The Power of Kindness (and One Surefire Way to Know If You "Get" Mindfulness)

If you think mindfulness is just about neutral noticing and non-judgement, then something important is missing, says Ed Halliwell. 

In my last blog, I wrote that I had been experimenting with a slightly adapted working definition of mindfulness—“the awareness and approach to life that arises from paying attention on purpose, fully present, with curiosity and compassion." This is a small shift from the most common modern definition of mindfulness, which describes the practice as ‘non-judgemental.' Misunderstanding of ‘non-judgement’ has, I believe, has led to some unjustified criticisms, which suggest thatmindfulness is ethically groundless or passive.

Mindfulness is just not neutral noticing. There are a clear set of attitudes which underpin the practice, and compassion may be the most important. Mindfulness just isn’t mindfulness without kindfulness. From the very first time we’re invited to come back to attention, we’re reminded to do this gently. Without this emphasis on friendliness, we set ourselves up for an internal battle, making struggle and stress as we try to force focus. Many people do get frustrated when they notice attention wandering, and it’s a key learning when they realize this noticing itself is mindfulness, and that it brings a chance to express care, understanding, patience, and love.

As we train in these attitudes over and over, it begins to affect more than just our relationship with ourselves. As we cultivate the habit of being gentle, loving-kindness percolates outwards. Most practitioners find over time that they’re gentler with others around them, less reactive, less automatically hostile. This makes sense of course—the mind that relates to internal experience also connects to the external world, in which we live and work with others.

This is why I believe that mindfulness—taught and practised properly—is its own self-protection from misuse. As long as we commit ourselves to an ongoing practice of noticing what’s happening with curiosity and friendliness, awareness and compassion tend to follow. Whether taught and practised in friendly environments, or hostile ones in which the prevailing culture is grasping or aggressive, true mindfulness will lead to an increase in kindness, the basis for ethical action.

The key, of course, is reminding ourselves and others that mindfulness is more than just neutral attention training. That’s why I think having clear definitions are important—if mindfulness loses its kindfulness, then we really are lost.

Getting Over the Mindfulness Hype

Critiques against mindfulness tell us more about our over-driven society than the practice itself, says Ed Halliwell. 

Melanie McDonagh in the Spectator is the latest journalist to take a swipe at the ‘cult of mindfulness.' The Spectator cover story is another interesting moment in the mindfulness media frenzy—for those unacquainted with the magazine, it’s the UK’s largest and most influential political weekly (Boris Johnson, current mayor of London and possible future prime minister, was once its editor). Its coverage of mindfulness is an indication of how far the practice has permeated British culture, including in politics. Around 100 MPs and peers in the Houses of Parliament have taken a mindfulness course, and the Mindfulness All-Party Parliamentary Group is in the middle of an inquiry on the benefits of mindfulness to public life.

McDonagh's essay lost me at the start of paragraph five, which begins “So what exactly is mindfulness? On the back of a week of sessions, I can assert with some confidence that…” I’m a journalist myself, and it still amazes me that writers are encouraged to offer guidance on a topic in which their experience is next to zero. Would McDonagh critique the plays of Moliere after a week of French lessons?Melanie McDonagh in the Spectatoris the latest journalist to take a swipe at the ‘cult of mindfulness.' The Spectator cover story is another interesting moment in the mindfulness media frenzy—for those unacquainted with the magazine, it’s the UK’s largest and most influential political weekly (Boris Johnson, current mayor of London and possible future prime minister, was once its editor). Its coverage of mindfulness is an indication of how far the practice has permeated British culture, including in politics. Around 100 MPs and peers in the Houses of Parliament have taken a mindfulness course, and the Mindfulness All-Party Parliamentary Group is in the middle of an inquiry on the benefits of mindfulness to public life.

I also think her main contention is confused—she asserts that mindfulness "quite clearly is a religion," without ever defining what she means by the word. She does say that mindfulness is "non–doctrinal, non-prescriptive, non-demanding," which makes me wonder, what kind of religion is this? She tells us that mindfulness is "squarely based on Buddhism," but then criticizes the approach for "picking bits from it piecemeal." So mindfulness is definitely a religion, despite core elements that suggest the contrary, and yet somehow it’s also not religious enough! Her point about the possible risks of intensive meditation to a fragile psyche is a good one, but it was better made here.

Getting beyond the mindfulness "hype"

However, the piece is worth considering, for a number of reasons. As pointed out bythis graph (thanks to Rohan Gunatillake for tweeting it to me), negative press tends to mark a turning point in the adoption of a technology. Mindfulness hype serves few needs well, and we may be moving out of the initial phase of unbridled (over)-enthusiasm and into a phase of consolidation, reflection, and revision. The other main criticisms made by McDonagh— that its emphasis on non-judgement may preclude appropriate action, and that focus on reflection can seem selfish—are common. They often come up among people who have just taken up mindfulness meditation, who feel guilty for taking the time to practice it. By sitting still and watching my experience, I may feel better, but am I not abdicating some of my responsibilities?

It’s a symptom of how driven many of us are, that even taking a short time out each day can become a stick to beat ourselves. As a way to treat the epidemic of stress, maybe what we need is precisely a chance to let go for a while of the constant need to achieve, do better, strive, and struggle. But aside from the benefits of meditation for stress, which are well-documented, isn’t making time to become familiar with our minds a gift we can give to others? How often do we cause pain by not being aware and not taking care of how we relate to those around us? Aren’t we likely to connect with the world artfully—to exercise wise compassion rather than ‘idiot compassion’—if we ourselves have trained in contemplation, becoming more gentle and skilful through our own practice?

