For press inquiries, please contact my publicist at Viking, Louise Braverman, at louise.braverman@us.penguingroup.com.
Based upon her academic training and personal experience, Jill helps others not only rebuild their brains from trauma, but helps those of us with normal brains better understand how we can ‘tend the garden of our minds’ to maximize our quality of life. Jill pushes the envelope in our understanding about how we can consciously influence the neural circuitry underlying what we think, how we feel, and how we react to life’s circumstances. Jill teaches us through her own example how we might more readily exercise our own right hemispheric circuitry with the intention of helping all human beings become more humane. “I believe the more time we spend running our deep inner peace circuitry, then the more peace we will project into the world, and ultimately the more peace we will have on the planet.”
My Stroke of Insight (Viking) is available at a local bookstore or online bookseller including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Sense.
Hemmorhaging Nirvana
'I am trillions of cells sharing a common mind--I am life!'
Robert C. Koehler
Tribune Media Services
March 15, 2007
“Oh
my gosh, I’m having a stroke! I’m having a stroke! And in the next
instant, the thought flashed through my mind, this is so cool!”
You
want a guided tour of the human brain? My guess is that you probably
can’t do better than “My Stroke of Insight,” Harvard-trained
neuroanatomist Jill Taylor’s extraordinary account of the cranial
hemorrhage that shut down her left brain when she was 37 years old. But
the book’s value — its preciousness — lies less in the plain-language,
enthusiastic science it offers us, than in the door it courageously
opens to the mystery of the brain’s right hemisphere and beyond...to the pulsing miracle of life and the vast universe that is our home.
One
morning in late 1996, Taylor, a research scientist who worked at the
Harvard Brain Tissue Resource Center (a.k.a., the Brain Bank), awoke
with a sharp pain behind her left eye, and soon enough — as her speech
and motor functions failed her, as she melted into what she called a
euphoric stupor and lost all sense of where “Dr. Jill” ended and the
rest of the universe began — she realized this was no ordinary
headache. It was, she later learned, a blown AVM: the rupture of a
congenitally deformed vein-artery connection deep inside her brain. She
was in the first stage of a potentially killer stroke — and she was
alone in her apartment and had lost the capacity to think or act
rationally or even communicate with the outside world.
Part of the joy of this book is that nothing unfolds the way you’d expect. Taylor’s story at its darkest courses with gratitude and humor and, most of all, amazement, as she recounts what happened to her with Ph.D.-level clarity and awareness of detail combined with childlike exuberance. The sudden loss of her left-brain organizational and self-defining capabilities was not, for instance, terrifying. Life-threatening though her predicament was, Taylor saw her stroke as a gift of unparalleled awareness: the shattering of the self-created box we live in that we call “life.”
“When the shower droplets beat into my chest like little bullets, I was harshly startled back into...reality,” she writes of that first morning. “As I held my hands up in front of my face and wiggled my fingers, I was simultaneously perplexed and intrigued.
“Wow, what a strange and amazing thing I am. What a bizarre living being I am. Life! I am life! I am a sea of water bound inside this membranous pouch. Here, in this form, I am a conscious mind and this body is the vehicle through which I am ALIVE! I am trillions of cells sharing a common mind. I am here, now, thriving as life. Wow! What an unfathomable concept! I am cellular life, no — I am molecular life with manual dexterity and a cognitive mind!”
Taylor’s book accomplishes quite a few important things in a fairly short space. It tells a fascinating story that begins with how she orchestrated her rescue that morning even as “my earthly body dissolved and I melted into the universe,” and proceeds through brain surgery and eight years of slow recovery of her left-brain functions (for instance, she had to learn to read all over again, beginning with the preschool-level “The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy”); it bursts with hope for everyone who is brain-injured (not just stroke patients but accident victims and thousands of Iraq war vets); and it gives medical practitioners clear, no-nonsense information about the shortcomings of conventional treatment and attitudes toward the brain-injured: “I needed people to come close and not be afraid of me.”
But to my mind, what makes “My Stroke of Insight” not just valuable but invaluable — a gift to every spiritual seeker and peace activist — is what I would describe as Taylor’s fearless mapping of the physiology of compassion, the physiology of Nirvana.
This book is about the wonder of being human and as such is a plea and a prayer that we strive to be equal to how big we really are. What a piece of work is man — 50 trillion cells functioning in purposeful harmony. The two hemispheres of our brain are yoked opposites: limit-setting rationality (time, judgment, ego) in perpetual interplay with the eternal and unbounded now. Together, and only together, do these two halves of our awareness make our human destiny.
A healthy person, and a healthy society, honor and live more or less equally out of both halves of the brain. When I asked Taylor how she’d describe our current state of societal balance, she said: 85-15. “We don’t just not engage the skills of the right hemisphere, we mock them!”
That is to say, we live and we strangle each other in our left-brain ego-boxes, refusing to trust or even acknowledge that a different kind of world is possible. Here’s how Taylor puts it: “I realized that the blessing I had received from this experience was the knowledge that deep internal peace is accessible to anyone at any time...My stroke of insight would be: Peace is only a thought away, and all we have to do to access it is silence the voice of our dominating left mind.”
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Robert Koehler, an award-winning, Chicago-based journalist, is an editor at Tribune Media Services and nationally syndicated writer. You can respond to this column at bkoehler@tribune.com.