Books: Power Through Repose
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Annie Payson Call >> Power Through Repose
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Keep still, that all which is good may come to you, and live out to
others that your life may broaden for use. In this way we can take
all that Nature is ready to give us, and will constantly give us,
and use it as hers and for her purposes, which are always the truest
and best Then we live as a little child would live,--only with more
wisdom.
X.
NATURE'S TEACHING
NATURE is not only our one guide in the matter of physical training,
she is the chief engineer who will keep us in order and control the
machine, if we aim to fulfil her conditions and shun every personal
interference with the wholesome working of her laws.
Here is where the exquisite sense of growing power comes. In
studying Nature, we not only realize the strength that comes from
following her lead, but we discover her in ourselves gently moving
us onward.
We all believe we look to Nature, if we think at all; and it is a
surprise to find how mistaken we are. The time would not be wasted
if we whose duties do not lead us to any direct study of natural
life for personal reasons, would take fifteen minutes every day
simply to think of Nature and her methods of working, and to see at
the same time where, so far as we individually are concerned, we
constantly interfere with the best use of her powers. With all
reverence I say it, this should be the first form of prayer; and our
ability to pray sincerely to God and live in accordance with His
laws would grow in proportion to our power of sincere sympathy with
the workings of those laws in Nature.
Try to realize the quiet power of all natural growth and movement,
from a blade of grass, through a tree, a forest of trees, the entire
vegetable growth on the earth, the movement of the planets, to the
growth and involuntary vital operations of our own bodies.
No words can bring so full a realization of the quiet power in the
progress of Nature as will the simple process of following the
growth of a tree in imagination from the working of its sap in the
root up to the tips of the leaves, the blossoms, and the fruit. Or
beginning lower, follow the growth of a blade of grass or a flower,
then a tree, and so on to the movement of the earth, and then of all
the planets in the universe. Let your imagination picture so vividly
all natural movements, little by little, that you seem to be really
at one with each and all. Study the orderly working of your own
bodily functions; and having this clearly in mind, notice where you,
in all movements that are or might be under the control of your
will, are disobeying Nature's laws.
Nature shows us constantly that at the back of every action there
should be a great repose. This holds good from the minutest growth
to the most powerful tornado. It should be so with us not only in
the simple daily duties, but in all things up to the most intense
activity possible to man. And this study and realization of Nature's
method which I am pleading for brings a vivid sense of our own want
of repose. The compensation is fortunately great, or the
discouragement might be more than could be borne. We must appreciate
a need to have it supplied; we must see a mistake in order to shun
it.
How can we expect repose of mind when we have not even repose of
muscle? When the most external of the machine is not at our command,
surely the spirit that animates the whole cannot find its highest
plane of action. Or how can we possibly expect to know the repose
that should be at our command for every emergency, or hope to
realize the great repose behind every action, when we have not even
learned the repose in rest?
Think of Nature's resting times, and see how painful would be the
result of a digression.
Our side of the earth never turns suddenly toward the sun at night,
giving us flashes of day in the darkness. When it is night, it is
night steadily, quietly, until the time comes for day. A tree in
winter, its time for rest, never starts out with a little bud here
and there, only to be frost bitten, and so when spring-time comes,
to result in an uneven looking, imperfectly developed tree. It rests
entirely in its time for rest; and when its time for blooming comes,
its action is full and true and perfect. The grass never pushes
itself up in little, untimely blades through the winter, thus
leaving our lawns and fields full of bare patches in the warmer
season. The flowers that close at night do not half close, folding
some petals and letting others stay wide open. Indeed, so perfectly
does Nature rest when it is her time for resting, that even the
suggestion of these abnormal actions seems absolutely ridiculous.
The less we allow ourselves to be controlled by Nature's laws, the
more we ignore their wonderful beauty; and yet there is that in us
which must constantly respond to Nature unconsciously, else how
could we at once feel the absurdity of any disobedience to her laws,
everywhere except with man? And man, who is not only free to obey,
but has exquisite and increasing power to realize and enjoy them in
all their fulness, lives so far out of harmony with these laws as
ever to be blind to his own steady disobedience.
