Category: Teaching

When we talk about letting go we usually think of getting rid of something or pushing something away. But this negative is perhaps more work than necessary. From a positive point of view, rather than struggling with anything, we can see letting go as adding space by releasing our grip. Letting go can be seen as opening up and relaxing into the flow of our life instead of grasping and clinging to the straws on the shore.

When we attach to something we distort our perception of it and ourselves.  We imbue the object with qualities it doesn’t necessarily have and open up a number of programs in our deep psychology, such as fears of failure or abandonment, that only cloud our understanding. Hence, Buddhists look at attachment as causing “obscurations” to clear seeing or true understanding. Rather than strangling things we love so they will never leave us, we can actually honor them by stepping back and seeing them more clearly.

The same is true of the things we fear and those we wish to avoid.  While it’s obvious to see our clinging to things we love, it’s harder to understand that hatred or disinterest are also forms of fixation. When we keep arguing with someone in our minds, we are clearly attached to them. The more we try and push them away the more stuck with them we become. Similarly, dissociation and procrastination can be the result of attachment to avoiding underlying, unregarded fears.

I used to speak at the Shambhala Center of New York and there was a student who came regularly and regularly had a list of complaints about community founder Trungpa Rinpoche. I always honored his point of view because critical intellect is so important to true understanding. But at some point his point was made and made again and yet the complaints continued.  Finally, I told him that I wished I had as much devotion to Trungpa as he had. His one-pointedness was impressive. Yet, if he was willing to let go just a bit, he may have experienced other points of view.  Letting go is not an admission that we are wrong, or that our affection was misplaced, it’s simply that maybe we can understand more fully if we step back. I call this offering a “loving space.” It’s not a dismissal, it’s a way of understanding.

When we become attached, we actually identify some aspect of our experience with the object. One aspect of this is when we become dependent upon a relationship of any kind.  We might lose perspective and get lost in a tug of war of need. I need this or I need that. This doesn’t allow room for either partner to be themselves.  We call this codependent.  Some people look at codependency as two people who co-trigger each other. But from a Buddhist perspective, we understand that it’s our attachment not someone else’s. The work for us is to avoid blaming anyone or expecting them to change, but to recognize that trying to fix things is still fixation. The remedy is easier than we imagine.  All we need to do is loosen our grip and take a step back.

Again, letting go is not pushing anything away. That is another form of fixation. “I don’t want it!” doesn’t mean we are seeing clearly. It’s about perspective. Stepping back need not be dismissive. In fact, it can be loving. It’s adding loving space.

From an experiential point of view, we are talking about the difference between gripping and opening. With regular meditation practice we develop mindfulness of body. We can actually feel our body gripping as it happens. Our stomach tightens, our jaw clenches, our brow furrows. All of these are ways of closing down and fixing. I had a student who was actually frowning when we were discussing joy. I asked her about this, and she said she was thinking about what I said. But it felt more like blocking. It seems joy is an experience that begs us to open. The same is true of so much of life. Whether we love it, hate it or just want to get away, if we cling to it, we are shutting down and making everything more important than it needs to be.

Letting go can be seen as releasing the grip and opening the loving space within our life.

 

RAIN

I.ve been thinking about the rain. Rain is lifegiving. It can be cleansing, healing, and rejuvenating. The sound of falling rain is a natural relaxant. And yet, it is a frequent nuisance and under some circumstances, deadly. From a grand perspective, rain is inherently neutral. Yet, its manifestation could be a blessing or a catastrophe depending on circumstances.

In Buddhist Five Wisdom psychology we draw parallels between the natural elements of the world we live in and the emotions that live within us.  Sadness and depression are as natural as the rain. Emotions can be joyous or painful depending on our interpretation. And any feeling can be healing if we allow it. The key is to avoid taking it personally. This depersonalization is easier said than done, particularly with regard to strong emotions that sometimes feel so very personal. The stronger we feel, the more it feels like something is happening to me.

And that’s like blaming ourselves for the rain.

Of course, we can look at ourselves for not checking the weather before we left the house without an umbrella. This is to say that although the rain is not happening because of us we can use our rational intelligence and some investigation to work with the weather. The same is true of our feelings. They are immensely powerful, and they have the potential to be our teachers or agents of chaos depending on if we are willing to work with them. And my favorite way of working through emotions is a process described in the acronym RAIN. I love the elliptical reasoning here.