Mindfulness and "non-judgement"

I do think the word ‘non-judgement’ is problematic. It’s not actually one that mindfulness pioneer Jon Kabat-Zinn uses in his classic definition of mindfulness, which talks of "the awareness that arises from paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgementally." There’s a subtle and distinct difference between not making judgements, and not being judgemental. The former implies not making decisions that could lead to discerning action, while the latter means dropping harsh, overly-critical ways of thinking and reacting.

Because this is so often misinterpreted, I’ve been experimenting with an adaptation: Mindfulness as “the awareness and approach to life that arises from paying attention on purpose, fully present, with curiosity and compassion." The addition of "approach to life" makes it clear that we aren’t practicing to become better navel-gazers, while "curiosity and compassion" (which I’ve taken from the definition used by the Oxford Mindfulness Centre) may offer more clarity than "non-judgementally." Anyone have other suggestions of how to convey mindfulness succinctly and clearly?

Meditate With Intentions, Not Goals

It's only when we meditate for its own sake—rather than trying to get something from it—that we find the results we're after, says Ed Halliwell. 

I often see the same thing now in beginning practitioners. Many people come to mindfulness with a desire to be relieved of stress and difficulty, but only when they drop into meditation for its own sake, rather than trying to get something from it, do they find the results they were after. This makes the question of effort a little tricky. There is something to do—in order to make a discovery about the power of letting go, we have to show up, be prepared to learn, listen, and engage with the attitudes and practices suggested. But it’s easy to turn this effort into ‘struggling to meditate,' or conversely, to interpret the guidance on letting go as ‘not really caring’—just hang out, let your mind wander, whatever you fancy.I came to meditation after years of trying to improve my life. I’d been stuck in depression for a long time, and meditation was the latest in a long line of wheezes meant to relieve the gloom. However, something curious happened when I followed the instructions given—I discovered it was impossible to meditate and struggle at the same time. Struggle still happened, for sure, but this was when I was ‘trying to meditate,' adding my own expectations or goals to the practice, or ‘not bothering to meditate,' just letting my habits of mind take over. When I actually meditated (staying present, opening to experience, coming back when the mind wandered), the sense of trying, hoping, wanting things to be different, or of giving in to despondency, hopelessness and fear—all this began to fall away. Instead came glimpses of the peace I had been desperately searching for.

Goals vs. Intentions

I’ve found it helpful to distinguish here between intentions and goals. When we make mindfulness a goal, we have—by definition—moved out of the moment. We have created a discrepancy between what we’re experiencing now and what we would like to happen. This inevitably leads to tension—we might begin judging our current experience (or ourselves) as ‘not good enough,’ ‘unacceptable,’ or ‘to be got rid of.' This judgement can put us off—as the caption for one of my favourite cartoons puts it: “I know I’ve only been practising for two minutes, but meditation is not bringing me the peace of mind I was promised.” When we make goals and measure our moments against them, we are virtually guaranteed disappointment.

Making mindfulness an intention is different. Intentions are found (and re-found) in the present, so just by making one, you have already accomplished what you set out to do (well done, you!). An intention cannot fail, because it happens right now. With an intention, there is no required result—we are simply connecting to our chosen course. “I’m just going to practise, and see what happens.” Therefore we invite curiosity, a sense of experimentation: “Well, this is interesting, I wonder what’s going to happen now?” Intention has strength, as its rooted in reality, but also suppleness—holding to an intention doesn’t mean our actions can’t change, based on what we discover.

Intentions come from inside, whereas goals are external. In connecting to an intention, we don’t have to look elsewhere for satisfaction—what we desire is already here as a seed within us. We may need some guidance and training to cultivate that seed, but relief comes when we realize we don’t need to try and be something we’re not.

It’s likely that some benefits of mindfulness come just from following a course we trust will be helpful. In other words, by choosing to practise, we already feel we’re on a path to well-being. When we make mindfulness a goal, however, we turn it into a commodity, the benefits conditional on our having to ‘get it’. The implication being that we don’t currently have what we need—there is something missing, and wemight miss out. This is a recipe for tension.

It is true that the traditional goal of practice is to relieve suffering. It is helpful to know this, otherwise we might not be inspired to begin, and or know we’re off course when we start thinking the goal is something else (lots of money, for example, or to be better than everyone else at paying attention). But we get in the way when we struggle to attain this goal directly, rather than through creating the conditions for it to happen through grace. It’s a bit like trying to fall asleep—it helps if you ready your bed and turn the lights down, but if you keep trying to drop off, it just won’t happen. At some point, you have to trust and let go. If you try to relieve your stress, you will have the experience of trying to relieve your stress.

Giving ourselves over to practising awareness and compassion, opening to, working with, and learning from what happens as best we can—these are helpful intentions in mindfulness practice. We can let these intentions carry us when it seems like nothing much is happening, or we aren’t getting what we’d like from our practice. Well-being comes from letting go of struggle—that’s the way to reach the goal.

There's Peace From the Purveyors of Corporate Mindfulness

With all good intentions, Ed Halliwell writes, a bit of mindfulness in institutions whose activities and attitudes contribute to the world's pain may not amount to much. But it is a good start—toward a mindful culture. 

