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David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Meditation Health Benefits

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Meditation Health Benefits: Benefits of Meditation “One method I use to find inner peace and reduce stress” Stress can maim, injure and even kill us. Str...

Meditation Health Benefits

Benefits of Meditation

“One method I use to find inner peace and reduce stress”

Stress can maim, injure and even kill us. Stress has been linked to high blood pressure, diabetes, heart conditions, lowered immune system, migraine headaches and even arthritis.

In the early 1990’s I wrote a book titled, Stress Management: Does Anyone In Chicago Know About It. I offered seminars throughout Florida to varied groups. My classes were approved for professional continuing education credits for nurses, physical therapists, opticians and contractors. I also taught the general public through my classes. I did years of research before writing my book. It now is out of print, but you may find used copies on Amazon.

I also have personal experience that qualifies me as an authority on stress. From age eight through age seventeen, I was physically and emotionally abused by my alcoholic parents and mentally ill mother. I have lived a life combating anxiety disorder, clinical depression and was diagnosed with PTSD two years ago as a result of my past. I wrote a book about my experiences.

The Shade Tree Choir showcases my life and the abuse. It is being shopped in Hollywood to become a movie and songs have been written about my book. http://youtu.be/y3EWghb6qnU

One technique I use to combat the effects of stress is meditation. I also use exercise, treasure maps, mental imagery and positive thinking. I do not always succeed – but I keep trying.

Mayo Clinic has an excellent report about meditation and the benefits. It covers the following topics related to meditation: Understanding, Benefits, Types, Elements, Ways to practice and Building skills. Meditation is NOT a replacement for medical care. It’s another tool you can use for better health.

You will note in the article that meditation can reduce anxiety, lower blood pressure, reduce asthma attacks, reduce depression, reduce pain and help with sleep problems. Here is the link.

http://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/meditation/in-depth/meditation/art-20045858?pg=2

There are certain chemical changes that can occur in the body when we meditate. This information comes from an excellent report on-line. Here is the link. http://eocinstitute.org/meditation/dhea_gaba_cortisol_hgh_melatonin_serotonin_endorphins/

Increase Endorphins

·      Endorphins are internal pain killers

·      This chemical is responsible for the all-encompassing sense of happiness

·      They lower blood pressure

·      Have been linked to fight cancer

·      They are produced with the “runners high” when exercising

Boosts GABA

·      GABA is major inhibitory neurotransmitters in our brain and spinal cord.

·      This chemical stabilizes mood disorders.

·      Low levels of this chemical produce anxiety disorders and insomnia.

·      Yale University performed a study and found those people with panic disorders had 22% less GABA than patients without panic disorders.

·      Lowered levels of GABA are found in people with addictions. These addictions include: sex, food, alcohol, drugs, shopping, caffeine and tobacco

Boosts Increased DHEA

·      DHEA is a hormone. Lowered levels of DHEA have been associated with cancer, headaches, obesity, chronic fatigue and rheumatoid arthritis.

·      DHEA enhances memory, decreases depression, improves a person’s sense of psychological and physical well being and provides strong support for our immune system.

Boosts Increased Melatonin

·      Melatonin is a hormone produced in the brain. It’s responsible for creating restful sleep and is a powerful anti-oxidant.

·      Stress lowers melatonin levels in the body.

Boosts Increased Serotonin

·      Serotonin has profound influence over mood and behavior

·      When serotonin levels are low, depression, obesity, insomnia and sleep apnea can result.

Boosts Increased HGH

·      HGH is a human growth hormone that sustains tissue. HGH production begins to lower at around age 40.

·      Decreased amounts lead to frailty that comes with aging. There is decreased muscle mass, increased body fat, poor moods and lack of motivation when this hormone is lowered.

Lowers Your Levels of Cortisol

·      We want LESS of this hormone.

·      Higher amounts and more prolonged amounts of cortisol reduce bone density, elevate blood pressure, suppress the thyroid function, increase stress, causes an imbalance in blood sugar levels, increases abdominal body fat.

·      High levels of cortisol have been associated with heart attacks, stroke, higher levels of LDL (bad cholesterol) and lower levels of HDL (good cholesterol).

How I Meditate

Meditation is one of many tools I use to combat my sadness and depression. I meditate sometimes two or three times a day – depending on my needs.

