In Tune
“Life is the expression of tone. In that sentence is the basic principle of Chiropractic.”
More than 100 years ago, D.D. Palmer, the founder of Chiropractic, drew a connection between the state of the nervous system and the health of a person. He defined tone as "the normal degree of nerve tension."
All living tissues (and organs and organisms) have tone. It is a quality that can be perceived and felt, and through specific types of biometrics, can be measured. When tone is normal, the function of the tissues and organs is normal, and this is the primary marker for healthy physiology.
The nervous system is what allows us to perceive and respond to the world around us and to coordinate how the body moves, feels, and heals. When there is tension on the nervous system, it is reflected in the other tissues of the body. Since the spine is intimately related with the spinal cord and brainstem, and serves as the communication highway between the brain and the body, nerve tension often shows up in the spine.
Tone can also be seen as an acoustic phenomenon. A stringed instrument, when in tune, requires the strings to exist at certain tension. When energy is added to the strings to make them move, they oscillate within a specific range of frequencies, and the sound is amplified by the body of the instrument. The ability to express the song, to do so with ease, and for there to be harmony in the process requires both structural alignment and tonal refinement.
When the instrument of the human body is not "in tune," it is because tone is not being expressed normally. In Chiropractic, this is referred to as dis-ease. An attuned nervous system is an adaptive nervous system, and one that allows for health, vitality, and empowerment. This is the basic principle. This is what Chiropractic is founded upon.
Slow It Down
In his first summer in the Sierra, John Muir was hired to help shepherd a flock of sheep up into the mountains. He mused about the rocks and the trees, the clouds, and the majesty of Yosemite.
There are many reasons I enjoy reading Muir, but perhaps more than anything else, it is because he serves to remind me of pace. More specifically, to slow...it...down.
A slower pace allows us to draw focus to the present, to identify certain patterns and habits that are done unconsciously, and to highlight areas of strength or deficit. I believe this applies across all spectra - everything from clinical practice, to yoga, to a walk in the woods.
It can be challenging to be more deliberate in thought and action. There is often an inverse relationship between doing things well and doing them quickly. This does not mean we need to become like the tortoise all of the time (although there is case to be made for why he wins), but rather to practice taking a page out of John Muir’s book once in a while:
"Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."
Behold, The Sea
I prefer to consult the ocean in the early morning or at the close of day. Having grown up along the sandy shores of New Jersey, the rumbling of the Atlantic is sometimes more familiar than my own voice. It has been the canvas against which much of my life has been painted. It was the standard against which I measured depth and I challenged Fear.
I have borne witness to its most peaceful stillness and its most apocalyptic rage. It has taught harsh lessons and served as quiet counsel. Emerson has described the sea as “the nourisher of kinds, purger of earth, and medicine of men,” and I am inclined to agree with him.
The Oregon coast is colder, more rugged, and its shores far greener. As yet, I’ve had little experience with the Pacific. Beneath the differences, the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves has the same power to “wash out harms and griefs from memory.”
In a time where a sense of uncertainty, turmoil, and unbridled hate saturates our news and our discourse, it is more important than ever to come into the peace of wild things.