Along with last week’s Wisdom 2.0 conference in Dublin came some more critical commentary on the adoption of mindfulness in mainstream settings—especially by corporate giants like Google. A consistent theme has emerged in many such critiques: an apparent discrepancy between the settings in which much mindfulness training takes place, and the professed attitudes and intentions of the practices themselves.Along with last week’s Wisdom 2.0 conference in Dublin came some more critical commentary on the adoption of mindfulness in mainstream settings—especially by corporate giants like Google.

So, the conference at Google Headquarters in Dublin seemed suspect to some, because Google’s sponsoring of mindfulness looks at odds with its place as an immensely wealthy corporate tech giant. Doesn’t it perpetuate a spewing of information which leads to frazzling brains rather than training them in steady, discerning attention? Mindfulness in the military similarly appears strange because there’s an assumed culture of aggression at the core of life in the forces—where is the gentleness of mindfulness here? Even in healthcare, the apparent placing of responsibility on the sick individual to ‘become more mindful’ may seem to encourage a sense of over-responsibility for their condition, when there are biological, familial, environmental, and systemic stressors which may contribute towards symptoms, and which may need a wider kind of treatment.

As I’ve suggested before, there may be a kernel of insight to some of these observations, if mindfulness is practised purely as a form of self-help, or stress reduction. If our motivations remain small, then so will be the outcomes, limited to a form of personal, pragmatic accommodation to a world in which greed, aggression, and delusion continue to run riot. With all good intentions, a bit of mindfulness in institutions whose main activities and attitudes contribute to the world’s pain may not amount to much, although, I would argue, it is a good start.

Meditation can ease the stress of daily life. But awareness takes mindfulness practice beyond self-help and self-enhancement.

As mindfulness becomes a less radical concept and more widespread, I think we’re reaching a point of great opportunity, and some risk. With the rapid adoption of mindfulness, there is the amazing possibility that as we practise becoming more aware of our patterns as individuals, we may also become more aware of the patterns around us that reinforce not just our stress, but that of the wider world. Awareness is the first step to change, because with awareness we can become inspired and empowered to make lifestyle shifts, and these can ripple out into social systems.

But even with meditation practice, it is difficult to really see the cultures in which we’re embedded. As has been said, “We don’t know who discovered water, but it probably wasn’t a fish.” Even, we might add, a mindful fish. So while it’s true that with nothing being said about ethics and morals, mindfulness training can start to connect us to a deeper sense of heartfelt values, and a realisation that materialism doesn’t lead to lasting happiness, it might also be helpful if we’re explicit about the environmental conditions and systems that are conducive to collective well-being. This is, after all, is how we might define a mindful culture—a world in which everyone’s happiness is paramount.

Mindfulness practitioners need to take the conversation beyond the individual benefits of mindfulness. 

Without compromising a basic commitment to allowing space for compassionate awareness to arise, through the practice of curiosity and gentleness, perhaps mindfulness practitioners could be less shy of pointing out the implications of fully embracing this way of being on the structures of society—the creation and sustaining of businesses, governments, local communities, and other institutions whose genuine purpose (and actual activity) focuses on the good of all. And might it not also be helpful to highlight systems and institutions where that may not currently be the case, (and how bringing mindfulness to that culture, not just to individuals within that culture, might be beneficial). This isn’t finger-wagging or an imposition of values, simply a recognition that there is good scientific evidence that certain practices, attitudes and behaviours (such as compassion, connection, generosity, and mindful awareness) lead to greater contentment, and that there are known methods for cultivating and opening up to these wise ways of being.

What would a mindful culture look like? 

Having a conversation about what a culture of mindfulness might mean (leaving, of course, plenty of room for discussion, disagreement and revision), might be a sensible and honest way to respond to the repeatedly arising objections to mindfulness in public and private institutions, as well as outlining a path which can facilitate not just the spread of mindfulness widely, but deeply. Maybe you could help this conversation get started –my intention is to return to this theme in future blogs, and I’d value your reflections. What constitutes a mindful culture? And how does it get created? Please post comments below.

What My Three-Year-Old Taught Me About Self-Criticism

If it takes months of coaxing to help my three-year-old son unhook from the effects of one negative comment, writes Ed Halliwell, is it surprising that we can't change our habitual ways of being hard on ourselves with a bit of positive self-talk?

For the last year or so, I’ve been taking my eldest son—just turned three—to soccer classes. It’s a light and playful introduction to kicking a ball, and as someone who still enjoys 5-a-side games once or twice a week, it’s a pleasure to discover if this might be a sport for him too.

He enjoys the sessions, so I’ve felt comfortable that I’m not just forcing him to follow in my footsteps, recognizing the possibility that he may decide in time that it’s not something he wants to continue. But I hadn't expected what happened three month ago: just when the weekly lesson began, he suddenly stopped and said: “I’m not very good at soccer, Daddy.”

Where had that come from? I’ve always given him positive feedback as he played, so this sudden self-criticism, accompanied by an unwillingness to put the ball at his feet, left me stumped. Then I remembered back to a few weeks before, when during a development review at his nursery, one of the teachers said—without any sense of negative judgement—that my son was not as strong at ball-kicking as some of his contemporaries. Had he somehow picked up this message? From one of the other children? From the teacher? From me, even if not in words?

