Mind, Meditation, Suffering, Letting Go
So, last weekend was our first Meditation Retreat.
I want to tell you a bit about the workshop just past.
The idea that Darbella and I had was to take all of the work we’ve been doing with injured workers and translate it into both a website and an ongoing program. The twist is that we think that this project is just perfect for anyone who wants to deepen their perspective on life and self.
In other words, what we do is applicable to everyone who is wanting to dedicate a bit of energy into self-responsible exploration.
The weekend consisted of periods of sitting meditation (Zazen — decidedly from a Zen perspective,) Qi Gong and stretching, a period of active meditation, which uses dance, and dialogue. We had as a dialogue framework looking at where we are with our lives and plotting strategies to move forward from there, but the conversation shifted to communication, how to relate, and how to truly listen to others and self. And there were trails to walk during abundant free time, as well as our normal, excellent food.
Once Dar and I realized that this format was interesting to folk, we decided to do it again, and the only thing we’re changing is the discussion topic. The remaining structure of stretching and Qi Gong, and periods of sitting meditation, remain the same. I suspect that as we carry on with these (assuming we’re in Canada — not necessarily a strong assumption any more…) this will form the core of these weekends, and various and sundry topics will emerge.
The May weekend is titled, “Suffering, and the End of Suffering — A Weekend Mindfulness & Meditation Retreat.” I picked this topic as it’s near and dear to my heart, and part of what I’m endeavouring to convey to the Injured Workers in our Mindfulness group. The very first week, I said to them,
“Throughout the next weeks, I want you to understand one thing. Pain is a part of living. Suffering is optional.”
I want to unpack this a bit, and offer you some experiments.
The insight that led to the Buddha’s awakening was the realization of the trouble we cause ourselves by our unconscious living. This is demonstrated by how often we are running on auto-pilot, unaware of what we are saying or doing. The saying and doing, actually, are not really the issue. It’s the auto-pilot that causes us to piss our lives away, as if caught in a dream.
The First Step
Zazen, or sitting meditation, is not a means to an end. It is the beginning, the way, and the end. I say this to work past the particularly Western habit of demanding to know “What’s in it for me?” Many people want to know where meditation will lead, and then to find some shortcut to actually sitting there. They end up with a great, theoretical practice!
And this is my mind, gently persuading…
Meditation causes us to see, likely for the first time, the workings of our body and mind. As we “just sit there,” it becomes painfully apparent that our minds never shut up. Meditation is not about an empty mind — that is impossible — but rather helps us to learn to let go of our mind’s games.
Here’s how it works.
I have a dicey lower back. Knock wood, I haven’t thrown it out in a long time, but let me tell you, I’ve been flat on the floor, in spasms, unable to get up, more often than I can count.
I therefore pay attention to my lower back, lift things carefully, bracing myself when I sneeze and cough, etc.
Dar and I have been doing Iyengar Yoga for 5–6 years now, and are moving along in our abilities. I still notice that my lower back is tight and sore a lot, and my hamstrings are only now yielding and stretching a bit.
Well, last night was yoga night, and our delightful yoga instructor, Fay Gascho, ended the night with two rather interesting backbends.
I was in a bit of discomfort while in the postures, and then I came out.
Both times, I got 50% out, and my lower back grabbed, crackled like fireworks, and twinged.
Here comes the point.
This would be the pose, but would not be me… obviously!
What I felt was a pain. A triggering, warning shot across the bow, so to speak. Because I spend time paying attention to myself, I noticed two things simultaneously, and then added in a third.
First, I noticed the “grab.” (Noticed the body sensation of “pre-pain.”)
Second, almost immediately, my mind kicked in, thusly, “Holy crap! Your back just blew out! You’re going to be on the floor, you’ll never get up again! Get out of this pose, now!” The last thought was (or could have been) the killer.
From past experience, I “know” that if I had just crashed down to the floor, in all likelihood, my back would have been a mess.
