Arriving at Compassion

In 1971 the British symphonic rock group, The Moody Blues, released their seventh album – Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. The band’s guitarist, Justin Hayward, described it as a ‘a kind of searching, seeking record.’ There are songs on the album that ask questions of themselves as band members, and also of the world around them.

One of those songs that asks questions of the world around them is the John Lodge penned One More Time To Live.¹ The lyrics of the song begin with the lines, ‘Look out of my window/See the world passing by.’ The impression given is that this is a song in which the writer observes the world outside them and tries to make sense of the desolation, annihilation, and pollution they see. The solution this observer finds is to go on an inner journey and find the riches within.

Another way of hearing the lyrics may be as a commentary on the history of the world from the beginning of time through to the present moment. When this song was written the knowledge of environmental damage was only just beginning to be recognised. The world’s first environmental political party was not formed until the following year. The song was highly prescient then and remains relevant today.

In the song Justin Hayward (the vocalist) recites a total of 21 words, all with a ‘…tion’ or ‘…sion’ suffix.

The words begin with Desolation, the state in which the Universe emerged from, followed by Creation and Evolution.

This new world then descends towards environmental destruction, presumably with the appearance of Homo sapiens, and Hayward sorrowfully sings of Pollution, Saturation, Population (growth), and Annihilation.

Next, we hear of how humanity attempts to fix this mess. Humanity tries Revolution (which fails to fix it) resulting in Confusion and Illusion. The Conclusion to this is Starvation, Degradation, and Humiliation.

But this Conclusion is not the future that the songwriter John Lodge wishes to see. So we hear Justin Hayward inspiring us towards Contemplation and Inspiration. If we take this inner journey, then there may be a chance that we realise an inner Elation which can be our Salvation.

Via the process of Communication, the Moody Blues finally arrive at…

Compassion…

which is the Solution.

John Lodge, Justin Hayward, and the other band members were correct more than half a century ago, and they are no less so today.

Compassion is the Solution. Compassion towards ourselves, compassion towards other humans, compassions to other life forms, and compassion towards Mother Earth.

Note:

1. A beautiful Youtube clip of this song can be heard here.

Fierce Vulnerability – Book Review

What would it happen if our meditation cushions were taken out of the meditation hall and placed in the middle of a sit-in demonstration? What would happen if the blare of megaphones were replaced by Tibetan chimes? What if we listened instead of shouting?

Kazu Haga has asked himself these sorts of questions (and dozens more) of those who wish to change the world for the better. In his book, Fierce Vulnerability,¹ he offers these sorts of questions for the reader to ponder.

Kazu Haga is a trainer in nonviolence and restorative justice, and practices what he preaches. His work in these areas, along with his spiritual path, means that he is able to ask one of the most important questions that those seeking a better, healthier, and more socially just world need to be asking.

Simply put, that question is this: What would a movement that combines individual salvation with social direct action look like? Very few seem to be asking this sort of question, and Kazu Haga is one of only a handful who have attempted to pose it and offer some possible answers.

Yes, Haga does suggest some answers, but they may not be what the reader expects. Haga’s answers are closer to suggesting what to let go, rather than proposing new forms of organising.

Haga’s observations and proposals arise out of understandings and knowledge that was not generally known, let alone available, to previous generations of activists. Nor were these known to those seeking personal salvation. Furthermore, traditional styles of social activism are no longer sufficient in today’s world, because the crises facing us today are ones we have never had to face in our human journey before. Crises are no longer discreet; they are intimately entwined and entangled. So interconnected are the multitude of issues that solving one on its own may worsen another.

All this, says Haga, requires a much broader understanding of the personal, political, and planetary. We must, asserts Haga, let go of our sense of individuality and oppositional dualities.

Holding on to an us/them worldview is at odds with this entanglement and is at the heart of all that is destroying the planet, whether that be the “us” of one nation vs another nation, one person vs another, or humans vs non-humans.

Separation and isolation are at the core of trauma, a crucial element in Haga’s thesis. When most of us think of trauma we often think of acute trauma – i.e. an incident in one’s life that causes deep distress, but that is usually limited in time. We might, beyond this form of trauma, recognise chronic trauma – trauma that remains with the traumatised person indefinitely. However, Haga identifies at least six other manifestations of trauma: insidious, complex, indirect, vicarious, inter-generational, and collective.

In today’s world all of us can be exposed to any of these forms of trauma, whether we recognise it or not. This is why Haga tells us that those searching for personal salvation or enlightenment or those seeking social justice must recognise that what is needed is healing. Not opposition, and not self-absorption – but healing.

In turn, healing requires an ability to grieve. Many of us are traumatised because of loss of connection and belonging, whether we know it intellectually or not. Our bodies, however, do know, and that trauma gets displayed in mental and emotional ways, as well as collectively in warfare, xenophobia, misogyny, destruction of forests, or the extinction of species.

Haga introduces a useful model of how we show up in the world. Developed by a pioneer of adventure education, Karl Rohnke, the model outlines three zones; comfort, stretch, and panic zones. Most of our time is spent in our comfort zone, and this is where we breathe easily, are unstressed, can solve problems, and are deeply connected with others. Our stretch zone is where we get challenged and can grow. We get stretched, yet remain open to new information and perspectives. Every so often, however, we get pushed or pulled into a panic zone. In this zone, our evolutionary survival instincts kick in. We go into fight, flight, or freeze mode. In this zone, Haga (and Rohnke) tell us, we are unable to take in new information, and we are unwilling to listen to differing perspectives.

Traditional forms of activism often push or pull both activists and those opposed into this zone. In previous times these forms of activism have brought benefits and gains. However, today we are ‘trying to call forth a level of transformation we have never experienced,’ claims Haga. We need new forms of activism and new models, and the comfort-stretch-panic model is one of those. It is foundational to Kazu Haga’s notion of fierce vulnerability. It also helps to explain why traditional oppositional activist organising is insufficient for today’s world.