Think of the perfect power for rest in all animals. Lift a cat when
she is quiet, and see how perfectly relaxed she is in every muscle.
That is not only the way she sleeps, but the way she rests; and no
matter how great or how rapid the activity, she drops all tension at
once when she stops. So it is with all animals, except in rare cases
where man has tampered with them in a way to interfere with the true
order of their lives.
Watch a healthy baby sleeping; lift its arm, its leg, or its head
carefully, and you will find each perfectly relaxed and free. You
can even hold it on your outspread hands, and the whole little
weight, full of life and gaining new power through the perfect rest,
will give itself entirely to your hands, without one particle of
tension. The sleep that we get in babyhood is the saving health of
many. But, alas! at a very early age useless tension begins, and
goes on increasing; and if it does not steadily lead to acute
"Americanitis," it prevents the perfect use of all our powers.
Mothers, watch your children with a care which will be all the more
effective because they will be unconscious of it; for a child's
attention should seldom be drawn to its own body. Lead them toward
the laws of Nature, that they may grow in harmony with them, and so
be saved the useless suffering, strain, and trouble that comes to us
Americans. If we do not take care, the children will more and more
inherit this fearful misuse of the nervous force, and the
inheritance will be so strong that at best we can have only little
invalids. How great the necessity seems for the effort to get back
into Nature's ways when we reflect upon the possibilities of a
continued disobedience!
To be sure, Nature has Repose itself and does not have to work for
it. Man is left free to take it or not as he chooses. But before he
is able to receive it he has personal tendencies to restlessness to
overcome. And more than that, there are the inherited nervous habits
of generations of ancestors to be recognized and shunned. But repose
is an inmost law of our being, and the quiet of Nature is at our
command much sooner than we realize, if we want it enough to work
for it steadily day by day. Nothing will increase our realization of
the need more than a little daily thought of the quiet in the
workings of Nature and the consequent appreciation of our own lack.
Ruskin tells the story with his own expressive power when he says,
"Are not the elements of ease on the face of all the greatest works
of creation? Do they not say, not there has been a great _effort
_here, but there has been a great power here?"
The greatest act, the only action which we know to be power in
itself, is the act of Creation. Behind that action there lies a
great Repose. We are part of Creation, we should be moved by its
laws. Let us shun everything we see to be in the way of our own best
power of action in muscle, nerve, senses, mind, and heart. Who knows
the new perception and strength, the increased power for use that is
open to us if we will but cease to be an obstruction?
Freedom within the limits of Nature's laws, and indeed there is no
freedom without those limits, is best studied and realized in the
growth of all plants,--in the openness of the branch of a vine to
receive the sap from the main stem, in the free circulation of the
sap in a tree and in all vegetable organisms.
Imagine the branch of a vine endowed with the power to grow
according to the laws which govern it, or to ignore and disobey
those laws. Imagine the same branch having made up its vegetable
mind that it could live its own life apart from the vine, twisting
its various fibres into all kinds of knots and snarls, according to
its own idea of living, so that the sap from the main stem could
only reach it in a minimum quantity. What a dearth of leaf, flower,
and fruit would appear in the branch! Yet the figure is perfectly
illustrative of the way in which most of us are interfering with the
best use of the life that is ours.
Freedom is obedience to law. A bridge can be built to stand, only in
obedience to the laws of mechanics. Electricity can be made a useful
power only in exact obedience to the laws that govern it, otherwise
it is most destructive. Has man the privilege of disobeying natural
laws, only in the use of his own individual powers? Clearly not. And
why is it that while recognizing and endeavoring to obey the laws of
physics, of mechanics, and all other laws of Nature in his work in
the world, he so generally defies the same laws in their application
to his own being?
The freedom of an animal's body in obeying the animal instincts is
beautiful to watch. The grace and power expressed in the freedom of
a tiger are wonderful. The freedom in the body of a baby to respond
to every motion and expression is exquisite to study. But before
most children have been in the world three years their inherited
personal contractions begin, and unless the little bodies can be
watched and trained out of each unnecessary contraction as it
appears, and so kept in their own freedom, there comes a time later,
when to live to the greatest power for use they must spend hours in
learning to be babies all over again, and then gain a new freedom
and natural movement.