It wasn’t a one-off. Over the next several weeks, while he continued to look forward to his ‘Little Kickers’ classes, when it came to getting the balls out, he would tend to move from willingness to sheepishness and occasionally refusal, repeating by way of explanation: “I’m not very good at soccer.”

I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I didn’t want to ignore his feelings, and just keep on encouraging him as if nothing had been said, but at the same time, giving up playing with the ball might leave him with a negative view of his skills confirmed.

Uncomfortable with feeling either like a pushy parent or colluding with the story, I tried gently to respond with something like: “You’re excellent at soccer, I’ve watched you and played with you and you’re doing really well. But it’s okay if you don’t want to kick the ball right now, we can just throw it to each other if you like.”

Sometimes he’d be happy with throwing, sometimes he asked to watch me kick the ball, and occasionally he’d gingerly go back to kicking it himself. I kept reminding him how well he was doing. At the same time, I was noticing and watching my own mental stories—Am I making things worse? Maybe he really doesn't like soccer and I’m projecting my desires onto him?

For a couple of months, the pattern continued, sometimes more often during one session than another. He never seemed upset about attending the classes as a whole, so I continued to engage with him as best I could, taking every opportunity to remind him how capable he is and how proud I am of him, no matter what happened when (or whether) he kicked any balls.

Gradually, his expressions of inadequacy diminished, and a contentment with the ball at his feet visibly grew. Then, a couple of weeks ago, as he ran towards the goal, he turned to me with a broad smile and said triumphantly: “I’m really good at soccer, Daddy!” and kicked a ball without fear into the net. As I saw his joy, I felt a warmth spread out from my chest.

Of course, I don’t really know what happened here – what caused this drop and then return of confidence in my little boy. But it reminds me of what most of us are working with in our mindfulness practice—the voices in our heads that tell us we’re not good enough, and that sap our vitality, increase our anxiety, and lead us to avoid new territories.

Perhaps these voices are not really ours, but based on the opinions of others, and installed in our minds when we were too young to evaluate what’s true? They are likely reinforced by the adaptive (but unhappiness-fuelling) bias in our psyches that makes us super-sensitive to, and disproportionately believing of, critical opinions from others.

If it takes three months of coaxing to help a three-year-old unhook from the effect of what may have been one negative comment or thought, is it surprising that we can’t change our habitual ways of being hard on ourselves with a bit of positive self-talk? Nevertheless, by repeatedly bringing awareness to the voices in our head, approaching them in meditation with gentleness and acceptance (rather than just an aggressive desire to get rid), we are patiently training ourselves to be freed from their grasp.

In time, with a lot of repetition, we may come to view self-critical thoughts, and the uncomfortable body sensations that tend to come with them, as just the remnants of old and unhelpful messages that we don’t need to buy into anymore. They are thoughts, not facts, as the Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT) mantra has it. Offering ourselves the kindness and acceptance that comes with meditation practice, we are already undoing (maybe even replacing) the wirings that got tangledwhen we weren’t always treated well earlier in life.

How Can Mindfulness Help Us At Work?

If mindfulness training leads to better focus, performance, and well-being, it comes—ironically—from letting go of the very desires for focus, performance, and well-being that motivates many in their jobs.

When mindfulness is taught in the workplace, it’s often emphasized how meditation cultivates attention, helping us cope with demands in a busy job. Or we hear about mindfulness as stress reduction—if we can learn to manage our thoughts and emotions, we will become more resilient and effective. We might be tempted by the supposed interpersonal benefits, feeling that if we could handle our working relationships skilfully, our careers will improve. All of this may indeed be available through mindfulness practice, but there’s a problem with taking this approach to the training, which places it in the realm of performance enhancement.

Actually, mindfulness is a tuning to what we already are, a freeing from the tyranny of shoulds, oughts, and wishes to be better, faster, and more efficient, which are endemic in workplace settings. It is an undoing more than a doing, a recognition that grasping for improvement and success (whether in the form of profit, status, recognition or identity) is stressful in itself, tending to make work an unhappy endeavour. If mindfulness training leads to better focus, performance, and well-being, it comes—ironically—from letting go of the very desires for focus, performance, and well-being that motivates many in their jobs.

This makes ‘mindfulness at work’ a tricky proposition. The training may begin with the intention of improving something, and yet, to be accomplished, it requires us to stop trying to improve. Instead we are invited to slow down, relax, trust, and be willing to linger the attention on the direct experience of the senses. Rather than thinking up, solving, or producing anything (for the moment), we are asked to explore the possibility that our obsession with thinking, solving, and producing is part of what limits us, rather than desirable. In a results-based culture, a foundation of explicitly trying not to seek results goes right against the grain. But as soon as this foundation is compromised, we are no longer practising mindfulness.

Herein lies a tension, but also a jewel. If we allow ourselves to submit to this radical approach, things may start to happen, although not the kind of enhancements we might have expected. As we get in touch with our experience through stillness and presence, we may become more aware of our relationship to work. We can start to see and feel clearly what drives us, and whether following these drivers result in satisfaction. We start to see the influence of the wider workplace culture, and notice whether it nurtures or depletes us, and is of benefit to others. As we train further in awareness and resilience, we might make choices that reflect a—perhaps newly discovered—inner alignment. This may mean we become more curious, creative, and centred in our existing work, or it might mean recognizing an uncomfortable mismatch between our current career and a deeper calling, spurring a decision to shift direction. We might recognize the symptoms of pressure put on us at work as part of systemic dysfunction rather than personal failing, and choose to stand up to those pressures, or campaign to change them, or find a healthier place to spend our days.

