Red Cedar
More apocalypse, less angst
Part Four: Meditation
(From the essay That which moves the spirit)
“Once you find deep solitude and calm, there will be a great gladness in your heart. Here finally is the place where you need neither defense nor offense – the place where you can truly be open.” – Deng Ming-Dao
I have just now returned from an hour of walking meditation at the labyrinth below the retreat centre. The stones are set in a community park, overlooking Snug Cove and the North Shore mountains across Howe Sound. I can’t imagine a more fitting place in which to ponder the depth and grandeur of life. And yet, my walking meditation asks no questions, and I focus only on letting all my thoughts go and experiencing the world moment by moment. I feel the stones uneven each time I raise and lower my foot, the cool air moving around me, my breath in and out at the tip of my nose. I become caught up by the rapid movements of a small bird on a bush beside the path, startle at the deep cry of a raven, and note the sound of cars starting up down the hill and rumbling away. At times I wonder when this walking will end, but then dispel that impulse and slow my movements further to allow each sensation to sink in and travel through me. In a world where there never seems enough time, I am learning there are ways to make each second an eternity.
I arrived at this most recent exploration of meditation via my academic studies. While writing a paper on the modern development of neuroscience in the spring of 2013, I couldn’t help but notice study after study confirming the benefits of meditation, and in particular the effects of meditative practice on the so-called “plastic” brain. It wasn’t my first exposure to the concept of meditation as a positive practice in relieving stress and anxiety – I have unsuccessfully attempted daily practice at other points in my life. But this time around I was piqued by the idea that meditation was good for more than just stress, and very likely could play a role in rewiring the brain to make it more resilient to the effects of aging, aid in the development of intellect, and additionally boost immune system response.
This interest in the science of the brain lead me to a course on spiritual enlightenment, of all possible turns, because I believed it was in that structured learning environment I would find the support for meditative practice and the discipline to approach it daily. In early September 2013 I resolved my main work for this course would be exactly that – a time in each day which would be reserved for some form of meditative practice.
At the outset, I promised myself that meditation would not become one more thing on my to-do list, that I would not approach it as a chore, nor would I set expectations with regard to length or quality of sitting. I wrote in my journal at the time, “I want my desire for meditation to grow naturally rather than imposing upon myself another set of goals.” Though not wanting to put pressure on the situation, I did recognzie that finding the discipline to practice every day was key and I found myself encouraged by these words by Deng Ming-Dao:
“In order to start, we must make a decision. This decision is a commitment to daily self-cultivation. We must make a strong connection to our inner selves. Outside matters are superfluous. Alone and naked, we negotiate all of life’s travails. Therefore, we alone must make something of ourselves, transforming ourselves into the instruments for experiencing the deepest spiritual essence of life.”
And so I have done, meditating almost every day for the past ten weeks. In the beginning, I sat for ten minutes per day, though quickly moved that to fifteen and then twenty. Now I sit for thirty minutes at a time and when I can manage it, twice a day. On this retreat I am in practice for three hours per day between various sitting, lying and walking meditation, plus community worship.
Early on, I was fortunate to discover that a Ch’an Buddhist teacher in my workplace was offering eight weeks of meditation classes on Thursday afternoons. This would seem coincident with my desire to start meditating, except it turns out that she has offered this course for years, and it only came to my attention because I was receptive. The timing was good in any case, and so I found myself learning a very formal style of meditation which includes eight-form moving meditation, sitting meditation, walking and lying down meditations as well as prostration. In the beginning of my practice, I complemented this formal teaching by listening to guided meditations by Jon Kabat-Zinn which included bodyscape, breathscape and lovingkindness instructions. I ended each session at home by reading poetry or spiritual instruction from my personal library. For times when I could not be at home with enough time or energy to meditate, I planned out where I could go downtown to have 20 minutes without interruption. My workplace has an all-purpose room that is not used after work, and SFU Harbour Centre has an inter-cultural space which made it convenient on the days I could not be in my home.
