Turning Towards Pain

I didn’t post last week because it was my birthday week and I wanted to give myself some time off. But that was just part of it. At the heart of it was that I was feeling grumpy and down for a couple of days, and when it was time to write a new post I felt like I needed to have digested that grumpiness into a nice little piece of learning for you all. Once I made the decision to take the week off from writing I was able to just let my grumpiness be without needing to end it in order to gain some insight about myself. That time off ended up feeling pretty nice and within a day or two much of the veil of grumpiness had lifted enough for me to see that without realizing it, I had been shunning my pain and working hard to “fix” it instead of just letting myself feel it.

It’s interesting to see how fear and pressure mount, telling us a story that’s not based in reality. I was going on believing my stories until I paused long enough to turn towards the pain I felt and see it for what it was. I felt disappointment and sadness at not getting to be with my extended family on my birthday. I felt shame and guilt for those feelings, knowing that our situation is so privileged compared to that of many others. I felt a sense of unsatisfactoriness and frustration with the stuff of life, “Is this it?”. And with all of these thoughts and feelings I felt worried and nervous that they’d stick around forever. But as soon as I paused to honor them and allow them into my heart, everything softened.

Then this week came along and has been tearing at my heart with relentless intensity. My news feed scrolls through a troubling list of headlines detailing the unfathomable loss of lives from this pandemic, the staggering jobless numbers in the US, and the deadly cost of racism in our country - be it structural racism that has made this pandemic far deadlier and costlier for communities of color or the reprehensible actions of a growing handful of murderers who only see skin color instead of their own fear. Just writing that sentence calls for a pause to stop and let the pain be for a minute. Please, if you’re reading this, take a moment with me and just feel your breath, your heartbeat, your heart center, then notice your limbs, your contact with the ground or seat beneath you. Breathe.

Sometimes it all just feels so heavy. After I’ve cried what tears I have and talked through my anger and frustrations all that’s left is to love it. As was the case last week, this isn’t always my first inclination, nor is it the easiest thing to do. But, all it takes is one breath of attention, a moment of turning towards instead of away, to remind me of the strength and potency that awareness can have on my pain.

I don’t always think I know how to love these terrifying parts of myself and the world, and at first it can feel kind of awkward and intimidating to switch from my stance of resistance to one of open heartedness (especially when it feels like the pain will be too much to bear). But I’ve done it enough times to trust my heart’s capacity to handle it — even when it’s cracked or ripped open from some new injustice or great loss. In fact, it usually ends up being those times that have most opened my heart to the world.

In mindfulness practice this can be as simple as pausing to notice the pain that’s calling out to be seen or felt. It may feel intimidating to acknowledge and allow such an immense pain into our awareness, but that’s the magical thing about awareness, there’s no end to what it can hold with equanimity and grace. Even when I don’t feel equipped to handle something, my awareness can make space for it. I just have to be brave enough to give it a chance.

As we notice the pain we feel, can we notice our reactivity to it? How often do I brace myself against the idea of the pain, steeling myself to stand up to my story about the pain? The story running in my mind is generally far worse than the actual sensations making up the experience. When I’m able to just explore the sensations of the pain, noticing the pulsing, throbbing, heat, tingling, shifting experience, a couple of things happen. For one, I can see that it’s not constant, but rather, it’s constantly shifting and changing with each breath, each heartbeat. And I can also notice that it’s often not as intense as I’d thought, without the additional story and my tensing in resistance to an imagined future pain, there is more space for the pain to dissolve into. Granted, the pain doesn’t always go away or diminish, but as my reactivity does, the experience of it all is more tolerable.

In my experience, my pain, both emotional and physical, is usually just wanting to be given space and attention. Once I pause to feel and honor my pain, I’m better able to respond to it with compassion and love. I can tend to its needs, my needs, with care and a better understanding of what’s needed - a bath, some aspirin, or a good cry. The energy I spend actively, and sometimes passively, pushing down my pain is far greater than the energy it takes me to face it and care for it. Bringing our awareness to these uncomfortable areas of our bodies can serve as a practical experience to open our hearts and better prepare us to wake up to uncomfortable areas in our society.

As I write, I’m watching live helicopter footage of looting and buildings burning in Los Angeles. The reporter on the ground interviewed a young black woman and asked her why there was so much property damage being done and what her primary message was as a protestor. She responded that as a black person she is suffering, as a law abiding citizen she is in constant fear of the police, as an older sister she is constantly afraid that her little brother will be killed by police officers anytime he leaves the house. She was not participating in the looting, but did not condemn the looters’ actions, explaining that black people are all suffering, and that their pain is rarely acknowledged or seen as valid. She said that the first step to responding to everyone’s pain was awareness. For white people to acknowledge and learn about the pain and stress black people are feeling and feel every day would be a move in the right direction.

