Coming to My Senses
“Man has no Body distinct from his Soul. For that called Body is a portion of Soul discerned by the five senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age.” ~William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Last Sunday, I sat with my husband, teens, mother and step-father, to celebrate Father’s Day. I noted the smell of grilled meat from the steaks cooking (I don’t eat them but the smell brings back childhood summer memories), the sight of the six of us gathered under the white lights from my deck table umbrella, the way my loved ones faces looked and the sound of laughter as we shared in a moment of hilarity, the distinctly sweet and minty flavor of the strawberry shortcake accompanied by the texture of the soft berries against the slightly crisp and dense biscuits they sat atop. The night air grew cool and so I wrapped myself in a favorite summer sweater.
Because I noticed my senses in the moment without the thousand other distractions, I can look back now and remember and appreciate so many more details: the creaminess of the lemon dill sauce over crispy asparagus, the umame tang of the Kalmata olives in our Greek salad, the sound bullfrogs and an owl in the distance. I was so engaged I forgot to take a picture, yet I have still the pure sense experience captured in memory.
There’s a practice in yoga philosophy called Pratyahara, meaning the cessation of the senses. It is one of the 8 limbs of yoga. Picture a tree with 8 great, large arms branching outward from the trunk. Each limb is distinct and part of a whole. Each is a practices that is said to strengthen the whole, make the whole more unified with self, creation, and God.
The practice of Pratyahara is one in which attention is drawn inward to alleviate the distraction and overwhelm that can come with the constant bombardment of our senses that is so much a part of daily life. Part of the intention is to cultivate inner stillness in preparation for meditation.
It’s true that our senses are bombarded by constant input. They can serve to blow our already limited attention to and fro, to bombard and distract us. Yet, what I’ve come to experience, is the way that my senses can also serve to harness my attention and hold it steady in the now of life. I’ve discovered how directing my attention mindfully to my senses settles my nervous system and can bring my higher thinking mind “online” much the way seated meditation or prayer can. And perhaps we need both—the way I’ve learned to minimize sensory experience to prepare for meditation has helped me sharpen each sense when I intentionally hone in on them.
Our brains are extraordinary, giving us the ability to take in and assimilate vast amounts of information and feats at once. While we initially gather information through our sense organs, these organs are connected via nerves that transmit electro-chemical messages to our brain. Our sense organs and our brains work together to help us understand the world. Initially, we experience sensation from the stimulation of a sensory organ (right now my nose is picking up the scent of grease and meat , my ears register the sizzle and pop of cooking sounds), then we experience perception from the integration of sensations in the brain. From the experiences I have, without even looking up, I know that my husband is cooking sausage and eggs and can now also associate meaning to that (smells good, is a breakfast I assign ‘unhealthy’) and also memory (reminds me of being a kid in South Carolina and the smells and sounds from the kitchen when my grandfather took on breakfast duty).
We humans have a unique ability, a kind of superpower, with our senses. First, our senses are attuned to change, so they make us keen to when something has shifted, moved, changed in some way. This is designed to keep us safe from danger but it can also help us experience life more deeply. Also, our senses are able to expand and contract—when one sense fades or shuts down, others grow more acute. Lights dim, and we experience sound and touch more; purposely turning down the experience of a sense (like turning off the radio when driving so my eyes can pay better attention) can heighten other necessary senses.
For me, it’s the poetic experience of my senses that make me most interested in intentionally experiencing them. Our sensory experience can bring us fully into the moment of now and at the same time elicit a full experience of the past through memory. At the same time, our senses provide the background for existential awareness. I see a sunrise and experience the loveliness and grandeur of creation.
During this past year, as I’ve grown more intentional about giving attention to my senses, I’ve gained the ability to direct my awareness, to connect more deeply with people I love, to take in nature, to purposely remove senses that distract or trouble. I have minimized the notifications on my phone so I don’t have to hear the constant beep or buzz they provide. I know to turn off certain lights when I want to feel cozy and to listen to particular music when I want to lighten my mood. And so my senses create more awareness for me about me. What do I like? What do I need? Is there something outside me overwhelming the inside of me? I have discovered, too, what makes my loved ones tick a little more—finding out about taste memories from my family members, noting the senses that most please my loved ones, has allowed me to both know and love them a little more fully.
I started on this journey initially two summers ago after listening to a podcast with Summer Gross. The practice of sitting for 10 minutes to take in each sense became a part of my summer mornings that offered pure delight. Then I learned of the newest book from Gretchen Rubin Life in Five Senses. Because of it, I’ve learned more about the sense and have discovered exciting new ideas to pique my senses.
What I’ve been reminded of that seems most important right now, though, is that each of us really does have our own unique perception of sensation. So the touch, smell, taste of something pleasant to me might create dis-ease for another. For example, my daughter loves perfume and constantly burns sage in her bedroom. My husband and I joke that we feel like we live in a Macy’s perfume counter that is offering burnt bologna. The smells she loves are pretty distasteful to us. Knowing how perceptions can differ vastly can make us more compassionate to the differences and nuances of life experiences with other humans. And, as Rubin writes, the awareness that “we each live in the brew of our own sensations” has made me all the more aware of how I am making my world. As Simone de Beauvoir noted, “My own eyes were needed in order that the copper-red of the beech could be set against the blue of the cedar…When I went away, the landscape fell to pieces, and no longer existed for anyone; it no longer existed at all.”
This is the most pressing of all assignments then—to experience life as fully as possible through these superpower senses, for when I cease to exist so much else will, too. When I die, who will remember the sound of my father calling me ‘daughter’ in just such a way that he said it or the spicy/creamy taste of his Italian Stallion casserole? Who will know of not only the sweetness of my mother’s apple cream pie or my mother-in-law’s chocolate chip pecan cookies, but also the memory of love associated with them? Who will know of the cozy warmth of the touch of my kitties snuggling against me in the morning or the warm softness of my favorite blanket over my legs?
Who will recall the just right bitter / creamy morning flavor of cappuccino, the sight of my husband’s hand as he passes the drink to me, the smell of his neck when he leans in for a morning kiss? Who but me has made all of these perceptions and knows also of the early morning ocean
side moments when I sat staring into the horizon at the skyline, listening to seagulls and watching pelicans skim the top of the ocean, knowing that I was witnessing God there?
And who but you knows of your own?
One of my favorite ways to encapsulate my day is to journal each night one or two sensory memories for each sense or one sensory experience that particularly delighted me. Maybe you, too, are a word person and this is a way for your to heighten your own experience of life. Or perhaps you’re someone who’d benefit from taking a photo each day of your sensory experience. I’ll continue to share ideas for enhancing sensory experience. And should you want a good summer read for exactly this, pick up the book Life in Five Senses. It’s a true delight.