Metta (loving-kindness) meditation is a major practice of the Theravadin tradition of Buddhism that I practice. Interestingly, I find most meditators prefer to focus on a strict vipassana (insight) practice, rather than the more heart-based practices of what the Buddha called the “4 Divine Adobes”, or brahmaviharas.
Why is this? I don’t know. But I suspect that many of us got into meditation to fix something in our lives—that is, to try to escape our suffering in a more positive way than drinking, drug use, etc. I know I did. If it wasn’t for martial arts, Buddhism and meditation, I very much doubt I would be here today. Like many of the kids I hung out with, I likely would have ended up trapped in addiction to drugs or alcohol or in jail, or dead.
To be completely honest, the latter is the most likely scenario. As my meditation practice has deepened, as my mind and heart have opened, I can see clearly the urge for self-destruction that drove me to live my life looking for a fight. Fighting was my favorite thing in the world—the only place I felt perfectly at home was in the adrenaline dump of a good brawl. I had so much hate and anger boiling up inside of me that I needed to let it out somehow—and that was the only way I knew.
How no one stabbed, shot, or simply beat my dumb ass to death during those times is still something that amazes me. We are so fragile; all it would have taken is a bad fall on concrete to end my life, or someone else’s. Thank God, or whatever is out there, that none of that ever happened.
I think it’s that awareness of my past motivations that brought me to metta practice. I knew that I needed to find a way to deal with those old angers, the old wounds, the resentments, judgements and grudges that still drove me in so many ways. And I knew that my insight practice wasn’t cutting it, nor was doing Muay Thai or any other martial art. They helped relieve the symptoms—the day to day frustrations, lack of awareness, etc—but the root was something that went much deeper.
Metta practice allowed me to see clearly for the first time in my life that I was worthy of being loved. That I wasn’t someone who was inherently bad or undeserving. That I didn’t need to walk around with this weight on my chest. I could open myself to myself—and by doing so, to others.
Initially, it was very difficult to sit and repeat the phrases:
“May I be filled with loving-kindess
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be well
May I be happy”
My mind kept on intruding and asking me who I thought I was fooling. Weren’t other people more deserving? Why was I wasting my time on this ridiculous, useless practice?
Yeah, my mind is kind of an asshole. But maybe you recognize those thoughts. They are very common especially when you being to practice metta. Hell, they’re some of the first thoughts that came up for me when I started vipassana practice.
I have an idea why:
Our society still has a deep, unconscious remnant of the idea of Original Sin—that we are all inherently bad. On top of that we pile the habitual separation of body and mind, and the shackles of a warped version of the Protestant work ethic—one where nothing is ever good enough and our worth is measured only by our work and wealth. And the cherry on top is our modern need to consume, to define ourselves by what we own. Like the bumper sticker says “He who dies with the most toys wins”.
And all of this—even if we consciously reject it—still works on our subconscious mind and our hearts. Especially the deep cultural programming of the Judeo-Christian idea of Original Sin. That simply doesn’t exist in many other cultures.
For instance, when the Dalai Lama was asked by an American psychologist whether or not meditation could help his patients deal with their self-hatred, he was dumbfounded. The DL went back and forth with his translator for a good ten minutes, and then finally asked the psychologist to explain what he meant. When he did, the Dalai Lama replied (more of less) “We don’t understand. The Tibetan language doesn’t have a way to describe what you’re talking about.”
Think about that. They have no concept whatsoever regarding the self-hatred and self-judgment that is so common in Western societies. It doesn’t exist for them.
But we do and I think a major part of our meditation practice—if not the vast majority—should focus first on uprooting these deeply-held and very damaging beliefs. This is also the view one of Jack Kornfield—in his book “A Path With Heart” he prescribes metta practice first, before all others—even vipassana.
So give it a try. At first, just focus on yourself. Later, you can expand the practice to include loved ones ,enemies and even the whole world—but it all starts inside. After a good year or so of metta practice I still work primarily on myself, although I do include others towards the end of the meditation session.
Metta has made a dramatic difference in my quality of life—moreso than anything else, although the compassion , sympathetic joy, and gratitude/forgiveness practices come close. I hope it does the same for you.
Here are the basic instructions, as well as a copy of the text of the Metta Sutta. I like to read the sutta aloud or to myself at the beginning and end of a sitting—I find it sets the mood and centers me a bit. I am not a meditation teacher, however, and I strongly suggest you read Salzberg’s “Loving-Kindess” as well as Kornfield’s “A Path With Heart” for more information.
How to Practice Metta (Loving Kindness) Meditaiton:
Find a comfortable place to sit. Relax your body and become aware of bodily sensations—the touch points (where your body makes contact with the floor,cushion or chair), your breath, or sounds. Relax and soften your belly.
After a few minutes of this, you can start the metta practice by repeating the phrases:
May I be filled with loving-kindess
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be well
May I be happy
Repeat the phrases mindfully—really get behind them emotionally. Picture yourself as a beloved child or being held in the arms of a being of pure compassion—Kuan Yin,Buddha, Christ, Gandhi, Mary, whoever or whatever makes you feel unconditionally loved.
Pay attention to the resistance you may have. Don’t push it away or judge it or judge yourself for having those thoughts of “not good enough”. They are complete normal. It’s what the mind does and it’s nothing to personalize. Just note it and go back to repeating your phrases with real feeling.
You may noticed bodily sensations: warmth in your heart, a tightness in the belly or throat, or even full-body waves of energy. I’ve actually felt energy move up through my chakras—although I didn’t know where they were at the time.
Don’t resist these sensations, but don’t cling to them either. They are positive and pleasurable, but if you start focusing on them you can create a craving for them. Just accept them for what they are, enjoy them and let them go when they want to go.
After 10 to 15 minutes, stop the metta practice and spend a few minutes just sitting and watching your mind. Notice how much calmer it is, and note the sensations –good and bad--that metta practice created for you. Open your eyes.
As a side note, metta practice can also be done walking, standing or lying down—I like to do a few run throughs right before I fall asleep at night.
A Translation of the Metta Sutta:
“May I be happy. May I preserve my happiness and live without enmity. May all beings be happy. May they be of joyful mind, all beings that have life, be they feeble or strong, be they minute or vast, visible or invisible, near or afar, born or are to be born, let all beings be joyful.
Let no one deceive another, let none be harsh in speech, let none by anger or hatred wish ill to his or her neighbor. Even as a parent, at the risk of their life, watches over and protects her only child, so with a boundless heart of compassion I cherish all living beings, suffusing love over the entire world, above and all around limit; thus I cultivate an infinite goodwill toward the whole world.
Standing or walking, sitting or lying down, during all my waking hours, I cherish the thought that this way of loving is the noblest in the world.
Thus shall I, by abandoning vain discussions and controversies and by walking a wise path, be endowed with insight, let go of attachment to sense desires, and know the deathless. May this also be the cause for all other sentient beings to be fulfilled in the conditions leading to their realization of liberation. May all sentient beings escape the dangers of old age, disease, and death. May all beings be liberated.”
There are many other versions, but I like this one the best. To see some of the others and to learn more about metta (loving-kindness) meditation practice, you can go to http://www.accesstoinsight.org/cgi/search/search.pl?Terms=metta
For books, the best one I’ve read—and really the one that kick-started the widespread practice of metta in the U.S.—is Sharon Salzberg’s “Loving Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness”. You can pick up a copy at Amazon.com.