Just as the pain I ignore in my body will not go away and will only be exacerbated by my resistance and willful ignorance, the collective pain felt by non-white people in America will only continue to worsen and grow if we as a society continue to fail to acknowledge and get to know it. Once we can stop ignoring, invalidating, and denying this pain, maybe then we can all begin to move towards some sort of compassionate response.

There is space in awareness for anything and everything we can throw at it. Are we brave enough to stand witness with kindness and compassion?

Enough

Last night as we reviewed the items to include in our next farm box delivery, I was struck by how excited I was to see that we’d be getting a dozen eggs and a loaf of wheat bread. Sure, we could don our masks and gloves and make our way to the grocery store to get these items. But as we’ve not gone to a store in the last six weeks, why break our streak now? Our commitment to social distancing is steadfast, and because of this it has caused us to stop and think about how necessary some of these items really are. Can it wait? Do I really need it this week? An unexpected gem of this crisis has been that I’m now seeing eggs and whole wheat bread for the gift they truly are. What a treat to sit down to a meal that I’ll taste each bite of with a bit of gratitude and renewed delight!

A friend of mine shared that she felt similarly about receiving a grocery order with strawberries and salmon. Since when have such ordinary foods been the cause for so much joy? It reminded me of my nightly ritual during my monthlong retreat. Each evening I’d pour a cup of chamomile tea and sit in the brisk February dusk of northern California, watching night descend and slowly savoring a single bite-sized piece of dark chocolate. I had a lot of experiences on that retreat, but the taste of chamomile and dark chocolate can still elicit a flood of memories from that time. Will eggs and whole wheat bread have the same impact on me in ten years?

I’ve been comparing this time for our family to an unexpected and somewhat involuntary meditation retreat. During a retreat there are a handful of practices established to help us sharpen our awareness and support us in our efforts to wake up and see past the delusion of our everyday lives. On retreat we limit social contact - no speaking and minimal eye contact, we often dress and eat more simply, and we limit our daily activities to just those necessary for the task at hand - in this case, doing little more than sitting and walking meditation. We voluntarily renounce much of the busy-ness of everyday life that keeps our heads full of ‘stuff’ and foggy, obscuring the view to our heart’s love.

For me, these last six weeks have felt, in many of the most important ways, very similar to retreat — we’ve limited our social contact — certainly no touching and speaking only with those closest to us each day, we’re dressing for comfort and eating simple foods we cook ourselves, and our daily activities have been greatly curtailed to support the task at hand of social distancing - in this case, doing little more than walks in our neighborhood and keeping the dishes at a manageable level. This time around the renunciation of the busy-ness of our lives was not entirely voluntary at the onset, but the clarifying results have been similar.

I imagine that even for those who are still working or working from home, the simple-ness of life with minimal social interaction, limited food choices, and fewer daily activities has offered the opportunity to see a bit more clearly what is important. All of us are more explicitly faced with our mortality, faced with questions of how best to protect those we love and those at risk, and faced with the suffering of our own and so many around us. Yes, there is overwhelm, but there is also a chance to investigate what’s really important in this life. With nowhere to go and not much to do, we’re seeing things much clearer than before.

Renunciation helps us to clear away that which we do not need in support of discovering that which is worthy of our time and attention.

I’m remembering how little I need to feel truly content and happy. What’s been most important for me these days has been the time spent with my family - both in person and online, the time I’ve spent practicing and teaching meditation, and time spent moving my body. When most of my habits and distractions are stripped away, the precious pieces that remain are reminding me how to best live fully.

On a meditation retreat we’re not necessarily faced with pressing questions of our humanity’s shared existential fragility. Certainly, this is something we may have some insights into on retreat as we see our interconnected nature and the constant dance of change that affects us all. But during this time of global crisis these questions take on an urgency they’ve never had before. And in an unexpected blessing of this social isolation, our circumstances can offer more support than before, with more time for introspection and fewer distractions — for better or worse. We’re being asked to face some of our biggest fears as the parts of ourselves and our society that we’ve worked hard to ignore, because they’re too scary or too shameful to acknowledge, are now front and center when our distractions and everyday lives melt away. If we’re feeling brave and willing to step into this vast uncertainty, we may be surprised to hear what our hearts have to say about all of this.

