eThoughts : Dementia and Attention

(For more about being in the present moment, go to: More About the Now.)

Just how does this work? And I’m not just talking about the full-fledged variety, the kind of dementia that lands a person in a full-care facility, I’m talking about the typical, garden-variety style that most of us encounter in ourselves or in others on an almost daily basis.

In previous postings I have lamented the mental acuities of those that drive our nation’s highways and of those that “own” dogs (among many other lamentations) . The realities of driving our nation’s highways and of being besieged by the constant barking of neighborhood dogs represents a kind of dementia–a kind of reality that is not steeped in the nuances of driving or pet ownership. It is not an expanded awareness, but a truncated one. And, as the writer of this, I’m not adopting any special hierarchical position relative to everyone else. Dementia comes to my attention on occasion because of my own lack of mental acuity. So I wonder about it.

If we are to believe the medical view or the biological psychologist’s view, we are likely to point to our biology as the source of dementia. From a developmental point of view, we might adopt a position of “use it or lose it.” In any case, these views are rooted in the physiological explanation of dementia.

Apparently our biological processes slowdown as we get older. They become less elastic and more prone towards irrepairable breakdowns. This is “natural.” We cannot avoid it, we can only put it off if we have “good” genes, if we exercise, if we continue to learn, if we have “good” nutritional practices, etc.

That we now know we can continue to learn, despite our age, is a good sign, though the learning is considerably slower to take the older we are. At least we can influence this biological inevitability of decline, even if it is only to slow it down.

All right, I’m not suggesting that we can avoid death, or even a slowing down. I’m simply wondering if a) the slowing-down process is such a bad thing (i.e., is slowing down the same thing as a decline?), and b) if it is inevitable that we experience decline in the first place.

When I read in the papers recently about an elderly person who accidently stepped on the gas pedal instead of the brake pedal and subsequently killed as well as injured a number of people, it was not hard to put myself in that position (no, I’m not elderly). In writing about drivers and dog owners, in watching me put the cold juice in the microwave instead of the refrigerator, it occurred to me that the roots of dementia might just be a lack of presence.

Don’t we spend the better part of our lives inside our heads? We can call it multi-tasking or whatever you want to, but the bottom line seems to be that we are seldom attentive to our present situation, busily lamenting or embracing some emotional and/or cognitive sense of the past or future.

Okay, review and planning are important, but when? On the freeway, operating a chain saw, making love, listening to another, etc.? I suspect that the seeds for much of our dementia are planted well in advance of our dementia–and it is in the propensity to do many things without paying attention to what we’re actually doing.

Well, that potentially raises another objection to this line of thought. For example, does constant attention to our heart rates, to our respiration, to our blood pressure, or to our digestive processes increase the quality of those processes?

Sure, there are a number of things that, once properly engaged, can be left to their own devices. But there are keys to this. One is that the processes are properly engaged to begin with, another is that we might want to check into the process every once in a while to see if all is well, and another is that if something is amiss, we will have to put our attention into the process to make corrections.

So, yes–through those twin tenets of habituation and sensitivity we can set our lives and our attention in motion and correct them as we go along. But we cannot remain in one tenet or the other as a matter of course.

What does this mean? For instance, is driving a habit?

Some of it we want to program so we don’t have to slow down our reflexes by thinking. But the same idea works by practicing a sense of presence. As we slow down when we become older (or are sick, or have altered biological processes), a sensitivity to the moment can prevent cognitive drift which displaces our body and our doings. And practicing such sensitivity can create a habit of presence that will hasten our reaction time simply because we do not have to “return” to the present from being “so far away” from it in the first place.

I’m guessing these practices will lower the incidence of dementia, if nothing else because it is clear that our biology and our lifestyle are intricately entwined. And it is clear that dementia is a very limited present moment.

The irony is that being in the present moment, actually increases our ability to attend to many things, and thus thwarts the convolution of being that is dementia.

So, is slowing down the same as decline?

No, it isn’t.

Let’s learn to make the distinction. For instance, there is a rule in learning something new–to go faster, one must start slower. In a different vein, slowing down a rampaging mind or body would be considered a good thing; slowing down can sometimes make it easier to understand, review, and plan strategies.

What condition might make either of these instances more viable?

A strong sense of presence.

Is decline inevitable?

Why? Because we die?

Again, let’s learn to make the distinction. Change looks like it is going to happen. But is it really written anywhere–in our genes, in our books, that we cannot live consciously and fully in our body and in this world and then leave consciously and fully our body and this world?

Live, die. That’s transition enough I think. Why do we need the drama of decline? Is it because we have not practiced and embraced the present moment sufficiently to know when it is time to shift, so we cling to outgrown modalities? Or is it because it is only through drama that we announce the depth of our feelings about missed opportunities?

Being steeped in the past or the future is an interesting presence, and, I suggest, a form of dementia. Practicing a sense of presence, however difficult it might be, may be the doorway to increased awareness, which is the opposite of dementia. The longer we wait, the more that doorway seems to transform into solid wall and the more likely we are to have a very narrow sense of being.