ZEN IN THE ART OF FLUENCY

Most of us who grow up with a stuttering problem see our speech blocks as threats - something we need to control. So instead of learning when to consciously focus on our technique and when to focus on the total experience of speaking, we focus on our technique exclusively.

Of course, it's important to recognize and correct improper speech mechanics. But at some point, we also have to learn when to shift our attention away from speech mechanics and onto the feelings of trust and release, even if this doesn't immediately deliver the desired results.

We need to follow the example of the Zen archers who are able to perform remarkable feats of skill, all seemingly without effort.

LESSONS FROM A ZEN MASTER

The process of effortless performance is admirably described in the classic volume, Zen in the Art of Archery. The book was written in the early 1950's by Eugen Herrigel, a German philosopher who was invited teach for several years at the University of Tokyo. Herrigel perceived his stay in Japan as a unique opportunity to get to know the country and its people, and especially, to develop a more intimate understanding of Buddhism and the "introspective practice of mysticism."

"For this much I had already heard," said Herrigel, "that there were in Japan a carefully guarded and living tradition of Zen; an art of instruction that had been tested over the centuries; and, most important of all, teachers of Zen astonishingly well versed in the art of spiritual guidance."

But the professor was informed that it was quite hopeless for a European to attempt to penetrate into this realm of spiritual life - perhaps the strangest that the Far East has to offer - unless he began by learning one of the Japanese arts associated with Zen. So it was that Herrigel set out to find a master who could instruct him in the "artless art" of the Zen archer, and in due course, arranged with Zen Master Kenzo Awa to take him on as a student.

This short book is a fascinating account of Herrigel's struggles to acquire proficiency...the Zen way. The philosophy teacher describes the first demonstration in which Master Kenzo Awa "nocks" an arrow on the string, draws the bow, and seemingly without aiming, plunks the arrow squarely in the center of the target many yards away.

Herrigel is impressed. But how is such a feat achieved?

As Herrigel learns, to gain mastery, the Zen archer must stop trying to shoot the arrow correctly. He must detach himself from his results. He must learn to relax his body at precisely the moment he would normally be tensed, to draw the bow "spiritually" with a kind of effortless strength, and to "get out of his own way" so that his higher power can take over. When he is able to give over control to the "it", the arrows unerringly find the bulls eye, even though the archer seems hardly to be taking aim.

This is easier said than done. To arrive at this level of mastery, the archer must be willing to shoot thousands of arrows that are wide of the mark without worrying about how he's doing or trying to consciously control the flight of the arrow. If he does try to take conscious control, he will preempt and disable his higher powers and the experience of mastery will continue to elude him.

What particularly struck me as I read the book was how it takes Herrigel the better part of a year just to learn how to properly draw the bow. An indication of success is when the mysterious "it" draws the bow, unconsciously and effortlessly, and the professor is not even aware that this has taken place.

GIVING CONTROL TO THE HIGHER SELF

The "it". Some call it the higher self. Until recently, this has been a foreign concept to most westerners, although it has become increasingly familiar to many Californians who have been exploring eastern thinking since the 1960s.

One westerner who successfully translated these concepts into a contemporary setting is Tim Gallwey. His book, The Inner Game of Tennis, which became a best seller, applies the same Zen principles to the sport of tennis.

Gallwey's approach is to encourage you to move your conscious mind out of the way and simply visualize, relax, and allow your inner self to take control. He technique calls for the person to develop proficiency in the sport with little conscious effort or "trying". The ideas expressed in The Inner Game of Tennis are a near perfect blueprint for the mindset required to speak fluently if you change every mention of "tennis" to "speaking".

Another notable example of the Zen approach appeared in the late 60s in an article in Sports Illustrated about Lucky McDaniel, a riflery instructor in Georgia, whose students achieved remarkable results. McDaniel followed an unorthodox teaching method. Instead of starting people out with 22's, he started them out with pellet guns. This allowed the person to actually watch the pellet as it sped toward the target. The person was instructed not to aim, but simply to watch the target, quickly point and shoot, and see where the pellet went. Just keep doing it over and over.

Because the person could see the pellet, he could tell how far off he was and could make corrections on the next shot. By training his unconscious mind...his "it"...to do the shooting, the individual eventually got to the point where he could automatically hit the target with the pellet, seemingly without aiming. At this point the person would graduate to a 22 rifle with extraordinary results. The approach was extremely reminiscent of that demonstrated by the Zen archer.

How does all this relate to speech? Children automatically learn to speak the Zen way - not by consciously thinking about it, but by feeling their way through the process - by watching, doing, emulating, failing and trying again until it works. It is a process that by-passes the conscious mind. Speech is such a complicated undertaking, and must happen so quickly and automatically, that the Zen approach is really the only way it can be mastered and practiced. If you don't think so, just listen to any play-by-play sportscaster. Or listen to a simultaneous translator at work. There can be no deliberate control because there is no time to operate consciously. Like the Zen archer, the person simply reacts.

Of course, children do struggle when they're first learning to speak, but they're not doing it in a self-conscious way. They're doing it with the same intuitive mind set as the Zen archery student who keeps drawing the bow and keeps drawing it and keeps drawing it and keeps drawing it and keeps drawing it until one day everything comes together and the process takes place automatically.