In making meditation a priority for ten weeks, I hoped I would experience some difference in my being, but at the same time was prepared for nothing to happen at all. After all, it’s just sitting. Disciplined sitting, yes, but it is a practice of doing nothing, with no expectations, and no goal! None of this comes naturally to me, and I had to overcome my doubts in order to get started. Especially in the beginning when I could only sit for ten minutes and my thoughts were continually returning to the pettiest arguments and grievances I had with the world. But after only a few days, this annoyance turned out to be my first insight: It wasn’t just in meditation that my mind was running over old wounds, it was every time my mind drifted at all. Interesting. No wonder Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to this process as “dropping in” on oneself.
My hopes for meditation are for an end to the negative voices, the nagging and the doubt inside me. I have always wished for a calmer disposition, a more tranquil mind and way of being in the world. I’m a high-intensity personality, after all, which has advantages in this world but frequently leaves me exhausted by my own actions. While I did not enter this practice in order to change my core being, I am interested in pursuing any practice that introduces a greater sense of ease and grace to this life I am living. I did not expect that a mere ten weeks of meditation would bring me to some fundamentally new place in my existence, nor has it, though I do believe I have seen a glimpse of that calmer and more thoughtful way of living I seek.
I am living the paradox of internal change through my practice, which seems vast and infinitesimal at the same time. There are the small periods of calm which I have introduced to my days by sitting apart from others, alone with the present moment. And then there are the openings to sensation that occur when I bring my attention to bear on some part of me, a sensual awakening that at times seems overwhelming. In general I believe myself to be less emotionally reactive, and I have noticed that I regain my equilibrium faster when my emotions are aroused. I have also noticed that in some instances my emotions come much more freely, as though I am shedding layers between myself and the world. On more than one occasion both in and out of practice I have been suffused with a feeling of wholeness, joy, and connection that is greater than me. In a recent group meditation, I had the experience of a great warmth entering and leaving through my breath, an expansion of my being and a lack of physical constraint that was entirely novel. These are states I have rarely known before, and not with such sustained intensity when they have arisen.
There have been instances of greater visual perception after sustained meditation, such as the labyrinth walk cited earlier. When I left that hour of meditative walking to return to the retreat centre I was suddenly in command of a whole range of visual detail I had not been aware of before. This effect is brief, though I believe that with mindfulness practice it is a state I could more frequently attain in daily life.
And then there is this small change which belies a much larger shift underneath: for the first time in my life I have spontaneously stopped chewing my fingernails and they have grown quite long, so much so that I have to trim them. This was not an intention, nor did I put any attention on this longstanding bad habit (having given up trying to quit long ago). I simply noticed one day after about five weeks of practice that my nails were growing and healthy for the first time ever. Given that this is a neurotic impulse largely attributed to stress, I would deduce from this small clue that my stress levels are at least slightly lower than normal despite being in a very busy period of work and social life.
Ten weeks is such a short period on which to reflect when it comes to a practice as ancient and varied as meditation, and I feel that there is much depth and learning still to come. Whatever else arises from daily meditation, I believe the attitude of building a life with more ease to be worth the challenges – the discomfort, boredom and frustrations – that are a part of any daily practice. I intend to continue daily meditation, without making it a chore or goal, and with an openness to whatever lessons it continues to bring.
Part Three: Anxiety
Many years ago a friend who is a trauma therapist said to me, “you know, not everyone lives as though the next disaster is just around the corner,” to which I reacted with disbelief. “How on earth,” I responded, “does anyone plan for the future if they aren’t assessing every possibility?” I wasn’t being disingenuous either, at that point in my life I believed that my anxiety and constant worry were totally normal and in fact, admirable. Didn’t it make me a good planner, ready for any disaster, more competent at life as a result? I just couldn’t see how it was harmful to live in that state. Problem was, I also couldn’t see that I was suffering through a debilitating period of depression and social anxiety, as my experience had primed me to inhabit that state so naturally and seamlessly, it had just crept in without my noticing.
