We look but we do not see.
We listen but we do not hear.
We touch but we do not feel.

There is a wonderful Buddhist story about an apprentice to a Zen monk who arrives at the monastery a complete novice and is put to work in the kitchen. “When do my lessons begin?” he asks his teacher. The teacher says nothing. When the novice is preparing a meal or reaching for a bowl, he might suddenly receive a whack with the broomstick across his back. This goes on for two years until one day he reaches round sight unseen and catches the broomstick in midair. “Now you are ready to begin lessons,” says the teacher.

In India, musicians in training used to sit at the feet of their master listening for a long time until they had internalised the sound and were ready to touch the instrument.

Both stories illustrate the importance of cultivating a quality of attention which is the ground for learning. So what are we to do? We can start by recognizing that attention is not automatic.

The term ‘paying attention’ is an interesting one. How are we paying? What do we have to pay with? Can we start paying into an account with our efforts to understand what it means to be here and now… to be able to attend to the present moment?

The first step is to separate a part of ourselves and begin to watch ourselves. It is one of the most remarkable faculties of being human –that we can observe ourselves and draw conclusions. It is one of the most difficult and yet most rewarding of undertakings.

After the first or second Alexander Technique lesson, my students often return with the following observations:

1. It is very hard to do nothing. (I ask them to lie on their back for 20 minutes a day in what is called rest position with their knees up and feet on the floor. The purpose is to quiet the mind and rest the spine.)
2. The mind cannot be quiet but has to go either forward or backward in time. Staying in the moment is almost impossible.
3. “Either this or that but not both.” The students can either pay attention to themselves or something outside but not both at the same time.

At the beginning of the work, one realises how little one has in the ‘paying’ department, and this can either be humbling and a force for growth, or it can be so discouraging that some give up after a short time. This is where the heart comes in. The desire to pursue the long-term aim of developing a real power of attention is what ultimately carries one forward. The value one places on this ability determines the willingness to work for it.

As a teacher I watch for the habits that interfere with the ability to see, hear and respond to touch. There are so many. A common one is the effort one uses to pick up the bow. Raising an arm should be so simple, and yet when the neck is tight and the back is not working properly, the arms and legs cannot be free. Consequently the attention cannot be flexible and open.

Paying attention is a psychophysical process, a whole body experience. My favourite example of this fact is watching a young child who has just learned to walk. At the same time as she is balancing in the upright, she is exploring the world around her and taking in a million stimuli. We used to be like this! What happened to us? I am asked that question all the time. I don’t know how and where we start to go off the rails, but my guess is that learning to fit into our civilization exacts a price.

Whether we wish to recover what is our natural birthright and then cultivate this faculty to a high degree in the pursuit of an art form rests with us. Eventually I gave up my search for shortcuts and committed to the process. Before me in my studio is a saying:

Childlikeness has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. When    
this is attained, man thinks yet he does not think. He thinks like the showers coming down from the  
sky; he thinks like the waves rolling on the ocean; he thinks like the stars illuminating the nightly
heavens; he thinks like the green foliage shooting forth in the relaxing spring breeze. Indeed he is
the showers, the ocean, the stars, the foliage”. –Daisetz Suzuki (From Zen and the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel)