Forget "Starve a Cold, Feed a Fever." Meditate!

Every now and then, a piece of mindfulness research turns up that I get excited about, not just because it tells us more about the potential benefits of practice, but because I know it’s going to make it easier to explain those benefits to others.

This is usually because a) the study is easy to describe b) it connects with an experience that most of us empathize with and c) it offers a clear picture of how mindfulness helps. I felt one of those waves of excitement (a springy sensation in the solar plexus) when I read Bruce Barrett’s latest study, which looks at whether there’s a relationship between starting a mindfulness practice or exercise regime and the subsequent incidence of respiratory infections. Would taking a mindfulness course or exercise have an effect on how often people caught a cold or the flu, and how sick they felt when they did fall ill?

The study ticks all three boxes. First, the study design was simple: Barrett and his colleagues at the University of Wisconsin randomly assigned 149 people (aged 50+) to either a mindfulness-based stress reduction course, an equivalent exercise program, or a control group given no particular instructions to follow. Then they tracked how often they fell prey to a cold or the flu over the following months. It ticks the empathy box because everyone knows what it’s like to get a chest infection and can see the value of succumbing less often. And the results are clear – compared to those in the control group, people who took the mindfulness course had four times fewer "sick days" (16 compared to 67), fewer bouts of infection (27 compared to 40), and were ill for just over half as long, with less severe symptoms. Given that a flu vaccine reduces incidence of infection by around 60-70 percent (and only works for some strains), this suggests that meditation practice, associated with a 40-50 percent reduction,  may be a pretty good alternative or addition – that’s box three ticked.

Including an exercise group for comparison was a bonus stroke of genius. Everybody understands that exercise is good for you, and it probably isn’t a surprise to learn that the group who worked out also got sick less often. But the discovery that mindfulness matched the exercise program in its protective impact really brings home a message – that meditation is good for you in about the same measure as  exercising, which most everyone agrees is a jolly healthy thing to do. In some aspects, mindfulness may be more effective – the fewer reported "sick days" and reduced symptom severity among the meditating group might suggest the practice helped them manage illness sensations more easily – perhaps, they were able to experience symptoms more mindfully, without being overwhelmed or struggling with them, as often happens when we get ill?

Americans suffer around 500 million colds between them each year, costing some $40 billion in lost work days, doctors’ visits and medicines. There  are currently no proven ways of protecting from a cold (apart from hand-washing and avoiding infected people) so it’s not hard to see the public health benefits of encouraging practices that might reduce incidence and severity to such a large extent.

Of course, being the first study of its kind, this research needs replicating, but as we already know that meditation reduces stress, and that stress damages the immune system, there are very plausible mechanisms to explain this rather spectacular-seeming result. It’s also worth remembering that one of the best-known trials of mindfulness-based stress reduction found increased antibody response to a flu vaccine among course completers. Bruce Barrett’s work adds further to our understanding, and could be a big step on the way to widespread recommendation of meditation, along with exercise, as a simple and effective way of looking after your well-being.

Do I need to meditate to be mindful?

This is one of the most common questions I'm asked by people wondering if mindfulness is for them. There’s often a subtext behind the inquiry: most mindfulness courses ask participants to practice for up to 45 minutes a day, the suggestion being that this will be a vital part of the learning process. Forty-five minutes a day seems a lot of work for most people, especially in a culture where sitting still and "doing nothing" for any time at all is unusual. If mindfulness just means paying attention, why can’t I do that without having to meditate? Can’t I just decide to notice things a bit more?

Well, ask yourself this—Can you just decide to be good at tennis? Or speak French? Or play the piano? While some of us might have more of an aptitude for learning skills like these, they still have to be practiced. We have to put some effort in. Evidence from the clinical and neuroscientific studies of mindfulness suggests that paying attention is an art to be cultivated in just the same way—we can develop our capacity for awareness through training. It’s also what meditators down the ages have reported.

