Bomb in the Broom Cupboard

 Many years before I decided to train in the Alexander Technique, I went through a couple of spells of back pain. Nothing too serious, but they did make me think a bit at the time.

I must have been misusing my back without realizing it, because one day it just decided to teach me a lesson. I wasn't even doing anything too strenuous at the time, just ambling through the day's chores. I bent to pick up a piece of paper from the floor, and – something shifted somewhere in the region of my hips. It was a really strange feeling; something had decided to happen inside me without my knowledge or permission, and it was just going ahead with it.

Slowly and carefully, I straightened up; I had the feeling that if I moved too fast, or unthinkingly, my top half would detach from my bottom half and fall off.

I didn’t go to the doctor that day, silly as that sounds. There was no pain, and I didn’t quite know what I’d tell him. But at the end of the day, when I found myself taking five minutes (making sure that my toP and bottom halves were moving together!) to  cross a room  which I used to do in five seconds, I went.

I don’t remember what he said; he did some manipulations and something clicked back into position. I did the exercises he suggested, used my knees instead of my waist to bend, and kept myself reasonably fit.

But it did start me thinking. I’d had no inkling, as I went about my daily life, that I was doing something potentially so harmful to my back.

And that question led me, with many deviations and a lot of sidetracking, to the Alexander Technique. 

Butterfly on a Wheel

I've always found this title very evocative - the idea of using massive force to do something that requires minuscule effort.

As I watch myself and others live our lives, the phrase comes back to me more and more insistently. We're using so much effort to do so little! In a converse of the 20/80 rule, 80% of our efforts bring in 20% of the desired end. Why would someone use a clenched fist to hold a tea cup?Or cling to the newspaper as if it were a lifeline?

Time and time again, if I stop whatever I'm doing, and simply ask myself,' Can I do this with less effort?', I find that indeed I can; not just that, but the quality of the action changes radically, becoming easier, smoother, lighter and altogether more pleasurable.

It seems that somewhere deep within us we have internalised the idea that life should not be pleasurable in this simple and satisfying way, that it is actually intended to be a struggle. So when we are able to access this quality, we don't really see it as something we can learn to bring more and more into our lives. We see it as an aberration - an enjoyable, even desirable one, but an aberration nevertheless. By definition, an aberration is something that's not normal - we can't take it for granted.

Which is why, when we experience the lightness and ease in the release of a long held muscle, we tend to tell ourselves,' Oh, that's lovely, but of course it's not going to last. That's not now I really am,' and straightaway go back to the comforting familiarity of tightness.

Mountains, Bogs and Snares

I've been talking to some new students about the process they can reasonably expect to go through as they begin to apply the Alexander Technique in their lives. Thinking about it at home recently, I realised that I could probably distill it into some common ideas. It's a bit like the heroes of mythical stories setting out on quests with a guide telling them about the kinds of obstacles that they could expect to encounter on the way.

The first, of course, is failure. What could it be, in mythic terms? A mountain they have to climb? An ogre they have to slay? However you think of it, it's the state where you try and try and you're very aware that it's not working. People come back after a first, second or third lesson and say," You know, I tried those directions at home, and nothing happened."

Or people who've had a few lessons say," Yes, I can do it when I'm quietly at home, but let me get to work and in front of the computer, and bam! everything just slams back to square one. Just can't do anything about that."

The thing is that this is a process where we are challenging some of the deepest and most entrenched habits of mind and body; habits which we weren't even aware of. Not surprising if it takes a bit of time. We just have to give ourselves the time and space to allow it to work itself out. There's absolutely no point in giving ourselves deadlines and saying - "Okay, I have this really important party next week, and there are going to be a lot of people I want to impress, so I want my shoulders nicely released and broad, please." There's not much hope of that happening, especially if we're going to be obsessing about it all the way to the party.

The best way to climb this particular mountain - or kill this particular ogre - is to stop worrying and learn to enjoy the process. Forget about the party - or decide to enjoy it anyway, broad shoulders or not. We probably have a much better chance of impressing our target audience if we do that!

