Chapter 5 

Drawing Breath 

The most important, or at least the most essential, processes in life are automatic. They occur without conscious thought, by virtue of life’s natural activity: like breathing. If we had actually to learn consciously the chemical processes of digestion before we could utilise food we might not survive for long. If we had always to remember to breathe there might be time for little else. If the mind was totally occupied by the thought of taking breath, holding it, exchanging the gases and other life-giving substances and then expelling the air what would happen to argument, anxiety, self-pity or fear? What fills the mind tends to fill the life. Indeed it is the basis of some meditative practices that if we quiet the mind and stop the chit-chat of thoughts by concentrating upon a single thing then we will experience a greater tranquillity in our life. The heart does not suffer from the same restlessness as the mind. That is why, when we think with our hearts we find simplicity and clarity. 

People who study animal behaviour observe the intricacy of the instinctive patterning that animals use. These behaviour patterns are apparently innate to individual species — herring gull chicks peck at a red spot like that on the parents’ beak expecting food, spiders spin webs through a natural design skill rather than through experimentation. Human behaviourists observe similar patterns in our ways of living. This does not demean the status of human or bird but it invites the observation that instinctive behaviour plays an important part in all life forms. If everything in life was always experimental the result would be chaos. Instinct, as we call it, mediates between innovation and closely ordered behaviour. In human terms there has been a tendency to see instinct as crude and evidence of low intelligence. Instinctive behaviour in animals conversely is seen as evidence of a higher animal intelligence. Neither view is accurate because of a false view of intelligence. 

Life learns a pattern through repetition. Repetition leads to ordered behaviour - I do this because it is what I always do! Instinct comes into play when ordered behaviour is made part of the life pattern for that species. It is part of the thought form that creates the spider or the gull. As such it is inbuilt, innate, they are born with it. For humans the same is true. We do not learn to breathe, it is instinctive, just as sucking is or crawling. 

Other behaviour patterns can become almost instinctive within a family unit if the activities are repeated through generations. A baby follows the demonstrated behaviour of parents. At 18 months a whole vocabulary of gesture and sound exactly mimics the adults. The toddler will stand, look and move just like the parents. Thus we carry ‘sign stimuli’ as surely as the herring gull. This gesture means food, this tone of voice means bed. We do with our children what our parents did with us (as evidenced by child abuse). Not always: it is possible to take a conscious decision to change but generally this is the process. 

These instinctive behaviour patterns are very strong and we are strongly attached to them. Once formed they are difficult to break. If it is said that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks it is because the patterns are most strongly learned in early life. Yet another phenomenon of animal behaviour is of interest here. It is called enemy learning. A group of birds will call in alarm at the sight of a predator. When a hawk appears (or even the shadow of one) the mother hen will call in her chicks. A cry of alarm will go through the local bird populace, the threat is general. But it is not necessary for every individual to see the hawk, the sound of the alarm call alone will alert them. In laboratory experiments groups of birds have been taught that harmless objects are predators by associating the object with the alarm call. This kind of enemy learning is a strong force within human communities as well as in family behaviour patterns. 

How does it work? Suppose the family meet a situation that the parents view as a threat, suppose the door bell rings. Well, what kind of a threat is that? It is unexpected, Mum jumps, Dad thinks “I hope it isn’t...”, fear, anxiety, apprehension all round. The children learn the pattern: always fear the worst, a knock at the door is ominous. When the door is opened, however, it turns out to be a welcome visitor, one bearing gifts even. The children now study the adult response: suddenly the anxious glances have been exchanged for the nervous chatter of relief. The pattern is being imprinted. 

The imprinting is far stronger however if it is attached to specific objects or ideas. The inexplicable fear or attraction for beards, blondes, tall or short people is often built in through this family patterning. It should be noted too that if a single experience is strong enough it needs no repetition to become indelibly imprinted - sexual abuse in particular is like this and fears and phobias that carry from the one experience are many. 