We’ll never be effective if we’re out of tune with ourselves. When we’re able to get in tune—with regular meditation as a friendly way to help—we may discover that we’re drawn to a working life in which compassion rather than competition, service rather than sales, artistry rather than aggression become our primary means. And, it’s suggested, by the testimony of many who’ve practised before us and data coming from the science of happiness, that these qualities are key to finding and expressing well-being and wholeness. Dropping into wakeful union of body and mind, we heal the stressful split between who we feel we are in our hearts and who we sometimes feel driven to be in our lives (especially in our work). Then we might find—without having to do any performance enhancement training—that other, resulting benefits of mindfulness (developed attention, emotional intelligence, resilience and so on) arise by themselves. By which time, we may be so in flow that we won’t try to develop them.

Ed Halliwell is leading Using Mindfulness at Work on 11 September at the London School of Life.

Mindfulness Can't Cure Everything. And That's a Problem Why?

Does something beneficial have to be delivered perfectly—and to bring about a perfect world—before we will accept it as worthwhile?

We’re entering an interesting phase for mindfulness in the media. Until the last few months, nearly all the coverage has been focused on the great possibilities of meditation training—decreased stress, deeper awareness, and more skilful management of mental, physical and behavioural difficulties. The main story has been that an ancient practice, previously ignored or derided by the mainstream, has been scientifically shown to be helpful, and consequently embraced by a sceptical world. In short: “Surprise! Meditation really works!”

There’s only so long such a story can be news, and it’s interesting that recently we’ve started to see the appearance of a number of pieces offering a more critical view. This is—in my opinion—an excellent thing, partly because it suggests the known benefits of mindfulness are now sufficiently understood as to no longer be remarkable. But it’s also a good thing as it creates an opportunity for reflection on some of the challenges thrown up by the very rapid shift adoption of mindfulness practices in contemporary western culture.

Take for example, the piece by Suzanne Moore in the Guardian last week. Headlined: "Mindfulness is all about self-help. It does nothing to change an unjust world," its central argument is that meditation as taught in mindfulness courses offers nothing more than ways to cope in an oppressive environment, and worse, that it does so by removing the capacity to think critically and respond to the ‘structural difficulties’ which are responsible for much of the stress we experience. Upset, angry, ill? A mindfulness course might help you feel better, it suggests, but at the cost of pacification, leaving you unaware of, disconnected from, or just plain not bothered enough to do anything about the institutional injustices and systemically generated suffering that might be a factor in your, and others’, misery.

This is mindfulness as opium of the people, and so it’s no wonder that institutions such as banks, the military, and governments are keen to get on board—a bit of meditation as Band Aid, and we can all carry on as before, nobody noticing the deeper, cultural causes of suffering, because all the responsibility to change is placed on the ”sick” individual (what family therapists might call the "identified patient”).

There are some important points here. We are not islands, and stress is not just internally generated. We are inextricably interconnected with our environments, and locating the responsibility for health and happiness solely in the individual is unfair, inaccurate, and unhelpful. A mindfulness that is just “a way to function better in an over-connected world” rather than also offering a means to change that world would indeed be a neutered version of the approach.

The thing is, I don’t recognise this neutered version of mindfulness, except in some media reports, and perhaps in some of the writings or trainings offered by those with little exposure to and experience with meditation. It’s not what I see modelled by most mindfulness teachers, most contemplative researchers, or indeed most practitioners as they develop and deepen a more aware and compassionate connection to themselves, others and the world. Dismissing mindfulness on this basis is a bit like saying Beethoven was talentless because you hear a neighbour who has never taken piano lessons loudly hashing Moonlight Sonata next door.

Far from propping up unfair structures, what I more often see in mindfulness courses are people waking up to areas in life where they have been tolerating or supporting dysfunctional structures, and deciding to make changes, or work for them. I have seen bankers start meditating and discover an inspiration to retrain as helping professionals. I’ve seen people leave or change the dynamics of unhealthy relationships. I regularly see people move from a place of feeling paralysed by anxiety and low mood to feeling empowered and confident enough to take on the challenge of not just living in an imperfect world but taking an active role in seeking to reconstruct it.

It’s true that mindfulness practice begins at home, but by cultivating the capacity to pay attention and observe with compassion what keeps us stuck and what liberates, people often report feeling more freed and empowered to effect change, not just internally but in the world around them. With greater awareness and sensitivity, we are more able to take action based on seeing the systems of automatic thought, emotion, and behaviour that keep people stressed. This is likely to be wise action that will (I believe) inevitably ripple out to, loosen, and potentially transform, albeit perhaps gradually, the unhelpfully constraining systems and structures that bind us (and which are of course made up of people).

What is likely to bring about more effective change? An activist with a mind enslaved by crowded, unquestioned thinking, or one able to meet a situation with practised awareness, presence, openness, and compassion? To paraphrase Jon Kabat-Zinn, mindfulness isn’t about thinking less, it’s about not getting lost or caught up in the stream of automatic thought. Far from perpetuating the status quo, I’d suggest that this capacity to bring awareness to our thinking (and the rest of our experience) is revolutionary.