I sit, develop a passive attitude, touch my index fingers to my thumbs, my tongue rests on the hard palate on the roof of my mouth, I make certain my teeth do not touch (healthy, correct resting oral posture), the room is totally quiet and I focus on my breathing.

I meditate for fifteen minutes. I concentrate on the six chakras or zones and breathe from each chakra for six long, deep, slow inspirations. I start at the lowest Chakra and move toward the head. I end at the top of my by picturing the sliver light of the moon and the golden light of the sun flowing into my body and filling it from my feet to my head.The entire time I am listening to music designed for meditation. I focus on only one thing – deep breathing. 

I have just recently found another tool that helps clear my mind. Here is the link that so far has been powerful for me. I sit with eyes closed, use headphones and allow the sounds to penetrate my brain for fifteen minutes. It is a way of cleansing negative thoughts from my mind.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvME_EylPXU

I suggest you find a teacher in your community to teach you one of the many meditation techniques. You may also find videos on You Tube that can be helpful.

How Do I Feel After I Meditate

The awful sensation of wanting to vomit when under stress is gone. Colors are brighter. Sounds become more crisp. I feel totally relaxed. I sense a feeling of absolute calm. The effects can last several hours or sometimes even a full day.

All depression is gone, all anxiety is gone and I feel in control. Once again, meditation is one of many tools. Good luck!

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David Nelson Author

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Punishment 1950s & 60s

David Nelson, Author & Cowboy Poet | PALS: Punishment 1950s & 60s: Punishment Prelude (A friend who grew up in the Comiskey Park area of Dubuque told this prelude to me) “Daddy, I love you,”...

Punishment 1950s & 60s

Punishment

Prelude

(A friend who grew up in the Comiskey Park area of Dubuque told this prelude to me)

“Daddy, I love you,” echoed from the lips of the three sisters who stood before their drunken father.

“Say it again, like you mean it this time.”

Louder and more frightened, the six, eight and ten-year old girls yelled, “Daddy I love you.”

The drunken parent stared at the tears that fell onto the dirt-stained carpet and he belched from the hops in his Potosi beer.

 “Now let’s do it all over again. Get your asses back into bed. I will be there in a minute.”

Moments later the sorry excuse for a father stood, staggered and swayed across the tiny living room. He stiff-armed the plastered wall to keep from smashing his head through the barrier. He was too drunk to sustain any semblance of a normal gait. It was his hand that punctured the cruddy wall separating the two rooms. That grimy wall was littered with fist and palm holes that appeared like a bomb had exploded. It was a normal occurrence for him to be drunk and the girls to be punished. It was three o’clock in the afternoon on a weekday.

Sweat ran from his hair, down his neck and stained the brownish undershirt that once was white. He used the heavy winter quilt to wipe the salty fluid from his neck and lurched into the little girls’ room. They lay supine and filled the single-sized mattress to both edges.

“Here, this ought to keep youse three quiet from now on,” he barked as he spread the quilt over the top of his daughters. “And in another hour, I want youse three to tell me youse love me again.”

There was no need to turn off the light in the barren bedroom. It was still daylight. The heat that summer day was in the mid- nineties. These children were being punished for yelling while playing jump rope on the front sidewalk.

Each was forced to wear cotton pajamas over their clothes and lie in the bed under the covers. Three blankets, including the newly added quilt, plus a sheet. They had been there for three hours. Well, almost. Each hour they were forced to go into the living room, stand in a row in front of their intoxicated father and tell him that they loved him.

The ritual continued until the father either passed out or was overcome with a sudden streak of humanity. It usually was the previous.

There was no humanity for the seven girls in the Decker family who lived on Washington Street near Comiskey Playground in Dubuque during the late 60’s. Both parents were mentally sick the father was an alcoholic. Both parents thought girls were inferior to boys and treated them as subservient to the five brothers.

This day the punishment was because of jumping rope and laughing.

In the 1950s and 60s in Dubuque, Iowa there were no social services that I remember to protect children from abuse. But why would any of us remember? Engrained in all of us kids was the understanding that one never told outsiders what happened at home. The thought never crossed our minds to tell our teachers, clergy or even our friends.