Thinking about emotions, when we are caught in their downpour (or upheaval) we are sometimes swept away in a torrent.  Pema Chodron famously refers to this as being “hooked” by the feeling. If we look at emotions as being as natural as the weather, we can regard the experience as natural. If we are willing to work WITH the feelings, we can turn a neurotic reaction into a wisdom experience. The essence of Buddhist transformative psychology is turning our neurosis into wisdom. That always felt inaccessibly academic to me until I was taught that we are not transforming the emotion, we are transforming our reaction to it. In order to do this we recognize that we are hooked by a feeling and immediately accept the emotion as a natural occurrence. Then without judgement or recrimination we can look at the feeling and learn from it. This is a step-by-step process in letting go of our personal attachment to the energy and allowing the energy to be as it is.

RAIN.

RECOGNITION is the first step.  It is important  that we avoid judgement here and simply see what is happening. Not, why or how, but just what is happening. This is akin to the parable about the Buddha and the soldier. The Buddha pointed out that when struck by an arrow, the first step is to address the arrow. In the 12-step tradition, the first step is the recognition and admission of our addiction. We identify the problem before we endeavor to fix anything.  We are recognizing the essential quality of what’s going on right now without looking getting ahead of the game.  Recognition of being stuck or caught  is all we do here. But the next step comes quite quickly on its heels.

ACCEPTANCE is letting go of any judgement or concept we have about the feeling. It’s just feeling the feeling.  It’s important that this step comes before the third step of investigation because we are accepting before we investigate. Otherwise, when we get to investigation, our investigation is compromised because we’re trying to fix something.  We’ve all done that with another person when we’ve jumped the gun and tried to fix them out of our own impatience, ego aggrandizement or our control issues. This makes a mess because we’re not actually taking the time to listen.  Acceptance is about pausing and allowing yourself to feel (listen). In some cases, all we need is recognition to reduce the emotional inflammation. But sometimes, we need to go further, and dig a bit deeper.

The next stage is INVESTIGATION. Instead of lashing out with our projections, we turn inward.  Instead of acting out we’re touching in. When it comes to this self-reflection, we’re still not trying to fix anything. We are just trying to relate to what’s there. And we will learn from experience that this will evolve as we go further. So, we don’t have to ‘get it right’. We take our first thought and then as we look / feel further into the experience, we might discover another layer. Commonly, anger is actually masking sadness underneath.  When we recognize ‘this is anger’ without judgment or recrimination, we can see how it actually feels. This is another step-in depersonalizing. We are taking a wider view. This is inquisitiveness. We are investigating what we are here to discover.  When we uncover layers of truth, they are usually different from our preconceptions. That’s the distinction between an amateur pandering in conspiracy theories online and a real investigator. The real investigator may never reach a convenient truth as they endeavor to look cleanly at the facts without popular interpretation. In this way, we are avoiding clickbait in order to experience what we are feeling.

Often what we discover is that this process diminishes the experience. And sometimes that is disappointing. Are we willing to allow the inflammation of our egoic reactions subside so we can see clearly. Often when we are triggered, we react as though we were unwilling to heal. It’s as if our ego thinks that we are giving in. But surrender in this case is letting go of the personal struggle so that we can return to balance. If we’re honest we’d have to admit that sometimes we don’t want to heal. We’d rather be right or gain retribution. We want justice! But are those not ego designations that actually keep us locked in samsara – that endless loop of retribution and salvation?

NON-IDENTIFICATION happens when we are willing to heal by allowing ourselves to let go. And when we gain perspective and begin to see clearly.  This is not my sadness.  It’s just sadness. This is the rain. It’s not my rain. The rain falls on everyone at some point. This is not my anger it is just anger. When we are brave enough to really be with how it feels to be human, we see below the story into the feeling, and we are able to stop clinging for or against the experience. We begin to glean that as personal as it feels, it is not about me.

Thus, investigation serves to disabuse us of taking it personally.  Because we’re starting to look more and more clinically, we’re able to step back and see the situation as it is.  In time, we are less inclined to be caught up in these otherwise natural energies and no longer allow ourselves to be tortured by them. Instead, we are able to ride their considerable energies, let go and allow the natural elements of life to nurture us.

