The power of instinct

I feel good! Photo by emdees via Flickr

I feel good! Photo by emdees via Flickr.

Instinct. It’s a thing we tend to ignore a lot in our culture, preferring reasoned thought, logic, and thorough consideration. We “have a bad feeling” about someone we meet, but we give them a chance…and then another. We know what our gut is telling us about a situation, but we second-guess ourselves. We’ve been this way before and something is telling us that we should turn right here, but we follow Google maps instead and get lost.

Now granted, blind following of instinct or gut feeling is no better. Diving into unsafe situations without preparation because they seem like fun can get you injured or dead pretty quickly. Responding to physiological nervousness or fear even after it proves to be unfounded is classic anxiety. Following a hunch in spite of contrary evidence is what got us into the Iraq War.

But instinct is a valuable starting point for many investigations, experiences, and creative endeavors. The gut feeling is a literal thing, as it turns out, a sensation that comes from the complex nervous system of the gut. It is evolutionarily very old, and is our body’s way of telling us what seems good or bad, unsafe or comforting, exciting or frightening. We ignore such signals to our peril, and often, they can be powerful messengers.

I have found great value in following my instincts in Rubenfeld Synergy. But I had some practice long before, as part of theatrical training. Actors, when they are good, are often spoken of as having “good instincts” and making “strong choices.” These performers are open and flexible, taking what comes to them and making it into actions and characterizations that are compelling to watch.

In Rubenfeld Synergy, I have found that the most profound, helpful, and healing sessions and moments come about when I relax, get my feet under me, and follow my instincts. I’ll say what comes into my head (within reason), even if it doesn’t yet “make sense,” because I have already sensed it. Nine times out of ten, what comes to me ends up unlocking an “aha” for the client.

I worked recently with an actor in a Rubenfeld Synergy session, and I was having fun noticing the way her vocabulary and the way she experienced her body lined up with the way I worked. It was easy for her to feel and locate sensations, to access emotion through the body, and to feel subtle changes as they occurred.

After working on one side of her for a bit, I came to her opposite hip. For some reason, a silly German accent came into my head; I have been learning a bit of German recently and am planning a trip there soon. For no real reason other than that it was there, I said something like, “Und now ve come to dee right hip…vich for zome reason ist German…”

This moment of silliness opened up a whole line of inquiry for the client. “That’s my German side,” she said, after a little laugh. “The rule-follower.” And we were off and running on a thread about the division in herself, between the fun-loving, connected, relaxed and artistically free person, and the person with so many responsibilities that she sometimes feels like she’s holding on for dear life just to keep up the appearance of control.

This could have begun another way, but my choice to follow what seemed like a whimsical instinct to do a silly German accent was what helped that story emerge. And at the end of the session, the German – who developed a personality, a look, an entire image in her mind and body – was what she said she would take with her.

What might change for you if you paid attention to your gut feelings more often?

Shakespeare helps restore the body’s story to prisoners

At the recent conference of INARS, the professional organization around Rubenfeld Synergy, we talked a great deal about the restoration of movement to the body, and how restoring movement can give us our sense of soul back. In an interview with Bessel van der Kolk, he spoke of how in trauma, the body gets stuck in the experience, and the brain is unable to make narrative out of it – the story we have about our lives that helps us process and synthesize intense experience.

So when I also heard in that interview about a Shakespeare program as an alternative to prison for juvenile delinquents (van der Kolk joked about them being “condemned to be a Shakespeare actor”), I started thinking about the ways that theatre can help restore people to themselves. I had heard a This American Life episode called simply “Act V,” about a group of maximum-security prisoners performing a portion of Hamlet, and I was transfixed by the ways in which working with Shakespeare’s text and embodying his characters helped these men to reflect on their crimes, to know themselves better, and to heal.

It turns out that this idea has some traction, and a simple search on “shakespeare in prisons” turns up Shakespeare Behind Bars, a Shakespeare in Prisons conference, an Atlantic article and an NPR article on the topic, covering instances of this practice in Kentucky, Indiana, New York, and at Notre Dame.  What is it that makes the Bard so compelling as a tool for prisoner rehabilitation?