Haga does not fall into the trap of claiming that change happens through personal transformation on the one hand, or systemic change on the other. Both are necessary. In a chapter entitled Healing Is Not Enough he clearly articulates his thoughts.

‘The pain of collective violence isn’t felt in fancy retreat centers and workshop spaces. Those are places where we can build up our capacity to go into the places of hurt, but they’re not ultimately where the pain is felt.’

Yet, as he makes clear through the rest of the book, if we do not ‘build up our capacity’ then it is likely that we will be adding to the pain of the world rather than reducing it.

Throughout the book, Haga offers simple exercises that one can do (either alone or collectively) to train in the ideas he presents.

Fierce Vulnerability is a vital book that those seeking a better world should read. It may not provide you with all of the answers, but it will get you thinking about the crucial questions to be asking.

Notes:

1. Haga, Kazu, Fierce Vulnerability, Parallax Press, Berkeley, California, 2025

Neighbour Jones

In 1913 a comic strip named Keeping up with the Joneses made its first appearance in newspapers in the USA. The strip depicted the McGinis family who were constantly trying to keep pace with the wealth, possessions, and status of their neighbours, the Joneses. Significantly, the Joneses were never shown in the strip, remaining inconspicuous.

The phrase – keeping up with the Joneses – became a catchy idiom throughout much of the westernised world. The Joneses became the standard that everyone should aspire to. If the Joneses bought a new television, then the McGinis family bought the same model.

The comic strip ended in 1940, but following the end of WW2 the phrase signified the rampant explosion of consumerism that characterised the 1950s.

This was deliberate. The economist, Victor Lebow, in 1955, wrote:

‘The measure of social status, of social acceptance, of prestige, is now to be found in our consumptive patterns. The very meaning and significance of our lives today expressed in consumptive terms. …We need things consumed, burned up, worn out, replaced, and discarded at an ever increasing pace. We need to have people eat, drink, dress, ride, live, with ever more complicated and, therefore, constantly more expensive consumption.’¹

As the century moved on, consumerism became conspicuous consumption. As consumption rose the probability of increased dissatisfaction also rose if the Joneses were unable to be kept up with.

It wasn’t simply a case of consuming more though. In order to consume more, individuals and families had to gain more purchasing power; they had to work more, invest more, gain more education, and be seen more. For all that to happen they had to move.

They moved to cities. Between 1950 and 2020 the number of people living in urban areas rose from 20% to 55% of the world's population. That is an absolute increase from 500 million people in 1950 to 4.3 billion in 2020. A staggering increase.

The size of cities has grown ominously also. The largest city in the world in 1950 was New York with a population of approximately 12 million. In 2020 the largest city was Tokyo with a population of more than three times that – around 37 million.

The pressure to keep up with the Joneses in conjunction with increased urbanisation has had a devastating effect on the mental health and wellbeing of many people. Stress levels in particular have risen dramatically since WW2. So much so that stress is being labelled as the “health epidemic of the 21^st century.”

Our nervous system is actually composed of two systems that work conversely to each other. What is known as our sympathetic nervous system triggers our “fight or flight” response, and we experience a higher heart rate, dilated pupils, and focussed attention. Fight or flight is a stressful time. All through our evolutionary journey this stress was needed at times, but usually short lived. It could be labelled as acute stress.

Once the fight or flight event had passed and the acute stress was over, our parasympathetic nervous system took over and slowed heart rates, constricted pupils, and allowed our bodies to return to homeostasis (a state of equilibrium throughout the body.) These two systems worked well together for well over 95% of our species time on Earth.

Sadly though, the last few decades have seen stress levels become chronic, meaning that stress remains for a long period of time without abating. Our sympathetic nervous system remains on high alert, we become constantly, and continuously, subject to high levels of stress. Our parasympathetic nervous system has no opportunity to return us to that equilibrium point of rest and recuperation.

The main contributor, worldwide, to chronic stress is work. No longer are we human beings, we have become human doings. We have become constantly busy.

Chronic stress is implicated in a number of diseases and illnesses, amongst them: hypertension, cardiovascular disease, Type 2 diabetes, obesity, depression, anxiety, autoimmune diseases, musculoskeletal disorders, cognitive decline, and Alzheimer’s disease. Makes you wonder why, as a culture, we put up with it, doesn’t it?

Keeping up with the Joneses, urban living and its associated stressors (light, air, water, and noise pollution) have combined to outstrip our capacity to adapt.

There appears to be no lessening of these trends either. If anything, they are worsening. No longer is keeping up with the Joneses sufficient, nowadays the mantra seems to be get ahead of the Joneses. There is no end in sight to urbanisation. Noise and light pollution are becoming unhealthier as each year passes.

To make matters even graver, those factors that are impacting our human stress in harmful ways are also stressing the natural world severely. The oceans, the forests, wild animals and plants, waterways, and the air are all showing signs of being unable to cope with the stress we are placing upon them. The Earth herself is showing signs of chronic stress.

Sadly, the loss of natural ecosystems steadily undermines and deprives us of the very features that we require for our health and function. For the past 200,000 – 300,000 years humans co-emerged and co-existed with all other life forms and non-life forms upon this planet. Our health and our ability to survive are one and the same as the health of the planet as a whole.

The simple message to us from nature would seem to be: slow down, rest, recuperate, get rid of stuff, forget about the Joneses.

In fact, remember that in the original cartoon strip, the McGinis family were shown, but the Jones family were never seen.

The Joneses are a phantom. Stop trying to keep up with a phantom.

Notes:

1. Journal of Retailing, Spring 1955

One Small Step – Book Review

One Small Step¹ is a book about running, isn’t it? So, how does it come to be featured on this blogsite? Well, that’s because it is a book about community.