Tara Brach teaches the “N” as nurturing. I love that, and I love the relationship of Nurturing, to letting go to non-identifying. When we learn to love ourselves, we no longer need to cling to others, and we become less fearful of our feelings and more able to let go into the flow of our lives. So, nurturing our heart is the way we gain the strength it takes to ride the energy of our feelings. And then we are on the horse that rides the wind, as the Tibetans would say.

We are riding windhorse.

 

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I’m missing my mother. Trudy was an angel and someone who loved me unconditionally. Each mother’s day seems to echo in the silence of her absence. Yet, my promise to her is to develop my heart to love as hers did.  With that view, it’s not helpful to wallow in my sadness. The root of our meditation training, points to the possibility of holding our hearts open even as they break.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the racially motivated shootings in Buffalo. And if that tragedy takes a moment to mentally reboot, perhaps it says a lot about the morbid new normal we’ve come to live with. And I am moved to think of the mothers who have lost children in senseless gun violence that plagues our homes, neighborhoods and schools. And all mothers who have loved unconditionally despite their loss. We live in a difficult and violent society that nonetheless needs our love and attention.

The Mahayana Buddhist teachings liken compassion to the experience of a mother bird who’s chick has fallen from its nest into a flowing river. Her heart breaks with no recourse but to love and experience loss. When faced with tragedy she could shut down in a vain attempt to protect herself, or she could open up despite the pain and care for the life still around her.  Her reason for being is the life that depends on her.  Of course, this is an ideal look at a mother. Many have had complicated relationships with their mothers and some may not equate their mother with selfless care and love. But the experience of compassionate love is available to us all. We can’t fix anything. But we can train ourselves to love someone somewhere unconditionally. With that foothold we can work to develop that feeling of love for all sentient beings. That is the view. But, will this help?  Will it fix a sick world? Maybe not. But when a child is sick we don’t love it less. If the child dies, we don’t stop loving them.

Our hearts breaking inthe open space of sadness is a profound experience. The Mahayana Buddhist system regards service to the world as our prime directive despite our pain.  We are not here to squeeze all the joy out of life that we can.  Nor are we here to continually nurture our wounds. Healing comes as we learn to find joy in our broken world as it is. We find authentic joy when we remain true and loving despite our wounds. We become strong when we stay true and loving despite our doubts. We become mothers of the world when we decide to let ourselves love unconditionally.

Another ideal statement of Mahayana Buddhism is for us to regard all beings as our mothers. The classical reading of the teachings refer to the fact that we are all part of the continued recycling of life in our realm. The ancient texts say that we have lived every conceivable life countless times over. Included in that reincarnative dance was that all of us have been everyone else’s mother and because of that, we owe all beings a debt of gratitude. A more progressive reading of the teachings might suggest that we are all part of the loving regeneration of life. We are interconnectedly woven as part of the fabric of life. Although life dies in its corporeal form, it is connected to the life from which it came even as it continues in the regeneration of life to come. The idea that we are connected to all other life is a very compelling thought. The fact that all life ends is accompanied by the truth that life is continually reborn. Thus sadness and joy are the experience of all sentient life. Love is large enough to encompass both. Love encompasses all experience.

Perhaps we are mothers of our world right now. If we turn away in judgement or disgust, we renege on a responsibility to care for our charges. As we are interconnected to that life, when we turn from our world, we turn from ourselves as well. Maybe today, we can remember the love of a mother whether literally or figuratively as an inspiration for developing  selfless love. Will that selfless love change the world?  Possibly not. But with the development of great compassion, we might transform ourselves.

“Working with Grief” implies that grief, as profoundly sad and disheartening as it can be, is something with which we can make a relationship. From a Buddhist perspective, we never demonize feelings. As uncomfortable as some emotions make us feel, attacking them, or distancing ourselves from them, only makes problems worse. Emotions are unavoidable. They are an expression of being human.  Learning to work with them requires patience and acceptance.