As the parent of a small person, my day is typically full on child-centered with very little time for introspection. And I know for so many others who are working full time and parenting more than one small person full time without any childcare, these days are FULL. The thought of taking some time to pause and reflect on these questions seems almost laughable. But you’ve read this far, so maybe you are curious about some of this. Because even if we’re still working and still busy caring for children and loved ones, these questions are becoming unavoidable. Especially if our days are full on lately, we’re being called to prioritize what is truly important, where will we place our attention, how will we spend our precious time?

So today I invite you to pause for a second to let yourself breathe. Experience whatever it is you are experiencing right now.

This time may be uncomfortable. We’re being asked to stretch and grow in ways we didn’t think we could. And if we’re willing to just keep going, one breath after the next, we’ll emerge from this so much better for it.

Very few of us asked to be on retreat during this time. But all of us, no matter our circumstances, have the opportunity to benefit from the gifts of renunciation. Thankfully, it doesn’t require anything more than being present for our experience right now. We don’t have to know the answers to these big questions, just asking them is enough. We don’t have to suddenly feel comfortable with this uncertainty, just noticing it is enough. We don’t even have to enjoy eating bowl after bowl of brown rice, just noticing our resistance is enough. Even if we don’t get the eggs and the loaf of bread we ordered, whatever we receive will be enough.

No matter what you do or don’t do, you are enough.

I’ve recorded the following guided meditation to support you in the practice of renunciation. May it find you well.

Befriending It All

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like they’re on a roller coaster lately? I think even on a regular day, back before we were on lockdown, I would experience some variety of emotional highs and lows, but lately I have been feeling whiplash from my constantly shifting emotional world. One moment I’m flooded with anxiety and dread as my husband and I map out how we’d proceed should one (or both!) of us be hospitalized, the next moment I’m reveling in the glorious richness of this time together as my son is belting out a song and spinning himself dizzy with joy. And in the next moment I’m exhausted and overwhelmed at the magnitude of all of the suffering this pandemic has unleashed and revealed.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about equanimity and how beneficial it can be at a time like this. There is a lot to be said for recognizing the non-stop wave machine we’re currently riding in order to pause long enough to check in - feel my feet on the ground and ask myself am I ok right now? These little doses of equanimous perspective seem to be offering me a much needed break, a chance to re-calibrate and catch my breath. But even more is needed these days, and always really, to find ease and peace in my day.

I’ve been remembering lately that AS important as cultivating equanimity is also the practice of meeting myself and my experience with kindness, wherever I’m at in that moment. It’s a sense of tenderness, gentleness and friendliness I’m working to adopt towards each moment. Each day before I get out of bed I’ve been pausing to reflect on an intention for myself for that day. More and more these past couple of weeks, this intention has been one of being gentle with myself, of forgiving myself if I don’t “mom” at 100% 24/7, of being understanding of myself and my family when we’re in the middle of some emotional turbulence, of letting whatever I’m feeling be ok - without needing to push the feeling down or block it out, of trusting that my heart and awareness will hold me no matter what, and of actively working to take care of myself.

Do I succeed in this each day? Not entirely.

But just in the act of setting this intention and turning my awareness onto a course of self-kindness, I end up relating to myself way more kindly and compassionately than I would have otherwise. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

Sometimes when I talk to kids about mindfulness I’ll describe some of the different practices like they’re super powers. These days I can’t help but feel like I’m constantly on alert — whipping out my compassion ray and my special tension diffuser breath of love. It feels like I’m taking some sort of final exam in mindfulness — if I can make it through this minefield of anxiety, worry, uncertainty and fear, I’ll surely be able to handle anything else life throws at me.

The thing is though, life right now isn’t actually that different from any other day. The mindfulness super powers I cultivate on my sitting cushion can come into use just as frequently even when not in the middle of a pandemic; it’s just easier to be complacent about them when I’m only dealing with day-to-day inconveniences. That’s why it feels like such a gift to have this opportunity to practice like my life depends on it right now. (Trust me, I did not and would not ask for a gift like this!)

So what does it take to meet myself and all of my experience with this super power of kindness? How can I practice meeting all of this seemingly cruddy situation with friendliness and an open heart? Well, for me, a major part in being able to feel any sense of ease in this situation arises from a willingness to accept what is here and a trust that I can handle it no matter what. Both of those can seem rather daunting on even the best of days, let alone right now. But when I break it down into momentary awareness, breath by breath, I’m more able to ride the wave instead of it swallowing me.