One Small Step, authored by the founder of parkrun, Paul Sinton-Hewitt, is a book about the building of community using running as the building blocks. It is also, and a bonus, the autobiography of a remarkable man.

The book is almost 300 pages long, yet it is not until you get almost to the 200^th page when Paul writes of the first ever parkrun (at the time known as the Bushy Park Time Trial). Paul spends most of the first 200 pages writing of his life and experiences growing up in the apartheid era in South Africa.

In many ways it is possible to read Paul’s childhood and teenage years as difficult, even sad and depressing years. His mother was mostly absent, both physically and emotionally. His father was no better. He and his brother and sister spent much of their educational years in boarding schools or orphanages. During much of this time Paul was bullied. Running allowed Paul to find some relief from these times. He grew to enjoy the activity.

These experiences, as an isolated youth, and growing up in the apartheid system, left Paul with at least two guiding values that he later brought to parkrun – fairness and inclusivity.

That first time trial in Bushy Park (in south-west London) had thirteen participants and five volunteers (including Paul). Twenty-one years later this small beginning has grown to more than 2,000 events in twenty-three countries. A total of almost 400,000 attend these weekly events with 10 million parkrunners being registered worldwide. Each parkrun is attended by volunteers who marshal, give out finishing tokens, record times, and administer the background practicalities. Each week, almost 50,000 people globally take on one or other of these roles.

Paul’s two values alluded to above (fairness and inclusivity) are reflected in the events. Participation in a parkrun (no matter where in the world) is free and no-one is turned away. Many who turn up walk the 5km route, whilst others participate by being wheeled in their pram. Although each participant is provided with a time, the accent is on participation rather than competition. The smiles and laughter before and following events attest to this being a community event, rather than a sporting event.

One Small Step is highly readable and engaging. Paul’s background and life experiences are honestly, and almost painfully, revealed. By giving the reader this insight into his life, Paul allows the reader to appreciate how this worldwide phenomenon came about, and also why it enjoys so many enthusiastic participants each week.

At the end of the book Paul relates an endearing story of being a parkwalker (one who walks as a volunteer toward the rear of the field to accompany others) and his engagement with a 5-year-old girl and her grandmother. It was the girl’s first ever parkrun. At the end of the 5km the grandmother said to Paul, ‘Thank you, from all of us.’

Paul’s reply was, ‘It’s been my pleasure. I enjoyed every step of the way.’

The reader is left in no doubt that Paul wasn’t referring to just that parkrun on that day.

Notes:

1. Paul Sinton-Hewitt, One Small Step: The definitive account of a run that became a global movement, MacMillan, London, 2025

Stand Still Day

Today is solstice. In the southern hemisphere it is the Summer Solstice, in the northern it is the Winter Solstice. Many cultures over many millennia have marked solstice with various rituals and celebrations.

In an era in which many people are constantly on the go, continuously busy, and ever on the look-out, perhaps it would be fitting to inaugurate a new ritual for the day of solstice.

It could be Stand Still Day, and it would occur twice a year; once on the December Solstice and again on the June Solstice.

It would be easy to remember the dates because solstice literally means sun stands still.

Our busy westernised lives expose us to anxiety, frustration, hyper-vigilance, angst, worry, fear, and a plethora of other stresses. Timetables, deadlines, expectations, schedules, wars, and physical violence all constrain us and force us into a chronic state of stress.

Studies and research carried out over the past few years consistently show that negative feelings amongst people from all over the globe are on the increase. More than one-third of people say that they felt sad or had been worried on the day before being interviewed. Similar numbers reported that they felt angry. Moreover, the proportion of people reporting these feelings had increased compared to a decade earlier, often up by 10% or more.

During the same decade, the proportion of people reporting positive feelings (such as enjoyment, being able to laugh or smile, and being well-rested) remained steady, with no appreciable decrease or increase in the proportions.

A number of explanations for this increase in negative feelings have been put forward: lack of peace, the pace of life, and the threat of environmental collapse amongst them.

How can we deal with this?

What if, on the two days of the year on which the sun stands still, we also stood still?

If we all simply stopped and stood still for an hour (say) on two days a year – December solstice and June solstice, what might happen? Some possibilities include:

• Firstly, noticing that our breathing slows down and our heart rate drops.
• Realising that our bodies do have the capacity to relax.
• Understanding that our frenetic day-to-day activities are undermining our health.
• Finding that we have time to talk with our children, our parents, and our neighbours.
• Appreciating our surroundings. Perhaps we look up at the sky for the first time in a long time and watch birds flying past.
• Comprehending the vastness of the cosmos.
• Becoming conscious of our inner psyche (our soul).

At first it could be just one hour, twice a year. Two hours out of the 8,766 hours each year provides us with. Surely, that is possible. After a few years we might be able to simply stand still for a few hours twice a year.

If the Sun can do it, and it has been alive for billions of years, then so can we.

Where Are The Men?

A few weeks ago I attended a question-and-answer session with a woman with elderhood status within the local indigenous community. She spoke eloquently and with an authority based in cultural values and history. I left the session feeling privileged to have had the opportunity to listen to, and be transported into, a realm of the heart.

I also left with an unsettling question: Where are the men?

In the room there had been approximately 80 people. I didn’t count them, as there were too many. I did count the number of men present though. Only six!!

Six men in a group of 80, only 7.5% of the total. Women outnumbered men by a factor of 13:1.

I have been involved in community development, social justice, and environmental movements for more than fifty years. In those fields I have noticed similar ratios in gatherings of what might be called politics of the heart.

Politics of the heart could be a phrase for utilising emotional responses, personal experience, and deep internal reflection to inform one’s philosophy and practice. Politics of the heart asks questions of my own self, it asks me to consider how my choices and actions impact upon social, community, and international situations.

