Writing and the restless mind

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As I sit here (“As I sit here”? “As I sit here”! “As I sit here” is one of the worst, most clichéd and overused beginnings in the history of first-person narrative … and yet … it is germane, as I am indeed sitting here!  So …) as I was saying, as I sit here on the floor in my little room in this little medieval hill town of Castiglion Fiorentino looking out the window over the narrow curving street below with the bakery, I am  noticing my irritability, my bad mood in the morning, and how the urge to write these thoughts down comes as a palliative gesture. It feels better to write these things down. Writing is a refuge for the restless, unquiet mind.

The connection between writing as a useful mental and spiritual exercise, a palliative or even a self-help routine, and writing as a quest for excellence and influence and aesthetic perfection interests me because of the role I play as an Amherst Writers and Artists workshop leader. For as I was sitting here (again: that dead phrase which is yet so useful, for I do sit here a lot; in fact there is more to it than just sitting here; in fact I do not come to be sitting here by chance; I have come to sit here because I know that sitting here will bring some degree of psychological re-grounding, a quieting of the restless and irritable mind that is beating its wings about my head) I was thinking that writing as a way of quieting the mind by focusing on language, and writing as a way of creating something beautiful, are intertwined and mutually supportive. For what writing requires–clarity of mind, care, choice of words, focus, continuity–are also the qualities we seek in quieting the restless mind.

I am all over the place when I am irritated. When I am irritated, I cannot see clearly. Nor can I sit in the same place long enough for the irritation to dissipate. I am captured by bad feelings into pointless activity. So the two work together.

The writing requires a certain state of mind. The state of mind it requires is actually the state of mind in which I wish to be: receptive, long-wave, interested, reflective, alert but not anxious, contented but not heedless.

So that is how I see these two things working together when, for instance, the question arises: Is this workshop  just a kind of group therapy, or does it actually help the writing? I think it helps one get into the state in which writing can occur, and, coincidentally or not so coincidentally, that state is also a salutary mental condition in itself. The quieted mind that is writing is also the mind that is alert, inquisitive, receptive, contemplative, capable of humor and surprise, free to make connections, balanced and serene.

So the workshops don’t so much teach writing per se, i.e. what a particular culture values as good writing and how to emulate that culture’s models for good writing. Rather, they provide a method, a practice, a way to get going with the writing. Improvement and refinement comes naturally once we acquire the practice.

And, along the way, as in the course of writing this short piece, we end up feeling a bit less irritable, able to face the day.

1 comment

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  • RE: Your June 13, 2008 response to a man suffering from porn addiction.

    Dear Mr. Tennis,

    I recently claimed my 12-year token from SAA. Your article accurately and skillfully hit lots of nails on the head.

    I have sponsored a number of people inside my program. I have a wonderful (certified in SA; a must, I believe) therapist and attend my home meeting religiously.

    I often tell my sponsees that, as you suggest, all addictions perform the same function and work the same way. They spell RELIEF, though temporary and at untenable cost.

    Everyone in my program is both averse to, squirming like a bug on a pin, and at the same moment completely addicted to, shame and its attendant sufferings.

    I can’t believe that any of the writers who declare that SA is not “real” have any experience with it themselves. I didn’t know SA existed or that it was possible to be completely enslaved by it. Like other addictions, by the time I realized I was in trouble it was too late.

    My therapist tells me and I believe her that brain scans of persons with SA are indistinguishable from those of crack addicts. I once told her that it was better than sex. Her reply as she nearly came out of her chair was, “OF COURSE IT IS!”. The hits are transcendent and full-body, unbelievable at first. Alas, and fortunately, that first hit is not reproducible, which is the source of the chase, the rituals, the chronic and progressively more extreme behaviors, the collapsing of one’s “moral” boundaries.

    I can never tell my sponsees enough that grappling with this addiction is counterintuitively not winnable as a moral battle but is better thought of as a recurring issue of management of one’s thoughts and behaviors; as long as I believe I am a moral failure I feed my shame which feeds my addiction. If I just try to notice what feeds it and replace, I say displace, whatever those things are with better things, progress can occur.

    Just like me, they get it, and then they don’t get it, and then they get it….

    You train me in being non-judgmental. I often want to immediately pounce, and I hear myself righteously lecturing your readers, gleefully giving advice. “If you would just…”

    Yeah, right. And you talk to them like the public sponsor you are. Gentle correction, stern, and sweet, and loving. You allow me to see the brutality of my inner critic as I scold, and I know that I, reflexively and most often unconsciously, turn that same vicious and judgemental criticism inward, and just as gleefully and unconsciously outward at the person I am most intimate with.

    I would like, if I may have your permission, to make a copy of your 2008 article to read the next time I lead a meeting, and your permission to make some copies for the persons who will undoubtedly request one.

    Thanks for the work you do; it makes a difference for me when I read your stuff.

    I’ve been trying to manage a relapse lately, which of course means I have been failing. But I will not fall as far or for as long as I have in the past. I am sober right now. I know the drill, I know that using will make it harder not easier next time. I know that I have come close to trading my job and my life for this addiction before. When I stood up to claim my 12-year token I confessed that after many months of being free of urges I was struggling and in the midst of a relapse and I recommitted to my recovery in front of my group, to whom I can tell almost anything.

    My addiction is regarded much like alcohol addiction was in the early days. Those with SA are viewed as moral reprobates, weak-minded “perverts”, hiding under false term of “sex addiction”, who if they just had a little will power would be able to snap out of this… The only people who come out are those who are forced into the public eye by being arrested; several group members have done prison time, few have violated an actual person, though had they continued all admit they might have; all are grateful to have been caught and exposed. None of the punishments affect their lives as much as being exposed to their families and their communities.

    Many spouses aren’t ever able to move past their sense of being betrayed; this addiction occurs as a very personal affront, particularly in the face of the almost inevitable relapses that are a part of recovery. And since most of the SA persons use internet porn, there is no confronting the “other” man/woman because he/she is a fantasy and a revolving door cast of fantasies at that. And because chasing the SA high requires more and more extreme fantasies to get a high, they often come upon scenes on a computer screen that are far removed from whatever their own sexual relationship with their partner looks like; they often occur as repugnant and/or vile. But once a SA is on that roller coaster it’s no different than the next rock of cocaine, the next and larger dose of heroin, one more drink. Insatiable and merciless, it requires endless seeking, more, more, more… everything?… well, at least until almost nothing is left but, if lucky, a shred of hope and a thought that I want to be out of this hell.

    So, of course, here I’m preaching to the choir, the preacher, but really, as we both know, a trusted servant. When I read your replies I regard it as attending a meeting, and I’m always grateful to be there with you and to have you with me.

    Thanks again,

    Pat O

By Cary Tennis

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