimentation and precision of
observation, I think that, proceeding in the way outlined above, anyone
could discover the third idea for themselves, the idea that is really the
core of Alexander’s discoveries. When beginning to observe themselves in
activity, most people will notice an enormous variety of things going on
within themselves that were previously overlooked. How are we to make
sense of all the things we now observe? What is important? If I want to
make a change in my habitual way of doing something, where should I start?
Alexander spent years observing himself in activity to answer these
questions. What he discovered is an organizing principle of our use of
ourselves, which he called the primary control. On its surface it is almost absurdly simple: the changing
relationship of my head to my body is the controlling factor in the way I
coordinate any activity in which I engage, and in the way I perceive
myself and the world around me. It is a "universal constant in living," as
Alexander entitled one of his books. This constant influence operates to
my disadvantage if I tighten my neck and pull my head closer to my body,
and to my advantage if my neck is free so that my head can delicately and
subtly move (relative to my body) throughout my actions. This change in
the relationship of my head to my body is something I am actually doing
every moment of (at least) my waking life, whether I know it or not. If I
do know it, I at least have a chance to find a new, more coordinated way
of action, one that can be free of the domination by habit. If I don’t
know it, the odds are good that I’ll start by tightening my neck, thereby
setting up an adverse reaction throughout my self that actually impedes
the achievement of my intended goal. We do not perceive this interference
with ourselves directly. Instead we usually interpret what is actually an
active (although unnoticed) interference as the effort we feel necessary
to overcome gravity and inertia. We usually respond to this perceived
effort in one of two ways, frequently alternating between them. We either
decide to brace ourselves, to master this unwilling flesh, and push our
way through to accomplish our ends, or we give up the struggle, slump, and
drag ourselves around doing what we have to. We usually admire the one,
and pity the other, but in either case the root cause of the trouble is
left unchanged and unnoticed. It is my old habits of thought and deep
seated fears that are manifested in my ambivalence toward my actions. They
are manifested through tightening of my neck and body, and are felt as
resistance to my actions that must be overcome by effort. As I remove this
internal resistance to my actions, my doing becomes more wholehearted, and
seemingly effortless. Any sense of effort that I feel as necessary to
accomplish an activity (within the limits of my physical capability), even
to push a piano, has proven to be unnecessary when I have examined the
activity closely. (I don’t mean to imply that my muscles don’t need to
work, or that I never get tired. It’s just that the part of the activity
that I identify as my effort is unnecessary.) If my conception of
the activity is clear, if my desire to accomplish it is real, then, as
Alexander would say, I need only give consent - anything else is extra. If
I feel an effort, it is really there asking me to acknowledge my
misconceptions and ambivalence. It is a lifelong challenge, one that
applies to any activity, not just those that are usually considered
physical, and it is actually fun. In the next section I will guide you through a process that
you can use to explore some of these notions on your own. Consciously Guided Observation I have guided many people through the process that I will
describe here, and although my approach is essentially the same in all
cases, in practice everyone is different in what they notice and what they
don’t, so that the questions I ask and the suggestions I offer are
different for everyone. Nevertheless I hope to explain it here in a way
that will help you ask yourself questions and discover your own
possibilities. I would be very happy if anyone who tries this would write
me with their experiences. Let’s look at what happens when we take a step. Really we
could choose any activity, to sit down, stand up, sing a song, jump, put a
bow to a string, turn a screwdriver, etc, but for now let’s stay with
taking a step. The first thing that I would like you to notice is how you
have thought about what you are about to do. Did you try to remember what
you do to take a step, or to figure out what you must have done? Instead I
suggest actually doing it. Go ahead and take a step, then ask yourself
"what happened?" If you’re not sure what happened, do it again, but be
sure you are really just standing there first. Sometimes simply going back
to standing requires very clearly saying to yourself, "No, I am not going
to take a step. I am just standing here." If you find you’ve made a little
preparatory movement because you think you know you need to do that
anyway, and you can notice yourself doing it, then you are well on the
road to finding out how your habitual response to taking a step begins. In
fact standing quietly, knowing that in a moment you are going to take a
step, but doing nothing in response, can be an interesting challenge in
directing one’s will. It is the beginning of what Alexander called
inhibition, and is necessary to finding out what your habitual response
is. Some consider this consciously willed inhibition of an immediate,
habitual response to be Alexander’s most important discovery, because it
is this that allows room for a new way of doing to be discovered. While you are standing there, are you standing absolutely
still, or can you notice very slight little movements of your head, neck,
torso and legs? Those movements are the natural movements you do to
maintain balance. Can you see how those little movements respond to your
breathing, perhaps even to the beating of your heart? Movement of the
various parts of our body relative to each other is necessary to balance.