Politics of the heart requires me to stand aside from my ego and to honestly look into the feelings of my heart. It is not easy. It is not straightforward. It may not even be conclusive.

Where then, I wonder, are the men when it comes to this politics of the heart? Why do women, time and time again, vastly outnumber men in workshops, seminars, retreats, and presentations that deal with the politics of the heart?

Yet, when it comes time to march on parliament, or to organise protest actions, or to stand for governmental positions, why is it that men tend to outnumber women? Although this latter situation is changing, it is a tendency I have noticed over 50 years as much as the tendency for women to outnumber men in politics of the heart.

I have not found any serious research attempting to answer these questions, so all I can do is offer some thoughts based on my personal experience.

Historically, and still mostly the case, men have been the privileged gender. It may be that this privilege means that men consider the issues raised within the politics of the heart unworthy of consideration because men are not impacted by such issues. Men have the privilege of not having to think about these issues.

Men have been socially conditioned to believe that politics of the heart involves soft issues, whereas the role of men is to deal with the hard issues. Becoming involved in soft issues for men opens us up to vulnerability – a notoriously soft issue. Male conditioning is for men to be strong, logical (not emotional), and to take up positions of leadership.

Male politics, in general, tends to be outwardly focussed. Questions dealing with law and order, foreign trade, defence systems, financial markets, machinery, and building and construction are more often seen as the male realm. These are all outwardly directed activities.

The politics of the heart, in contrast, is inner directed and deals in emotions, intuition, feelings, compassion, empathy, true connection, and self-reflection. Men (at least westernised men) have been told for many decades that these are not matters that men need to consider. Indeed, men have been led to believe that such matters are beneath them.

The sad thing about all this is that what men have been conditioned into is untrue. Sad too, is that what men have been told, what men have been led to believe, is also untrue.

So, men, let us overturn that ratio of women to men, and start involving ourselves in the politics of the heart.

Who Am I?

How often do we ask ourselves, ‘Who am I?’ If we seriously ask this question, what sort of answer do we come up with?

We are not alone in asking this question. The question has been one of the most fundamental questions of western philosophy. The answer in most cases has been that I am I, or that I exist. The most famous statement of this conclusion is that of René Descartes who in 1637 published Discourse on the Method.

Writing in French, Descartes expressed his famous maxim as ‘Je pense, donc je suis’ (translated as ‘I think, therefore I am.’) Descartes considered this declaration to be his first principle – a “first principle” is a principle that cannot be deduced from any other assumption.

At first glance this principle seems logical, even intuitive. Yet, it is a circular argument, verging on tautological. The British progressive/symphonic rock band The Moody Blues articulated this tautology on their 1969 album On The Threshold Of A Dream. The confusion inherent in the maxim is expressed in the opening lyrics of that album; ‘I think… I think I am. Therefore I am!… I think…’

Of course, Descartes was not the first to express such an idea. The ancient Greek philosophers had been pondering existence, individuality, and the distinction between body and soul more than 2,000 years earlier. Aristotle, for instance, declared that ‘…whenever we perceive, we are conscious that we perceive, and whenever we think, we are conscious that we think, and to be conscious that we are perceiving or thinking is to be conscious that we exist…’

The existence of an independent and autonomous self (the “I”) has underpinned western worldviews ever since. Over the past few centuries, the I has become a cult of individualism, and more latterly, toxic individualism, narcissism, and the rise of the rugged individual.

Descartes maxim contains the roots of this individualism within it – “I” think, therefore “I” am. The phrase begins and ends with an individualistic notion of being in the world. The phrase did not immediately kick-start the cult of the individual, but it is one of the foundations of that cult.

We can recognise the inherent individualism within Descartes’ principle by contrasting it with two other, lesser known in western cultures, assumptions. The Zulu concept of ubuntu is especially vivid. Desmond Tutu (the South African Archbishop and opponent of apartheid) describes ubuntu as, ‘the philosophy and belief that a person is only a person through other people. In other words, we are human only in relation to other humans. Our humanity is bound up in one another … This interconnectedness is the very root of who we are.’¹ Tutu begins from a place of relationship between people as the root of who we are, even as individuals.

In a different part of the world, and another religious tradition, the Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, coined the term interbeing to sum up his understanding of the way in which relationship is at the heart of who we are. He defines interbeing as, ‘the many in the one, and the one containing the many.’ In a nod to Descartes, he articulates it as a first principle: ‘I am, therefore you are. You are, therefore I am. We inter-are.’²

These two expressions of the self are at odds with the western view, and point to a philosophical and psychological road that western thought failed to travel upon.

During the 20^th century the westernised path of individualism incorporated a number of philosophical ideas and spawned others, such as existentialism, one form of anarchism, libertarianism, and Ann Raynd’s objectivism. Together, these ideas paved the road towards the toxic individualism, egocentrism, and narcissism.

The relationship understanding of who I am, reflected in ubuntu and interbeing were not only rejected, but never considered during the construction of individualism. Community, society, the public good, and even kinship were all discarded along the way. By 1987, the then Prime Minister of the UK, Margaret Thatcher, was able to paraphrase Ann Raynd’s objectivism with the words, ‘There’s no such thing as society.’

The over-identification today with the I has resulted in the wanton destruction of ecosystems, polarisation and hatred of one another, and paradoxically, individuals unable to cope who attempt to escape with drugs, alcohol, fast cars, inordinate wealth, and in its extreme, self-harm and suicide.

We, individually, culturally, and socially, have to reconsider the fundamental philosophical and psychological question:

Who am I?

