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.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
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. :)
Monday, February 23, 2009
Learning to Let Go
So I've decided to stop dicking around and get right to the heart of the matter: Why I am here (blog wise) and why I'm even doing this practice.
Most people who know me know that the last 12 months of my life have been all about loss and change--a lot of it the big, wrenching, sudden changes that leave us face down in the dirt wondering "Why?"
Why now?
Why this?
Why ME?
I think these questions are all normal, and depending on how they're used they can either take us into deeper levels of awareness or keep us locked into the idea of a seperate self. They can either help free us or help us put up new walls between our hearts and the world.
Unfortunately none of the answers to those questions are particulalry ego-gratifiying. At least not the honest ones.
Answering them honestly requires us to be fully accountable and aware of where our responsibilities lie--and where they end--without assigning blame or judgement. Most of the time, in my experience, they asnwers that arise only create more questions.
Accountability. It's a loaded word. When I first started hearing in the context of awareness work/mindfullness I didn't really get it--I thought it was the same thing as responsibility, blame, etc.
It's not, at least not in the context I use it and the way it was taught to me; it's simply an awareness and acceptance of our role in creating our lives. It's the first step towards creating any real change.
It was through program called Powerfuliving that I first became aware of the whole concept. I had been working with a business coach named Michael Goldstein for about 6 months when I took the course. Michael suggested that I try it, since he felt we had hit a bit of a wall with the coaching--I was getting more organized, more successful, more productive, etc., but there was something interal holding me back. I was not happy with...well, anything. Myself, my relationships, my business. Everything seemed to be...stuck. In a holding pattern.
Michael ran Powerfuliving out of his home in Rhode Island. It was a good hour drive from my house outside of Boston.
Now before we go any further, I need to make one thing very clear: I am habitually five minutes late for anything. All the time. Always.
Of course, I always assumed this was OK. And true to form, I got a late start that first day. I left my house at 7:00am or so on a clear, sunny springtime Saturday morning--and I had committed to be there at 7:30.
whoops.
Of course, I drove like a maniac. I sped. I wove in and out of traffic, cursing everyone on the road...who the hell did they think they were, driving 65 mph on a Saturday morning?
And then, of course, I hit traffic.
A little over an hour later I walked into Michael's house. Everyone else (with one exception) was already there--8 other people who had committed the next 8 weeks of their life to this course. I took my seat on the floor with everyone else and started to apologize.
It was a rather shitty and insincere apology. At least that's what Michael made abundantly clear over the next 10 minutes as he grilled me on why I was late--and why I thought it was OK to make everyone else late.
Of course I threw out all my reasons, all of them perfectly reasonable and totally unacceptable to him.
"I woke up late" I protested.
"Ok. Do you do that often?"
"Um, yeah."
"And you knew you had to be here at 7:30?"
"Uh....yeah."
"So why didn't you set your alarm earlier?"
"I don't know, I di---"
Michael held up his hand, a gesture I would see frequently over the next few weeks. As in almost every time I opened my mouth.
"Paul, I don't really want to hear it. This isn't about you--it's about the commitment you made to me and everyone else here. Just sit with it and think about it for now."
I was fuming. My nature is to argue, to be right, to wind and wend my way around everything using logic and data to prove myself in the right. What the hell do you mean I can't talk?
"So" he continued "why else were you late?"
"Um, well...I got a late start. But I tried to get here fast--I sped like crazy--and then I hit all this traffic! And then I got lost driving around trying to find your house."
He held up his hand again.
"Ok, fair enough. why didn't you call?"
"Oh" I said. "I didn't have your number handy."
Whew. How could he fault me on that? I was a busy guy after all, taking a whole Saturday off of selling real estate to be here. I could be making money right now, damn it. Anyway...safe. Traffic and no number! Can't argue with that, can he?
How little I knew.
"Couldn't you have assumed there might be traffic? Or that you might get lost?"
"Uh...yeah, I suppose."
"And you could have saved my number in your cell phone. Or called Anne. She works with you--you must have HER number, right?"
I could feel my face turning red. He had me dead to rights. Man, what an asshole I was.
"Well...yeah. Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
something in my face must have betrayed what was going on in my head--the self-judgement, blame, etc. Michael smiled and said simply "Fine. As long as we're clear on where your accountability lies. And it's not blame; but you made a commitment to be here, and you broke that commitment. Do you see why that's a problem?"
I said yes, of course; anything to get the spotlight of off me. To be honest, I was furious by this point and was planning on leaving ASAP. Fuck this--I had better things to do! I'm important, damn it.
But there I was. For once I couldn't charm or manipulate my way out of something. I had to sit there and deal with what was going on in the moment. I had no choice.
