THE SACRED CENTER – Happy Places, Real and Imagined

Some years back, I was due to undergo major back surgery down at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. To prepare myself emotionally—and, some sources claimed, physically—I looked into hypnosis. As luck would have it, my next-door office neighbor at the time was one of the preeminent experts in the world on what’s called alert hypnosis—also called self-hypnosis.

He coached me a bit and then steered me to a former colleague’s video series developed specifically for patients facing surgery.*

One of the techniques taught in the program is, after a pretty standard meditation prep, to create a special place in one’s own mind, one of peace and contentment. Then the therapist describes how to attach a sort of “switch” to instantly call up that virtual escape, bypassing all the prelims. (My switch was simply to tap together the tips of my right index finger and thumb.)

        My happy place affected, as the surgeon 
        was soon to exclaim, a remarkably quick 
        and thorough recovery. 

INCISIONS, DECISIONS
So, as they wheel me to the operating room, I trigger my escape using that cue…and there I am in the little utopia I’d created, a beautiful, isolated northwoods lakeside cabin. 

So, at least till the anesthesia sets in, there I am, moving through my structure, experiencing each space and each view, examining every detail. Some features I still love; others, I move around or swap out for different styles or colors.  

I’m convinced that my self-hypnotically-induced happy place not only helped me remain calm, but also affected, as the surgeon was soon to exclaim, a remarkably quick and thorough recovery. 

I’LL HAVE THE SHRIMP
Another fantasy escape that takes me occasionally away from the clamor of real life finds Sally and me one night on a nearly deserted Brazilian beach. (I employ this one to cheat when they take my blood pressure.) 

The Milky Way is strewn across the pitch black sky. Delicious sea breezes stir the flames of a small bonfire I’ve built. Somehow we’ve managed to bring all that wood, a blanket, some food and, of course, a jug of caipirinhas** to sip on. 

Just down the beach a hundred yards away there’s a party going on. They have their own fire and some really nice live music. The small acoustic combo performs a mellow playlist inspired by samba icons Jobim and Gilberto. 

And they’re grilling shrimp, whose inimitable garlicky aroma just happens to be wafting our way. We soak it all in, appreciating each delicious sensation as a gift.

WHERE THE HEART IS
Like those Mayo Clinic and doctor’s office diversions, some happy places are imaginary. But I have a few that are real too. 

There are the exotic ones, like some of Sally’s and my travel destinations. Like a few little towns I've visited in Latin America. And places closer to home, but which still require a bit of effort to reach. Like my beloved St. Croix River and its backwaters, where I canoe and commune with Nature.

And then there are others that require no effort at all. Places most people would consider mundane, like our own living room where we simply sit, with our sweet little mini-Schnauzer, Sylvia, listen to music and talk.

         Near or far, solitary or with someone 
         else, they’re all really the same place. 

DO NOT DISTURB
I’m sure people's happy places vary greatly, depending on our personalities and tastes. Far away or close to home; out in Nature or indoors; summoning all the senses or just vision. 

The more I ponder the idea of happy places, the clearer it becomes that, whether near or far, solitary or with someone else, they’re all really the same place. And that’s a quiet little corner of our own minds and hearts, which, with a bit of self-discipline and a little imagination, we’ve cordoned off and marked: Busy taking care of myself. Do not disturb.

How about you? I'd love to hear about the places, real or imagined, in which you escape pain and stress. Won’t you please share them in the comments below?

                                               ~      •      ~      •      ~    

* The program—on CDs—is Smooth Surgery, Rapid Recovery: A Systematic Approach, by Dr. Carol Ginandes, a health psychologist affiliated with Boston’s McLean Hospital and Harvard University.

** The caipirinha is kind of the national cocktail of Brazil. It’s simply cachaça (a white rum), fresh lime juice and sugar.

OFF TO MEXICO – Yum-m-m!

I'm like a hungry man about to sit down to a hearty four-course meal. That's how I'm feeling on the eve of my 28th trip to Mexico.

As beautiful as Minnesota winters can be, they starve us of sensation. Against this backdrop of bland whites and grays and taupes, we're challenged to find the sustenance of color in detail and nuance—like a rosy cheek or a tenacious freeze-dried crab apple. Smells are served unseasoned, frozen in midair. Sound, too, seems squeezed out of its luscious fullness like dried fruit. Even touch is blunted by layers of nylon (most of it black, it seems), feathers and fleece.

   A Minnesotan would be dragged before
   the neighborhood association for painting his 
   house these vivid shades of pink, blue or gold.

In most of Mexico, including Zihuatanejo, Guerrero where I'm headed, climate and culture collaborate to nourish one with colors, sounds, smells and flavors.



The colors: a Minnesotan would be dragged before the neighborhood association for painting his house these vivid shades of pink, blue or gold. The smells: so often they reveal, where sights may not, the real life that's going on beyond the sphere of one's sanitized tourist experience. The tastes: there's nothing dried or preserved about them; they're fresh and true and sometimes surprising. And the touch, oh, the caress of that soft, warm, delicious air pouring in off the Pacific!

Even the sounds of this place transport me: the haunting, three-note pan-flute plea of the itinerant knife sharpener; the blare of música norteña from passing cars and work sites; the other-worldly rasping of a covey of chachalacas. And behind it all, the soft, sure respiration of the surf.