Notes:

1. Desmond and Mpho Tutu, The Book of Forgiving, William Collins, London, 2014

2. Thich Nhat Hanh, Interbeing: Fourteen Guidelines for Engaged Buddhism, 1987

Red Dust Healing – Book Review

Imagine you are sitting in a yarning circle¹, a fire blazing in the middle. Maybe you are outside sitting around a fire in a desert in Western Australia. Uncle Tom Powell is telling stories. Uncle Tom’s stories have power – power to heal.

This imaginative fire and yarning circle is what it is like to read through Red Dust Healing: the One Day Workshop.² Tom Powell has been running Red Dust Healing workshops, seminars, and story-telling for more than twenty years. This delightful short book is a transcription of one of his one-day workshops.

Tom is a Warramunga man from the Wiradjuri Nation³ and brings 60,000+ years of accumulated knowledge and wisdom of his people into his workshops. He uses various tools, images, and metaphors to help workshop participants to heal their pains, traumas, abuses, and other forms of suffering.

The healing offered by Tom can be applied at personal, family, and collective levels. As Tom is wont to say, ‘It’s not your fault.’ Recognising that pain and suffering may have arisen in an abusive childhood, or from years of colonisation that Australian first-nations people have suffered, the tools for healing can be learnt and applied by anyone, including the descendants of colonisers.

Many of Tom’s tools and metaphors come from the natural world. Trees, fish, birds, kangaroos, and feathers are all offered as means towards remembering the lessons in his stories. It has always been this way – nature is our healer.

Tom is also known for his paradoxical one-liners, which he uses to further reinforce the lessons contained within his stories. Many of his one-liners are scattered throughout the book. A particularly poignant one-liner of Tom’s is, ‘Follow me, I’m right behind you.’ Tom states this with humility and graciousness. As he writes on the final page:

‘What I teach in Red Dust Healing is everything I’ve learned from my Mum and Dad. Everything I’ve learned from our Old People; everything I've learned I’ve learned from you. I get my strength from you. It’s true. I mean it and I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t true.’

Even the way the book acknowledges his authorship recognises this teamwork. The cover of the book does not state by Tom Powell; rather it states, with Tom Powell – you, me, and all those who participate are co-authors.

Tom’s sense of collaboration comes through in every page of the book, yet he always acknowledges the uniqueness of every participant in his workshops. Another of his one-liners summarises this well; ‘Scatter out and stick together.’

Tom relates stories in a kind, compelling, and humorous manner. This book captures that story-telling style well.

The book is only 80 pages long and includes many diagrams and graphics, making it very easy to read in one sitting, although you will most likely want to dip into it many times to connect with the tools and metaphors within.

Red Dust Healing is only available through the Red Dust website (https://thereddust.com/) It is available for A$50 plus postage. A phone number is provided to order a copy. For those outside of Australia, there is a ‘Contact’ form. I’m sure that if you contact Tom through this means he will be willing to let you know the cost of postage to wherever you are.

Notes:

1. A yarning circle is a process that comes from Aboriginal culture. It is where people learn, share, pass on knowledge, and build respectful relationships through a narrative format.

2. Tom Powell (with), Red Dust Healing: the One Day Workshop, Red Dust Healing Pty Ltd., 2025

3. The Wiradjuri Nation occupy land to the west of Sydney, Australia.

Rugged Individualism: Where Did It Come From?

Lastweek’s blog noted that there was a strong correlation between using first-person singular pronouns (e.g. I, me, mine, myself) and depression. That blog also noted that the use of these pronouns had increased dramatically since the early 1980s.

We might ask: Where did this focus on me, myself, and I come from?

One of the strands that has contributed to this is the rugged individual archetype and the associated myth of the lone hero. They have been with us for a long time.

Stories and myths of this archetype stretch back at least as far as Greek and Roman mythology. Many of us will have heard of, or read of, the exploits of heroes such as Jason, Odysseus, Perseus, Hercules, Romulus, and Remus. Within Norse mythology we know of Odin, Thor, and Hodr. In English mythology we have the rugged individual myths of Beowulf, King Arthur, and Robin Hood. All men. There have been female heroines, although many of us would be hard pressed to name many of them.

The term rugged individual is only recently coined, by US President Herbert Hoover, has been portrayed in Hollywood style Westerns. Butch Cassidy, Wild Bill Hickock, Buffalo Bill, Davy Crockett, and others have all etched their rugged individual heroism onto the minds of young boys growing up in the first half of the 20^th century. Those growing up in the latter half of that century were habituated by male heroes such as James Bond, Indiana Jones, Magnum, Rambo, Jason Bourne, and Neo.

These rugged individuals do not need others to fulfill their destiny; they are highly resilient, can withstand a hail of bullets, leap from burning buildings, and of course, save the threatened damsel in distress. The hero rises above his pain, is always in control, and is never vulnerable. It is one of the most toxic archetypes young men can be exposed to. It is an absurd and unattainable self.

Rugged individualism (akin to toxic individualism) promotes an outlook that views other people as competitors rather than as our peers. Accordingly, such an outlook fosters self-promotion and, at its extremity, narcissism. Furthermore, rugged individualism cultivates a belief that one can, and should, solve one’s own problems, even if the solving involves addictive behaviours, such as alcohol and drug misuse, or gambling. A person entrenched in the mythology of the rugged individual is unlikely to be able to reach out for help, further aggravating the likelihood of resorting to unhealthy behaviours.

Francis Weller likens the rugged individual archetype to a prison and says, ‘We are imprisoned by this (hero) image, forced into a fiction of false independence that severs our kinship with the earth, with sensuous reality, and with the myriad wonders of the world. This is a source of grief for many of us.’¹

Sadly, when individuals come to this grief, and crash headfirst into recognising that individualism does not benefit them, the illusion is so firmly entrenched that it becomes extremely difficult to break away from the addictions, habits, and obsessions that have arisen to shore up the false sense of invulnerability.