I hope you find this post helpful and that it benefits you and all beings in all directions.
May you be filled with loving-kindness
May you be peaceful and at ease
May you be well.
May you be happy.
May you be liberated.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Second Thoughts
Lately the Year to Live practice has felt like a burden. I have been struggling with so much resistance--to sitting, in particular. Especially the "Life Review" part of the practice.
The Life Review is just what it sounds like--you sit, calm your mind, and allow events from your past to arise and pass away. You try to let go of all the bad stuff, express gratitude where appropriate, and ask for forgiveness if needed.
In the book, Levine says to stay away from the heavy stuff, the negative experiences, when you begin the practice. And this is where I get stuck. Most of my life has been crazy, especially up to about age 21-22 when I got into martial arts and started meditating a bit.
I was very different then. Violent, for one thing. Against myself, in the form of drug and alcohol abuse. Against others, both physically and emotionally. At one point in my life my favorite thing to do was get into a good brawl. I would get drunk and just go looking for fights. How I didn't get shot or stabbed is beyond me.
I had so much rage and hate boiling up inside of me that it was all I could do to keep myself under control. Sometimes that effort alone was exhausting.
So there's lots of bad stuff there. Lots of painful memories, going all the way back to when I was a really little kid. I don't have that many happy childhood memories. I mean, I have them, but they are far outnumbered by ones dominated by feelings of fear, regret, and anger.
I remember more good things now. But to get to the good things I've had to go through the pages of my old books, reading all the old stories of pride, abandonement, rage, and fear. And as I read them, reliving them vividly. Feeling the waves of emotion that only a 6 year old can feel--utterly consuming, overwhelmingly intense. Letting them pass through me, finally, and trying to come to some sort of resolution. Trying to forgive and let go.
So I guess it should be obvious why I've been resisting practice. It's hard. It's tiring. I don't feel like too many people understand what it's like. I think most of my friends and loved ones find the Year to Live practice interesting; some of them even find it amirable. But it seems like it's one of those things you need to do in order to really understand.
It's intense. When I am fully in it, fully aware of Death on my left shoulder, everything in life is so precious--even the painful parts. In some cases, especially the painful parts--because it's through those experiences that we can gain the most wisdom. And those "bad" experiences have their own beauty; they're real, they're raw, and they're totally human. They are life, in all it's ugly glory.
And that's not to say that I don't think there aren't benefits to the more pleasant experiences I've had. I've had feelings of compassion, forgiveness, and gratitude so intense during a sit that I can feel them--feel them arise from the thoughts, crest as they move through my heart, and then settle deep in my lower belly. Sometimes they start from the other direction--running up through the lower chakras through the top of my head.
But I try not to cling to either of them. And yet, I find myself clinging to the negative, the painful, the things that create suffering. I suspect that's a sign of some unfinished business, some old (and new) loose ends that need to be tied up.
and there are lot of them. I made a list of all the people I feel like I need to make amends to, or that I have some unfinished business with. It's long. In some cases--ok, in ALL of the cases--apologizing and asking for forgiveness is going to take a lot. My ego definately does NOT want to come along for the ride. There are lots of thoughts about "Ah, let it go, it's not a big deal, they probably are OK with it..."
And maybe the people I need to talk with are "Ok with it". But I don't think I am. I have some attachments to those past events. And I committed myself to this practice. I have 7 months and 3 weeks to let go of all of them.
What's really funny is that I get kind of upset when I think of January 2, 2010. Intellectually I know it's not my real death (well, hopefully not) but it still creates a little wave of fear and grief. If I dwell on it, those feelings get very intense. And at the same time--I am totally aware that it's only a mental construct. But...I can't see past 1/2/2010. It's just a blank, an endless black void.
I like it that way. I've always believed that the best way to use an opporunity is to burn your bridges behind you. Not in the sense that we usually use that term--but in the sense of taking away the "outs" we like to leave for ourselves...just in case. Not having a vision of life beyond the next 7 months and 3 weeks forces me to "be here now". There's nothing else, no second chances, no mulligans.
And the truth is, that's our life. All of us, every single person reading this, will die. Sooner or later--and I hope that for all of you it's later. But as far as I know there aren't any do-overs. Once this moment is gone...it's gone. And we can very easily go through our whole life like that. Half-asleep and stumbling through the wilderness, grasping and clinging to anything that we think will show us the path out of the woods.
Wow, depressing. Yeesh. See what I mean?
But in all seriousness...I'd like to challenge everyone who reads this (and there's a surprising number of you--very good for my ego) to spend one day, just one day, living like it was your last. Your last chance to have that conversation with your mom. Your last chance to call up the lover you hurt so many years ago and say "I'm sorry". Your last chance to go to the park with your kids--and really be there with them, not on the phone or chatting with other parents.
Go for it.
The Life Review is just what it sounds like--you sit, calm your mind, and allow events from your past to arise and pass away. You try to let go of all the bad stuff, express gratitude where appropriate, and ask for forgiveness if needed.
In the book, Levine says to stay away from the heavy stuff, the negative experiences, when you begin the practice. And this is where I get stuck. Most of my life has been crazy, especially up to about age 21-22 when I got into martial arts and started meditating a bit.
I was very different then. Violent, for one thing. Against myself, in the form of drug and alcohol abuse. Against others, both physically and emotionally. At one point in my life my favorite thing to do was get into a good brawl. I would get drunk and just go looking for fights. How I didn't get shot or stabbed is beyond me.
I had so much rage and hate boiling up inside of me that it was all I could do to keep myself under control. Sometimes that effort alone was exhausting.
So there's lots of bad stuff there. Lots of painful memories, going all the way back to when I was a really little kid. I don't have that many happy childhood memories. I mean, I have them, but they are far outnumbered by ones dominated by feelings of fear, regret, and anger.
I remember more good things now. But to get to the good things I've had to go through the pages of my old books, reading all the old stories of pride, abandonement, rage, and fear. And as I read them, reliving them vividly. Feeling the waves of emotion that only a 6 year old can feel--utterly consuming, overwhelmingly intense. Letting them pass through me, finally, and trying to come to some sort of resolution. Trying to forgive and let go.
So I guess it should be obvious why I've been resisting practice. It's hard. It's tiring. I don't feel like too many people understand what it's like. I think most of my friends and loved ones find the Year to Live practice interesting; some of them even find it amirable. But it seems like it's one of those things you need to do in order to really understand.
It's intense. When I am fully in it, fully aware of Death on my left shoulder, everything in life is so precious--even the painful parts. In some cases, especially the painful parts--because it's through those experiences that we can gain the most wisdom. And those "bad" experiences have their own beauty; they're real, they're raw, and they're totally human. They are life, in all it's ugly glory.
And that's not to say that I don't think there aren't benefits to the more pleasant experiences I've had. I've had feelings of compassion, forgiveness, and gratitude so intense during a sit that I can feel them--feel them arise from the thoughts, crest as they move through my heart, and then settle deep in my lower belly. Sometimes they start from the other direction--running up through the lower chakras through the top of my head.