I've found that people who are able to do that seem to get on much better with applying the Technique in their lives; they also seem to be the ones who stick with the Technique, start actively enjoying it and getting fascinating insights into the way their bodies and minds

work.

Another difficulty we may face is stagnation. Mired in the bog. Nothing happening at all. This is especially hard for us to take if we've been noticing a real difference in the days or weeks past. We suddenly feel that there's no response to our directions; in addition, because we've started to become aware of subtler levels of tension, we feel that not only are we not responding, we're actually tightening up even more!

When my students complain about being stuck, I usually suggest that they give themselves a pat on the back for picking up the tightening in themselves. I also remind them that they have challenged their bodies in a really deep, fundamental way, and that time may be needed for real assimilation to take place. In other words, even if you think nothing is happening, there's a lot going on. Encourage it by quietly continuing with the directions as before and allow the response to emerge.

After all, the best strategy when you're mired in a bog is to do nothing at all, but keep very very quiet.

True to the traditions of myth, the last one is the deadliest - the trap of success. It's a really heady feeling when we start picking up on the releases that are happening in ourselves, and realise that we have the ability to influence what happens in our bodies. We start feeling confident that we can do it - and from there it's a short and slippery slope to 'doing the directions'; rushing into action instead of staying quiet and allowing the directions to work themselves out.

The remedy? A healthy dose of failure -the poisoned goblet that carries the promise of rebirth; and the best thing to do is to drink it down and start afresh.

Warning - Use is Highly Contagious

I guess I had always known this - if I was in a highly charged situation, I tensed up myself.
If it was a family quarrel, for example, or an argument between friends, I would find myself getting tense even if I wasn't directly involved in what was going on.
All along, I'd equated it with my relationship with the people in the situation - i.e. both sides in the quarrel are dear to me - therefore I tense up.
This was in the Dark Ages before I got involved with the Alexander Technique.
After I started training I noticed that I didn't have to be involved with the people concerned - a fight between two strangers at a bus stop left me with a tight neck, too.
If I was looking at somebody going through emotional trauma, I tightened in sympathy.
Then I noticed that there didn't even have to be an open altercation - someone standing tensely next to me communicated that tension to me.
Are we then going through life communicating tight necks and tensions to each other? What a waste of time!
If we are able to transmit things at this subtle level, why on earth don't we transmit peace and good will?

Releasing into Tightening

Most people feel a heady sense of lightness and ease after their lesson - even a first lesson. So did I.

I had my first ever Alexander lesson at the hands of a visiting teacher because there were no Alexander teachers in India at the time. I had to drive across the city through traffic choked roads to get there. During the lesson I didn't have any epiphanies; perhaps I was too preoccupied with trying to make sense of all the new information I was getting. But I drove back across the same traffic choked roads with a blissful feeling of effortlessness, as if I was being carried along by the current of a river. In words familiar to all Alexander students, 'I wasn't doing anything - it was all just happening.'

An experience like this can be a powerful motivator to pursue this strange discipline. Understandably, we want to experience this again and again. Make it our default state if possible.

So it can come as a rude shock when the initial phase of releases is followed by what seems to be relentless tightening in the muscles. We know our shoulders are tight, we direct for release, and frustratingly, nothing happens. It begins to feel as if learning the Alexander Technique is a never ending process of getting our noses jammed against the next level of tightening.

It's helpful to remember that we are usually holding several layers of tensions, and letting go of the outermost can bring the inner ones to the surface. Also that the new information we're asking ourselves to process is, more often than not, directly contradictory to the way we've been doing things up until then.

I remind my pupils, when they complain of feeling tighter than ever, that they have been carrying this tightness around for the whole of their lives. The only difference is that they didn't know they were carrying it - and now that they do, they don't like it. Naturally.

The best response to this is to give ourselves an encouraging pat on the back for being able to register the tension, then continue to direct and inhibit without worrying about when a release is actually going to happen.