Paradoxically, it is the very notion of the Self in westernised culture that promotes this sad state of affairs. Western culture, to a large extent, conceives of the Self as a self-sufficient, separate, and a discrete entity. The Self in this construction can be conceptualised as a homunculus residing within our body, responsible to no-one but itself.

Other cultures, especially indigenous ones and those of the Orient, perceive the Self in a different manner. So much so, that within a couple of these cultures the concept of no-Self is more frequently found. The concept of no-Self could be explored in depth and take up much space. A brief clarification will be presented here. No-Self does not mean literally that there is no self and no individual person. It simply means that all selves come into being, live, and pass on, as part of a highly entangled web of life.

Buddhism, for example, calls this concept dependent co-arising; a concept in which nothing arises by and of itself. Rather, phenomena arise by a dynamic interaction of mutually conditioned events. Although this concept is central to Buddhism, and hence to the cultures that embrace it, other cultures have similar concepts.

Within such a concept the idea of the rugged individual is unlikely to gain traction.

Rates of depression vary considerably around the world. It is telling that the highest rates are found in North America, Europe (although Poland bucks the trend), Scandinavia, Australia, and middle East nations. All of whom, to varying degrees, have a high regard for the individual.

On the other hand, the nations where rates of depression are lowest are found mainly in SE Asia, West Africa, and some South American countries. Significantly, these are nations that view the person as being part of a whole, not a separate individual. They are also amongst the least European colonised nations on Earth.

Surely that tells us something.

Notes:

1. Weller, Francis, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, CA, 2015

Me and My Depression

Narcissus

How often do we hear that one of the ways to release oneself from the tentacles of depression is to use self-affirmation statements. Statements such as, I alone hold the truth of who I am.

A google search of self-affirmations recently showed me 99 such affirmations. Tellingly, 66 of the 99 began the affirmation with the first-person singular pronoun I. A further 8 affirmations began with the word My. Furthermore, only seven of the affirmations did not include the pronouns I, me, mine, or myself.¹ That is a staggering 93% of affirmations that include the first-person singular pronoun.

Do these affirmations work? I guess the answer to that question depends on the question: work towards what purpose?

If the purpose is to overcome feelings of anxiety or depression, then the answer may surprise you. Research suggests that those who use first-person singular pronouns (such as I, me, myself, mine) often are more likely to have feelings of anxiety and depression than those who use these pronouns less often.

Researchers from a variety of German Universities in 2015 found that there their ‘present study unravelled some important insights into the link between first-person singular pronoun use and symptoms of depression and anxiety.’² Furthermore, such pronoun use ‘is positively related to brooding.’ The researchers defined brooding as referring to the ‘passive comparison of one’s current state with desired but unreached states.’ They were quick to point out that brooding is qualitatively different from reflection which they characterised as a ‘purposeful turning inward to engage in cognitive problem solving to alleviate one’s depressive symptoms.’

The researchers also clearly mentioned that first-person singular pronoun use is positively related to brooding, but not to reflection. The two states are qualitatively different, with reflection being beneficial, whereas brooding is harmful.

Of course, as any self-respecting statistician will tell you, correlation is not the same as causation. Yet, if we trace the incidence of usage of first-person singular pronouns over time, and the incidence of depression over similar periods of time, the correlation is strong.

The word I in the English language was used approximately 4,000 – 5,000 times in every one million words used between 1800 and 1870. After 1870 the usage of this first-person singular pronoun began to decline to less than 2,500 times per million in the early 1980s. Since then, it’s use has climbed rapidly to around 7,000 times in every one million words today. That is, the word I is used 280% more often today than it was less than 50 years ago. Quite some rise!

Similar increases can be noted in the use of me, myself, and my. All since the early 1980s. Me, for example, is now used four times as often today than it was 50 years ago.

If we track rates of depression over a similar time period, we note a steady increase in depressive symptoms, especially amongst young people.

Is a focus on me, myself, and I making us more depressed?

Many point to a rise in narcissism in recent decades. Indeed, the word narcissist is now used eight times more often nowadays than it was in 1980. Eight times!

Although this short piece is not the place to address the rise of narcissism, it is interesting to note that it’s rise came on the back of the self-development and human potential movements of the late 1960s and 1970s. Many at the time believed that if enough people raised their individual potential, then wider social change would follow. A worthy intention but ultimately flawed as it tended to view the world in a dualistic way – the individual as separate from the wider culture. Furthermore, the rabbit hole of intense self-absorption was opened up, and many followed the rabbit.

Why did the human potential movement not live up to its ideal of social change via individual self-development?

Perhaps because it failed to recognise a simple truth that many teachers and indigenous cultures had known for centuries. There is no separate, disconnected self. The Buddha taught this simple truth 2,500 years ago in his teaching on dependent co-arising. Tribespeople in southern Africa knew it years ago in their concept of ubuntu. The Zulu notion of ubuntu is described by Bishop Tutu as, ‘the philosophy and belief that a person is only a person through other people.’³ The Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, more recently coined the term interbeing and described this as, ‘the many in the one and the one containing the many.’ In a nod to the famous Descartes dictum, Thich Nhat Hanh expressed interbeing as ‘I am, therefore you are. You are, therefore I am. We inter-are.’

These are profoundly different ways of conceptualizing the notion of personhood. They also offer a radically different pathway towards a healthy state of mind.

None of the above is meant to suggest that we do away with words such as I, me, myself, mine; rather it suggests that we should be mindful of recognizing that an intense focus on our individual selves leads to unhealthy outcomes.