But I try not to cling to either of them. And yet, I find myself clinging to the negative, the painful, the things that create suffering. I suspect that's a sign of some unfinished business, some old (and new) loose ends that need to be tied up.
and there are lot of them. I made a list of all the people I feel like I need to make amends to, or that I have some unfinished business with. It's long. In some cases--ok, in ALL of the cases--apologizing and asking for forgiveness is going to take a lot. My ego definately does NOT want to come along for the ride. There are lots of thoughts about "Ah, let it go, it's not a big deal, they probably are OK with it..."
And maybe the people I need to talk with are "Ok with it". But I don't think I am. I have some attachments to those past events. And I committed myself to this practice. I have 7 months and 3 weeks to let go of all of them.
What's really funny is that I get kind of upset when I think of January 2, 2010. Intellectually I know it's not my real death (well, hopefully not) but it still creates a little wave of fear and grief. If I dwell on it, those feelings get very intense. And at the same time--I am totally aware that it's only a mental construct. But...I can't see past 1/2/2010. It's just a blank, an endless black void.
I like it that way. I've always believed that the best way to use an opporunity is to burn your bridges behind you. Not in the sense that we usually use that term--but in the sense of taking away the "outs" we like to leave for ourselves...just in case. Not having a vision of life beyond the next 7 months and 3 weeks forces me to "be here now". There's nothing else, no second chances, no mulligans.
And the truth is, that's our life. All of us, every single person reading this, will die. Sooner or later--and I hope that for all of you it's later. But as far as I know there aren't any do-overs. Once this moment is gone...it's gone. And we can very easily go through our whole life like that. Half-asleep and stumbling through the wilderness, grasping and clinging to anything that we think will show us the path out of the woods.
Wow, depressing. Yeesh. See what I mean?
But in all seriousness...I'd like to challenge everyone who reads this (and there's a surprising number of you--very good for my ego) to spend one day, just one day, living like it was your last. Your last chance to have that conversation with your mom. Your last chance to call up the lover you hurt so many years ago and say "I'm sorry". Your last chance to go to the park with your kids--and really be there with them, not on the phone or chatting with other parents.
Go for it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Yesterday Was a Hard Day
Yesterday was a hard day.
On April 15, 2008, my friend and mentor Michael Goldstein passed away. Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of his death.
I found out the next day, via email.
I sat there, stunned. Michael had been dealing with leukemia for about a year—initially, a slowly progressive type that would take a while to manifest any severe symptoms. Luckily, they had caught it early, and he seemed to be in good spirits when he told me. He mentioned he would eventually need to do chemo and the rest of the cancer treatment, but that it would be a while before that started.
Ironically, Michael had been involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in RI for years, even serving as its head. He raised who knows how much money to fight the very disease that killed him.
At first, Michael simply cleaned up an already healthy diet and started to exercise more. He switched to a macrobiotic diet, and pretty soon he was looking healthier than ever—and at 67 was probably in better shape than I was. Our weekly coaching sessions became more focused, our goals more clear, our relationship deeper and more honest.
I wonder know if the knowledge of his illness—that his life now had a foreseeable end—made him put more effort into everything he did. I like to think it did, especially in light of the Year to Live Practice. Having an end date makes everything very, very clear and every moment precious.
Sometimes I find myself wandering through the day, lost in whatever mind games I’m playing with myself, lost in samsara. And then I see something, or feel something that reminds me just how precious every second of this life is.
In Buddhism, it’s said that a human birth is a rare and wonderful thing. To paraphrase, it’s as rare as a single turtle in a vast ocean rising to the surface in a random spot and putting his head through a ring just big enough for his head.
It takes thousands of lifetimes to earn a single human birth. Even the hardest life, the worst experiences of suffering, are better than being reborn as an animal—or worse, into a hell realm.
The Buddha viewed human life as the ideal state for attaining enlightenment. The combination of awareness and physicality, along with the suffering and joys available to us in this life, create ideal conditions for spiritual growth. In fact, the Buddha also said that while there were higher realms, those realms were basically too pleasant to motivate us to practice. So here we are, human, with a chance to grab that brass ring.
But I digress. Or maybe not. So much of my spiritual growth is due to Michael. So much of my clarity and self-awareness has grown out of what he taught me and the seeds he’s sown. Even now, years after going through the crucible of self-discovery Michael created in his program Powerfuliving, new lessons are being taught. As I go deeper into my own life, my own relationships, everything Michael gave me becomes more and more important.
And this loss goes deep. There is a hole in my life where he was. His wise advice, warm smile, and commitment to helping me fulfill my potential changed my life. There are so many times when I want to call him up and ask for his advice, when I could use his wisdom and insight to bring me back down to earth.
But he’s gone. And the grief is still there. Not as intense as it was, of course. But there. I suspect it will always be there. I hope it will, because grieving means you cared, that you opened yourself up enough to feel real loss. Grief means you lived honestly.
And even in grief, I learned so much. I learned to let go of what I wanted to be, or what I wished wasn’t happening, and be with it. To let grief move through me, without pushing it away or clinging to it. I learned that grief can open my heart to others, offer healing and awareness, and create new opportunities to connect with myself and others on a deep and profound level.
Most importantly, I learned to not be afraid of grief. I’ve lost a lot of people close to me in my life. I’ve had too many friends leave this earth too soon. And for the most part, I’ve carried on. Head down, pushing forward, ignoring the huge amount of suffering and grief that was in my heart. I could get through it. I could go on. And if I just ignored it long enough…it would go away.
That’s all bullshit, by the way. Grief—or any strong emotion—doesn’t disappear when we push it away from us. It sticks around, buries itself in our hearts and minds, and then shows up in 1,000 different ways. Most often it shows up as armor—the hardening of our hearts that we accept as normal and even healthy. As we get older, this is often seen as a good thing. We can “roll with the punches”. We can “tough it out”. We can shove away our experience and hope it doesn’t come back. God forbid someone should see us lose control—cry, wail for our losses, get angry at the injustice of it all. God forbid we should drop all the bullshit and be real.
And that’s really what Michael taught: how to be real. How to live honestly, with integrity, wisdom and compassion. How to be with others and how to create relationships—of all types—based on respect, awareness, careful listening and honest communication. How to be vulnerable—a word he used so often—and real. How to take risks and open ourselves to what’s right in front of us.
So often we miss it. I did. In the stress and financial worry of my day-to-day life, I assumed Michael was going to be OK. I knew in my heart he was seriously ill, but I didn’t let myself entertain the possibility that he could die. I couldn’t; it felt too big, too horrible to contemplate.
And then it happened.
So much was left unsaid between us. Even as I write this, a deep well of regret and grief boils up from inside. There were so many things I want to say; I want to tell Michael just how much his teachings have helped me, how they’ve changed my life. I want to thank him, although “thanks” just doesn’t seem like enough. I want to tell him I love him and that he gave me the greatest gift anyone can give another—the tools for creating a deeper and more meaningful life.
But I can’t. He’s gone, and these regrets are here.
So for any of you reading this: where is your unfinished business? Who do you need to say “I love you” to? Who do you need to forgive or be forgiven by? What do you need to let go of to move on?
These are the only questions worth asking, I think.
That’s all for now, folks. I’m exhausted.
On April 15, 2008, my friend and mentor Michael Goldstein passed away. Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of his death.
I found out the next day, via email.