We were of the belief that boys did not cry, secrets were never shared and authority figures were always right. There was no questioning of any type of authority. No matter if it was a teacher, a priest or an adult in the neighborhood, all authorities were in the right.

If I was punished at school and my dad heard about it, I was punished at home. Corporal punishment was accepted. More than once, I was given the mandatory ten licks with the wooden paddle at Audubon Elementary School. Principal Schroeder held the oak paddle we called the “wind-whipper” because of the drilled holes in it to reduce wind resistance. She made us assume “the position.” We were required to bend and grab our ankles.

There was no permission required from parents to spank us at school. If my dad heard about it, he would have given me another ten with his belt. But he would never have been told by any of my siblings at the supper table. Tattling was taboo in my house. If any of us kids tattled on another, we would have been punished, not the original sibling.

Behind the rows of desks at Audubon in the back of the room was the coatroom. It was there, we marched single file and shed our bodies of winter coats, stocking caps, mittens and boots. It was also there where we were sent during class if we misbehaved.

The other form of punishment at Audubon was to stay in the classroom alone while other children played outside during recess. One of my little buddies in the fifth grade was in detention during recess. He snuck out of the room, filled his mouth full of water at the fountain and spit water through the opened window to the playground two stories below. A direct hit was made on the top of the head of Miss Coffee, our teacher, who was watching us play. You got it. His butt said, “Hello” to the wind-whipper. We all howled after school. He was our hero.

Expanding the entire width of the front of each classroom was a black board. The tray beneath the board cradled the erasers and chalk. Some kids were forced to stay after school and clean the erasers. They had to go outside and slap them together until all remnants of white powder vanished into the air.

One friend of mine went to school at Holy Trinity on Rhomberg Avenue. Often he was forced to stay after school and mop the hallways, clean the blackboards and sweep the church steps. I was a non-Catholic (as us protestants were referred to by the Church) and did not receive such punishment.

My Catholic friends told me about forms of punishments we “heathens” did not have to endure. One was the use of a counter brush for whippings. A counter brush is about twelve-inches long, has soft bristles about two-thirds the length of the brush and is flat on the backside. It was the backside of the oak brush that caused the damage.

Nuns would hold the child with one hand and with the arm raised high overhead would swing and slap the backs of the upper thighs where they met the butt cheeks of both boys and girls. Often welts were raised and it hurt to sit.

There was a Catholic tradition, not used in public schools, when boys fought with one another. The priest administered this. The boys were positioned on their knees facing one another about six-inches apart. The priest would place his hands on the back of the heads of the boys and smack their foreheads together. Nobody ever heard of head injuries like concussions back in those days. Nobody would have cared anyway.

Punishment also came at the hands of adult neighbors. If we were caught stealing apples, as an example, a neighbor had the unwritten permission to kick us in the butt, slap us or nearly jerk our arms from their sockets while he scolded us. One of my neighbors would shoot a salt and pepper rifle at us when he caught us stealing his apples. We never told our parents. They might have punished us a second time.

When I entered Jefferson Junior High School, new forms of punishment lay before us. A teacher might throw an eraser at us for not paying attention. He or she might command us to assume the position. This entailed standing about two feet away from the corner of the room. We then had to lean forward and balance our foreheads against the corner and hold our hands behind our backs. My old man used this a lot.

My math teacher made boys stand with their toes against the wall and arms overhead. This took concentration and was difficult to accomplish for some boys. That teacher was a product of WWII and smelled like alcohol even in the middle of the day. But then a lot of my teachers had that odor about them.

If a female teacher couldn’t handle the situation a student was sent to the guidance counselor or gym teacher/coach. The typical punishment was being sent the 8th period after school. We had to be quiet and complete our homework. I new every crack in the walls and dent in the floors of that 8^th period classroom by the time I left Jefferson.

It was acceptable to be slammed against a locker, pushed, ridiculed or humiliated by teachers. We were often the targets of their sport. In gym class children were forced to run extra laps around the gym or field and perform push-ups. That type of punishment never bothered me. I actually enjoyed it. If our parents heard about us misbehaving, they often would add more punishment at home.

Home punishment depended on many factors. In the North End of Dubuque where I was raised, it often depended on how much alcohol the parents had to drink or if they had mean, hateful and mentally ill personalities.