Well, I did--I could have left. But I am almost as prideful as I am arrogant, and pride won out--I decided I'd be damned if I wasn't going to sit through this whole thing. I'd show him, damn it.
Finally, he looked at me and asked "Where else in your life do you think you might do this?"
Ouch. Uh...everywhere?
He held up his hand "Again, Paul--I don't want an answer. Just sit with it."
So that was my introduction to accountability. It sounds harsh, doesn't it? And it was. It had to be, because I was so resistant to the idea that I wasn't in the right all the time.
But the truth is, Michael didn't get angry or assign blame--he just confronted me with my own immense pile of bullshit. I kept on trying to squirm away, to justify, to fib and charm my way out of trouble. And he wouldn't stand for any of it--because he cared too much to allow me to live my life like that any more.
Wow.
It's been almost a year since Michael died. I ended up working with him for over 2 years after that day--both as a student and a fellow coach, helping him run Powerfuliving. In many ways he became a true father figure to me. Through his words, actions, and even his death, he was and is the teacher of the most important lessons I've learned so far.
I think of him every day, of what he taught me, and even now those teachings are just starting to make sense. It took years and so much work on my part--and now those teachings just blossom on thier own.
If it wasn't for Michael, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have the awareness and understanding I do, the openess, the compassion, the ability (however small) to accept loss and gain with a wise and open heart.
This is the first time I've written about him. And far from the last.
Most people who know me know that the last 12 months of my life have been all about loss and change--a lot of it the big, wrenching, sudden changes that leave us face down in the dirt wondering "Why?"
Why now?
Why this?
Why ME?
I think these questions are all normal, and depending on how they're used they can either take us into deeper levels of awareness or keep us locked into the idea of a seperate self. They can either help free us or help us put up new walls between our hearts and the world.
Unfortunately none of the answers to those questions are particulalry ego-gratifiying. At least not the honest ones.
Answering them honestly requires us to be fully accountable and aware of where our responsibilities lie--and where they end--without assigning blame or judgement. Most of the time, in my experience, they asnwers that arise only create more questions.
Accountability. It's a loaded word. When I first started hearing in the context of awareness work/mindfullness I didn't really get it--I thought it was the same thing as responsibility, blame, etc.
It's not, at least not in the context I use it and the way it was taught to me; it's simply an awareness and acceptance of our role in creating our lives. It's the first step towards creating any real change.
It was through program called Powerfuliving that I first became aware of the whole concept. I had been working with a business coach named Michael Goldstein for about 6 months when I took the course. Michael suggested that I try it, since he felt we had hit a bit of a wall with the coaching--I was getting more organized, more successful, more productive, etc., but there was something interal holding me back. I was not happy with...well, anything. Myself, my relationships, my business. Everything seemed to be...stuck. In a holding pattern.
Michael ran Powerfuliving out of his home in Rhode Island. It was a good hour drive from my house outside of Boston.
Now before we go any further, I need to make one thing very clear: I am habitually five minutes late for anything. All the time. Always.
Of course, I always assumed this was OK. And true to form, I got a late start that first day. I left my house at 7:00am or so on a clear, sunny springtime Saturday morning--and I had committed to be there at 7:30.
whoops.
Of course, I drove like a maniac. I sped. I wove in and out of traffic, cursing everyone on the road...who the hell did they think they were, driving 65 mph on a Saturday morning?
And then, of course, I hit traffic.
A little over an hour later I walked into Michael's house. Everyone else (with one exception) was already there--8 other people who had committed the next 8 weeks of their life to this course. I took my seat on the floor with everyone else and started to apologize.
It was a rather shitty and insincere apology. At least that's what Michael made abundantly clear over the next 10 minutes as he grilled me on why I was late--and why I thought it was OK to make everyone else late.
Of course I threw out all my reasons, all of them perfectly reasonable and totally unacceptable to him.
"I woke up late" I protested.
"Ok. Do you do that often?"
"Um, yeah."
"And you knew you had to be here at 7:30?"
"Uh....yeah."
"So why didn't you set your alarm earlier?"
"I don't know, I di---"
Michael held up his hand, a gesture I would see frequently over the next few weeks. As in almost every time I opened my mouth.
"Paul, I don't really want to hear it. This isn't about you--it's about the commitment you made to me and everyone else here. Just sit with it and think about it for now."
I was fuming. My nature is to argue, to be right, to wind and wend my way around everything using logic and data to prove myself in the right. What the hell do you mean I can't talk?
"So" he continued "why else were you late?"
