Longing for Stillness

The clouds move through our Valley
Drizzle then perfect sunshine.
Balancing the elements.
The sky too big for our own smallness.

Coming to this place with these simple instructions.
The vulnerability of this human intimacy challenged.
This breathing into our own darkness.
Somehow being alone in our own arrogant selfishness.

This sitting, allows the chaos of our world to gently yield.
Reaching out through the years.
Finding some grace; some medicine.
That shakes the heart; and loosens our grasp.

Stepping out of a life so long ignored.
Dipping back into one's uncertainty,
forgetting the strength in our own bones.
magnifying the prayer of this mysterious groudlessness.
Softening, for some final blow.

Having beaten the judger in ourselves 1000 times.
Only to crack the old” selfishness” .
What seemed like a battle becomes a symphony.
Holding this simple, wild, unfettered heart.

Our world open to the great stillness.

                                                                 - John Travis

Sloth and Torpor, Incognito

One of my favorite Buddhist phrases is “sloth and torpor”, the translation of the third of the five hindrances to meditation. I was listening to a talk by Joseph Goldstein that touched on this topic. Though typically associated with sleepiness or dullness, he notes that at a deeper level sloth is simply the deep-seated tendency of the mind to retreat from difficulties. He also points out that sloth and torpor frequently masquerade as self-compassion: When we are tired or bored, instead of investigating those states, we often respond to a kindly voice inside us saying, “Let me be good to myself. A nap would be just the thing right now.” Perhaps because I believe Western adaptations of mindfulness practice have too often given short shrift to compassion—and to self-compassion in particular—I have frequently fallen prey to this vice in my own practice. As an antidote, I find it helpful to remind myself that true self-compassion is a willingness to be with what’s unpleasant.

When it comes to effort, there is always a balancing act. If we try too hard to be mindful, the effort itself can become a distraction, yet we can also fall too easily into daydreams and rumination. Goldstein suggests that skillful effort occurs when the mind is relaxed and open, whereas unskillful effort can be recognized by a forcing of the mind. This distinction sounds quite appealing to me, yet when it comes to everyday life, I frequently find myself resorting to cajoling.

Nomads

“O longing mind,
dwell within the depth
of your own pure nature.
Do not seek your home elsewhere.
Do not confine your innate infinity
within the mansions of finitude.
Your naked awareness alone, O mind,
is the inexhaustible abundance
for which you long so desperately.”

                                - Sri Ramakrishna

My favorite cartoon is titled “The Worst Thing about Being a Nomad”. It depicts a family traveling through the desert with camels, and the children are asking “Are we there yet?” When it comes to our basic nature, we are all nomads. We are constantly seeking out various forms of temporary refuge, and our minds are forever on the move, skittering away from the present moment. At the same time, we are also nomads in a deeper sense: each of us carries our real home with us wherever we go, and we can rediscover it any time we can “dwell within the depth of our own pure nature.”

Mindfulness as Intimacy with Life

Part of the impetus for this blog is my sense that, in its exploration and appropriation of Buddhist ideas, Western psychology has focused overmuch on the concept of mindfulness. Even so, I think it is valuable to continue to deepen our understanding of mindfulness, and to explore ways to communicate its meaning to a general audience.

I have to confess that the word mindfulness itself has always possessed a certain alienness for me. Until I began to explore Buddhism, it wasn't a term I had ever encountered, and the word mindful had a slightly negative emotional resonance, suggesting the need for alertness to danger (e.g., “Be mindful of your thoughts, Anakin. They betray you.”).

I've found that many non-Buddhists have no context in which to interpret the concept of mindfulness, and that which is unfamiliar is often viewed with skepticism or even fear. One way I like to talk about mindfulness--and a way that has resonance in my own practice--is in terms of intimacy: intimacy with the body, intimacy with the breath, intimacy with the senses, intimacy with thoughts, intimacy with the heart, and, of course, intimacy with life. In addition to connoting deep attention, patience, and lack of judgment, the term also seems to evoke for many an attitude of caring.

Of course, for some the word intimacy has more negative associations, and may evoke fears of vulnerability or engulfment. Nevertheless, when working with those for whom the term has a more positive emotional resonance, I believe it can serve as an intuitive point of connection to the notion of mindfulness. In my own practice, it has often allowed me to enhance the depth and quality of presence.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

                                      - Rumi

Isn't Mindfulness Enough?