I sat there, stunned. Michael had been dealing with leukemia for about a year—initially, a slowly progressive type that would take a while to manifest any severe symptoms. Luckily, they had caught it early, and he seemed to be in good spirits when he told me. He mentioned he would eventually need to do chemo and the rest of the cancer treatment, but that it would be a while before that started.
Ironically, Michael had been involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in RI for years, even serving as its head. He raised who knows how much money to fight the very disease that killed him.
At first, Michael simply cleaned up an already healthy diet and started to exercise more. He switched to a macrobiotic diet, and pretty soon he was looking healthier than ever—and at 67 was probably in better shape than I was. Our weekly coaching sessions became more focused, our goals more clear, our relationship deeper and more honest.
I wonder know if the knowledge of his illness—that his life now had a foreseeable end—made him put more effort into everything he did. I like to think it did, especially in light of the Year to Live Practice. Having an end date makes everything very, very clear and every moment precious.
Sometimes I find myself wandering through the day, lost in whatever mind games I’m playing with myself, lost in samsara. And then I see something, or feel something that reminds me just how precious every second of this life is.
In Buddhism, it’s said that a human birth is a rare and wonderful thing. To paraphrase, it’s as rare as a single turtle in a vast ocean rising to the surface in a random spot and putting his head through a ring just big enough for his head.
It takes thousands of lifetimes to earn a single human birth. Even the hardest life, the worst experiences of suffering, are better than being reborn as an animal—or worse, into a hell realm.
The Buddha viewed human life as the ideal state for attaining enlightenment. The combination of awareness and physicality, along with the suffering and joys available to us in this life, create ideal conditions for spiritual growth. In fact, the Buddha also said that while there were higher realms, those realms were basically too pleasant to motivate us to practice. So here we are, human, with a chance to grab that brass ring.
But I digress. Or maybe not. So much of my spiritual growth is due to Michael. So much of my clarity and self-awareness has grown out of what he taught me and the seeds he’s sown. Even now, years after going through the crucible of self-discovery Michael created in his program Powerfuliving, new lessons are being taught. As I go deeper into my own life, my own relationships, everything Michael gave me becomes more and more important.
And this loss goes deep. There is a hole in my life where he was. His wise advice, warm smile, and commitment to helping me fulfill my potential changed my life. There are so many times when I want to call him up and ask for his advice, when I could use his wisdom and insight to bring me back down to earth.
But he’s gone. And the grief is still there. Not as intense as it was, of course. But there. I suspect it will always be there. I hope it will, because grieving means you cared, that you opened yourself up enough to feel real loss. Grief means you lived honestly.
And even in grief, I learned so much. I learned to let go of what I wanted to be, or what I wished wasn’t happening, and be with it. To let grief move through me, without pushing it away or clinging to it. I learned that grief can open my heart to others, offer healing and awareness, and create new opportunities to connect with myself and others on a deep and profound level.
Most importantly, I learned to not be afraid of grief. I’ve lost a lot of people close to me in my life. I’ve had too many friends leave this earth too soon. And for the most part, I’ve carried on. Head down, pushing forward, ignoring the huge amount of suffering and grief that was in my heart. I could get through it. I could go on. And if I just ignored it long enough…it would go away.
That’s all bullshit, by the way. Grief—or any strong emotion—doesn’t disappear when we push it away from us. It sticks around, buries itself in our hearts and minds, and then shows up in 1,000 different ways. Most often it shows up as armor—the hardening of our hearts that we accept as normal and even healthy. As we get older, this is often seen as a good thing. We can “roll with the punches”. We can “tough it out”. We can shove away our experience and hope it doesn’t come back. God forbid someone should see us lose control—cry, wail for our losses, get angry at the injustice of it all. God forbid we should drop all the bullshit and be real.
And that’s really what Michael taught: how to be real. How to live honestly, with integrity, wisdom and compassion. How to be with others and how to create relationships—of all types—based on respect, awareness, careful listening and honest communication. How to be vulnerable—a word he used so often—and real. How to take risks and open ourselves to what’s right in front of us.
So often we miss it. I did. In the stress and financial worry of my day-to-day life, I assumed Michael was going to be OK. I knew in my heart he was seriously ill, but I didn’t let myself entertain the possibility that he could die. I couldn’t; it felt too big, too horrible to contemplate.
And then it happened.
So much was left unsaid between us. Even as I write this, a deep well of regret and grief boils up from inside. There were so many things I want to say; I want to tell Michael just how much his teachings have helped me, how they’ve changed my life. I want to thank him, although “thanks” just doesn’t seem like enough. I want to tell him I love him and that he gave me the greatest gift anyone can give another—the tools for creating a deeper and more meaningful life.
But I can’t. He’s gone, and these regrets are here.
So for any of you reading this: where is your unfinished business? Who do you need to say “I love you” to? Who do you need to forgive or be forgiven by? What do you need to let go of to move on?
These are the only questions worth asking, I think.
That’s all for now, folks. I’m exhausted.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Impermanence
This morning I thought 'Hey, wouldn't it be a good idea to write a blog post for my FB group Dharma Punx? And then I can cut and paste it to the main blog..."
Seems I forgot about how wonky Facebook can be. After a good 1/2 hour of writing--and of course, not saving anything--I managed to somehow lose the whole damned thing.
There was lots of cursing and a sudden and powerful urge to throw my completely blameless laptop out the window. Thankfully, reason prevailed.
So there we are. Impermanence. I was so involved in making a point, proving something about myself to someone (me? you? both, probably) that I was furious when a technological glitch stymied my plan. Ok, I'll be honest--I was in a hurry and may have had something to do with it as well. Still, I like to place blame on Zuckerberg and da 'book. Much easier that way.
I wanted things to turn out a certain way; I wanted to connect with people, to create interest in the group. Nothing wrong with that, in and of itself, but my attachment to it certainly created some real (if brief) anger.
Hmmm...attachment. Clinging.
It's really what I was writing about in the first place, actually, although I don't think I realized that. Not clearly.
I was writing about my frustration with my practice lately, how I missed the deep states of awareness and realization I've had in the past. How annoying it was to not be able to simply sit and be with the moment, in the face of normal day-to-day life.
That's the funny thing; my life is pretty good right now. Really good, in fact, especially if I compare it to the last year.
And I think that's part of the problem. I suspect I am clinging to my suffering, looking for connection with grief and loss, looking for pain to open up to . And to a degree, that's a good thing--in that I know I should be aware of whatever's happening in the moment, no matter how unpleasant.
But I am seeking the suffering, and the release from it; almost as if it's a drug. As if it makes me more righteous, more aware, more...Buddhist.
lol. How many ways can this monkey-mind find to confuse us? I'm using the very tool of freedom and liberation--awareness--to keep myself locked into a holding pattern, one that is keeping me from moving forward.
Interesting.
Seems I forgot about how wonky Facebook can be. After a good 1/2 hour of writing--and of course, not saving anything--I managed to somehow lose the whole damned thing.
There was lots of cursing and a sudden and powerful urge to throw my completely blameless laptop out the window. Thankfully, reason prevailed.
So there we are. Impermanence. I was so involved in making a point, proving something about myself to someone (me? you? both, probably) that I was furious when a technological glitch stymied my plan. Ok, I'll be honest--I was in a hurry and may have had something to do with it as well. Still, I like to place blame on Zuckerberg and da 'book. Much easier that way.