The more we do something, the more we’re likely to continue to do it, and to do it well—this is how habits form, and skills are acquired. So it makes sense that the more we practice meditation—the art of paying attention—the more mindful we will find ourselves.

Perhaps one of the disadvantages of the gradual shift away from the use of the wordmeditation and towards the word mindfulness is that meditation conveys more of a sense of this being a practice, and not just a given attribute. "Deciding to be mindful" is something that comes from the head, a thought, whereas "practicing meditation" brings more of a sense of embodiment with it. If we want our mindfulness to be something we are, more than just a thought of something we’dlike to be, it seems we need to cultivate it through meditation.

There’s one caveat to this—the science doesn’t yet tell us clearly how important meditation practice is to mindfulness. Lots of studies suggest that engaging in periods of meditation shifts our brain, body and experience in seemingly beneficial ways. What’s less clear is the effect of meditation practice over a period of time on those changes—is it this or something else that leads to the benefits seen?

Tradition, logic, and some strong scientific indicators say the meditation practice is key, but we still can’t be quite sure. Indeed, one review of the impact of practicing meditation during a mindfulness course found much less of a link between practice time and results than received wisdom might have predicted. While there is plenty of evidence suggesting a causal link, it’s early days in the research literature, and it would be good to see some studies which compared the effect of mindfulness courses with (and without) a home practice component. For now, the jury’s out on just how important formal meditation is to cultivating mindfulness.

Today, as I meditated at lunchtime in the churchyard outside our house, I wondered at the magnificent storm clouds billowing low across the hills on the horizon, felt waves of cascading energy flow through my body as the busyness of my morning—and my mind—subsided into moments of inner quiet, letting go into a grace of appreciation at having the senses to experience such a scene. I felt content, tired, a bit wet (raindrops on the grass below) and far more present than when I’d sat down to practice. Whatever the effect of meditation on my general mindfulness and well-being, experiences like that—the sense of opening into a vivid and vibrant aliveness—feel precious enough to be worth a lot by themselves. Anything else I’ll take as a bonus.

Not a typical manifesto, but a manifesto all the same

When people hear that I’ve co-written a book called The Mindful Manifesto, they sometimes approach me with questions about the title, such as: “Manifesto? Do you mean that meditation is a party political act?,” or “Isn't a manifesto all about action and meditation all about sitting still?”

These are good questions, and there is an interesting relationship between the practice of mindfulness, which involves making space to observe the patterns of experience without getting caught up in them, and living life in an engaged and compassionate way.

In the book, Jonty Heaversedge and I argue that practicing meditation is a skillful way to cultivate well-being—both personal and social. If we can learn to watch the flow of our own thoughts, feelings, habits and biases, seeing them with ever-greater clarity, then we are in a good position to bring that understanding to act more wisely in our lives. By taking time out to do less, our actions are more likely to be skillful. It’s a bit like the instructions to put your own oxygen mask on first in an airplane emergency—that apparently selfish action allows us to help others more effectively.

The word “manifesto” derives from the Latin verb manifestare, which means “to show plainly.” In English, to manifest means “to become apparent.” Our suggestion is that by learning how to be, we might start to release a wisdom that can show us plainly how things are, and that this might form the ground for knowing what to do.

By using the word manifesto in this way, we are hoping to reclaim its true meaning—not so much a plan of action, but a call to being. So it isn’t the usual kind of manifesto—there’s no great scheme to solve all our problems instantly. Instead, it’s an invitation to let go of doing, at least for a time, and learn how to be. This, we suggest, could make a real difference to our well-being, not just as individuals, but as couples, families, communities, nations—and as a planet. Whether it’s relationship issues, an unhealthy addiction, or the threat of war, we can create space for choices to emerge.

By working with meditation, we deliberately and gently bring more awareness to our experience. Gradually, as we pay attention, we begin to notice how we get caught up on automatic pilot, unconsciously playing out patterns that create stress and suffering. We learn to tolerate our impulse to follow patterns that don’t serve us. We cultivate a gap between thought and action, and gradually, as we become more skilled in our practice, the ability to dwell in this gap grows, and we are impelled less and less into knee-jerk reactions.