Actually, I’d go as far as to say that creating time and space to develop a meditation practice is one of the single, most radical acts you can take, because it opens the way to understanding and working effectively with the mind, and if you can understand and work effectively with the mind, which is what experiences everything in life, then you have tapped into a fundamental source of skilful living.

Of course, when an approach as unfamiliar as mindfulness meets the mainstream, it’s inevitable that there will be shallower renditions, misinterpretations and accommodations that may offer a lesser liberation. Sometimes taking a mindfulness course may simply enable someone to cope with the stress of their existing life, rather than leading them into social activism. If so, isn’t that still a good thing, a small contribution to reduced suffering in the world, even if—as I think unlikely—that measure of reduced suffering has no beneficial side effects on the people and places around that practitioner? Does something beneficial have to be delivered perfectly—and to bring about a perfect world—before we will accept it as worthwhile? If so, we might be stuck for a long time. Haven’t we been stuck long enough?

6 Reasons Why Mindfulness Begins with the Breath

It’s good to be curious about why we practise mindfulness of breathing, but just because we experience some discomfort during the practice doesn’t mean it’s not helpful. In fact, perhaps it’s helpful partly because the breath shows us our discomfort, and the patterns of relationship that perpetuate it. Rather than immediately looking for a more exciting mindfulness practice, we might like to consider possible benefits of staying with the breath. Here are a few to ponder:“My breath is boring—just the same thing over and over again. Surely there must be something more interesting to watch?” This kind of comment comes up quite often when people start mindfulness training. While there are a lot of usefulinformal mindfulness practices being offered out there—like savoring a snack or the walk home—there's a good case to be made for cultivating a formal mindfulness practice, which involves learning a basic mindfulness meditation such as following the breath and practicing it on a regular, preferably daily, schedule.

1. The breath doesn’t try to get anywhere. In and out. In and out. The breath isn’t focused on improving style, becoming more efficient, or rushing to reach the end of some daily respiration quota in order to take a break. As long as we let it, the breath mostly just does what it does. Of course, there is something very vital happening when we breathe—without it we die—but trying to speed it up, force it, grasp it, push it away or control it tends to get in the way. As in breathing, so in life—we can learn a lot from the natural rhythm, pace, and un-fussiness of the way breath continues its work, without making a big deal out of it.

2. The breath teaches us steadfastness. Much of the time the mind is wandering, either drawn to focus, ruminate, or push away unpleasant experiences, or chasing after stuff we like. But if we don’t practise being still, we are prone to get blown about by every wind, buffeted by the ups and downs of life. By training to pay attention precisely and gently to the breath, coming back again and again, we cultivate a resilience that allows us to be present when difficulty and temptation arises. Distractions still come, but we don’t get so lost in them. This is a master key to well-being, and the boring old breath offers a simple, regular, and available tool to practise with and learn from.

3. The breath happens in the body. For those of us accustomed to experiencing everything from our heads, the breath invites us to a lower centre of gravity. We let go of thinking for a time, and come down to the belly. We feel the texture of the breath, its rising and falling, and the physical sensations of movement that accompany it. This helps synchronise body and mind, bringing us more into a mode of present-moment sensing. When we feel the breath, we feel the essence of being alive. This often feels good, even if we’re having a hard time. As Jon Kabat-Zinn says: “If you’re breathing, there’s more right with you than wrong.”

4. The breath isn’t really that boring. Are you paying attention to the breath, or just your idea of how it is, should or shouldn’t be? Is this breath really the same as the last one, or subtly different, in duration, texture, and intensity? When you open to the actual sensations of breathing, is it really so tedious? Isn’t it rather remarkable and wonderful that we are kept alive in each moment through this mysterious process of inhalation and exhalation, of oxygenation and blood pumping, of the air reaching all the cells of the body. Isn’t it amazing that there’s air to breathe, a body to take it in, and a mind to watch it? Each moment we’re interested in the process of breathing, we are training ourselves in curiosity. Maybe other so-called boring aspects of life contain jewels that we miss and dismiss too hastily?

5. You don’t breathe. The breath breathes. You are not in charge of your breathing, or at least, not so much. Yes, you could hold your breath (for a while) and you could choose to breathe deliberately fast and shallow for a time, but fairly soon any attempt to force the breath will produce counter-measures from within. At the same time, with practice, it’s possible to learn to align with the breath, gently moving with it, while allowing space for it to come into its own natural depth, pace, and flow.Things seem to go best when we co-operate with the breath, rather than resisting or clinging to it. This is good training for the rest of life, over which we also have only partial control.

6. The breath invites us to rest and recuperate. When early humans were faced with a predator attack, the breath would quicken and the muscles would tense in preparation for fight or flight. If the attack was survived, there would follow a period of rest and recuperation, as the breath slowed down and the body returned to balance. The same reactions occur in us today, except many threats we face are chronic and ongoing (stressful jobs, noisy neighbours, long-term illness etc) and our bodies may not get much chance to come back to balance. The stillness and space of mindfulness of breathing allows us to move into recovery mode, as we take some time out from the frenetic pace of activity or worry that many of us live with. Regular attention to the breath could save us from overheating and breakdown.

Can Mindfulness Transform Politics?

More on the new All-Party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness in the UK.