Grief is a particularly challenging emotion in that there is usually a definite object. Whether it be the untimely passing of a loved one, the end of a relationship, or some personal trauma we’ve endured, there is an event at the core of our grief to which we attach a conceptual narrative. Thus grief instigates an emotional environment that is a lot for s to work with. And grief, as we know, can be overwhelming. The very first step in working with this is to be kind to ourselves. We can begin with simplifying.  By clearing out the debris we can work with our immediate concern: how we are feeling now. A lot of our ancillary concerns are past regrets or future anxieties. BUt the Buddhist approach is to begin right now. “Start where you are” Pema says. So, what is happening now?

Our feelings are happening now. When we focus on the object, we forgo processing the feelings. Instead of healing, we seek to work through the story, finding blame, justification, or reasons why.  We get stuck in our head. Causality and consequences seem to offer solace, but stories are not feelings. In order to heal we have to acknowledge and accept how we feel. The stories and the frames are a temporary balm, but they only mask the energy we need to acknowledge and accept.

When we fixate on the event we are focusing our energies on things in the past that we cannot change. Wishing someone would change their mind, or that things could be as they once were is just a way of torturing ourselves. We can’t change anything but ourselves. But that can be a relief. I don’t have to fix anything!  I can just hold space for myself. I can turn my attention back home so that I can begin to heal. Healing begins with acknowledging and accepting. What is happening now?  And how can I best hold space for that, so the feelings can be here with me?

And with regard to an intense emotion like grief the best approach is to allow ourselves to heal. Patience is key and non-(self)judgement is essential.  So when I am working with grief, I make a commitment to be here with the feeling as long as it takes. Then I try and employ the old “RAIN” trope. These steps to recovery can be consecutive or random. They don’t have to be done perfectly. They are just ways to guide our minds from creating further suffering from an already painful situation.

Recognize. We are experiencing an emotion. It’s not our fault, nor is it a punishment. It is a natural part of our human experience. It just is. We don’t have to find a reason, justification, or an excuse. We don’t have to be embarrassed. Grief is shattering. It needs the space to be with us.

Accept. We can stop struggling, it’s only making it worse. Grief is completely natural and unavoidable. While grief is common to all beings, the suffering we create for ourselves is optional. We have a choice. We can turn away from the story and toward the feelings. The story is not all about me, but the feelings certainly are. 

Internalize. When we are ready, opening up to the feelings is an essential step in our recovery. I use the breath. This stage is like a conversation with my broken heart. Feeling the breath – in – out – in – connects us to ourselves. In the midst of our grief we can make a commitment to ourselves to stay here with our feelings for as long as it takes. Grief can stay in our system for years. This need not be disheartening. If we stop struggling with grief, and make friends with it, we have an energy that allows us to evoke empathy and compassion. There is a saying “may I never outrun my heartbreak.”  Our heartbreak keeps us human. In a world that pulls us into competition and materialism remembering our pain is how to stay human. This is so important to our spiritual growth. Rather than getting rid of our grief we can take the very brave step of becoming one with it. Challenging emotions offer us an opportunity to evoke lovingkindness for ourselves. 

Non-Identification (Letting go). Understanding that grief is not a punishment allow us to see that we are not at fault. We can let go of guilt. We can let go of struggle. We can let go of identification. “There is grief.” It will leave in its own time, but I can let go of all the struggle I create around it. We can let go of blame as we have no one to apologize to. We can hold ourselves up with dignity, as we are doing the work. And because we are doing the work of feeling the feelings, we have learned first hand what others are going through. Our grief connects us to the grief of our fellow humans. We are not so alone after all.

And while we don’t have to fix anyone – including ourselves – we can share and connect to those who might benefit from knowing how we feel.  In this way, we are letting go of self-importance and being willing to be humble, helpful, and present. In the midst of the direst of situations helping others is a ray of uplift.

 

 

 

Patience is like a welcome mat to the gateways of life.  We have moments in which different karmic streams seem to converge.  Equally frustrating is their opposite, when nothing seems to move at all.  Yet while the clash of life’s dynamic forces can be opportunities for chaos, they can also yield great clarity depending on how well we hold our seat and open our awareness. The key is to have the confidence to remain on our seat until clarity dawns.  That is patience. 