The law which perhaps appeals to us most strongly when trying to
identify ourselves with Nature is the law of rhythm: action,
re-action; action, re-action; action, re-action,--and the two must
balance, so that equilibrium is always the result. There is no
similar thought that can give us keener pleasure than when we rouse
all our imagination, and realize all our power of identifying
ourselves with the workings of a great law, and follow this rhythmic
movement till we find rhythm within rhythm,--from the rhythmic
motion of the planets to the delicate vibrations of heat and light.
It is helpful to think of rhythmic growth and motion, and not to
allow the thought of a new rhythm to pass without identifying
ourselves with it as fully as our imagination will allow.
We have the rhythm of the seasons, of day and night, of the tides,
and of vegetable and animal life,--as the various rhythmic motions
in the flying of birds. The list will be endless, of course, for the
great law rules everything in Nature, and our appreciation of it
grows as we identify ourselves with its various modes of action.
One hair's variation in the rhythm of the universe would bring
destruction, and yet we little individual microcosms are knocking
ourselves into chronic states of chaos because we feel that we can
be gods, and direct our own lives so much better than the God who
made us. We are left in freedom to go according to His laws, or
against them; and we are generally so convinced that our own stupid,
short-sighted way is the best, that it is only because Nature
tenderly holds to some parts of us and keeps them in the rhythm,
that we do not hurl ourselves to pieces. _This law of rhythm--or of
equilibrium in motion and in rest--is the end, aim, and effect of
all true physical training for the development and guidance of the
body._ Its ruling power is proved in the very construction of the
body,--the two sides; the circulation of the blood, veins and
arteries; the muscles, extensor and flexor; the nerves, sensory and
motor.
When the long rest of a body balances the long activity, in day and
night; when the shorter rests balance the shorter activity, as in
the various opportunities offered through the day for entire rest,
if only a minute at a time; when the sensory and motor nerves are
clear for impression and expression; when the muscles in parts of
the body not needed are entirely quiet, allowing those needed for a
certain action to do their perfect work; when the co-ordination of
the muscles in use is so established that the force for a movement
is evenly divided; when the flexor rests while its antagonizing
muscle works, and _vice versa,--_ when all this which is merely a
_natural power for action and rest _is automatically established,
then the body is ready to obey and will obey the lightest touch of
its owner, going in whatever direction it may be sent, artistic,
scientific, or domestic. As this exquisite sense of ease in a
natural movement grows upon us, no one can describe the feeling of
new power or of positive comfort which comes with it; and yet it is
no miracle, it is only natural. The beasts have the same freedom;
but they have not the mind to put it to higher uses, or the sense to
enjoy its exquisite power.
Often it seems that the care and trouble to get back into Nature's
way is more than compensated for in the new appreciation of her laws
and their uses. But the body, after all, is merely a servant; and,
however perfect its training may have been, if the man, the master,
puts his natural power to mean or low uses, sooner or later the
power will be lost. Self-conscious pride will establish its own
contractions. The use of a natural power for evil ends will limit
itself sooner or later. The love for unwholesome surroundings will
eventually put a check on a perfectly free body, although sometimes
the wonder is that the check is so long in coming. If we have once
trained ourselves into natural ways, so akin are the laws of Nature
and spirit, both must be obeyed; and to rise to our greatest power
means always to rise to our greatest power for use. "A man's life is
God's love for the use for which he was made;" a man's power lies in
the best direction of that use. This is a truth as practical as the
necessity for walking on the feet with the head up.
XI.
THE CHILD AS AN IDEAL
WHILE the path of progress in the gaining of repose could not be
traced thus far without reference to the freedom of a baby, a fuller
consideration of what we may learn from this source must be of great
use to us.
The peace and freshness of a little baby are truly beautiful, but
are rarely appreciated. Few of us have peace enough in ourselves to
respond to these charms. It is like playing the softest melody upon
a harp to those whose ears have long been closed.
