The Promise of Mindfulness Part I: Holding Fear, Outrage & Faith

“An awakened and compassionate world.”

This is the guiding vision of the Center for Mindfulness at the University of Massachusetts Medical School where I took another deep dive into mindfulness meditation earlier this month in the form of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) teacher training.

 

I love this vision. I have deep faith in this vision.

And ( I am ashamed to say this…) after the mass shooting this past weekend at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where eleven elderly worshipers were murdered by a self-avowed Anti-Semite, I did not go to my own church service on Sunday morning with my children because I was afraid to.

I know that is not what I’m supposed to do in the face of domestic terrorism.

I’m supposed to bravely continue to live my life exactly the same way to show those who terrorize us with violence and threats of violence that their tactics will not work.

And yet, what if sometimes those tactics work on me?

What if I do have deep faith and sometimes I am afraid?

A few months ago a woman was raped while running on a Rails to Trails paved jogging path in suburban New England where I live, and since then, I have chosen not to hike alone.

Once again, fear.

But it can also be outrage.

Award-winning science fiction writer Philip K. Dick once wrote:

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.

That sentiment resonates deeply for me right now- as it did a few weeks ago when the United States elevated Judge Bret Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court at the same time I was attending that 9-day MBSR teacher training at the Center for Mindfulness.

Because living freely in reality is not about being optimistic or pessimistic. It is not about thinking positively or thinking negatively.  It is about the facts. It is about causes and conditions. 

And if the causes and conditions don’t change, the facts don’t change either.

You see, I can find myself appalled, yet not surprised, by the okay-ness that many men and some women had about the lifetime judicial appointment to the highest court in the United States of a man who was investigated for a history of sexual assault, sexual misconduct, and sexual humiliation of young women, and even hear on television, radio, and in conversation men say: Even if it's true, I'm still okay with him being on the court, that does not change the facts.

And even if I have my own version of historical amnesia or delusion in which I “forget” or suppress the reality of the ways in which people harm people (and animals, and the earth, etc), until events like those above wake me up, like a slap in the face, landing me in fight (outrage) or flight (fear) mode, the facts don’t change.

It is probably self-preservation though, because to consciously remember facts about, for example, the United States' centuries-long legacy of institutional failure to protect girls and women from harm up to and including marital rape until 1993, my faith in that guiding vision of “An awakened and compassionate world” can feel more than elusive to me.

In fact, I actually can start to have comic book images in my mind of a kind of reverse-evolution that looks something like this cartoon I found on the internet:

(mhbenton.wordpress.com)

Having said all of that, before I toss in the evolutionary-towel altogether, I've decided to try to remind myself of what I believe is one of the promises of mindfulness- something I’ve come to think of as Reality-based Faith, or Mindfulness-based Faith.

 

In the type of mindfulness-based therapy that I practice as a psychotherapist, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, we have a skill that we teach clients called Radical Acceptance, and as part of understanding and utilizing this skill, the Psychologist who developed this therapy, Dr. Marsha Linehan, teaches us that it starts by saying to yourself: Things are as they should be.

Things are as they should be.

What does that mean though?

Eleven people are murdered on the basis of their religious beliefs with an AK-15 assault rifle.

Things are as they should be.

A woman is raped while jogging in her hometown.

Things are as they should be.

A judge accused of sexual assault is elevated to the Supreme Court of the United States.

Things are as they should be.

What this statement means is: there are causes and conditions for these three realities- these three facts.  And therefore, if the causes and conditions do not change, these three realities will not change. 

These facts will remain unchanged.

So to say the antithesis: things should not be this way, is factual incorrect because these realities were caused.

Unless…they are not. 

Because the reverse would also have to be true too.

If the causes and conditions for hate and other acts of violence like murder and rape change, then what?

Would our reality of people harming people (and animals, and the earth, etc) also change?

This is what Reality-based Faith or Mindfulness-based Faith means to me, and makes a guiding vision like: “An awakened and compassionate world” an actual possibility for humanity.

So here’s the million dollar question: Where does one begin to change those causes and conditions?

At the 9-day MBSR training earlier this month, the senior teacher, Pam, read this poem to our group:

Clearing

by Martha Postlewaite 

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.

May it be so.

Poetry 138: Wounds That Do Not Heal

Wounds That Do Not Heal

There are some wounds

that do not heal.

Wounds that ache

when the wind blows

and cry-out when

the dew point

Is high.

Wounds we might

“forget,” sort of,

until we come

face-to-face

with that which was

unbearable.

Fortunately,

these wounds

do not live at

the surface

of existence.

No, these particular

old injuries

are buried deep

underground—

consciously, unconsciously—

so that life can

move forward.

It’s hard, sometimes,

to respect the intuition

of the psyche,

who decided for me

long ago,

to go so deep with

this one.

Even though

it is,

most obviously,

counter-intuitive,

counter-productive and

counter-evolutionary

for the larger whole.

But like that nosey

neighbor who

means so well,

when my wits and

wisdom are about me,

I choose

a response of

compassion.

A choice that invokes

and embodies

all the tenderness

one can muster, to soothe

the ache, to rock the

soul, until the bleeding

stops.

Again.

-Me

Poetry 137: What We Tell Our Daughters

What We Tell Our Daughters 

The world is a scary
place for men,
he said.

Yet all the while...

Don't go out
after dark we say,
or go to a bar
by yourself.
And never hike
alone in the woods.

In fact,
we add,
let's just say:
don't walk alone,
dance alone, or
drink alone
either.

And don't smile
in his direction,
or make
eye contact
that could be misunderstood.

And by all means,
don't wear that skirt,
that dress, those heels,
or that fire engine red
lipstick
or you are
definitely asking for it.