I wanted things to turn out a certain way; I wanted to connect with people, to create interest in the group. Nothing wrong with that, in and of itself, but my attachment to it certainly created some real (if brief) anger.
Hmmm...attachment. Clinging.
It's really what I was writing about in the first place, actually, although I don't think I realized that. Not clearly.
I was writing about my frustration with my practice lately, how I missed the deep states of awareness and realization I've had in the past. How annoying it was to not be able to simply sit and be with the moment, in the face of normal day-to-day life.
That's the funny thing; my life is pretty good right now. Really good, in fact, especially if I compare it to the last year.
And I think that's part of the problem. I suspect I am clinging to my suffering, looking for connection with grief and loss, looking for pain to open up to . And to a degree, that's a good thing--in that I know I should be aware of whatever's happening in the moment, no matter how unpleasant.
But I am seeking the suffering, and the release from it; almost as if it's a drug. As if it makes me more righteous, more aware, more...Buddhist.
lol. How many ways can this monkey-mind find to confuse us? I'm using the very tool of freedom and liberation--awareness--to keep myself locked into a holding pattern, one that is keeping me from moving forward.
Interesting.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Life is Funny.
So after everything I wrote yesterday, I went over to the meditation center for a beginner's drop-in class. If you're in the Cambridge area, and want to get into meditation, I highly recommend it--you can check it out at the center's website at www.cimc.info .
Anyway, the usual teacher wasn't there--but the one who was gave a dharma talk the spoke to everything that was roiling around inside me. And suddenly I was just like "Oh, right. That's just the way the mind is. OK. I can deal with that."
And all that stress, all that knotted up fear and anxiety...just poof.
So I'm sure you want to know what he said. It wasn't anything new. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard (or even written about here) many times before.
It was just this: dukkha --often translated as "suffering", although it can also mean "stress" or "unsatisfied" is part of the human condition. When we hold onto anything--or push anything away--we lose our ability to be fully present, to be fully here in the moment.
And that's our normal state. The mind creates worries, fears, attachments, aversions. It runs in circles, bouncing from state to state and from thought to thought and from feeling to feeling, creating a bubbling stew of fear, desire and delusion. And that's pretty much what we all live off of. Not always, but a lot of the time.
The only time we're free from the monkey-mind is when we are totally present in this moment.
But what does that mean? It doesn't sound that interesting, does it? Aren't we present just by being here?
Well, no. and yes. It's very hard to "be here now". We plan, we worry, we create stories about the past and what it means. We project into the future and create scenarios about how if we had that perfect relationship, that great job, that bit of extra money, that dream vacation...that we would be happy.
Or we worry about what may happen to us--that those happy scenarios will not work out, that we don't deserve that happiness, that we won't get the brass ring. That it will all fall apart. And what will we do then?
Well, sometimes that does happen. Sometimes things DO fall apart. In fact, one of the best dharma books I've ever read is Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart". If you're having a hard time, if things seem dark and hopeless, go buy this book and read it carefully.
It's not going to tell you to wish away your problems. Instead, Chodron takes a typicall Buddhist approach: witness your suffering, allow it to be as it is, and use it as part of your practice. Deny nothing, and accept everything. Even if it feels too big, too terrible, too scary to allow into your heart, into your awareness.
Narayan, one of the teachers at CIMC, answered a question of mine with a similar answer. She had mentioned that dealing with difficult and unpleasant emotions are part of the practice. I asked her HOW we do that.
Her answer was beautifully simple: "Just ask yourself if you can allow that feeling to be here, just in this moment. See if you can create enough space for it in the present. You don't have to do anything else."
It sounds so simple. And it is. But to open ourselves to the moment--really open ourselves--means we have to accept everything that arises as part of our experience.
Of course, day to day life is usually not so dramatic. And that's what I've been struggling with.
Last year--a year of death and loss and grief--taught me a lot about being present, about not running from my emotions. About accepting everything that I'm experiencing, and not judging any of it.
And I had some really dramatic meditation experiences. Deep states of awareness, physical releases, openings of both body and mind. Sometimes I lost all sense of myself as a seperate being--which is an incredibly blissful state. When I first read about rapture and bliss in meditation, I thought "oh, ok. I guess that's some Hindu/Buddhist theology thing, that probably doesn't really happen."
But it does. There were times when it was utterly terrifying--when waves of energy would make my body shake, causing totally involuntary vocalizations and deep releases of physical tension and emotional stress.
There is something to be said for those spiritual highs. And there is something to be said for the lows, too--the times when I touch some deep place of sadness and grief that shakes me to my core.
The truth is the neither of those states--the ultimate highs of spiritual bliss or the deepest lows of very, very human grief and pain--mean anything. They're just states. They're just passing through. Attachment or aversion from either is a sure recipe for suffering.
And yet, I find that many meditators only want the good stuff. Which is natural I guess. And that's what many "teachers" sell--promises of bliss, constant happiness, and endless sunny days.
But we all know that's not possible. Pain, as the Buddha pointed out, will always be part of our experience. Suffering, however, is optional. We can't run from our full experience. Doing so will ALWAYS bring suffering, sooner or later. Attachment or aversion--it doesn't matter. Either will tie us up in knots, and get us running in circles trying to fix whatever we think the problem is.
But in reality, the only thing that is required is to come into the present moment. To experience it fully, without judgement, clinging to anything, or pushing anything away. To see everything with fresh eyes, an open heart and open mind.
Anyway, the usual teacher wasn't there--but the one who was gave a dharma talk the spoke to everything that was roiling around inside me. And suddenly I was just like "Oh, right. That's just the way the mind is. OK. I can deal with that."
And all that stress, all that knotted up fear and anxiety...just poof.
So I'm sure you want to know what he said. It wasn't anything new. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard (or even written about here) many times before.
It was just this: dukkha --often translated as "suffering", although it can also mean "stress" or "unsatisfied" is part of the human condition. When we hold onto anything--or push anything away--we lose our ability to be fully present, to be fully here in the moment.
And that's our normal state. The mind creates worries, fears, attachments, aversions. It runs in circles, bouncing from state to state and from thought to thought and from feeling to feeling, creating a bubbling stew of fear, desire and delusion. And that's pretty much what we all live off of. Not always, but a lot of the time.
The only time we're free from the monkey-mind is when we are totally present in this moment.
But what does that mean? It doesn't sound that interesting, does it? Aren't we present just by being here?
Well, no. and yes. It's very hard to "be here now". We plan, we worry, we create stories about the past and what it means. We project into the future and create scenarios about how if we had that perfect relationship, that great job, that bit of extra money, that dream vacation...that we would be happy.
Or we worry about what may happen to us--that those happy scenarios will not work out, that we don't deserve that happiness, that we won't get the brass ring. That it will all fall apart. And what will we do then?
Well, sometimes that does happen. Sometimes things DO fall apart. In fact, one of the best dharma books I've ever read is Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart". If you're having a hard time, if things seem dark and hopeless, go buy this book and read it carefully.
It's not going to tell you to wish away your problems. Instead, Chodron takes a typicall Buddhist approach: witness your suffering, allow it to be as it is, and use it as part of your practice. Deny nothing, and accept everything. Even if it feels too big, too terrible, too scary to allow into your heart, into your awareness.
