It All Started with A Raison

The first introduction I had to mindfulness was in a grad school class in 2006 where a guest lecturer brought us each a raison and walked us through an extensive “raison meditation”.  I sat around a conference room table with my 10 classmates, staring at a single raison placed in front of me on a white napkin.  It struck me as a bit of a goofy exercise, but also intriguing.  We held our raisons up to our noses and next to our ears, rolled them around between our fingers, looked at them, touched them to our lips, held them between our teeth and finally bit down and chewed.  I noticed the sticky sound as I rolled the raison next to my ear.  I saw the light against the dark pruny skin stuck out to me, like a strange rock formation.  I felt the slight strain in the urge to bite down as I held the raison between my teeth as instructed.  And then the burst of flavor as I bit and chewed. 

It was an expansive 10 minutes.  Some of my classmates described how their relationship to raisons changed with the exercise (“I’d never really liked raisons before, but this was… pleasant.”)  Our instructor noted that when we eat mindfully we often notice our senses more acutely – the smells and tastes and textures and flavor combinations.  It allows us to more completely enjoy the experience of eating.  When we eat mindfully, we recognize our body’s fullness cues more readily.  So when we sit down to consume a bag of potato chips, we might feel satisfied after one, rather than eating a whole bag and feeling sick and full and wanting.  Mindfulness is integral in intuitive eating approaches to treatment of eating disorders.  This was my first introduction to mindfulness, but it wouldn’t be my last.

After that, I read all I could about mindfulness.  I used it in my therapy work when a patient needed help down-regulating.  I rubbed my young daughters back when she had nightmares and told her “a relaxing story” as she called it – mindfulness.  I taught groups and large classes how to do it.  I listened to mindfulness meditations while I was walking and when I was going to sleep. 

Many years later, I engaged in my first Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction course – an 8 week, 9 session experiential course (Jon Kabat-Zinn, 1979) on the subject.  Each session is 2.5 hours except for one mid-course meeting which is an “All-Day Silent Retreat”.  I came in comfortable clothing.  I told loved ones how to reach me in an emergency and then turned off my phone for the day.  After some instruction, our silence was opened, with the only sound the periodic guidance from the teacher.  They guided us through sitting body scans, walking meditations, focused attention breathing, mindful yoga and more.  In the silence, my senses expanded.  I got to know my body and my mind and my relationship with my surroundings more fully.  In the quiet, my range of emotions was broadened – I felt lonely and tired and bored and longing.  I felt wonder and gratitude and joy. 

Midway through the day we were instructed to find a quiet location to eat our pre-ordered lunches mindfully for 45 minutes.  Mine was a salad.  I noticed the disposable fork, the soft brown napkin.  I felt the crunch of the lettuce veins between my teeth.  I noticed that the flavor of the dressing was so “loud” I only wanted a little of it squeezed out.  I savored the sweet pecans, and found the texture of the chicken fascinating.  When I got to the cranberries, I slowed down.  As I looked at the craggy fruit, my mind went to the hands that had picked them.  Whose hands were they?  What was their story?  Near the end of the day, after the silence was broken I told the teacher, “I have never been so alone while feeling so connected…”  Mindfulness is like this.

And it all started with a single raison on a napkin.