HEART > MIND
This essay was published near the tail end of POISON but never in digital form. If you bought a copy of the book I appreciate it, thank you. The essay represents a journey from one certainty to an altogether opposite (or merely different) concept regarding the way I see and appreciate and live life. This change feels relevant at the moment. Long, transformative journeys often demand a confrontation with self, and sometimes compel one to examine how one may have cherry-picked words or information in order to support a particular thought or position. Once such mistakes or behavior are exposed a decision is required; sustain the delusion or change and move on. To quote the essay, "Mind is a trap that insists upon its supremacy, all the while restricting our access to the irrational, to imagination and exploration — to possibility." There is a different way.
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In 1981 a mentor insisted I read and underline, learn and practice the lessons in Bruce Lee's book, "Tao of Jeet Kune Do", which had been published six years prior. Many concepts proved appropriate for me as a young climber but one that stood out then, and became instrumental when I brought the philosophy of climbing down from the mountains and into the gym was, "... the mind is primary."
Many years later, in my first book, "Extreme Alpinism", I urged the reader to "focus on the mental over the physical. At some point on a climb that stretches the limits, the only strength that matters is in the mind." I had learned that most failures in the mountains or on a difficult climb of any terrain originate in the mind.
In the section about mental training I wrote, "The mind rules the body. Will, awareness, and understanding all improve through consistent and appropriate psychological training. Although alpinism is more a psychological than a physical challenge, there is no actual separation: it is all psychological and all physical at the same time. Nonetheless, the mental aspects of alpinism are fundamental.
The mind develops in response to day-to-day life. It answers the demands of living in society, in the low-altitude world. Preparing it to exist and thrive in the radically different circumstances of the mountains profits a climber more than any amount of physical training. All your body training depends upon what happens in your mind at the same time. Your performance on the mountain is simply an expression of the ideas and ideals you harbor in your mind."
Finally, in the closing chapter of the book, I predicted that , "the future progress of alpine climbing resides in the mind. Improvements in physical fitness and developments in equipment will offer only slow and relatively limited advances, while great strides may result from perfecting the minds of a few gifted climbers." And by perfecting I hoped to convey that creativity and imagination, set upon the foundation of a mind quieted through meditation — regardless of the type — would open eyes and hearts to the nearly-unlimited potential of human beings to express themselves in their environment in whatever way they choose. I wrote that, "without a quiet mind every physical action is hampered by the mind itself," thus the importance of psychological training became my guiding principle in the gym.
In the early writing I did around Gym Jones I quoted Herb Elliot, who won gold in the 1500m at the 1960 Olympics, "If you concentrate on the mental aspect it is inevitable that the physical side will follow." This led to my first "rule" of training, The Mind is Primary, which the company eventually trademarked.
To introduce this concept I wrote, and sometimes shouted, "The mind is primary. The mind drags the body – struggling behind it – rarely the opposite. When spirit 'increases' improved physical performance is a consequence. And as performance improves spirit soars, confidence evolves, and character develops." And also pointed out that, "without active mental participation sport may not be used as a tool of self-discovery. The muscle we are interested in training is inside the skull."
While this was a new or different idea within the fitness world and also felt liberating and exploratory, reliance upon it and constant repetition anchored me in a way that would take years to understand. This dependence kept me from recognizing that the common factor influencing successful outcomes of our projects was not the exercise specifics and the science but the development of psychological assets. Even this realization kept me firmly bound to the mind and its ability — when "perfected" — to demand greater and greater effort and action from the body. It would be another few years before feeling would render thinking an act that begins in the heart.
I have always thought the purpose of training and practice was to make eventual action (or response of any kind) unconscious. Strange, then, that it took so damned long to realize the point of thinking is to do away with thinking, or that one characteristic of mastery is feeling instead of thinking. Of course, I value thinking, much of life would be impossible without the ability to do so critically, but I no longer worship conscious thought as a motive force or guide. I’ve often said that coaching is more art than science and, although understanding the tools is essential, one does not (generally) think their way into making art. In the context of fitness, one may “think” their way through the mechanics of fueling and hygiene during a 100-mile run but the effort itself is guided and sustained by emotion.
I walked out of the gym because of this, because the intensity and duration of the activities happening in there reinforced ego and the preeminence of Self. I wanted to return to those days in the mountains when what I did compelled and allowed me to examine Self, to experience it, ultimately to witness its loss, or leaving. I recalled days when effort overwhelmed prejudice, when deep fatigue swept conscious thought away, when I became an antenna and set my dial to Receive, when all I could do was feel. I need those days to keep me from overthinking, or to observe myself doing so. And when I can't have them I use other means to short-circuit mind-dominant habits because what I seek only comes by feeling, from heart.
These days I want to respond to stimulus automatically. Not by way of rehearsal or through repetition, instead according to feeling, intuition, and again, heart. Heart needs no “Why?”, heart responds without hesitation, without the start-stop-start that comes with conscious thought. Flow isn’t possible when mind takes the wheel. Creative force is feeling, and far away from thinking.
I paged through Lee's "Tao" the other day to find the context of the catch-phrase that had served me so well and chuckled at the inconvenient parts I left out. He wrote that knowledge and skill — the tools and rules — are meant to be forgotten, so we might experience emptiness without discomfort. He warned against becoming enslaved by learning, and suggested that any technique (to which I add "any material thing"), regardless of its desirability or utility, "becomes a disease when the mind is obsessed with it".
Mind is a trap that insists upon its supremacy, all the while restricting our access to the irrational, to imagination and exploration — to possibility. Mind has limits while the heart's capacity constantly expands, and refills. Mind apprehends what is. Heart feels what may be. I know which path I will follow.
Of course, I take risk by placing heart in primacy over mind. While mind asserts the illusion of control, heart proves we cannot steer emotion. Sometimes sadness is the stronger feeling, especially late at night, with morning crashing towards me, and alone. But without it I could never feel the great joy and love that shines in the daylight, and sometimes when the light wanes, in those moments when hope and illumination oppose the coming darkness. But when it matters, I refer to the guidance offered by a real, dear friend, "Truly caring makes the trying feel effortless." So I carry love hand in hand with loss, in balance, within my heart, and I rarely look back at mind.