In mindfulness we practice having a receptive, non-judgmental awareness to the present moment. That sounds like a mouthful, but in practice, it’s really just a matter of allowing. Allowing this breath to rise and fall, allowing sounds to enter and leave our hearing, allowing emotions to arise and subside, allowing physical pain to be there, to be there longer, and to change. The more we see the infinitely changing nature of reality, the easier it is to allow this moment and the next into our experience, without fear of being overtaken. This type of allowing is different from just allowing ourselves to be taken advantage of or harmed. Rather, in allowing what is here in the present moment, we release our internal resistance so that we can best respond to the situation. If it is a situation that requires action, we take it. And sometimes, the more we rest in this allowing and receptive awareness, the more we see that we don’t always need to act apart from responding with tenderness and understanding.

I can be aching with sadness and grief over the state of the world, all the while maintaining an open heart to what is here. The situation doesn’t need to be ok for me (at my essential nature) to be ok. When I am able to make friends with my reality, welcoming each new piece of experience with open hearted awareness, the struggle evaporates and I’m left with the gift of this breath, of this moment of being here now. It’s then that I can begin to see the present, no matter how challenging or painful, as a present and my mindfulness super powers shine through the strongest.

I invite you to sit with me in the guided meditation below for an opportunity to open your heart and perspective to one of allowing and receiving this moment fully.

Anxiety

I remember when I was in about fourth grade being really worried before a field trip because I was sure that the bus would leave me behind and no one would ever find me again. This was in a time before cell phones, so the worry while far fetched, was somewhat plausible in my 10-year-old brain. I can remember lying in bed the night before the field trip with a pit in my stomach, unable to sleep. My orange tabby, Oliver, purring on my chest was the only thing that helped me calm down.

Surprise surprise, I wasn’t left behind and the field trip went smoothly. But as I got older, my worries and anxiety shifted from field trip concerns to the common fear of public speaking. Once I was so nervous before a big report about papyrus that I threw up at my carpool driver’s house before school. I got an A, but when I faced future homework assignments and reports, no amount of logic or preparation could ease my worries, and they’d only ever dissipate after the event in question.

Looking back on these memories I wish I’d had some kind of mindfulness practice to help me, and if not the practice, at least some more perspective to let my thoughts just be thoughts and not control me so. I’m sure if I’d shared the depth of my anxiety with my parents they would have helped me to better manage it - in fact, in high school they bought me my first books on meditation, and throughout my life they’ve made sure my brother and I have always had access to a great therapist if we wanted to talk. That being said, I still had so much shame surrounding my anxiety that it was enough to keep most of it bottled up with no one the wiser.

As I’ve gotten older and have cultivated a meditation practice, my worries and anxiety haven’t gone away — in fact, as a mother, they’ve probably multiplied! However, my way of responding to this kind of thinking has shifted. Instead of being embarrassed and almost afraid of my anxiety, now it’s more of an old familiar face that I can greet with an “oh you again!” On my best days I can acknowledge it with kindness and humor and get on with things without too much trouble or added stress. On harder days, I have other tools to respond to it — be it meditation, not taking it personally, or pausing to tap into my other resources and stores of calmness.

Probably the most liberating realization I’ve had from practicing mindfulness is that just because I have worries and anxious thoughts does not mean that I am a worrier or anxious person by nature and therefore always stuck in these debilitating mindstates. Just because I have a thought does not make it true, nor does it say anything about me. Instead of defining myself and judging myself for these thoughts and worries, I can see them fore what they are — unpleasant thoughts born out of fear.

Fear feeds on itself, especially on shame and judgment. So the best way to respond to it is with love. By pushing away my anxiety and judging myself for it, instead of getting rid of it I was just adding more worries to my list, “what if I never stop being worried?” “how can I expect to teach mindfulness with sweaty palms and a dry mouth?” “what if my worries come true?!”

Through my practice I’ve learned that it’s ok to just be anxious sometimes. And during those times, I’m reminded that whatever my anxieties are - even if they’re based in something real like a global pandemic - they’re just thoughts. Just because I think a thought, that doesn’t mean it’s true or will happen.

This has offered me some freedom. I don’t have to be afraid of my anxiety and I don’t have to judge myself for having it. Instead, I can just work to be with it with kindness to myself, taking care as needed and recognizing that it’s just some particularly charged thinking.

I’ve recorded the following guided meditation to provide anyone struggling with anxious thoughts, with some techniques that I’ve found helpful in my own experience. I know this would have helped me back when I was in school, so I hope you find it helpful and that you are able to find peace in your day.