Let us halt, and watch, and listen, and see what we shall gain!
Throughout the muscular system of a normal, new-born baby it is
impossible to find any waste of force. An apparent waste will, upon
examination, prove itself otherwise. Its cry will at first seem to
cause contractions of the face; but the absolute removal of all
traces of contraction as the cry ceases, and a careful watching of
the act itself, show it to be merely an exaggeration of muscular
action, not a permanent contraction. Each muscle is balanced by an
opposing one; in fact, the whole thing is only a very even
stretching of the face, and, undoubtedly, has a purpose to
accomplish.
Examine a baby's bed, and see how distinctly it bears the impression
of an absolute giving up of weight and power. They actually _do_
that which we only theorize about, and from them we may learn it
all, if we will.
A babe in its bath gives us another fine opportunity for learning to
be simple and free. It yields to the soft pressure of the water with
a repose which is deeply expressive of gratitude; while we, in our
clumsy departures from Nature's state, often resist with such
intensity as not to know--in circumstances just as simply useful to
us--that we have anything for which to be grateful.
In each new experience we find it the same, the healthy baby yields,
_lets himself go,_ with an case which must double his chances for
comfort. Could we but learn to do so, our lives would lengthen, and
our joys and usefulness strengthen in exact proportion.
All through the age of unconsciousness, this physical freedom is
maintained even where the mental attitude is not free. Baby wrath is
as free and economical of physical force as are the winsome moods,
and this until the personality has developed to some extent,--that
is, _until the child reflects the contractions of those around him._
It expends itself in well-balanced muscular exercise, one set of
muscles resting fully in their moment of non-use, while another set
takes up the battle. At times it will seem that all wage war
together; if so, the rest is equal to the action.
It is not the purpose of this chapter to recommend anger, even of
the most approved sort; but if we will express the emotion at all,
let us do it as well as we did in our infancy!
Channels so free as this would necessitate, would lessen our
temptations to such expression; we, with mature intellects, would
see it for what it is, and the next generation of babies would less
often exercise their wonderfully balanced little bodies in such an
unlovely waste.
Note the perfect openness of a baby throat as the child coos out his
expression of happiness. Could anything be more free, more like the
song of a bird in its obedience to natural laws? Alas, for how much
must we answer that these throats are so soon contracted, the tones
changed to so high a pitch, the voice becoming so shrill and harsh!
Can we not open our throats and become as these little children?
The same _openness_ in the infant organism is the child's protection
in many dangers. Falls that would result in breaks, strains, or
sprains in us, leave the baby entirely whole save in its "feelings,"
and often there, too, if the child has been kept in the true state
mentally.
Watch a baby take its food, and contrast it with our own ways of
eating. The baby draws it in slowly and evenly, with a quiet rhythm
which is in exact accord with the rhythmic action of its digestive
organs. You feel each swallow taken in the best way for repair, and
for this reason it seems sometimes as if one could see a baby grow
while feeding. There cannot be a lovelier glimpse of innocent
physical repose than the little respites from the fatigue of feeding
which a baby often takes. His face moist, with open pores, serene
and satisfied, he views the hurry about him as an interesting phase
of harmless madness. He is entirely outside of it until
self-consciousness is quite developed.
The sleep of a little child is another opportunity for us to learn
what we need. Every muscle free, every burden dropped, each breath
carries away the waste, and fills its place with the needed
substance of increasing growth and power.
In play, we find the same freedom. When one idea is being executed,
every other is excluded. They do not think _dolls_ while they roll
_hoop!_
They do not think of work while they play. Examine and see how we do
both. The baby of one year, sitting on the shore burying his fat
hand in the soft warm sand, is for the time being alive _only_ to
its warmth and softness, with a dim consciousness of the air and
color about him. If we could engross ourselves as fully and with as
simple a pleasure, we should know far more of the possible power of
our minds for both work and rest.
It is interesting to watch normal children in these concentrations,
because from their habits we may learn so much which may improve our
own sadly different manner of living. It is also interesting but
pathetic to see the child gradually leaving them as he approaches
boyhood, and to trace our part in leading him away from the true
path.