Maybe it's the warmth that unlocks both stimuli and senses. Belying the laid back, unhurried lifestyle, the sensations of Mexico stir in me a subtle sense of urgency. A mango, for example, just picked from the tree outside our villa door, is such a beautiful form just to look at. But no sooner than it begins to blush with full color you have to eat it or it loses its tang and turns to mush. So many beautiful things are transient.

And Zihuatanejo's a place of seamless flow between indoor and outdoor life. With little notion of that confinement we Minnesotans suffer during winter, you sense everything going on —in El Centro, down at Playa La Ropa out on Zihuatanejo Bay—and want to be a part of it all. But it's okay; anything you do—even nothing at all—feels completely satisfying, thoroughly nourishing of body and spirit.

A SLOUGH OF WONDERS – Celebrating My Happy Place

Where's your happy place? You know, that one favorite spot you escape to when you're in pain, under stress or just bored to death. The place that always takes you in, where you restore your equilibrium, reclaim your truth.

For some people, it might be about home and family—perhaps their mothers' kitchens when they were children. For others, it might involve a favorite activity, like gardening, golfing or fishing. I suppose it could even be an imaginary place, a kind of spiritual outdoors you get to by just walking out on your abrasive thoughts and surroundings for a while.

But what I'm thinking of would be a place in Nature, a real locale, a tangible space delineated by air, water, earth and life. Do you have such a place that's dear to you?

            If it were to be wiped from the 
            face of the earth, I'd still go there.

A DOSE OF WILDERNESS
My happy place is a real place. I go there physically when I can, and in my imagination when I have to. If, for some reason, it were to be wiped from the face of the earth, I'd still go there. That's how much a part of me it's become.

It's a slough, or side channel, of the St. Croix River, the beautiful stream that separates Minnesota from Wisconsin for 125 of its 164-mile length. I discovered it as a boy, when my family would spend summers at our home just across the river. And, even though I've had few lasting connections with the house and land, I've continued going to the slough, in both body and spirit, for more than fifty years.

             These days that's not a bad price 
             to pay for a dose of wilderness.

Today, the trip involves a little more effort than that boyhood walk of about a quarter mile to the river. Now I have to drive north from my home in Minneapolis for about an hour. Then I get my canoe and gear in the water and paddle about half a mile to the inconspicuous gap in the wooded bank that marks the slough's entrance. These days that's not a bad price to pay for a dose of wilderness.

By the time I pull up at the landing, I've already begun my transformation, dropping off my worries  along the way, picking up a few parcels of quiet anticipation. When I step out of my car, the air's clean and fragrant, the sun warm, the clamor of the city left far behind. And, if I'm lucky, the St. Croix looks just right—low enough to leave exposed a few welcome sandbars, but not so low as to require portaging into the slough.

       

REFLECTIVE RHYTHMS 
What best exemplifies my metamorphosis, though, is the striking change of vehicles—leaving the one designed for a mile a minute for the one whose progress is measured in yards. I'm also trading a conveyance that both consumes and breathes poison for one with no appetite nor breath but my own.

There's something so perfectly liberating and empowering about the self-reliance of traveling by canoe. Each paddle stroke, each foot I might have to drag or carry my gear across a log or shallow sand bar, rewards me with a modest, well-earned result. It's a celebration, not simply of freedom, not just of connecting with Nature, but of the way my body works and feels.

         Their breath and mine, as well as that 
         of a thousand fellow beings—poplar 
         and pine, deer and otter, cardinal and 
         eagle—mingle in this delicious air.  

The synthesis of physical exertion with my mental and spiritual surrender make me part of this place—one that, very likely, has changed little since the days when the Ojibwe or Dakota plied these waters three centuries ago. Their breath and mine, as well as that of a thousand fellow beings—poplar and pine, deer and otter, cardinal and eagle—mingle in this delicious air.

My time in the slough is like a meditation on two levels at the same time: the syncopated rhythms of paddling and breathing center me deep within, while a lush tapestry of sensations wraps around and, like the sure guidance of trusted friend's arm, draws me out to become one with my surroundings. My mind, free of schedule or expectation, glides, like my canoe, wherever I choose to take it—or just drifts with the wind. Either way, my spirit is nourished completely.

               It's a change I'm afraid too many 
               people find so easy that it's hard.

OVER THINKING
It's funny: I don't think very much while I'm paddling in the slough. I used to feel I could use the time to do some creative problem solving or to make difficult decisions about my life. But I've come to understand and accept that that's not where my spiritual energy wants to go. It wants to lift me above all those mundane tasks and embrace that one deceptively simple task of simply being. It's a change I'm afraid too many people find so easy that it's hard.

I hope you have a happy place, a place where easy is easy. If not, I hope one will find you.

We should all have at least one real, tangible happy place we can go to, a setting whose highs and lows, whose bends and backwaters, whose headwinds and tailwinds have become parts of who we are. What's extraordinary about this is that, no matter where that might be, even in the years we all know will come when we can no longer go there physically, we'll still be able to go there in our hearts and minds.

Where's your happy place? Is it one of peace and reflection? Do you ever go there virtually?