Many of our fathers were products of WWII and many were alcoholics. All of them were strict. A child never questioned the old man and never questioned authority. At least, when they could have been heard. Our parents believed everything told to them by the media, the government, the medical community and any other figure of authority.

For me, President Nixon changed all that. The Watergate incident caused me to begin to question politicians. But in my formative years I went along as did everyone else and we followed the rules – most of the time.

In my house almost every body part was subject to attack. I wrote extensively about this in my book, “The Shade Tree Choir.”

From the age of eight until I left the house at age seventeen, I was kicked, punched and slapped. I once was slapped so hard in the face I fell to the floor, but not before hitting my ear on the corner of a coffee table. My ear bled that night and I have had a hearing loss since in that ear. I failed my draft physical because of my hearing loss.

I was forced to assume the “position” in the corner, I was whipped with both ends of a belt, I was forced to the floor with the old man’s knee in my back while he beat me with his fist and I was often sent to bed with being allowed to eat.

On one instance I was locked away in the dark stairwell that led from the cellar to the backyard above. I was in there from seven in the morning until eleven at night. Total darkness and sweltering heat was my environment. My visitors included cockroaches and spiders that crawled over me in the dark. I had no water to drink and no food to eat. When I could no longer control myself, I urinated on to the dirt floor.

Somewhere along the way I began to feel no pain from the punishments. Oh I would cry and scream for him to stop. But the actual pain was suppressed and I no longer felt it. The screams, I suspect, were calls for help from anyone to rescue me. Nobody ever came. In those days of my youth there was not a single child who shared what went on behind those closed doors. It was an unwritten rule. Neighbors around 617 Lincoln Avenue had to have heard my screams through the opened windows. But sometimes society is blind and deaf. And that was too bad for a little boy.

When I reported my abuse in “The Shade Tree Choir”, I received numerous reports from, now grown men, thanking me for telling my story. I was not alone. They were not alone. These types of punishments were more common than I realized. My book created a brotherhood of sorts and a comfort to know we were not alone.

Physical abuse can injure the soul of a child. It makes him feel unwanted and unloved. Emotional abuse, however, can injure every part of the psyche and can change a personality. I believe it was the emotional abuse that was more harmful to children.

My mother was mentally ill, an alcoholic and unable to offer any nurturing to us seven kids in my family. She waited with excitement for dad to come home from work so she could tattle on us kids. She then demanded he punish us right then and there.

Both of my parents often said I was a “no-good, dirty son-of-a-bitch” and that I’d never be worth a thing in life. She laughed when I stumbled, she threw away my drawings I made when I was little and never said, “I love you.”

When a child is repeatedly told such things he or she begins to believe them. This leads to low self-esteem, a lack of empathy for others and difficulty with interpersonal relationships later in life.

Trying to “buy” their affection as an adult, I purchased an expensive grandfather clock as a Christmas gift. Three weeks later I called from another state where I was living. I asked if the clock had arrived and if she liked it. Her response was, “Well, it doesn’t match our furniture.”

I did become a success. I did make it out of that house alive. I had friends who helped me along the way. I suspect those friends kept me from going to prison. Those friends and my coaches. My entire story can be read in my books “PALS: Parts One and Two.”

The punishments I received created a workaholic, a goal oriented, hard driving person who will not accept defeat of any kind. My entire adult life has been oriented to prove my parents wrong – that I am not a “no good dirty, son-of-a-bitch and will never amount to a dam.”

It also created a lifetime of anxiety and depression. I have learned many coping skills to be a high functioning member of society. I am in the company of such great people as Mark Twain, Winston Churchill, Dan Rather and many others.

Not all punishments were “bad” for us kids in the 1950s and 60s. We grew to follow rules, understood there were consequences if we broke those rules and we developed great work ethics. We were not allowed to miss school and during our careers we did not miss work. For many of us, our word is our bond, we don’t blame others for our stupidity and we tend to care what happens in society.

We tried out for baseball and not everyone made the team. We never received trophies, but the sense of winning was enough. We rode bicycles without helmets, drank water from garden hoses and carried groceries fro the elderly without having to be asked. We played outside all day long and obesity was a word we never knew. While many of us have paid the price for overly severe punishment, all of us have come from a much different place in long ago America.

My books are found on Amazon, Kindle and at my web site www.davidnelsonauthor.com