Thus we learn from our family group a way of reacting to life. It will be superimposed upon and modify the other inherited patterns that we already carry with us. We will then learn a type of breathing in accord with what we see adults do. When enemy learning is being imprinted we will also learn a multitude of other responses. Some responses are basic instinctive like the urge to urinate, what is called a fight or flight response. Others are strictly local to the family group: when frightened we may eat or not eat, breathe fast and shallow or virtually stop breathing, shout, cry, sing, laugh, indeed the responses can be so varied as to be contradictory and difficult to recognise as a fear-related response. 

All of these behaviour patterns engage our emotions and although the ideas that trigger them are instinctive rather than intellectual they bind themselves as part of the karmic pattern of our life and become fused into the karmic shell. 

Another way in which these patterns build can be seen in personal relationships. If there is disagreement some resolve must be reached. Either we compromise, change our viewpoint or go into a win/lose position. If it becomes win/lose then it is a trial of strength; who can impose their will, who can get their own way? In such a conflict all kinds of ammunition can be used and the trial of strength will certainly activate many of the learned patterns from childhood. Eventually a victor will emerge. The conflict now is over apparently. But what of the vanquished, how will they deal with the situation? They respond with prejudice so that any comparable situation is prejudged to be unfavourable and attitudes are developed that will pervert any truthful meeting in the future. Prejudice in turn creates counter prejudice in the other so that pretty soon characterisation speaks to characterisation and all true meeting is prevented. These prejudices are inevitably passed on within family groups, role models are perpetuated with all their attendant limitations. 

So the inheritors (the children) are assailed on a broad front. First they see a set of behaviour patterns upon which they model their bodies: these show a way of working instinctively in posture, breathing etc. Then they are given a set of idea prejudices which dispose them to view life in a particular way -all men do this... all women are that... Thus bodies, emotions and ideas are given shape. Well, yes, of course they may be positive models, good ones, but then our prejudices will determine what is good. Which of us deliberately would give our children negative patterning? Which of us having a child who asked for bread would give him a stone? Alas, we can all too rarely tell the difference. 

What then can change it? The clue lies in the breathing. For by observing the breath we can see the first movements of life and activity. When we can observe the natural pattern of our breathing then we can observe when it varies. The variation in breathing patterns at least can make us aware of our varying responses to what we encounter in life and we may be able to recognise what is happening within us. We need to become conscious of these instinctive responses. We already have some experience of this as part of our general vocabulary: when surprised we have ‘a sharp intake of breath’, we ‘hold our breath’ in anticipation and when tension passes we ‘give a sigh of relief’. The process of respiration defines life in so far as it leads to an exchange of that which is outside with that inside. Without change there is no life. So the way we breathe is significant of the way that we encounter life. 

Other body processes are equally essential, the action of the heart, for instance. The physical heart acts to circulate what is already internal. But when we look at the metaphysical action of the heart we can see it as the organ that mediates our emotional responses to the exchanges we have internally and externally. Where is the seat of love? Why, in the heart of course. And it is our love or lack of it that determines our emotional responses. An open heart meets life with joy; if we love life our responses are happy and positive, we breathe easy. But when we meet with a difficulty that triggers our instinctive responses, where the learned behaviour is brought into play (when we respond not with openness but with the fixity of karmic patterning) the heart is not open, rather it closes off. The sensation, for it has actually a feeling attached to it, is a framing of the heart, like a freeze-frame facility in a movie film. Then the heart constricts and the flow of life force is stopped. At the same time the breathing constricts and altogether the being stops free exchange with the environment around. Like a snail withdrawing into its shell so we retreat into stereotyped behaviour. 

If we keep breathing and try hard to keep the heart open with a love and trust of life we may avoid these prejudiced responses. As for the karmic shells they can be broken by shock it is true but they can also be discharged if we simply do not feed them life. One such exercise leads to the thought “like what it doesn’t like” where “it” is the characterisation of the karmic pattern. But if we simply do not continue our emotional attachment to the pattern we will starve it and in time it must surely grow brittle and fall away. This may be helped if the life situation is changed, for change induces new activity and a movement of life force. Our way of dealing with such a problem suggests the real nature of intelligence: it is not a fixed quantity to be calibrated, it is rather a qualitative ability to respond to life and the changes that it may bring. To the heart this may be instinct but to the mind an act of conscious intent.