The baby's perfect placidity, caused by mental and bodily freedom,
is disturbed at a very early age by those who should be his true
guides. It would be impossible to say when the first wrong
impression is made, but it is so early that a true statement of the
time could only be accepted from scientific men. For mothers and
fathers have often so dulled their own sensitiveness, that they are
powerless to recognize the needs of their children, and their
impressions are, in consequence, untrustworthy.
At the time the pangs of teething begin, it is the same. The healthy
child left to itself would wince occasionally at the slight pricking
pain, and then turn its entire attention elsewhere, and thus become
refreshed for the next trial. But under the adult influence the
agony of the first little prick is often magnified until the result
is a cross, tired baby, already removed several degrees from the
beautiful state of peace and freedom in which Nature placed him
under our care.
The bodily freedom of little children is the foundation of a most
beautiful mental freedom, which cannot be wholly destroyed by us.
This is plainly shown by the childlike trust which they display in
all the affairs of life, and also in their exquisite responsiveness
to the spiritual truths which are taught to them. The very
expression of face of a little child as it is led by the hand is a
lesson to us upon which pages might be written.
Had we the same spirit dwelling in us, we more often should feel
ourselves led "beside the still waters," and made "to lie down in
green pastures." We should grow faster spiritually, because we
should not make conflicts for ourselves, but should meet with the
Lord's quiet strength whatever we had to pass through.
Let us learn of these little ones, and help them to hold fast to
that which they teach us. Let us remember that the natural and the
ideal are truly one, and endeavor to reach the latter by means of
the former.
When through hereditary tendency our little child is not
ideal,--that is, natural,--let us with all the more earnestness
learn to be quiet ourselves that we may lead him to it, and thus
open the channels of health and strength.
XII.
TRAINING FOR REST
BUT how shall we gain a natural repose? It is absurd to emphasize
the need without giving the remedy. "I should be so glad to relax,
but I do not know how," is the sincere lament of many a nervously
strained being.
There is a regular training which acts upon the nervous force and
teaches its proper use, as the gymnasium develops the muscles. This,
as will be easily seen, is at first just the reverse of vigorous
exercise, and no woman should do powerful muscular work without
learning at the same time to guide her body with true economy of
force. It is appalling to watch the faces of women in a gymnasium,
to see them using five, ten, twenty times the nervous force
necessary for every exercise. The more excited they get, the more
nervous force they use; and the hollows under their eyes increase,
the strained expression comes, and then they wonder that after such
fascinating exercise they feel so tired. A common sight in gymnasium
work, especially among women, is the nervous straining of the
muscles of the arms and hands, while exercises meant for the legs
alone are taken. This same muscular tension is evident in the arm
that should be at rest while the other arm is acting; and if this
want of equilibrium in exercise is so strikingly noticeable in the
limbs themselves, how much worse it must be all through the less
prominent muscles! To guide the body in trapeze work, every
well-trained acrobat knows he must have a quiet mind, a clear head,
and obedient muscles. I recall a woman who stands high in gymnastic
work, whose agility on the triple bars is excellent, but the nervous
strain shown in the drawn lines of her face before she begins,
leaves one who studies her carefully always in doubt as to whether
she will not get confused before her difficult performance is over,
and break her neck in consequence. A, realization also of the
unnecessary nervous force she is using, detracts greatly from the
pleasure in watching her performance.
If we were more generally sensitive to misdirected nervous power,
this interesting gymnast, with many others, would lose no time in
learning a more quiet and naturally economical guidance of her
muscles, and gymnasium work would not be, as Dr. Checkley very
justly calls it, "more often a straining than a training."
To aim a gun and hit the mark, a quiet control of the muscles is
necessary. If the purpose of our actions were as well defined as the
bull's eye of a target, what wonderful power in the use of our
muscles we might very soon obtain! But the precision and ease in an
average motion comes so far short of its possibility, that if the
same carelessness were taken as a matter of course in shooting
practice, the side of a barn should be an average target.
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