Narayan, one of the teachers at CIMC, answered a question of mine with a similar answer. She had mentioned that dealing with difficult and unpleasant emotions are part of the practice. I asked her HOW we do that.
Her answer was beautifully simple: "Just ask yourself if you can allow that feeling to be here, just in this moment. See if you can create enough space for it in the present. You don't have to do anything else."
It sounds so simple. And it is. But to open ourselves to the moment--really open ourselves--means we have to accept everything that arises as part of our experience.
Of course, day to day life is usually not so dramatic. And that's what I've been struggling with.
Last year--a year of death and loss and grief--taught me a lot about being present, about not running from my emotions. About accepting everything that I'm experiencing, and not judging any of it.
And I had some really dramatic meditation experiences. Deep states of awareness, physical releases, openings of both body and mind. Sometimes I lost all sense of myself as a seperate being--which is an incredibly blissful state. When I first read about rapture and bliss in meditation, I thought "oh, ok. I guess that's some Hindu/Buddhist theology thing, that probably doesn't really happen."
But it does. There were times when it was utterly terrifying--when waves of energy would make my body shake, causing totally involuntary vocalizations and deep releases of physical tension and emotional stress.
There is something to be said for those spiritual highs. And there is something to be said for the lows, too--the times when I touch some deep place of sadness and grief that shakes me to my core.
The truth is the neither of those states--the ultimate highs of spiritual bliss or the deepest lows of very, very human grief and pain--mean anything. They're just states. They're just passing through. Attachment or aversion from either is a sure recipe for suffering.
And yet, I find that many meditators only want the good stuff. Which is natural I guess. And that's what many "teachers" sell--promises of bliss, constant happiness, and endless sunny days.
But we all know that's not possible. Pain, as the Buddha pointed out, will always be part of our experience. Suffering, however, is optional. We can't run from our full experience. Doing so will ALWAYS bring suffering, sooner or later. Attachment or aversion--it doesn't matter. Either will tie us up in knots, and get us running in circles trying to fix whatever we think the problem is.
But in reality, the only thing that is required is to come into the present moment. To experience it fully, without judgement, clinging to anything, or pushing anything away. To see everything with fresh eyes, an open heart and open mind.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Acceptance vs. Fear
So it's been a long time since I posted anything here. For some reason, I've been having a lot of resistance to the practice-- to the entire idea of the Year to Live practice, to meditating, to really doing much of anything.
That's not say I've been moping around--actually I've really been enjoying the last few weeks. I feel engaged, aware...just...there.
And yet, there's something else, a sort of self-judgement about not "sitting enough". Somewhere in my head there's a voice telling me I should do it, and it's not a happy voice. It's harsh and judgemental. The voice of "not good enough".
In some ways that awareness--of not living up to my ideals or my potential--is a very good thing. It keeps me honest. It keeps me moving forward. But for some reason it's taken on a very sharp edge in the last few weeks.
And I DO resist it. I don't want to do something out of a sense of obligation or guilt. I don't want to do anything because I "should" do it, but because I want to. I don't want to do something because of a fear of being judged.
Hmmm. There I go again. All about the "I". What "I" want. The very thing I'm trying to lose is what's keeping me tied up in the frantic motion of the monkey-mind.
And it's soooo easy to just stop, to not sit, to not eat mindfully, to not be aware. To let it all go and let awareness fall away. And sometimes it's necessary--after all, there are times we should be fully present, with no "witness".
But stopping (and now starting again) has created some interesting conditions. The fear that was so pervasive is back, in stereo. Louder than ever--or maybe it just seems that way because I'm more aware of it. And he's brought his friends; anger, depression, and judgement.
On the upside I'm a little more aware, so I can sometimes step back and watch those feelings arise; I can see the conditioning they arise from; and I can watch them dissolve. Intellectually I know none of them are real, or have any external validity--they're just processes of the mind, the products of conditioning and experience combined with an external stimulus. The thoughts, the emotions, the feelings those processes generate aren't reality.
But unless we stop, unless we learn how to focus the mind and develop the Witness, that's all we know. That's what I knew, anyway. That's all I know when I get caught up in it--when fear drives me, fools me into going into autopilot mode, when I sleepwalk through my day blind to the life--real and vibrant and whole--that's pulsing right below the surface.
So that's fear. And I am trying to accept it, to sit with it, to see it for what it is. But it's very hard.
Especially now; as the Year to Live practice has progressed, I've started the Life Review meditations. Just like it sounds, this is a process of meditating on my life. Remembering what I can, watching it with awareness, and then working with what arises. It's especially difficult for me because of my childhood...which, without going into great detail, was not great. Violent, filled with fear (and often terror) and sadness...and to be honest there are few, very very few happy memories from that time. Even writing about it makes me stomach knot up and my throat tight.
But I breathe, and soften my belly. I accept what comes up and I don't try to change it, or make it go away. Nor do I cling to it. I just watch, and see it for what it is: a physical reaction to a reimagined experience from the past. Not real--and with no real meaning except for whatever I assign to it.
Hmm. Acceptance. Such a simple word for a totally ego-shattering, life-changing process. So little of what acceptance "is" gets conveyed by the word itself. The letting go. The loss of ego's control of the mental process. The loss of self-righteousness. The relaxing and letting go of old conditioning, the witholding of judgement.
Heady, and heavy, stuff.
Time to go to a meditation class.
That's not say I've been moping around--actually I've really been enjoying the last few weeks. I feel engaged, aware...just...there.
And yet, there's something else, a sort of self-judgement about not "sitting enough". Somewhere in my head there's a voice telling me I should do it, and it's not a happy voice. It's harsh and judgemental. The voice of "not good enough".
In some ways that awareness--of not living up to my ideals or my potential--is a very good thing. It keeps me honest. It keeps me moving forward. But for some reason it's taken on a very sharp edge in the last few weeks.
And I DO resist it. I don't want to do something out of a sense of obligation or guilt. I don't want to do anything because I "should" do it, but because I want to. I don't want to do something because of a fear of being judged.
Hmmm. There I go again. All about the "I". What "I" want. The very thing I'm trying to lose is what's keeping me tied up in the frantic motion of the monkey-mind.
And it's soooo easy to just stop, to not sit, to not eat mindfully, to not be aware. To let it all go and let awareness fall away. And sometimes it's necessary--after all, there are times we should be fully present, with no "witness".
But stopping (and now starting again) has created some interesting conditions. The fear that was so pervasive is back, in stereo. Louder than ever--or maybe it just seems that way because I'm more aware of it. And he's brought his friends; anger, depression, and judgement.
On the upside I'm a little more aware, so I can sometimes step back and watch those feelings arise; I can see the conditioning they arise from; and I can watch them dissolve. Intellectually I know none of them are real, or have any external validity--they're just processes of the mind, the products of conditioning and experience combined with an external stimulus. The thoughts, the emotions, the feelings those processes generate aren't reality.
But unless we stop, unless we learn how to focus the mind and develop the Witness, that's all we know. That's what I knew, anyway. That's all I know when I get caught up in it--when fear drives me, fools me into going into autopilot mode, when I sleepwalk through my day blind to the life--real and vibrant and whole--that's pulsing right below the surface.