It really is amazing what all is going on all the time that we never need
to bother ourselves about. There is no way that I can help along that
process of balancing by tightening something up or holding on to my legs,
for example. I can only get in its way. The best thing I can do is to
begin to notice how I do get in its way, and stop. This goal, of finding
out how I am interfering with the easy, natural functioning of myself, so
that I can have a choice to stop interfering, underlies all of the
Alexander Technique. Our more usual approach, of identifying an end, and
being concerned primarily with gaining that end, Alexander termed
"end-gaining." Now that we have gotten this far, go ahead and start to
take another step. What did you notice? Did your body lurch a bit? Did you
notice some part of your body become more rigid, or a tightening of some
muscle or group of muscles? My experience has shown me that most people
notice something in their legs, back or abdomen first. Alexander’s
discovery of the primary control, however, would lead us to expect there
also to be a change in the relationship of our heads to our bodies. Did
you notice your head move, or your neck tighten a bit? Most people do not
notice that change at first because the other changes are much
bigger. So, let’s take another step. Please don’t forget to really
enjoy just standing for awhile before you start the step. This time catch
yourself as soon as you know you have moved in response to the decision to
take a step. Did you notice yourself tighten your neck? If not, start
again, always going back to standing for a moment first. No matter what is
noticed in response to deciding to move, it seems always possible to
wonder about what happened just before that. There are a couple of things that can get in the way of
this process. One is the notion that there is a right way to take a step,
or a right way to do anything, for that matter. Oddly enough, worrying
about the right way to do something, or even thinking I know the right way
to do something, can actually prevent me from seeing what I am really
doing. Because there are myriad sensations that accompany any activity, if
I am worried that I am not doing it right, I can always find something
that feels wrong. If I think I know the right way, I can always find some
sensation to prove to me that I have done it right. If I really want to
know what I am doing, I have found it best to forget my preconceived
notions about what is the right or wrong way to do it. On the other hand
it is possible to prefer one way of doing something to another, after the
alternatives have been experienced. With that bit of attention to possible obstacles done,
let’s get back to taking a step. When you get to the point that you can actually feel
yourself tightening your neck as you begin to take a step, observe how a
wave of tightening quickly proceeds from your neck down through your body
as you begin to take the step. Repeat this a couple of times, always going
back to standing quietly in between repetitions. Observe the direction
that your head and body move in response to the tightening. In particular
observe whether it is upward or downward. Because muscles shorten when
they tighten in response to my decision to take a step, they in a sense
pull the parts of my body down and together (i.e. towards each other) as I
start to move. Even the excess tension associated with what is called
"standing up straight" actually pulls the upper part of my back backwards
and down towards the lower part of my back. If the tension you have
discovered associated with taking a step doesn’t feel like it is pulling
you down, try out this alternative way of thinking about it, and see if it
makes sense. If it does, does the way you feel the movement
change? When what you are doing becomes clear to you, you can ask
yourself if that wave of tightening is really necessary. It usually feels
absolutely necessary, if you want to take a step, but it really isn’t.
When you become conscious of tightening your neck, you begin to have a
choice about doing it, but how can you not do something that feels
absolutely necessary and still take the step? Another idea, and a spirit
of adventure are a big help. So far you have observed what has happened when you proceeded from standing to beginning to take a step. Then you went back to standing quietly. What happens when you decide not to continue to take the step, but instead to go back to standing? Chances are you didn’t notice, but you can always repeat the experiment. Did the tension associated with taking the step go away when you went back to standing? What direction did your parts move when you returned to standing? Was it an effortless movement upward to standing? If not, are you doing anything different now because you are observing the process of returning to standing? If observing it did change it, or you don’t know, well, forget about it, take a break, and start back at the beginning when you feel like it. In fact I don’t suggest anyone spend more than 5 minutes in this whole process. If you notice at any point that you are getting stiff or have an ache or pain, then I suggest a break, and forgetting about it for awhile. This process isn’t about learning to do anything right. It is about learning to observe ourselves as lightly and simply as possible. When students do observe the downward pull associated with
taking the step, and the easy, upward return to standing, they usually
prefer the latter feeling. The usual tension associated with standing may
not be any different, but the easy movement back to standing is really
pretty nice compared to the contraction associated with beginning to take
a step. If in your experiments you have gotten this far, then the next
suggestion is to ask yourself if that easy, upward feeling of movement
could continue while you take a step. Put another way, could you continue
with what you felt when giving up taking a step while taking a step
nevertheless? It will likely feel impossible, but, just for fun, consider
the possibility anyway. If it doesn’t feel impossible, you might want to
be a little suspicious of what you’re doing. You’re not doing anything