Mindfulness is simple to learn, and a growing body of scientific research shows it can help with many different issues. From working with stress, anxiety and depression and helping us look after our physical health, to letting go of unskillful behavior patterns and nurturing our relationships with others, as well as fostering greater health and happiness in our schools, workplaces and other community settings, there doesn’t seem to be any situation in which more mindfulness wouldn’t be useful.

It can be practiced on the bus, in the supermarket, at your desk, or in bed. You don’t need special equipment—just your mind and body. And while proficiency takes work, you don’t have to spend years meditating in an ashram or monastery to make a difference—according to one study, less than a week’s practice of 20 minutes a day can be enough to start producing measurable shifts. This then, is what we mean by a mindful manifesto—not a pre-defined program of action, but an opportunity for wisdom to manifest in each moment.

In the next few blogs, I’ll be sharing a few extracts from the book, exploring the science, art and practice of mindfulness, and suggesting how it can help in a range of life situations.

How connecting with yourself also helps you connect with others

When I started meditating, I thought it was all about me.  I felt stressed, my mind was chaotic, panic was overwhelming my body, I needed something to calm medown. I was highly focused on myself and my problems, and I saw meditation as something that might help me cope. It has helped me cope, but increasingly this has happened not just through allowing me to work more skilfully with my internal experience, but by expanding my capacity to be and stay in relationship with others. Opening up to a wider space of awareness and connection, via the practice of mindfulness, has made it a lot less claustrophobic in here.

This expansion seems to have happened quite organically. First I began to discover that my automatic patterns of reacting to events weren’t just happening in my inner space—the thoughts, emotions and body sensations I was having also impacted on how I operated in the world. When I felt angry with someone, I’d instinctively avoid them, amoeba-like, pulling out of connection and into isolation. In meditation, I began to see this pattern clearly.

Withdrawal can be a way of not getting hurt in the short term, but it tends to make for a somewhat lonely and limited existence. The more we contract our awareness, tighten our muscles and pull away from others, the less room there is to breathe. Opening out is risky—we’re becoming willing to make ourselves vulnerable—but it’s the only way to go for genuine contentment. As I started to notice my own isolating tendencies, I began to explore the possibility of staying present to, rather than acting on those instinctive reactions, and opting for a different  response—that of maintaining connection. Mindfulness has helped me with that, too.

There’s been a persistent idea in our world that meditation means cloistering ourselves from the world, probably because we see so many images of people practicing on their own, with their eyes closed, apparently not in contact with those around them. What we don’t see, of course, is those same people getting up from their formal practice and using the awareness they’ve been cultivating to relate more empathically and kindly with others.

It’s good to see this misconception being challenged more regularly, especially as there’s plenty of solid research suggesting that meditation can increase our ability to relate with others. There’s also now an excellent guide to this new science and practice of mindfulness as it applies to relationships—Marsha Lucas’s book Rewire Your Brain For Love.

For a non-specialist, trying to understand the implication for our relationships of different bits of the brain growing, shrinking, firing and wiring can seem a bit like trying to enjoy a good film by going to inspect the projector, so it’s a testament to Marsha’s book that I came away feeling that it really was valuable to know what my amygdala is doing (or not doing) when I’m drawn to isolate, and how I can learn to respond in a way that would engage my orbito-medial prefrontal cortex more effectively. Rewire Your Brain For Love is a training program for the brain that leads to a more fulfilling experience of the heart, with mindfulness practice at the core of the curriculum.

Taking a physiological approach to what’s happening in our relationships seems to have the welcome effect of empowering us to understand and change them. We can see that it’s not our personal failing that we get angry, hurt and confused, and that we misinterpret our loved ones and their actions—it’s simply part of our shared human heritage. The great news about the science of mindfulness is that it shows we don’t have to be totally enslaved to our patterns—the brain is far more plastic than we once thought, and meditation can help us rewire it in the direction of fulfilling connection with others.