 

A heron waits in the reeds of a lake, silent and unmoving. She may be looking for food, or predators. She may be looking for nothing at all. But she is not hurried. Waiting is an essential part of nature’s survival game. Interesting. The key to survival in nature is not panic. And while quick defensive action is sometimes necessary, it must come at the right moment, when there is actual danger.  Human consciousness, by virtue of its large processing ability, can out-maneuver and out-strategize predators.  Unfortunately, this processing power comes at a cost. We are not always clear on what constitutes actual danger. Compared with other forms of carbon on the planet, we are relatively young in our development. It is as though we were thrust headlong into the maelstrom of survival. And despite our esteemable intelligence, we have not had the evolutionary time to develop the practical wisdom to differentiate actual danger from our imagined anxiety. For this reason humans are in a state of perpetual anxiety and unclarity. LIke the mythical ouroboros, the being that eats its own tail, our unclarity feeds our anxiety, which feeds our panic and locks us further away from clarity.  As important as our survival is, our fear of death only instigates behaviors that hasten the very thing.

 

The key is that when we feel the need to act, if we are acting out of anxiety caused panic, we are jumping blindly into the maelstrom. But jumping blindly is wildly random, with a low percentage of a safe landing. One of the erroneous ways humans create the feeling of safety is to employ the same patterns of behaviour, in the same situations, again and again. For all our intellect reacting habitually to danger – especially when we’re not sure if its danger at all – is a very poor survival strategy.  But should we not jump off our seat, this moment of fear can be seen as a gateway.  We can choose the same unseen panic reactions because habit feels like safety, or we can pause and wait until we are free of the momentum of panic. Then we might act spontaneously and creatively to the natural changes in our life.

 

The spontaneous response is dependent on our being able to pause and assess before we act. In meditation parlance we call this allowing the gap. That moment of pause allows us to stop and see. It affords a moment to regain our balance.  In this way, we have the opportunity to act mindfully rather than react blindly. That is the idea of the welcome mat to our new opportunity. Patience is a place to wipe our feet before we go in, tracking our negative karmic footprints all over our fresh start. 

 

In his Dharma Art teachings, Trunga, Rinpoche referred to the principle of “square one” as the idea of interrupting the momentum of our karmic streams. We come back to square one and begin fresh. These interruptions are anathema to ego, as egoic mind thrives on blind momentul. When we’re on a roll every interruption feels like a great annoyance. Likewise, when we are panicked and fighting for survival, we are driven to act and we hate the idea of waiting. And fairly, sometimes we don’t have a lot of time to wait, but we always have a moment to stop, breathe and return to the present. This reboot may be all we need to resynchronize and act from wakefulness. To those well-trained in meditation, patience might be a moment to breathe and reboot. But the training might require months of rest and learning to wait. Whatever it takes to begin to learn to give ourselves a break and get off our own backs. Pema calls this “learning to stay.” Sakyong Mipham refers to this as taking your seat and ruling your world. The patient monarch has created the space to see all the options available. Patience is the mat on that ground. Patience is the landing point.

 

Patience is not resignation. It is not grin and bear it as though we were stoically subduing our feelings until a storm passed. It is waiting until the ego pressure subsides in order to see the next right move. In this sense rather than grin and bear it we might say, “smile and bare it” as we cheer up and drop the artifice. Patience is remaining open to what is happening without interjecting ourselves. Patience is not shutting down. Patience is opening by allowing what needs to happen to organically arise. After years of aestheticism, activism and extreme yogiic training, the Buddha finally sat. He left the cities, the universities, the temples behind and sat beneath a tree in nature. Upon his awakening, Buddha attracted beings of the 6 realms. An old person stopped and asked who he was. With no need for a name, a designation, or a title he simply looked to her and said “I am awakened”. Skeptical, she asked “How do you know? Who can verify this?” He placed his hand on the ground.

 

“The earth is my witness”, he said.

 

The natural things of life need no shingles, credentials or diplomas.  THe natural things just are, and as such, connects effortlessly to the life that surrounds it.  Natural things are interdependent with all of nature. Our meditation can be like that. Natura and interdependent with all of nature. The mind our meditation uncovers can also be natural and connected to all of nature. Natural mind is the point. Natural mind happens as we develop the patience to be as we are.

 

Whether she is feeding, resting or about to flee, the heron is not motivated by anxiety, guilt or shame. Free of self-doubt, she waits silently until the moment she doesn’t.  She is taking her seat like a warrior connected to all the life around her.

 

How do we know?  The earth is her witness.