I come from a family of worriers. Both my parents are anxious much of the time – my mom on the depressive side, my dad on the neurotic/obsessive – which is not to blame them for my condition, but to say that I come by my anxiety honestly. It’s a bit of a backdrop for everything that happens in my life, really – I get in my car and I visualize what kind of accident I am going to be in, I say good-bye to my husband as he leaves for a work trip and I think how sad he would be if I died in his absence, I send my boss an email and if I don’t hear back in 24 hours I’m sure they are planning my layoff. Pretty much everything triggers a worry. Though I don’t dwell on them very long, they are a persistent, negative visualization of my life.
Fortunately I am not one of those people who believes in The Secret or any other law of attraction nonsense so I’m not anxious (really) that I am sabotaging my life through my thoughts. Unfortunately I am one of those people who believes that unnecessary stress can lead to health problems such as the aforementioned depression, heart problems and so on. Also, being anxious all the time is exhausting and it makes me not much fun to be around. Ultimately anxiety is fuelled by the delusion that life, and the happenings of life, are in our control and the anxious person (me) is engaged in some kind of an arranging event to ensure that everything goes smoothly (and that we don’t die).
Last year I picked up a book by William B. Irvine called A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy where I was introduced to what he calls “negative visualization” but what was actually called praemeditation malorum (pre-meditation on evils) by the Stoics. Oliver Burkeman in The Antidote describes the motivation and practice thus, “For the Stoics… our judgements…. are that we can control, but also all that we need to control in order to be happy; tranquility results from replacing our irrational judgments with rational ones. And dwelling on the worst-case scenario…. is often the best way to achieve this.”
As we started our semester with Hadot and the Stoics, I took this lesson up once again and alongside my meditation practice (which has served to highlight my anxieties), I have been trying at intervals to ask myself of certain worries that arise “What is the worst that can happen in this instance?” in order to release them of some of their power. Investigating worries also has allowed me to recognize how many of them are not in my control at all.
Taking the example of the car accident worry which I have pretty much every time I get in the car, I might first note that whether I get in an accident or not is only partly in my control, but not very much given all the circumstances that can lead to a crash. But then the worst thing that can happen to me? Well, I could die, but I wouldn’t know about it and none of us get to choose our death anyway. I could kill someone else, which might only highlight for me to be mindful when I’m driving, but also if that were to happen I would have to find a way to live with and atone for it. I could end up injured, but again, I would simply have to go through the process of healing and thankfully we have a free medical system. And so on.
For my much more mundane worries like “There will be no one at the retreat centre to meet me” or “They won’t have my reservation for Saturday night” which are only some of the things which occurred to me on my journey to Rivendell, the “What’s the worst that can happen” question reveals how trivial those worries really are, and also that I have no control over them in the first place so worrying about them is utterly pointless.
Practicing with this question for the past two months has allowed me to step back and evaluate those worries as they come to the fore of my attention, and drop them just as quickly so I can move on to other things. What’s also true is that by meditating on the worst case – such as never seeing my husband again due to some misfortune on one of our parts – I can focus on how much I appreciate him in the immediate moments we have together. Moments that I can never be sure will follow the present ones. In the event my worries are grounded in something real and controllable, I might note what action to take in order to forestall inconvenience and alleviate future concerns. For the most part it’s only the thoughts I can take action on, and I’m left with the question of how to further develop my outlook so I can avoid some of the needless worries altogether.
Part Two: Trauma
(Part Two : These things which move the spirit)
It is no wonder that the curse God puts upon Eve (and all women) in the Book of Genesis is that of painful childbirth. So fundamental is this trauma to both mother and child, our earliest story-tellers had to find some explanation for this interweave of life and pain which we are all afflicted with from the very beginning.
Whether the birth trauma, or episodes that follow, there is no question that our lives are punctuated by distressing events; violence, loss, physical injury, psychic pain, the death of loved ones, are all part of the average human life. Every person will experience some of these events, and some will seem to get more than their fair share. There is no way to predict who will see more pain in a lifetime, though environment will dictate a higher likelihood of some traumas than others. And despite the fact we will all experience some amount of pain in our lives, many people go out of their way to take more upon themselves, unconsciously and often in the name of a higher ideal, a better lifestyle, or personal power. We don’t see it that way, often rationalizing a period of sacrifice for a future in which we find contentment. All that’s standing between us and our own private utopia is just a few hard years where we work longer hours, or perhaps we pony up our physical freedom in order to make a political point. And in so doing we damage ourselves, lending our bodies needlessly to a future which can never be made real.