I cannot overstate the power of narrative to make sense of emotion, of difficult experiences, of our very lives. Human beings are meant to tell stories; it is something we have done in one way or another since there were people we can recognize as human. And making stories – whether with spoken word, ritual, theatre, writing, art, music, dance, or games – is the most powerful tool we have for freeing our bodies from the “thousand slings and arrows that flesh is heir to,” and making the things that hurt and scare us most manageable. In acting Shakespeare, what has been trapped inside literally becomes expression, emotion and story that happens outside the body, even as it is generated by the body – the limbs and heart and face and vibrating vocal cords of a human being trying to make sense of the world.

In Rubenfeld Synergy, we combine talk and touch in order to help people not just access the stories that are held within their bodies, but to tell them in words – to make narrative out of the body’s sometimes incoherent signals, responses, pains and tensions. By going inward we find how the mind makes associations with sensations as we pay close attention to them. But the next and vitally important step is to express outward – to tell that story so that we may better understand ourselves.

These prisoners, then, in my view, are using the Bard’s words to help them in their journey of self-knowledge, and in acting those words, are moving emotions through their bodies that are similar to ones they know from their previous lives: jealousy, love, anger, guilt, shame, the thirst for revenge, the possibility of redemption.

I work with text as well as the body. If you are a performer, a storyteller, or just someone who wants to make sense of your life – contact me.

Shakespeare helps restore the body's story to prisoners

At the recent conference of INARS, the professional organization around Rubenfeld Synergy, we talked a great deal about the restoration of movement to the body, and how restoring movement can give us our sense of soul back. In an interview with Bessel van der Kolk, he spoke of how in trauma, the body gets stuck in the experience, and the brain is unable to make narrative out of it – the story we have about our lives that helps us process and synthesize intense experience.

So when I also heard in that interview about a Shakespeare program as an alternative to prison for juvenile delinquents (van der Kolk joked about them being “condemned to be a Shakespeare actor”), I started thinking about the ways that theatre can help restore people to themselves. I had heard a This American Life episode called simply “Act V,” about a group of maximum-security prisoners performing a portion of Hamlet, and I was transfixed by the ways in which working with Shakespeare’s text and embodying his characters helped these men to reflect on their crimes, to know themselves better, and to heal.

It turns out that this idea has some traction, and a simple search on “shakespeare in prisons” turns up Shakespeare Behind Bars, a Shakespeare in Prisons conference, an Atlantic article and an NPR article on the topic, covering instances of this practice in Kentucky, Indiana, New York, and at Notre Dame.  What is it that makes the Bard so compelling as a tool for prisoner rehabilitation?

I cannot overstate the power of narrative to make sense of emotion, of difficult experiences, of our very lives. Human beings are meant to tell stories; it is something we have done in one way or another since there were people we can recognize as human. And making stories – whether with spoken word, ritual, theatre, writing, art, music, dance, or games – is the most powerful tool we have for freeing our bodies from the “thousand slings and arrows that flesh is heir to,” and making the things that hurt and scare us most manageable. In acting Shakespeare, what has been trapped inside literally becomes expression, emotion and story that happens outside the body, even as it is generated by the body – the limbs and heart and face and vibrating vocal cords of a human being trying to make sense of the world.

In Rubenfeld Synergy, we combine talk and touch in order to help people not just access the stories that are held within their bodies, but to tell them in words – to make narrative out of the body’s sometimes incoherent signals, responses, pains and tensions. By going inward we find how the mind makes associations with sensations as we pay close attention to them. But the next and vitally important step is to express outward – to tell that story so that we may better understand ourselves.

These prisoners, then, in my view, are using the Bard’s words to help them in their journey of self-knowledge, and in acting those words, are moving emotions through their bodies that are similar to ones they know from their previous lives: jealousy, love, anger, guilt, shame, the thirst for revenge, the possibility of redemption.

I work with text as well as the body. If you are a performer, a storyteller, or just someone who wants to make sense of your life – contact me.