Many Buddhist teachers, especially in the Zen tradition, would contend that the entirety of the dharma can be realized through clear and awake presence in this moment. Inasmuch as my own most powerful experiences of awakening have come through simple presence, I would agree with that sentiment. So, given that I acknowledge the power of mindfulness, and given its professional acceptance and empirical support in Western psychology, why do I want to spend time thinking and writing about other concepts and techniques of Buddhism?

My primary reason for doing so is that there are innumerable gateways to presence, and for many of us, training ourselves to stay with the breath (or body, sound, etc.) can be a difficult undertaking. As much as we want peace, we also crave constant excitement, and we live in an overstimulating world. For those of us accustomed to using our minds analytically and getting things done by force of will, slowing down and letting go can be exasperating. Unable to do something as seemingly simple as being still, we then add self-judgment. I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve had thoughts like “I’m not cut out for meditation,” or “I’m a bad meditator.” Early negative experiences make it unlikely that we’ll persevere long enough to experience the fruits of meditation.

Those using mindfulness-based therapies have attempted to address this problem by utilizing brief initial experiences with mindfulness or employing techniques like walking meditation. While these approaches are certainly beneficial, I believe we should consider expanding our toolboxes by employing techniques not directly related to mindfulness. In particular, I often think of Buddhism as having two wings, mindfulness and compassion, and the latter has generally received short shrift in Western psychology (though that is beginning to change). In a society in which alienation and self-judgment seem endemic, I believe the development of compassion, especially self-compassion, is a valuable practice in its own right, and can also improve our ability to pay attention to the present moment in a non-judgmental way—and to bring ourselves back when we notice that we’ve become lost in thought. For our own happiness and for the world we live in, an awakened heart is every bit as important as a receptive mind.

Preaching the Gospel

As noted in the Why Brahmavihara? section of the blog, my primary aim is to explore ways of using Buddhist ideas beyond mindfulness practice in therapy. Were I to have come across a blog with this purpose in my pre-Buddhism days, I’m fairly sure I would’ve been nonplussed—and perhaps more than a little disturbed. I would have viewed the idea of incorporating Buddhist ideas into therapy practice as appropriating other cultures’ beliefs and then attempting to impose them on unsuspecting clients. I think cultural appropriation is a valid concern, and I’ll have more to say about that in a future post. Here I want to focus on the issue of imposing values.

I should start by noting that I personally experience Buddhism as a philosophy of life and mind rather than as a system of religious beliefs. While Buddhist texts certainly include cosmological elements, and Buddhist practice in various traditions is carried out through a wide range of rituals, I do not see anything mystical or otherworldly in the core teachings of impermanence, the unsatisfactoriness of attachment to that which is impermanent, and the path to equanimity and non-attachment. In fact, the Buddha admonished his followers not to accept his teachings on faith, but rather to experience the truth of his words for themselves. (One key element of the teachings that does seem to contain a metaphysical component is the cycle of rebirth and the law of karma. I am uncertain about this area myself, and I want to raise some questions about it in a future post. For now I’ll just note that I don’t see belief in reincarnation as essential to Buddhist practice or the application of specific Buddhist principles to everyday life.)

Obviously, the fact that I view Buddhism through a philosophical rather than a religious lens has no bearing on how clients, other therapists, or other Buddhist practitioners view Buddhism. I raised the point because I want to clarify at the outset that my intent is not to inject religious dogma into secular therapeutic practice. As Western psychology has already done with mindfulness, what I aim to do is offer ideas and techniques that clients might choose to employ if they find the suggestions to be of benefit to them. As with any therapeutic intervention, there are value judgments implicit in these Buddhism-derived ideas and techniques, and therapists must be cognizant of the values they are conveying and their congruence with the client’s own set of values. A key difference between mindfulness-based techniques and the tools I want to explore is that the latter have not received empirical study and validation. Thus, such tools would need to be used with the same caution and disclosure required of the myriad other tools used in therapy that have not been studied sufficiently to garner empirical support.

Thus far, I have approached this post from the perspective of the mental health professional. From the perspective of the Buddhist practitioner, one might object to borrowing concepts or techniques piecemeal, not just because of the cultural imperialism inherent in such borrowing, but because the teachings have much greater power when viewed in their totality. As a therapist, I don’t see any way around this limitation, unless the client is explicitly interested in participating in Buddhist psychotherapy.