I haven’t had the privilege of before and after scans to see what’s happening in my own brain, but I do know that in the ten years I’ve been practicing, my relationships have shifted from the non-existent or fractious gradually towards ever-greater degrees of closeness. I’m about to celebrate a second wedding anniversary, and I feel a deep, loving bond with both my wife and eight-month-old son, and a stronger and growing sense of connection with family, friends, colleagues and community. A decade ago, I couldn’t imagine such a situation.

Hopefully, there will soon be more studies and more books like Marsha’s that show how mindfulness helps us approach and enjoy fulfilling relationships. And they will encourage more people like me to engage with this liberating practice—not just for themselves, but for their loved ones, and indeed, for the world at large.

We can do better than a "bit of mindfulness"

Last month I spent a rich and rewarding week on a training retreat for teachers, run by Bangor University’s dedicated mindfulness centre. Glorious Welsh mountains provided the backdrop for our practice (not hard to find inspiration for embodying stillness, steadiness and strength here), while sharing in the wisdom of so many experienced guides made for a fertile learning environment. I felt a deep sense of commitment in the group to offering, as best we can, skillful spaces for people to experience the magic of mindfulness.

A phrase that struck me during the retreat—and it is one I’ve heard many times as meditation-based approaches have spread across the helping professions —is "a bit of mindfulness." People reading "a bit of mindfulness." Therapists using "a bit of mindfulness." Businesses bringing in "a bit of mindfulness" for their staff. Of course, it’s wonderful that practicing meditation is widely respected these days, rather than an implicit admission of borderline insanity, but there’s something about this phrase, and what it implies, that leaves me uneasy.

"A bit of mindfulness" suggests that mindfulness can be separated off, like a plaster to be applied when situations require calm, concentration, or a checking-in with our internal barometer. (And which, by extension, can then be forgotten about, as we get on with the rest of our lives.) While it's true that studies suggest there is value in meditating for a short period of time, over just a few days, I still sense that "a bit of mindfulness" is just what it says—a very small part of something much wider, deeper and potentially transformative.

In his most recent book Minding Closely, the scholar and scientist Alan Wallace offers a view of mindfulness so vast that it could take many lifetimes just to scratch its surface. It’s the most comprehensive book on the subject I’ve ever had the pleasure to read, although with its patient exploration of traditional Buddhist teachings,  intertwined with insights from western psychology and physics, it probably isn’t for everyone, at least not as a starting point. What it points to, and what could be missed in a rush to throw "mindfulness" at anything and everything, is there’s a well-plumbed depth to these practices that we’d be wise to attend to, and learn from.

One of the reasons why mindfulness is having such an impact through the world is that it is both simple and revolutionary. It offers so much, and yet it isn’t complicated (although it is challenging). However, if it is to permeate the fabric of our society, rather than just spill on its surface, we can’t take the easy route of presenting meditation as a mere technique, a quick fix for speed and distraction. If we do, its benefits will probably be marginal.

This is a tricky road to navigate: we can come across like the mindfulness police, or a child whose toy is being stolen and broken by the other kids. That won’t do either—it really is wonderful that so many people are learning how to open up to the present moment, with all the joys and difficulties that brings. The task of mindfulness teachers, somehow, is to gently uphold the integrity of the practices with which we are entrusted, to open ourselves to a continual deepening of our own embodiment of them, and to cultivate the conditions in which others can enjoy that same opportunity. That way, our own "bit of mindfulness" can gradually grow into our own "life of mindfulness." Then those we come into contact with might get a glimpse or more of how this journey can unfold.

A week of unfolding in the Welsh hills has expanded my "bit": by calling me back into a regular running practice, helping me cultivate the confidence to be more spacious and inquiring in my teaching, and leading me into closer community with amazing people who are making this their life’s work. For that, I’m enormously grateful.