So that's fear. And I am trying to accept it, to sit with it, to see it for what it is. But it's very hard.
Especially now; as the Year to Live practice has progressed, I've started the Life Review meditations. Just like it sounds, this is a process of meditating on my life. Remembering what I can, watching it with awareness, and then working with what arises. It's especially difficult for me because of my childhood...which, without going into great detail, was not great. Violent, filled with fear (and often terror) and sadness...and to be honest there are few, very very few happy memories from that time. Even writing about it makes me stomach knot up and my throat tight.
But I breathe, and soften my belly. I accept what comes up and I don't try to change it, or make it go away. Nor do I cling to it. I just watch, and see it for what it is: a physical reaction to a reimagined experience from the past. Not real--and with no real meaning except for whatever I assign to it.
Hmm. Acceptance. Such a simple word for a totally ego-shattering, life-changing process. So little of what acceptance "is" gets conveyed by the word itself. The letting go. The loss of ego's control of the mental process. The loss of self-righteousness. The relaxing and letting go of old conditioning, the witholding of judgement.
Heady, and heavy, stuff.
Time to go to a meditation class.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Metta Vs. Fear
Recently I've been working with fear a lot. Thankfully, I have some great resources, and one of them--a teacher at the meditation center I go to--gave me some simple and very helpful advice regarding the fear I've been experiencing.
Like most of what I've experienced so far in my vipassana practice, it wasn't quite what I expected. And of course, true to form, it was to the point, simple, and not exactly what I wanted to hear.
But before I get into that, I want to talk a bit about the internal struggle that I've come to believe defines much of the human experience. Well, mine at least.
I've become intimately aware over the last month of the the pervasive nature of fear, in all it's myriad forms:
1.) Fear --what we recognize as fear. The big one. Heart racing, tightness in the chest, tunnel vision, fight or flight hardwired reactivity. fear.
2.) Aversion-- not in the Buddhist sense so much as the "I don't wanna" feeling I get. I don't want to do that right now...maybe later. Or another time. Which brings me to...
3.) Procrastination. What is procrastination but the fear of a potentially unpleasant outcome? I see this all the time with my meditation practice. My mind comes up with all sorts of reasons why I can't sit RIGHT NOW. I've got stuff to do. I need to go to the grocery store. I need to walk the dog. Walking the dog, that can be mindful, can't it? And let's be serious, I can't be sitting around when there's work to be done.
Of course this line of thought quickly leads to...
4.) Anxiety. About everything. The future. The past (and what I and people think about it, and how it will affect the future). This is the one that gets me over and over. I get wound up...and up...and up...until...
5.) Judgement. I shouldn't be this way. I'm a dude. I don't feel anxiety. Guys don't feel worried. We just get hungry and drink and punch people in the face. Or... I meditate. I shouldn't feel this way. That's not what we meditators do.
Which leads to judging others, to seperation, to the ego-self. Which in my view is pretty much the root of most interpersonal and societal problems. And what is judgement but the ego's desperate attempt to retain some sense of "I", of seperateness? Without that, the ego dies, and one of it's last ditch efforts this fear of extinction create is the seperation of me/you, us/them, etc.
Leading to...
6.) Anger. Both self-directed and outwardly directed. Stress, anxiety, fear, worry, aversion all pile up until there's too much pressure...and...POW. Out it comes. Maybe not like it used to. But it's there, burning up awareness and compassion and then turning on everything else, ready to consume it all.
Judgement allows anger to exist. How can you be angry with someone without judging them?
"You asshole! How dare you do ______ to me! You always do shit like that!"
So now I've defined them as "other", and not in a positive way--they're an asshole, and that's all they are. They did something to ME, personally. And they always do that sort of thing. That's who they are. Man, they suck.
Or do they?
Are they really that way? Or are they suffering in the confusion of their reactive minds, thrown back and forth from emotion to thought to reaction to emotion? Aren't they just trapped in their conditioning, blind and searching for a way to feel better?
And anger leads to...
7.) Depression. The ultimate end result of fear, judgement, and anger. Fear of life. Fear of living. Fear of not being "good enough". Anger turned inwards. Fear as the primary emotion. The conscious mind feeding on it's own conditioned suffering, in a potentially endless loop.
Of course none of these states, including depression, are endless or permanent. They're just conditioned reactions to our experiences. By digging out the root of our conditioning, our reactivity, and breaking free of them...we can just let go of all that suffering.
That's not to say there isn't sadness, or pain, or grief in life. Even enlightened beings feel those things--but they don't attach false meanings to them or invent stories about "how it ought to be".
When one of the Buddha's longtime disciples died, he said "it is as if the sun itself has been extinguished". For a fully aware person to say that...wow. We can see from that simple statement how intense the Buddha's grief must have been, and how honest he was about it.
But he didn't create undue suffering over it. He didn't say how unfair it was that we die, and that those we love die. In fact, death is probably the most fair thing there is--unlike the other unavoidable thing in life, we all pay the same price.
In our society we run away from death, deny it, hide from it, wish it away, and pray that it never happens to us or to anyone we love.
That's the big fear, the one I'm creeping up on.
But that wasn't always that case. 100 years ago, death was much more frequent, and people often died at home, with family. Most died long "before their time"--from illness, injury, infection, and so on.
Medicine has made it possible for us to live for decades longer than we used to (on average at least--and assuming you have access to medical care). It's pushed death away into hospitals, hiding it from our sight. We've become obsessed with youth and beauty. We inject, we nip, we tuck, with lift and stretch our bodies to make them look "young"--and for what?
Fear. Fear of seeing ourselves age, and what that means: death is coming. And before that, infirmity. Weakness. Dependence.
And for acceptance. Acceptance by others, to fit a cultural norm that is so distorted that it would be funny if it weren't so tragic. And what is acceptance but love?
Love and Fear. The two forces driving us.
Love is a loaded word in our culture. It brings to mind ideas of chivalric love, romantic love, familial love, etc. All of which are well and good, but most of them (if not all of them) are conditional.
I'm not talking about that kind of love; I'm talking about metta, loving-kindness, the sincere wish for all beings to be happy, to be free from suffering, and so on. It's the first of the bhramaviharas--literally "the divine emotions" or "divine abodes" in Theravadan Buddhism. That requires total acceptance of people and things as they really are, not as we wish them to be.
The fact that it's the first is important, I think. The rest--compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity--all have their roots in that attitude of loving acceptance the metta practice creates.
True metta has no conditions. No "I'll love you if you do X" or "I love you because of _______." It's simply the deep, selfless desire for oneself and others to be happy. Not happy in the sense of "I got a new XBox!" happy, or even " I found the love of my life" happy, but happy in the sense of contented joy. True happiness--which is also unconditional. And it can't be taken away.
When you met someone who has done serious metta practice for many years, it's an amazing experience. They radiate compassion and acceptance. They don't want anything from you, other than for you to be happy. The first time I met someone like that it was almost too much--too intense, too real. My analytical mind immediately rebelled and started critizing--"You're looking too deeply, what do you want--a guru or something? Get a grip!"
See? there's the fear again. The judgement, doubt, etc.
So I've come to see my practice, right now, as being aware of the constant struggle of the mind to hold onto fear. To use it as a way to define the self in opposition to the world.
