Rat Park?

I somehow got on a list for Oprah's magazine, and most of the time it ends up in the electronic File 13. However, today was different. An article about how to stop self-sabotage caught my eye, and after nodding my head in agreement over how the author assisted a client through her issues, I noticed a link to something about Rat Park. I couldn't resist checking it out. Here's an excerpt from the online article:

"The term comes from a study conducted in 1981 by psychologist Bruce Alexander and colleagues. He noted that many addiction studies had something in common: The lab rats they used were locked in uncomfortable, isolating cages. Testing a hunch, Alexander gathered two groups of rats. For the first, he built a 200-square-foot rodent paradise called Rat Park. There a colony of white Wister rats found luxurious accommodations for all their favorite pastimes—mingling, mating, raising pups, writing articles for newspaper tabloids. The second group was housed in the traditional cages. Alexander offered both groups a choice of plain water or sugar water laced with morphine. Like rats in other studies, the traditionally caged animals became instant addicts. However, the residents of Rat Park tended to "just say no," avoiding the drug-treated sugar water. Even rats that were already addicted to morphine tended to lay off the hard stuff when in Rat Park. Put them back in their cages, however, and they'd stay stoned as Deadheads." (Martha Beck)

Whoa.... First thought: "How cool!" Second thought: "How Cruel!" Third thought: "Rats can write?"

How many times do we willingly cage ourselves, only to medicate our unhappiness with drugs, alcohol, excess shopping, illicit affairs, or extended stays in grad school? Who told us that there was no way out? We get to choose each day if we live in a cage or in our own version of Rat Park. I think the park sounds like a nicer place. How about you?

The experiment continues...

I did an experiment on myself a couple of months ago: I stopped eating meat. Yes, I still enjoyed my dairy and eggs, and I didn’t freak out when something was made with chicken stock, but I really wanted to see what would happen to me both physically and mentally when faced with a life sans animal flesh.

At first it was very difficult. Our family diet had become quite meat-centric, and it was very boring at the fast-food counter. I used the 6-week period called Lent in the Catholic faith tradition as my parameters, so I could keep up with my experiment easier. Here’s what happened:

- I lost weight. Well, not really that much, but my stomach wasn’t as bloated trying to keep up with the difficult digestive process that meat requires.
- I cooked more at home. After all, most vegetarian options at restaurants are limited to very cheesy offerings, and that gets boring.
- I found that I was able to be more open energetically. Meat was “dumbing down” my otherwise sensitive energy antennae.

Now that I’ve been partaking of burgers and brats again, I have noticed a couple more interesting tidbits:
- The bloat is back. In fact, I look like I’ve gained an entire size in my pants, though the scale still says the same number.
- I’ve found it more challenging to stay on top of my emotions. Hormones from the meat? Could be, or it could be the karmic load from taking the life of an unblessed animal.
- Energetically, I’ve found myself to be “dirtier”. There’s just more junk that seems to come my way, and it seems to be tougher to clear it out.

So, I’m going to take a page from my Feng Shui practice, and de-clutter my diet. Sure, the occasional chicken sandwich may still cross the road into my stomach, but I’m going to reset my default to wholesome, locally grown produce. And cheesecake. Can’t forget the cheesecake!