Notes:

1. https://www.thegoodtrade.com/features/positive-affirmations-morning-routine/  accessed 30 June 2025

2. Brockmeyer et al., Me, Myself, and I: self-referent word use as an indicator of self-focused attention in relation to depression and anxiety, Frontiers in Psychology, October 2015, Vol 6, article 1564

3. Desmond & Mpho Tutu, The Book of Forgiving, William Collins, London, 2014

Get Over It or Let It Go

A friend of mine sometimes tells the story of his father returning from naval service after WW2. His father and a friend of his father were affected emotionally, mentally, and psychically by their experiences during the war. Upon their return after the end of the war, they were often told to “Have a beer and get over it.”

How many people suffering from PTSD or some other painful situation are told the same thing: “Get over it”?

Being told this does not help, in fact it tends to make the condition worse. The statement implies that the person in pain is to blame for the experience leading to their pain.

An example may help clarify this. Suppose a soldier on a battlefield is continually bombarded with the sounds of crashing bombs, the whizzing of bullets all around, and witnessing the death (sometimes horrendous) of their comrades. They are likely to experience PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). During WW1 this was known as shell-shock, and at that time was only just starting to be recognised as a wound as debilitating as a physical wound. These men and women did not create those events, but they certainly felt the pain.

The psychology surrounding PTSD and other painful experiences has been widely studied since WW1. The research does not support a practice of “getting over it.”

Buddhism – often referred to as “less a religion and more a psychology of mind” – has some useful insights into how to deal with psychological pain. The first of these insights is to distinguish between pain and suffering. Pain is inevitable, it is a feature of being alive. Pain can be physical, mental, biological, and/or social. Suffering is different. Suffering is our reaction to these pains. So, there are two parts to the experience of, say PTSD. The first part is the incident or event that gave rise to the pain. The second part, following the first, is the various emotions that arise in response. These may be anxiety, anger, confusion, fear, grief, frustration.

The second insight is to recognise that continuous suffering results from attempting to push away the pain and trying to con ourselves into believing the pain does not exist. Buddhists call this aversion. This is what others mean when they say, “Just get over it.”

The opposite of aversion is craving. The opposite of “just get over it” is “just be happy, have a beer.” Both states, at best, are fleeting.

If aversion and craving do not work, then what does?

Buddhism suggests to simply “let it go.” I say “simply” but it is much harder than that, as it involves reconfiguring our mental, emotional, and psychological states. The concept is simple. It is rather like watching a cloud (your suffering) slowly pass by overhead, drifting on the wind, with no active involvement by you at all, aside from simply watching the cloud pass away. Getting into this frame of mind takes time, practice, and (yes) some effort. Even once this frame of mind is achieved, it is possible that the cloud could take a long time to pass by. Simply letting go is not simple.

Notice too, that the exhortation to “get over it” is often uttered by another person, not yourself. “Letting go” however, is something you do, not the instruction of another person. “Letting go” permits you to hold onto your power, rather than allowing someone else to take it from you.

So, how do we get to a state of mind that allows us to “let it go”?

The classic Buddhist response is meditation and mindfulness. This blog will not go into detail on these practices. There are numerous articles, videos, and books around teaching these.

There are many other ways to get to this state. Here are a few possibilities.

·       Spending time in nature. Take a slow, deliberative, walk in a forest. Notice what you hear, see, smell.

·       Physical exercise, especially aerobic exercise: jogging, swimming, cycling, or similar.

·       Enjoy time with a dog, or a horse, or other animal.

There are also some things to refrain from that otherwise would hinder getting to this state, for example:

·       Refraining from harmful pursuits: alcoholism, smoking, gambling, and other forms of addiction.

·       Reducing time in stressful situations. Much of our time in modern society keeps us hyper-vigilant, constantly alert, and on time deadlines. All of these keep us well removed from a “let it go” state of mind.

·       Beware of the trap of consumerism. Consumerism is one of the forms of “getting over it.” A beer is just one of the multitudes of consumer options. The phrase could just as easily be “Go buy a new car and get over it,” or “Add an extension to your house and get over it.”

Thus, next time you hear someone tell you to “Go have a beer and get over it,” let them and their message drift away as would a cloud.

If We Can't Go Back...

Critics of modernity, and the current messy system we are in, often get taunted with the reproach that, “you can’t go back.” Maybe we can, maybe we can’t. Even if we had the means to do so, we may not have the will.

Not going back though, does not imply that we must go forward. Indeed, our westernised penchant for going forward (aka progress) may be one of the major concepts that have got us into this mess.

The idea that we must continually progress is rooted in the manner in which we think of time. Time, in the westernised worldview, is linear and moves from the past, conceptualised as behind us, to the future, conceptualised as in front of us, ahead of us.

Progress as a physical and metaphysical goal was deemed by many Enlightenment thinkers as desirable and almost inevitable. The view of many Enlightenment thinkers (such as Descartes, Hobbes, Locke, and Kant) was that human history tended towards freedom, equality, and greater well-being. Human progress is not only possible, it is inevitable according to this view.

It was a compelling idea and, in an age when the Dark Ages were still at the forefront of people’s memory, it was also a welcome and refreshing idea. Progress became one of the idée du jour of Enlightenment thinkers and permeated the minds of the general populace. So much did it pervade our minds that today it is considered the natural course of things. To question the idea of progress is tantamount to sacrilege.

Progress came to be synonymous with better, greater, improved, advanced, and superior. The current generation were better-off than the previous one. But then came the unsettling thought that the future was a better place to be than the present. With this realisation came the figure of speech that whipped post-war generations into a consumerist society – keeping up with the Jones’es.

Progress became coupled with improvement; progress meant improvement; improvement meant progress. Things must improve. Things must get better. The future is to be striven for at all costs. And one of the costs of all this striving was inadequate consideration of the consequences of new technology and infrastructure. In the post-war consumerism boom the word NEW! was one of the most oft used words of advertisers.

No consideration was given to the social, individual, and environmental consequences.