I have lived in the delusion of a politics which demanded that I personally witness and experience trauma as part of conscious action. After years of writing letters, protesting, marching and making activist culture, I made a choice in my twenties to engage on the periphery of illegal activity, the kind that frees animals from cages, but also the kind that involves vandalism and arson in order to strike back at companies doing ecological harm. To be around and aware of these kinds of activities requires an immersion in trauma, an identification with the sufferings of animals as well as the forests, the waters and the very soil which is being poisoned by human activities. On top of this is the continual fear of arrest, of police raids and prison, which reinforces an insular culture that wears post-traumatic stress disorder as a badge of pride.
The paradox of course is that in order to create a more stable, more sustainable earth, my activist compatriots made our own personal lives unstable and unsustainable. We called that a worthwhile tradeoff because a future existed in which we would be redeemed, and able to live free. But of course, that’s a delusion, like so much of our suffering – created by our individual and paradoxical needs. I could just have easily made material success my goal and worked myself to an early heart attack instead. The examples of human folly in this regard are endless.
I am fortunate to have escaped physically unscathed from this period of my life, for I was never directly involved in unlawful activity, though I lived with and loved those who were. When the arrests finally did come in 2005, long after we had finished with that bit of rebellion, I spent the next two years supporting friends in US courts and jails. I continue even now to support those still imprisoned and will do so for the next several years.
When I look back from outside that experience I see how easy it was to take the fear of ecological harm – and with some help from my friends, turned that belief into a decade of suffering. The Buddhist aphorism, “Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional,” is not lost on me as I sift through these experiences, noting that the pain, fear, and devastation I lived with for many years, was so totally unnecessary and counter-productive.
Mini-Review: A Tale for the Time Being
Part One: Longing
(Part One : These things which move the spirit)
“Blessed be the longing that brought you here
And quickens your soul with wonder.” – John O’Dohonue
These words open O’Donohue’s poem “For Longing” and were read on my first night at Rivendell Retreat during the five o’clock community worship. Our community host read them with an invitation to reflection at the end of each stanza, a short poem stretched out in moments of breath and contemplation, bringing the beginning of my stay here to a focused question. What am I longing for that brought me to this place? What longing brought me to a course on spiritual enlightenment this year? What triggered my pursuit of formal meditation as part of my academic inquiry?
I’m afraid my longings, the words that floated above that night’s reflection, are somewhat pedestrian: love, belonging, tranquility – an end to the inner voice of doubt, anxiety and self-criticism. These desires unite all people, though we may choose different paths in our quest to fulfill them. I am not someone seeking an answer to all the big questions in life – I do not believe in a god or an afterlife or a grand design and am not disquieted by my lack of belief. But I am endlessly curious about what makes a good life, and in ensuring that I do not accidentally mislive this one chance I am given.
I recognize how much time I have given over to things which do not matter, how often I have tried to force situations in a misguided notion of the greater good, and that I have listened too often to the inner and outer voices of negativity and despair. I see how quests for social change, for personal privilege and social status have disturbed my more fundamental needs for quiet and stability. But I do not want to turn those strivings into another grasping thing which I believe the spiritual path can become. The desire for states such as enlightenment or revelation can be as destructive as other drives when pursued by the goal-oriented ego. And so I reject these concepts from my longing, though I leave a door open for the possibility of any state to arise in practice as in daily life.
Still, it is dishonest to claim I am seeking nothing in my studies and in my retreat, especially as I intend to continue meditation and inner work. My longing is best summed up as a desire for self-love and self-knowledge, neither of which I possess in the measure I would like. My life is rich with material comfort, social community, romantic and familial love – none of which I take for granted – but a constant unease undermines every interaction with others and with myself. Which is to say that I live with a certainty that I am not good enough, deeply flawed, and unlovable despite all evidence which tells me otherwise.
My longing then is simple: I want the negative voices to go quiet so I can hear my own life sing.
Red Cedar 