And come to think
of it, don't wear a
ponytail
he can grab.
Or walk through
a parking lot
without car keys
in your hands, and
never, ever
leave your drink
unattended.

And while we're at it,
let's be sure you:
don't give out
your address
or your phone number.
And don't go to
his apartment,
or let him
come in your door.
And never take his car
when you go out,
or drink
more than one.

And this holiday
season, don't sit
next to that uncle
at Thanksgiving,
or find yourself
at home
with Mom's new
boyfriend.
And never, ever
find yourself
alone with
that teacher,
that professor, or
that boss.

And by all means,
never forget
to leave home
with enough cash,
enough pepper spray,
enough mace, and maybe
even
a loaded weapon-
licensed to carry of course.

In fact,
my beloved
daughter, maybe
don't ever imagine
the privilege
of what
it would feel like
to be
safe and protected
in this world.

No,
please don't
imagine
that.

And don't ever
wonder
what it would be like
to walk carefree
down the street,
with a sense deep
down inside
of being open
and free.

Because--
and this is really important--
you must remember:
it will always be
your fault.

Yet all the while...

The world is a scary
place for men,
he said.

-Me

Loss as Practice

Two weeks ago I inadvertently found myself at a funeral service for a 36 year-old woman that I did not know.

Let me explain.

It was a  Sunday afternoon, and my family and I were spending time together at the local park so that my 9 year-old son could use his new scooter in the skate park.

We had been there just a short time, and  while my son was riding his scooter, my 4 year-old daughter began to play with another little girl on the playground while both I and the girl’s father looked on.

The girl was wearing a yellow-gold colored dress, and her blond hair was falling across her face as she laughed and chased my daughter in that a timeless child’s game: tag.

It all seemed like a very typical day at the park.

That is until we learned that the 5 year-old girl in the yellow-gold dress was about to attend her own mother’s funeral.

It turned out, the girl and her father had lost the child’s 36 year-old mother just one week ago, and the family and friends had made the decision to hold her funeral, or memorial service, in our local park.

Upon learning this, the moment quickly went from completely typical, to totally surreal.

To know that I was witnessing-- in that very moment--what would be one of the single most tragic days in that young child’s entire life was so bizarre, so uncomfortable, and deeply, deeply sad.

As someone with an admitted loss-sensitivity, created from an early start in life with a series of both quite ordinary losses and then a series of more trying losses that left me with more than a handful of scars leftover, one might think my vast and varied loss-experience might have left me to be very skillful with this utterly human-brand of pain and suffering.

But no.

Unfortunately, loss has instead turned out to be my Achilles Heel.

If you remember from your 8^th grade Greek Mythology, Achilles was a hero in the Trojan War, but who later died from an arrow that pierced the heel of his foot; the only single area of his body that was vulnerable because it had not been dipped in the river Styx by his mother when he was an infant, and up until now, I have always felt that loss was my Achilles Heel.

However, more recently, I have tried to take some steps to reframe suffering, in the form of loss, as practice instead of a vulnerability.

I know this idea is not rocket science.

And I know that if you have any interest at all in dharma practice, this is by no means new or novel- try thousands of years old.

And yet, for me, particularly with the experience of loss, framing this type of suffering (loss) as a practice instead of a vulnerability is still extremely difficult.

Which is why I look to the masters…

In Meditations of the Heart (1953) African American theologian Howard Thurman tells the story of British statesman Lloyd George in a short essay called “The Pressure of Crisis.” 

In the story Mr. Thurman simply and eloquently reminds the reader that in our lifetimes, it is the “storm” that will bear the most fruit in terms of growth and wisdom, not the metaphorical “sunny day.” It is the “storm” that will strip away what 

He writes: 

The experience of Lloyd George is common to us all. When all is well with our world, there is often no necessity to separate the ‘dead’ from the ‘not dead’ in our lives.

So according to Mr. Thurman, the practice or the value of the storm (the suffering) in some cases, is the wisdom that we gain about what goodness was already firmly embedded in our lives.

It is good to know what there is in us that is strong and solidly rooted. It is good to have the assurance that can only come from having ridden the storm and remained intact. Far beside the point is the why of the storm. Beside the point, too, may be the interpretation of the storm that makes of it an active agent of redemption. 

Given the storm, it is wisdom to know that when it comes, the things that are firmly held by the vitality of life are apt to remain, chastened but confirmed; while the things that are dead, sterile or lifeless are apt to be torn away.

Similarly, archetypally, one might think about the Hindu Goddess Kali as a way to open oneself to suffering as practice. 

In the book The Moonlit Path: Reflections on the Dark Feminine (2003), Jungian analyst and psychiatrist Ashok Bedi writes in the essay “Kali-The Dark Goddess:”

Kali is the fierce, dark Hindu goddess who amputates the darkness of our soul and makes room for the light. 

Whenever our life is out of balance, our darker, or shadow, aspects get into the driver’s seat. The archetype of the dark goddess Kali incarnates in our life drama to destroy the darkness of personality and make room for new consciousness to emerge.

New consciousness to emerge…I love that possibility to come from suffering..

And it seems to me that the Palliative Care Movement in the United States and around the world has really done an incredible job bringing awareness of that very real possibility with the work of folks like Roshi Joan Halifax and The Zen Hospice Project.

I have recently begun to read, but have not yet finished, two books on this topic: 

1.)    Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life (2000) by Philip Simmons, and

2.)    Ten Thousand Joys & Ten Thousand Sorrows: A Couple’s Journey Through Alzheimers (2008) by Olivia Hoblitzelle.

Both books, it seems to me, written by individuals who found hard-won mastery in the bowels of suffering and loss as practice.

With more to come I’m sure as I keep reading…

In the meantime though, I will continue to try to open my mind, my heart and my body to the possibility that suffering is practice, and perhaps for me personally, loss may be the main event.

May it be so.