right are you? Another suggestion that I have found helpful at this point is to think of beginning the movement of taking the step by allowing your head to tilt very slightly forward, a direction that, if it were to continue, would have you looking toward your feet. Let this tilt of your head happen because you released tension somewhere in your neck, and let it take you slightly off of your balance. As you try this, if you make the tilt of your head so small you barely know you have done it, then you won’t end up looking down, especially if you remember to continue with that easy, upward movement through your body. You continue with that easy, upward movement by simply not interferring with it. You actually have to do something to stop it, and virtually anything you actively do will stop it. So, if you forget what that easy, upward movement is like, or if you find yourself tugging at your head to make it tilt, you can always go back a few paragraphs and begin again. You really can’t make happen that easy upward movement in the same way you are used to making other movements happen. It only comes as the result of releasing the downward pressure habitually associated with the movement. The slight forward tilt of your head, and projecting (by deciding to continue it, even if it feels odd) the easy, upward movement of your body allow you to continue to inhibit your habitual response to taking a step, and nevertheless to take the step in a new way that can only be discovered as it happens. When you are able to begin the step while continuing the
easy, upward movement and the slight forward tilt of your head, if you did
nothing else you would fall on your face. Instead allow one of your legs
to move by moving your knee forward so that your foot comes down under
you. I suggest starting with some baby steps, perhaps allowing your
fingertips to rest lightly on a table top or the back of a chair to aid
your balance. I really can’t tell you much more about what to expect as
you continue to walk - it always seems new to me. And when you come back
to standing after the step, observe how different that might be from your
usual way of standing. I hope you have some fun. I usually suggest that people not spend more than 5 minutes
at a time working this way. If you find yourself feeling stiff or having
aches and pains, consider that it might be your bodies way of telling you
that you are trying to tell it something right to do instead of observing
what is happening, and discovering something new. When I guide a student
through this process in a class it usually takes about 15 minutes, so if
you are working alone, I suggest spreading out these experiments over a
few days. As you become familiar with the process, you can go through the
whole thing in a second or two. I find it great entertainment while
waiting for the bus or in a grocery store check out line. The movements
are so small that no one will notice what you are doing. Then when the bus
comes or it’s your turn in line, take off, and let yourself be surprised
about what happens, and what you observe. Before I conclude, I would like to explain how the ideas
presented earlier about how we are organized are used in the process
outlined above. First, we decided to look at what changed when we went
from standing to taking a step. Second, we progressively made ourselves
more sensitive to the movement by asking ourselves to look closer and
closer to the beginning of the movement. Third, Alexander’s idea of the
primary control told us not to stop looking for the beginning of the
movement until we knew what happened to the relationship of our heads to
our bodies, i.e. until we could actually feel what happened in our necks.
It is really this third idea that allows the process to become objective.
And finally, in directing the movements of our heads and bodies in a new
way as we took the step, we asked that the movement we used to initiate
the step be as close to effortless as perceivable, so small that we barely
knew we did it. Conclusions By working in the way outlined in the last section, I
believe that we are directing our attention to what is actually observable
through a human body, that is, change. We gradually return our attention
to the undifferentiated stream of flowing perception. Other ways of
talking about movement, such as paying attention to good posture, proper
alignment, just relaxing, or images of strings tied to our heads can
sometimes be useful for motivating or encouraging people to change.
However, they all rely on an enormous number of preexisting thought
patterns that can color our perceptions of what we are actually doing, and
that impose prejudgements on our experience. By returning to what we can
actually perceive, we have a chance to make fresh choices about what we
think and do, free from preexisting conditions. As you review the experiences you had following the
consciously guided observation procedure, how would you describe the
change in consciousness that accompanied coming closer and closer to
observing the moment that you initiated movement? When you were able to
continue with the step while your habitual response remained inhibited,
who was observing the movement, thinking the directions, willing the
movement? In my experience, at that moment, all three processes blend into
one. I don’t think I could discriminate thinking, feeling and willing into
separate processes at that moment. As I begin to objectively observe my
thinking, feeling and willing, I begin to dissociate them from ‘I’
experiences - i.e. if I am not my thinking, feeling and/or willing,
because I am observing and directing them as they happen, then what does
that leave? I don’t know, but it’s not nothing, and it’s no thing I can
point to. If you review the process you went through, or if you do it
again, notice that what you start out feeling about a movement is by no
means what you end up feeling, i.e. your initially perceived feelings were
not accurate (and never will be). Also observe that you were willing
movements without being aware of it, so that the thoughts that led to the
movements were unobserved, as were the movements themselves. The habitual
responses were determined by past experience, with no choice on your part
as long as they remained unobserved. The consciously guided observation
process uses thinking, feeling and willing in an iterative process that
continually moves the three closer and closer to being observed at the
same time, the moment the new movement begins. Our habitual responses are usually unobserved while they
are happening. In a sense we become partially unconscious during them.
Therefore, the processes of thinking, feeling and willing appear to be
separated. We appear to ourselves to first think about the movement, then
do it, then feel the result of moving. That moment of becoming
unconscious, while we tighten our bodies to "get ready to move," causes us
to be unable to observe the unity of thinking, feeling, and of will acting
into us. As we are able to extend our consciousness more fully over more of our activities, we become less bound by our conditioned habits of thinking and doing, and are more able to gain access to new responses that more appropriately fit the moment. |
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