If we are paying attention to the state of the world then the environmental consequences of progress are all too apparent. We can see the consequences. They are not good.

What may not be so easy to see are the consequences of progress on our mental and psychological health. When we believe that the future is better than now then we can easily become dissatisfied with, and disappointed in, the present moment.

The ability to place our faith in improvement and betterment in a future time was explored in depth by Alvin Toffler and Adelaide Farrell (often unacknowledged) in 1970 in their book Future Shock.¹ In that book they outlined how the pace of change and our expectation of a better future was having an impact upon our psychological health. Toffler and Farrell described this as an ‘abrupt collision with the future.’ Since then, the pace of change has increased exponentially. Also, our expectations of the future solving the problems of today and resulting in a better world have also gained traction.

But it doesn’t happen.

Thinking that we are better off than were our ancestors leads us to want to avoid going back to the past. Thinking that the future will bring about improvement leads us to want to progress to that time as quickly as possible.

In this state of aversion for the past and attachment to the future, our present moment becomes homeless. We don’t reside there; yet it is in the present moment that our hearts and souls wish to dwell. The present is where we are most settled, it is where we become free of anxiety, depression, tension, and stress.

We may not be able to go back, but, for the sake of our health, we can stop striving to get ahead.

If we could do that, we might just find that the past was not so onerous as we think. We might even find that there are some things that we could go back to. We might even enjoy them. We might even improve our mental and psychological health.

Note:

1. Toffler, Alvin (and Farrell, Adelaide), Future Shock, Bantam, New York, 1970

Where Did Our Selves Go?

Around one in eight people globally suffer from at least one form of mental health issue. Whether it be anxiety disorders, depression, PTSD, bi-polar disorder, or schizophrenia, the costs of mental health are estimated at $2-5 trillion per year, and expected to rise to over $6 trillion by 2030 (just five years away.)

Surely, such a crisis raises the question of: how did we come to this? How did our selves become so lost and confused that so many of us suffer these conditions? As Gabor Maté notes, ‘In the most health-obsessed society ever, all is not well.’¹

Quite simply, I would claim that this disjoint in our psyches is because we have come to perceive ourselves as being disconnected from nature and from each other. I recognise, of course, that this claim is highly simplistic, yet if you follow through the implications of each of these two disconnections the threads joining it all together become evident.

Disconnection from nature is tantamount to a loss of Earth as our collective home. Disconnection from each other isolates us from our community. Together, these two disconnections mean that we have lost contact with our human support systems and our place of identity, resulting in a psychic disruption that varies from person to person.

Is it any wonder then, that over the past few centuries, we have become more and more disconnected from our own selves? We are homeless and have little sense of belonging. Both these disconnections cannot fail but fill our psyches with a toxic concoction of conscious and unconscious thoughts, feelings, emotions, and worldviews that serve to disconnect us from who we are, from our true selves.

Our mental health statistics show this. Over the past 50 years mental health issues have been steadily worsening, with the most severe disorders being depression, specific phobias (extreme fears of objects or situations that pose little or no danger but make one feel anxious), post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and alcohol abuse. Ominously, a 2023 study undertaken by researchers from Harvard Medical School and the University of Queensland involving respondents from 29 countries concluded that, ‘by age 75 approximately half the population can expect to develop one or more of 13 mental disorders.’² For both men and women major depressive disorder was one of the most prevalent disorders. The next most prevalent was alcohol abuse for men and specific phobias for women.

This is a serious disconnection within and from ourselves.

What has happened to our selves? Where did our selves go?

It is highly likely that we left our selves behind when we allowed ourselves to disconnect from nature. We left our selves behind in the forests, the mountains, the rivers, and the myriad other natural habitats.

If this is so, then it is no surprise that spending time in natural settings helps to reduce mental health problems and to restore balance in our lives.

Over the past 40 years a conscious practice of spending time in natural settings for health benefit has been spreading around the globe. Japan can be credited as the birthplace of this practice, where it is known as shinrin-yoku. The term shinrin-yoku (literally Forest Bathing) was coined in 1982 by Tomohide Akiyama, who was Director of the Japanese Forest Agency at the time. Since the beginning of the 21^st century the science of forest bathing has built an impressive research base.

Amongst the benefits of forest bathing that this research has shown are: Increased relaxation of the body due to increased activity of the parasympathetic nervous system; Reduced stress of the body due to reduction of sympathetic nervous system activity; Reduction in blood pressure; Lowering of pulse rate. These health benefits allow forest bathing participants to feel a sense of comfort, feel calm, feel refreshed, less anxious, and an improvement in their emotional state.³

If such health benefits can be experienced by just an hour or two of forest bathing, imagine the benefits that might ensure from reconnecting more completely with nature?

Another, associated, health practice has also been slowly spreading. Green prescriptions first began being prescribed by doctors in New Zealand in the late 1990s. Green prescriptions are a medical prescription to spend time in nature. In New Zealand it is now possible to self-refer to a green prescription. A number of countries, including Canada, the UK, Korea, Finland, the US, and of course Japan, are utilising this form of “medication” regularly as part of those nation’s healthcare services.

Sadly, at the very time we are starting to re-discover the benefits of spending time in nature we are also busy chopping down our forest, polluting our riverways, and mining the tops and sides of our mountains.

If we are going to find our selves again then we have to act with nature in a reciprocal manner. We must stop chopping, polluting, and mining.

Notes:

1. Gabor Maté, with Daniel Maté, The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness &healing in a Toxic Culture, Vermillion, London, 2022

2. Prof John McGrath et al., Age of onset and cumulative risk of mental disorders, The Lancet Psychiatry, 2023. https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(23)00193-1/abstract  accessed 23 April 2025

3. Yoshifumi Miyazaki, The Japanese Art of Shinrin-Yoku, Timber Press, Portland, Oregon, 2018