So, in other words, everything my mind was telling me was “suffering talk” designed to take me exactly where I did not want to go. My mind “just knew” that my back was toast, and was screaming at me to drop to the floor.
Here’s the third part, which I added on: I heard the internal voice, smiled, and pushed back up into the pose. Why? Because my back wasn’t hurting in the pose. It was hurting as I came out! If I had rushed out of the pose, odds are I’d have compounded the problem.
I then, very slowly, (much slower than the first time) lowered myself to the floor.
Result? I laid there, wiggled my butt around, and low and behold, nothing. Today, more nothing. The muscles of my lower back feel sore — like they’ve been exercised. I did my morning stretches and Qi Gong, and sat Zazen, with not much pain. And no suffering.
Now, get this: had I listened to the babbling of my mind, I might just have ended up with a back issue. Had I over-reacted, I might have ended up where I did not want to be. My mind, true to itself, tried to get me to over-react and to repeat behaviour that, in the past, had gotten me into trouble.
If I had just done what my mind wanted, who knows how I’d be today.
This has never worked! I know! Let’s do it again!
If you think about all of the articles I’ve written, you’ll get the essence of this. We keep doing dumb stuff because we take the babbling of our minds seriously. Clients condition themselves to blame others for their pain, and end up making matters worse. Their minds tell them to blame, and they blurt out words in keeping with blame. In the past, the situation gets worse, so, like lemmings, they run right off the same cliff again.
You have to fully grasp that the stories our minds pop up for us are not true! They are not accurate! They are not even particularly interesting. All they are is repetitious, and designed to cause suffering.
Now, you might wonder why our minds would want us to suffer. But this is not a helpful question. Enough that this is what happens. Our minds are not satisfied with “what is” — they’d rather bitch, moan and complain that things should be different. Except that they never propose an alternative, and simply encourage us to do again what never has worked.
So, back to “half out of the yoga pose.”
At the point of the “grab and crunch,” a fork appeared in my road. I could listen to the story my mind was shoveling, force my back down, and prove my mind right. Or, I could pause, turn my attention away from the chatter, and have a chat with my lower back.
In the choice to pause, and ask my body, I heard another, distinct, wise voice (of my body? Hmm. maybe. Distinct, though, and different…) saying, “Stop right here. Hold. Now, go back up a bit into the pose, until the grab goes away. Good. NOW, come down, slowly, wiggle and check.”
If you compare the two voices (tough, since I’m writing…) the first, mind voice, was all scream-y and dramatic, hard done by, and just aching to prove that I was going to be suffering, and soon. The other voice was calm, reasonable, and invited me to experiment with myself in a calm and collected way, and then to judge actual results, without drama.
Exercise: Pay attention to the workings of your mind. If you refuse to do this, you are doomed to be a suffering, unhappy, non-present drama queen until you die. If you choose to shift (in addition to sitting Zazen, 20 –25 minutes a day…) do this:
Listen in on your mind. For example, you may say aloud or to yourself, “What a lovely day.” Immediately after, say, “This is my mind, describing how I perceive the day.” Or, shorthand, “Me, talking to myself.”
In dialog, you might notice yourself thinking “How dare she talk like that! Tell her what a jerk she is!” Stop. Breathe. Say to yourself, “Me, having judgemental thoughts.” Then, try asking questions instead of blaming.
In coming articles, I’ll talk more about this process, but for now, remember. The frenetic, dramatic voice your mind produces is basically full of crap. It prattles on, about how special you are, about how everyone should treat you as important, about how hard done by you are. It wants more of the good stuff, rejects the bad stuff, and clings to its stories like a terrier on a bone. This voice is not you, is not accurate, and leads you, repeatedly, into deep water.
In order to come to terms with this voice, and thus to put it in its place, you must learn
a) to hear it, and
b) to ignore it’s stupidities.
Then, with a breath and a bit of mindfulness, another path will occur to you.
And this, the path less traveled by, makes all the difference. (with thanks to Robert Frost.)
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