"Um, well...I got a late start. But I tried to get here fast--I sped like crazy--and then I hit all this traffic! And then I got lost driving around trying to find your house."
He held up his hand again.
"Ok, fair enough. why didn't you call?"
"Oh" I said. "I didn't have your number handy."
Whew. How could he fault me on that? I was a busy guy after all, taking a whole Saturday off of selling real estate to be here. I could be making money right now, damn it. Anyway...safe. Traffic and no number! Can't argue with that, can he?
How little I knew.
"Couldn't you have assumed there might be traffic? Or that you might get lost?"
"Uh...yeah, I suppose."
"And you could have saved my number in your cell phone. Or called Anne. She works with you--you must have HER number, right?"
I could feel my face turning red. He had me dead to rights. Man, what an asshole I was.
"Well...yeah. Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
something in my face must have betrayed what was going on in my head--the self-judgement, blame, etc. Michael smiled and said simply "Fine. As long as we're clear on where your accountability lies. And it's not blame; but you made a commitment to be here, and you broke that commitment. Do you see why that's a problem?"
I said yes, of course; anything to get the spotlight of off me. To be honest, I was furious by this point and was planning on leaving ASAP. Fuck this--I had better things to do! I'm important, damn it.
But there I was. For once I couldn't charm or manipulate my way out of something. I had to sit there and deal with what was going on in the moment. I had no choice.
Well, I did--I could have left. But I am almost as prideful as I am arrogant, and pride won out--I decided I'd be damned if I wasn't going to sit through this whole thing. I'd show him, damn it.
Finally, he looked at me and asked "Where else in your life do you think you might do this?"
Ouch. Uh...everywhere?
He held up his hand "Again, Paul--I don't want an answer. Just sit with it."
So that was my introduction to accountability. It sounds harsh, doesn't it? And it was. It had to be, because I was so resistant to the idea that I wasn't in the right all the time.
But the truth is, Michael didn't get angry or assign blame--he just confronted me with my own immense pile of bullshit. I kept on trying to squirm away, to justify, to fib and charm my way out of trouble. And he wouldn't stand for any of it--because he cared too much to allow me to live my life like that any more.
Wow.
It's been almost a year since Michael died. I ended up working with him for over 2 years after that day--both as a student and a fellow coach, helping him run Powerfuliving. In many ways he became a true father figure to me. Through his words, actions, and even his death, he was and is the teacher of the most important lessons I've learned so far.
I think of him every day, of what he taught me, and even now those teachings are just starting to make sense. It took years and so much work on my part--and now those teachings just blossom on thier own.
If it wasn't for Michael, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have the awareness and understanding I do, the openess, the compassion, the ability (however small) to accept loss and gain with a wise and open heart.
This is the first time I've written about him. And far from the last.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Fear and the Self
So it's been awhile since I posted.
Fear has been fucking with me, hardcore. It's been creeping up on me during meditation, infecting my dreams, tightening my chest with icy fingers.
Fear. Not so much the typical"I'm afraid of X", but the awareness that fear and aversion dictate so many of my habitual reactions--as in pretty much all of them. It's either the fear of suffering (clinging to pleasure) or the fear or pain/suffering (aversion). From these attempts to push away awareness, to keep the present moment at bay, I create more and more suffering. Suffering leads to more and more isolation, disconnection, and fear.
It's a vicious cycle, and one that is repeated over and over again in Buddhist texts and teachings. Suffering is caused when we are attached to pleasure or when we try to avoid pain.
This is a basic tenet of Buddhism, and I've heard and read it...I don't know, a few thousaand times? I've meditated on it, written about it, talked about it...
But I didn't really understand it. I didn't know what it really meant, not on the gut level. Not on the level of awareness, as limited as mine is. And I know I am only seeing a fraction of the truth; that my level of awareness is keeping me from a full understanding. And I suspect that the only way to get through it is...through it.
Right now I'm noting it when I can, naming it. Saying "Hey fear...I see you. I recognize you for what you are: impermanent and arising from my own confusion." And doing so without trying to push it away; simply noting it without judgement and letting it arise and fall away on it's own.
At least that's what I do when I'm on the ball. Other times I might as well be a robot--the fear program kicks in and I'm just following orders. Of course those orders are self-destructive and tend to feed on themselves; unskillful actions create negative karma, and the cycle repeats itself over and over...until finally something breaks, or a second of mindfulness shows me that Mara has caught me again.
But all I can really do right now is be patient, and aware.
I've been reading the Bhagavad Gita again, and along with it Ram Dass' excellent book "Paths to God: Living the Bhagavad Gita". Lately the Hindu practices, chanting and yoga--especially bhakti yoga--have been more and more appealing to me. More involved with the heart, and less in the mind. Something in them resonates deeply with me.