It was an arresting occasion partly due to the setting—we are perhaps getting used to meditation happening in health centres, private businesses, even schools—but here it was being practised and taken seriously in the symbol of the British establishment, by politicians from all three main parties, offered up as a way to approach some of the most pressing social issues of our time. I think it’s fair to say that the days of mindfulness being seen as something new agey or alternative are coming to an end.The Labour MP Chris Ruane described it as a seminal moment, and it was certainly a startling one for many. In a packed Committee Room at the House of Commons last Wednesday, with 28 MPs and Lords in attendance, a UK all-party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness was launched.

The content of the event was also remarkable. Speaker after speaker gave testimony about the benefits of mindfulness practice, covering wide ground—there was a university professor, a psychiatrist, a criminal justice expert, a schoolteacher (and several pupils), a company chief executive, and a comedian. And then of course, there were the politicians themselves, who not only asked searching questions about the evidence for mindfulness and how it might translate into the hard realities of public policy (“money is tight so everything has to be proven”) but also, significantly, spoke movingly about their own personal practice.

This degree of engagement (it is rare for such a turnout at these events, even rarer for so many Parliamentarians to stay till the end) shows the fruit of Chris Ruane’s cajoling of his colleagues to attend the mindfulness courses he set up in Westminster. The courses have been completed by 80 MPs and Lords, with more signed up for the next round.

Lord Andrew Stone spoke of how mindfulness had helped him face the stress of difficult negotiations during a recent trip to Egypt, while the Conservative MP Tracey Crouch shared how mindfulness has helped her emerge from a place of anxiety that led her to take antidepressants, and about which she’s only just felt able to go public. There was a sense of human connection, openness, even a (brave) vulnerability in the room which I’m told is not common at political gatherings, especially those which stretch across party divides.

Alongside these testimonies we heard about the broad challenges facing UK society: reduced spending on mental health care despite a rising tide of poor well-being (50 million of those antidepressant prescriptions each year—not far off one per person), restricted social mobility, the apparent conflict between attainment and well-being in schools, a pervading sense of pressure and lack of agency in workplaces, and the economic (not to mention human) cost of poor impulse control among offenders.

The politicians’ capacity to come from a place of practice is, I think, crucial. One of the risks of marking mindfulness as a political strategy is that it could be turned into yet another poorly-applied quick fix—throwing a watered-down, mindfulness training-lite at deeply embedded systemic problems is unlikely to have much impact. At best, it may offer some respite from the stress of living in those systems, at worst it could become a way of maintaining them, placing all responsibility for distress on the individual (“Can’t you just be more mindful?”) without recognising the familial, social, and environmental pressures that contribute to our mind states. Following the event, Baroness Ruth Lister, a long-time social campaigner, wrote about such concerns on the House of Lords blog.

I am optimistic. That so many UK politicians have begun the work of mindfulness training is the best foundation for this work. Once you have some experience of both the possibilities and difficulties of working with your own mind, there is more likelihood that you’ll understand the scale of the task in inviting a more mindful world, as well as how such a vast project can gradually be undertaken and begun, aspect by aspect, moment by moment.

If it touches the hearts of enough people, the personal transformation of consciousness—greater awareness and compassion—that so many people report coming with mindfulness training cannot but go hand-in-hand with a wider transformation in systems that are, after all, maintained by collections of people. The problems begin when we are seduced by the prevailing culture and try to separate, ignore, or rush either aspect of this work, either the individual or the collective. Then, as one MP suggested during Wednesday’s session, mindfulness could be warped into another manifestation of the problems we are hoping it could help address. Jon Kabat-Zinn has wisely talked about this being a 1000 year project. At least that long, I would say, even though significant changes, such as the acceptance of mindfulness in mainstream settings, are now happening very quickly.

Lobbying, policy formation and action are vital parts of this work, and fundraising has started to enable a Parliamentary Inquiry, leading to a report next year on how the UK can become a more mindful nation. But mindfulness means little if applied just as a buzzword—to make any real difference it must come from a place of embodiment in those who aspire to share it. So, in my opinion, the most important aspect of the entry of mindfulness into the political landscape and vocabulary is that Parliamentarians themselves have been willing to engage their minds and bodies in the practice, before engaging their mouths in recommending it for others.

Ed Halliwell is working with the Mindfulness Initiative, which is supporting the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Mindfulness to develop the work described in this blog. If you able to help fund this work, or are able to give time and skills to help co-ordinate it, please get in touch via the contact page on his website (www.edhalliwell.com). 

7 Questions About Mindfulness That Still Need An Answer

Ed Halliwell on the next frontiers in mindfulness. 

It’s been a year since I updated this blog—a combination of teaching, book-writing, and a baby have squeezed the time I’ve had available for other things. Now with a little more space, I wondered how to begin again, especially with so much note-worthy happening in the world of mindfulness in the last 12 months.

To set some intention, I wrote down a list of seven mindfulness-related questions that seem live and unresolved. Many of them are concerned with the continuing rapid expansion of interest in mindfulness, and the possible opportunities and challenges this presents. I plan to touch on each of them more fully in the coming weeks and months.

The list isn’t meant as definitive or exhaustive, and there may not (yet) be clear answers to any of the questions. I would very much welcome your additions, disagreements, or any other comments. I will do my best to reflect on and address them in future posts.