WHEN THE SYSTEM BREAKS DOWN

Then what causes a child to become self-conscious about his speech and begin exercising deliberate control? I've observed three potential scenarios: (1) Self-consciousness can be triggered by speech blocks created when the child tries to assert himself while holding back his feelings (the classic approach-avoidance conflict). (2) Self-consciousness can be caused by speech blocks created by timing problems when the child tries to synchronize low-speed voluntary control of articulation with high-speed automatic vocal syllabic control. Or (3) self-consciousness can be caused by speech blocks created when the child anticipates a need to try hard to get the words out and initiates a valsalva maneuver, an act which is counterproductive to speech. Whichever scenario holds sway (and it could be any one or all three), the attempt to exercise control over a spontaneous act ends up disrupting the speaking process, leaving the child feeling helpless, panicked, and afraid of subsequent speaking situations.

Now the ironic twist. Just like the child learns to speak by following a Zen-like approach, so does he learn to employ behaviors that are detrimental to his speech using the same unconscious process. He does it the Zen way, repeating these behaviors over and over until they become automatic and outside his conscious awareness. It's when these unconscious controls interfere with the timing and spontaneity of speech (or when fear and panic operate outside the person's awareness to cause the person to hold everything back in a long, prolonged block) that they transform themselves into a chronic and self-sustaining problem.

As the child suffers the social consequences of malfunctioning speech, he changes how he feels about himself and others. He develops social strategies to protect himself from shame and embarrassment. He develops strategies for pushing out the difficult words, or hiding them. When these changes begin to influence and reinforce each other, the problem becomes self-perpetuating.

His reaction is similar to that of the professional golfer who, in trying very hard to sink an easy three foot putt to win the tournament, tightens up and jerks the putter to the left or right and blows his chance at glory. He then develops fears about little three foot putts. He starts to believe that he can't perform under pressure. His self-image changes to that of a loser and...well, you know the rest.

When therapy is limited to imposing a conscious set of controls on speech that is already over-controlled by fears and expectations, the person simply ends up layering one level of controls on top of another. On the other hand, if the individual is willing to address the total system - looking not only at how he blocks as a speaker, but how he blocks as a person - he gradually becomes more willing to address the fears that hold him back.

As the person begins to develop a more realistic self-image, he can begin to relax and simply accept what shows up. This was what happened in the ping-pong game with Andy. I knew my swing was fine, because I had practiced it for many years. I simply had to decide to live with the consequences of letting go.

Similarly, the person who stutters must get his speech technique in order by becoming conscious of the subtle ways he interferes with the spontaneous act of speaking. Then he must shift his awareness from the mechanics of speaking to the total act of self-expression. He must decide to live with the consequences of letting go. Only then can his spontaneity be freely expressed as his higher self - his "it"- takes full command of the speaking process.

DISAPPEARING THE PROBLEM

There are, then, two different strategies for creating fluency. One is to constantly and consciously control the dysfluency. This is the strategy you find in many speech therapy programs. It does work, but people are often left with a sense of artificiality and feeling unreal and detached from their authentic self. ("Sure, the technique works when I use it, but I just don't feel like me.")

Certainly, one can attain a level of fluency through controlled speech, just like an archer can attain a certain level of skill by consciously drawing the bow. But in the same way that a consciously drawn bow prevents the student from attaining the effortlessness and accuracy of the Zen archer, so does consciously controlling one's speech prevent the person who stutters from ever attaining truly spontaneous self-expression. Irony of ironies, an insurmountable barrier is created by the very method introduced to cure the problem.

The alternative approach is to practice the proper speech mechanics, and then know when to "get out of your own way" and practice letting go. This is where visualization comes into play. Every time I sat in an audience and was held in the thrall of a dynamic speaker, I asked myself, "What is he feeling? What is the experience like for him? - How would I feel if, like him, I could actually have fun while I was speaking?" To help me get back to spontaneous speech, I developed an emotional picture of what letting go felt like and then practiced giving over control of my speech to that picture.

Anyone who's mastered a musical instrument already understands the need to let go and just do it. While you're first learning a composition, you may have a need to focus on the notes and the fingering. But when you give a recital, your attention must shift to the experience of putting it all together and expressing yourself. If you were to focus on the notes and your fingering while you were giving the recital, at the very least, your presentation would be wooden; at worst, your focus would be on performing and your self-consciousness might even cause you to forget the notes altogether.

People who have fully recovered from stuttering - that is, people who have learned to speak spontaneously, the Zen way - will tell you that not only did their speech have to change, but other key aspects of their life as well. Over time, these changes coalesced into a new system that could support effortless, uninhibited self-expression. They created a fluency system in which their new speech behaviors, as well as their emotions, perceptions, beliefs, intentions and physiological responses all interactively supported each other. They learned to recognize when it was time to work on conscious technique, and when it was necessary to step back, surrender control to the "it", and allow their spontaneity to carry them forward.

I don't mean to suggest that bringing this about is a simple process. Permanently removing stuttering from your life so that even the impulse to block is no longer present is a complex and comprehensive undertaking. It usually takes place over a period of time by living it through, step-by-step, and people will approach the process with varying degrees of success.

Success will depend on a number of factors such as the number and intensity of bad experiences the person must overcome, the intensity of feelings that must be managed and explored, the number of bad speech habits that must be brought into awareness, the degree of support that exists in the person's immediate environment, genetic factors that may interfere with the speaking process, the person's motivation, the level of perfection they can live with, the person's beliefs, the talent of the therapist and the quality of the therapeutic relationship.

But if you understand the Zen-like nature of the system and how it works, you can identify which areas in your life, apart from your speech, also need to be addressed.

At the very least, this approach will lead you to a better game of ping-pong.

REFERENCES

Gallwey, T. (1979) The inner game of tennis. New York: Bantam Books
Herrigel, E. (1989) Zen in the art of archery. New York: Vintage Books
Sightless in Georgia: Lucky McDaniel teaches instinct shooting, Sports Illustrated, 26:5, January 9, 1967