And the other side of that--and the only thing that can overcome that tendency--is acceptance; metta (loving-kindness) and panna (wisdom) combined.
Hmmm...
This has gotten a bit longer than I thought it would be...so I'm going to continue this next time.
PS--the instructions I got on how handle fear? Focus on the touch points--the feet, sit bones, and so on--rather than the breath. So simple and so powerful...and you can do it anywhere. Walking, sitting, standing, lying down...anywhere.
And of course, when I told my teacher about my struggles with fear, how it came up so strongly, how it was dominating my mind...
he said "Yeah, well...that happens." and added "It's a good sign. It means you're becoming more aware."
lol. I was hoping for something to make it go away...I should know better by now. :)
Like most of what I've experienced so far in my vipassana practice, it wasn't quite what I expected. And of course, true to form, it was to the point, simple, and not exactly what I wanted to hear.
But before I get into that, I want to talk a bit about the internal struggle that I've come to believe defines much of the human experience. Well, mine at least.
I've become intimately aware over the last month of the the pervasive nature of fear, in all it's myriad forms:
1.) Fear --what we recognize as fear. The big one. Heart racing, tightness in the chest, tunnel vision, fight or flight hardwired reactivity. fear.
2.) Aversion-- not in the Buddhist sense so much as the "I don't wanna" feeling I get. I don't want to do that right now...maybe later. Or another time. Which brings me to...
3.) Procrastination. What is procrastination but the fear of a potentially unpleasant outcome? I see this all the time with my meditation practice. My mind comes up with all sorts of reasons why I can't sit RIGHT NOW. I've got stuff to do. I need to go to the grocery store. I need to walk the dog. Walking the dog, that can be mindful, can't it? And let's be serious, I can't be sitting around when there's work to be done.
Of course this line of thought quickly leads to...
4.) Anxiety. About everything. The future. The past (and what I and people think about it, and how it will affect the future). This is the one that gets me over and over. I get wound up...and up...and up...until...
5.) Judgement. I shouldn't be this way. I'm a dude. I don't feel anxiety. Guys don't feel worried. We just get hungry and drink and punch people in the face. Or... I meditate. I shouldn't feel this way. That's not what we meditators do.
Which leads to judging others, to seperation, to the ego-self. Which in my view is pretty much the root of most interpersonal and societal problems. And what is judgement but the ego's desperate attempt to retain some sense of "I", of seperateness? Without that, the ego dies, and one of it's last ditch efforts this fear of extinction create is the seperation of me/you, us/them, etc.
Leading to...
6.) Anger. Both self-directed and outwardly directed. Stress, anxiety, fear, worry, aversion all pile up until there's too much pressure...and...POW. Out it comes. Maybe not like it used to. But it's there, burning up awareness and compassion and then turning on everything else, ready to consume it all.
Judgement allows anger to exist. How can you be angry with someone without judging them?
"You asshole! How dare you do ______ to me! You always do shit like that!"
So now I've defined them as "other", and not in a positive way--they're an asshole, and that's all they are. They did something to ME, personally. And they always do that sort of thing. That's who they are. Man, they suck.
Or do they?
Are they really that way? Or are they suffering in the confusion of their reactive minds, thrown back and forth from emotion to thought to reaction to emotion? Aren't they just trapped in their conditioning, blind and searching for a way to feel better?
And anger leads to...
7.) Depression. The ultimate end result of fear, judgement, and anger. Fear of life. Fear of living. Fear of not being "good enough". Anger turned inwards. Fear as the primary emotion. The conscious mind feeding on it's own conditioned suffering, in a potentially endless loop.
Of course none of these states, including depression, are endless or permanent. They're just conditioned reactions to our experiences. By digging out the root of our conditioning, our reactivity, and breaking free of them...we can just let go of all that suffering.
That's not to say there isn't sadness, or pain, or grief in life. Even enlightened beings feel those things--but they don't attach false meanings to them or invent stories about "how it ought to be".
When one of the Buddha's longtime disciples died, he said "it is as if the sun itself has been extinguished". For a fully aware person to say that...wow. We can see from that simple statement how intense the Buddha's grief must have been, and how honest he was about it.
But he didn't create undue suffering over it. He didn't say how unfair it was that we die, and that those we love die. In fact, death is probably the most fair thing there is--unlike the other unavoidable thing in life, we all pay the same price.
In our society we run away from death, deny it, hide from it, wish it away, and pray that it never happens to us or to anyone we love.
That's the big fear, the one I'm creeping up on.
But that wasn't always that case. 100 years ago, death was much more frequent, and people often died at home, with family. Most died long "before their time"--from illness, injury, infection, and so on.
Medicine has made it possible for us to live for decades longer than we used to (on average at least--and assuming you have access to medical care). It's pushed death away into hospitals, hiding it from our sight. We've become obsessed with youth and beauty. We inject, we nip, we tuck, with lift and stretch our bodies to make them look "young"--and for what?
Fear. Fear of seeing ourselves age, and what that means: death is coming. And before that, infirmity. Weakness. Dependence.
And for acceptance. Acceptance by others, to fit a cultural norm that is so distorted that it would be funny if it weren't so tragic. And what is acceptance but love?
Love and Fear. The two forces driving us.
Love is a loaded word in our culture. It brings to mind ideas of chivalric love, romantic love, familial love, etc. All of which are well and good, but most of them (if not all of them) are conditional.
I'm not talking about that kind of love; I'm talking about metta, loving-kindness, the sincere wish for all beings to be happy, to be free from suffering, and so on. It's the first of the bhramaviharas--literally "the divine emotions" or "divine abodes" in Theravadan Buddhism. That requires total acceptance of people and things as they really are, not as we wish them to be.
The fact that it's the first is important, I think. The rest--compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity--all have their roots in that attitude of loving acceptance the metta practice creates.
True metta has no conditions. No "I'll love you if you do X" or "I love you because of _______." It's simply the deep, selfless desire for oneself and others to be happy. Not happy in the sense of "I got a new XBox!" happy, or even " I found the love of my life" happy, but happy in the sense of contented joy. True happiness--which is also unconditional. And it can't be taken away.
When you met someone who has done serious metta practice for many years, it's an amazing experience. They radiate compassion and acceptance. They don't want anything from you, other than for you to be happy. The first time I met someone like that it was almost too much--too intense, too real. My analytical mind immediately rebelled and started critizing--"You're looking too deeply, what do you want--a guru or something? Get a grip!"
See? there's the fear again. The judgement, doubt, etc.
So I've come to see my practice, right now, as being aware of the constant struggle of the mind to hold onto fear. To use it as a way to define the self in opposition to the world.
And the other side of that--and the only thing that can overcome that tendency--is acceptance; metta (loving-kindness) and panna (wisdom) combined.
Hmmm...
This has gotten a bit longer than I thought it would be...so I'm going to continue this next time.
PS--the instructions I got on how handle fear? Focus on the touch points--the feet, sit bones, and so on--rather than the breath. So simple and so powerful...and you can do it anywhere. Walking, sitting, standing, lying down...anywhere.
And of course, when I told my teacher about my struggles with fear, how it came up so strongly, how it was dominating my mind...
he said "Yeah, well...that happens." and added "It's a good sign. It means you're becoming more aware."
lol. I was hoping for something to make it go away...I should know better by now. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)