1. Mindfulness is being adopted by the mainstream very quickly. Does this help or hinder the movement?

The huge interest in mindfulness carries great potential, but urgency of pursuit caneasily leads to grasping for results, speediness, and surface-skimming. And these, of course, are the very stress-producing habits that mindfulness training is designed to address. I’ve noticed that some courses seem to be getting shorter, with less time, practice, and investment required. Is this doing participants, and mindfulness, a disservice, or can these skills really be mastered in a few weeks, days, hours or even minutes? I heard of one magazine editor recently declaring mindfulness to be ‘over’—they were already looking for the next big thing in well-being. If short attention spans and impulsivity are part of the problem, will over-simplification and impatience really be the answer?

2. How can deep, contemplative wisdom be preserved in non-religious mindfulness training?

Mindfulness is often talked of as the simple practice of ‘being in the moment.' Traditionally, meditative training is much more than this—it is embedded in ethics (how to live with wisdom and compassion), along with a pointing to the insubstantiality of our self-concepts, to which we painfully cling. These aspects are implicit (and sometimes explicit) in good mindfulness teaching, but the subtlety of their presentation means they can easily get left out, if not consciously curated. With so much science now happening in the fields of compassion, gratitude and appreciation, could these and other key evidence-based themes be integrated (or re-integrated) more explicitly into the mindfulness courses and cultures now being developed?

3. What happens when we move from the ‘I’ to the ‘We’ of mindfulness?

Until now, the modern mindfulness movement – both the science and the training - has focused on benefits to the individual. But what about the potential for changes to systems, institutions, and societies, which after all, have an impact on personal well-being (and vice versa)? If mindfulness is taught within a mindless culture, what gives? Can mindfulness start to infuse that culture with kindness, or will that culture bend mindfulness to its own ends, perhaps chipping away at its radicalism and presenting it as a palliative—a way of coping with systemic dysfunction rather than a means to change it? What might happen if the emphasis was more explicitly put on mindfulness as a social, or even political practice?

4. What are the key questions in mindfulness research?

It’s generally well-established that mindfulness courses are helpful for promoting well-being. The question to which researchers are increasingly turning towards is ‘how’? It’s been generally assumed that meditation practice is the key active ingredient in a course, but the science has been somewhat equivocal about this. Could it be that other factors are just as, if not more, important? A good mindfulness course generally provides a resonant, supportive group, and training in attitudes such as gentleness, compassion, steadfastness, appreciation, acceptance, and nurturing. How important are these to the health-producing changes that occur? What other aspects of traditional meditative training (such as ethics, exploration of self-nature, the making of commitments, the building of communities) might also be demonstrably beneficial? Are there more recent scientific discoveries (say, in the science of unconscious biases) where mindfulness training might have an impact? Early work is being carried out in these areas, and it will likely be fascinating to see the results.

5. What makes a good mindfulness teacher?

If you were looking to learn the piano, what would you look for in a teacher? Someone who loves music and can transmit their joy and passion? Someone who’s been playing themselves a long time and has a degree of proficiency? Someone who understands the pitfalls and difficulties and has the patience and skill to work with students? With no regulation of and huge demand for mindfulness courses, plus lots of enthusiasm among would-be teachers, how can we know if what’s being offered is helpful? Meditators in some traditions would be expected to train for decades before they began teaching others, and it’s often said that mindfulness is ‘caught’ as much as ‘taught,’ so will courses led by relatively inexperienced practitioners work as well? How can we help those looking for an authentic training to know what that might be, and to train those who want to deliver it?

6. What happens when a mindfulness course ends?

Many mindfulness courses are eight weeks long or less. Yet evidence and experience suggests that while remarkable changes can occur during such a short, intensive training, the possibility for deepening practice doesn’t end there—indeed, for most people, it’s only just beginning. And yet, while some teachers offer graduate courses and follow-up sessions, many people coming to the end of a mindfulness course report a sense of ‘falling off a cliff’—after a period of intensive support and learning, this ground suddenly falls away, as, frequently, does their practice, even though they are strongly motivated. In the rush to meet demand for ‘beginners’ courses, how can the yearning for connection be met, among those who’ve already started on this rewarding, challenging path?

7. Are there deeper reasons to practise than stress-reduction?

Reports in the media about the benefits of mindfulness can seem like a constant stream of good news – mental health, physical health, relationships, behavioural habits, competency, and creativity can all be improved, while stress relating to all sorts of circumstances can be reduced. This is excellent of course, but what about the aspects of being alive that are less easy to face up to? Does mindfulness have a role, for example, in working with the knowledge that we, and everyone we love, is going to die?

With all the focus on quick gains to health and happiness, there may be something deeper to these practices that our positive-results focused science and culture is missing. If so, could it be spoken of, perhaps not in the language of data, but with the language of the heart? ‘Turning towards difficulty’ is at the very core of a mindfulness course, but with our habits of avoidance, it’s also perhaps the aspect that gets talked of the least, at least in mainstream media reports. How can courage (and airspace) be found for the uncertainties, the anxieties, the suffering, the losses that can come into awareness when we pay attention, as well as the material benefits that we get so excited about? Indeed, could it be that the receiving of these benefits actually depend on our willingness to turn towards unpalatable truths? By neglecting them, might we receive a lesser version of the wellbeing we crave, and miss out on a deeper sense of meaning and value—one that can’t easily be summarized in a newspaper headline, or a scientific study abstract?