Of course Buddhism grew out of Hinduism, and the two share many practices. But I think this a nudge towards something important; some part of my brain is telling me "You can't do this shit on your own; you need a higher power to break through this fear."
And maybe that's true. Up until recently I considered myself an atheist. More recently, I have come to the understanding that I can't know one way or another--there may be a god, gods, flying spaghetti monster, or nothing at all. I can't know--and neither can anyone else, I think. That's why it's called "faith".
In retrospect, my steadfast belief in no afterlife, no divine beings, etc. is extraordinarily arrogant. I don't mean to say that's true for all atheists--I don't think it is. But for me, it was a trap--the righteousness of knowing "the truth", and the high horse it put me on.
Man, it's easy to look down at all those religious folk. And of course they can be hypocritical and arrogant too...sometimes incredibly so. But then again, they seem to be the same people working at the Pine Street Inn. Or with the Salvation Army. Or with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta. I, on the other hand, have largely lived my life solely for myself for 33 years or so.
So who am I to judge?
I'm not. I don't have the right, or the awareness, or the understanding of the big picture. For the first time in my life I am aware of just how little I know about anything of real importance.
Maybe that is where some of the fear is coming from --the awareness of my own greed, hatred and delusion. Of my own blindess, my own self-centered-ness.
Something to think about...
Fear has been fucking with me, hardcore. It's been creeping up on me during meditation, infecting my dreams, tightening my chest with icy fingers.
Fear. Not so much the typical"I'm afraid of X", but the awareness that fear and aversion dictate so many of my habitual reactions--as in pretty much all of them. It's either the fear of suffering (clinging to pleasure) or the fear or pain/suffering (aversion). From these attempts to push away awareness, to keep the present moment at bay, I create more and more suffering. Suffering leads to more and more isolation, disconnection, and fear.
It's a vicious cycle, and one that is repeated over and over again in Buddhist texts and teachings. Suffering is caused when we are attached to pleasure or when we try to avoid pain.
This is a basic tenet of Buddhism, and I've heard and read it...I don't know, a few thousaand times? I've meditated on it, written about it, talked about it...
But I didn't really understand it. I didn't know what it really meant, not on the gut level. Not on the level of awareness, as limited as mine is. And I know I am only seeing a fraction of the truth; that my level of awareness is keeping me from a full understanding. And I suspect that the only way to get through it is...through it.
Right now I'm noting it when I can, naming it. Saying "Hey fear...I see you. I recognize you for what you are: impermanent and arising from my own confusion." And doing so without trying to push it away; simply noting it without judgement and letting it arise and fall away on it's own.
At least that's what I do when I'm on the ball. Other times I might as well be a robot--the fear program kicks in and I'm just following orders. Of course those orders are self-destructive and tend to feed on themselves; unskillful actions create negative karma, and the cycle repeats itself over and over...until finally something breaks, or a second of mindfulness shows me that Mara has caught me again.
But all I can really do right now is be patient, and aware.
I've been reading the Bhagavad Gita again, and along with it Ram Dass' excellent book "Paths to God: Living the Bhagavad Gita". Lately the Hindu practices, chanting and yoga--especially bhakti yoga--have been more and more appealing to me. More involved with the heart, and less in the mind. Something in them resonates deeply with me.
Of course Buddhism grew out of Hinduism, and the two share many practices. But I think this a nudge towards something important; some part of my brain is telling me "You can't do this shit on your own; you need a higher power to break through this fear."
And maybe that's true. Up until recently I considered myself an atheist. More recently, I have come to the understanding that I can't know one way or another--there may be a god, gods, flying spaghetti monster, or nothing at all. I can't know--and neither can anyone else, I think. That's why it's called "faith".
In retrospect, my steadfast belief in no afterlife, no divine beings, etc. is extraordinarily arrogant. I don't mean to say that's true for all atheists--I don't think it is. But for me, it was a trap--the righteousness of knowing "the truth", and the high horse it put me on.
Man, it's easy to look down at all those religious folk. And of course they can be hypocritical and arrogant too...sometimes incredibly so. But then again, they seem to be the same people working at the Pine Street Inn. Or with the Salvation Army. Or with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta. I, on the other hand, have largely lived my life solely for myself for 33 years or so.
So who am I to judge?
I'm not. I don't have the right, or the awareness, or the understanding of the big picture. For the first time in my life I am aware of just how little I know about anything of real importance.
Maybe that is where some of the fear is coming from --the awareness of my own greed, hatred and delusion. Of my own blindess, my own self-centered-ness.
Something to think about...
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