Feeling Tone

Yesterday at naptime I started out the process with my “enjoy the moment” glasses on. Meaning, when my little guy started attempting to do head stands as I read his naptime story I was able to smile and soak in his sheer enthusiasm for life. He eventually laid down next to me and whispered an “I love you,” that made it so worth it. :)

I kept those full enjoyment glasses on until about 20 minutes later, when well into our calm down songs and after his being perfectly still to the point I thought he may have dozed off, he turned to me and expressed his wish that we had a rooster for a wake up alarm. Admittedly, I found this kind of cute. But what followed was an all out wiggle session with a seemingly inexhaustible source of energy. Instead of being tickled by his humor and innocence I started to unconsciously resent each new repositioning and adjustment. When he stopped long enough to ask, “Are you not mad at me?” I got my jolt of reality. I had been unable to recognize how my impatience and worry that he’d never nap had slowly shifted my happy-go-lucky lenses to my more stressed out “Foot-tapping” glasses. I apologized for being short with him and explained I needed to take a few breaths to help ease me through my feelings of stress. I reminded him he could help by getting still and quiet. And sure enough, after another song, he was peacefully snoozing in my lap and I was able to put on my “ahh, sweet cuddles” glasses to soak in these last moments of him being small enough to fit in my arms.

I share this snapshot because my experience is not unique to me, but rather a universal part of the human condition — not the naptime per-say, but rather the subtle shifts in perception that change a moment of pleasure into one of frustration. Every single thing we experience will be affected by our past, present, and future — whatever stories and associations we have in our mind about the present experience will directly impact our interpretation of said experience. Had I had more office work to do yesterday, chances are I’d have perceived his early head stands as an obnoxious stalling tactic. Or had I not been a little worried about him taking a late nap, I might not have gotten so frustrated at his sweet wish for a rooster wake up call.

The head stands and the rooster wish were neither pleasant, unpleasant or neutral experiences; but the lenses of perception I wear can cause me to perceive them differently depending on my unique circumstances.

When we first taste an experience, in the first milliseconds of it happening, we categorize it - almost unconsciously - into being either a pleasant, unpleasant or neutral occurrence based partly on the experience itself, but mostly on our own history and stories surrounding it. The same experience I view as pleasant may be unpleasant to you; or even to me on another day. I hear avocado is universally incredible - but my allergy to it impacts my perception and so eating a bite of avocado is typically an unpleasant experience for me.

On its face, there’s nothing really problematic about these subtle categorizations. It’s helpful for me to recall the unpleasant throat tightening and stomach ache that I get from avocado so I can choose not to eat it! Just like it’s a good call to note the unpleasant sensation of touching a hot stove so we can move our hand quickly!

But because most of the time these categorizations happen without us noticing, things can get a little sticky and cause us extra suffering before we recognize what’s even happened. Had my son not asked me about my mood, I could have easily fallen into a grumpy, annoyed afternoon, fully missing the yummy cuddles I got at the end.

Our reactivity to these categorizations are at the root of our pain and suffering.

If something is unpleasant we’ll typically tense up against it, bracing ourselves to push it away. If it’s physical pain this type of reactivity can really exacerbate things! If something is pleasant though, we tend to want to hoard it, save it all for ourselves forever. That’s fine until we face the disappointing fact that everything is always changing, and that which we’re grasping onto will eventually slip away. And if something is neutral, do we even notice it? The tendency with neutral experiences is to ignore or doze off. Ever notice yourself falling asleep during a “boring” meditation?

This isn’t to suggest we should attempt to do away with this automatic process of categorization. Rather, it’s about bringing awareness to what we’re doing with it. When I recognize that I’m seeing through the lens of unpleasantness, I can respond differently than if I just take it as inherently unpleasant and then react with aversion and fear. Maybe this awareness is enough to help me ride out the discomfort instead of immediately pushing it away. (This is a matter of wise discernment, as I would not suggest you “ride out the discomfort” of burning your hand on a stovetop!) In the midst of a pleasant experience, perhaps I can have a bit more spaciousness to enjoy it for what it is, without needing it to stay forever. And what happens when we start paying attention to those millions of neutral experiences we have each day? For me, the attention often leads to an internal shift that moves the experience from neutral to mildly pleasant.

In mindfulness practice, these three lenses - pleasant, unpleasant, and neutral - are called feeling tone. When we are aware of the feeling tone of an experience for us, we then have the power to choose our response. The following guided practice offers a couple of different exercises to help you begin to recognize the feeling tone of your experience. But if you don’t have time to do the guided meditation, you can try noticing feeling tone in your day-to-day experiences by giving a gentle mental note about your experience - is it pleasant? unpleasant? neutral? And after noting this, take a second to notice how you are reacting or responding to the experience. Am I tensing, grasping, ignoring?

What lenses are you wearing in this moment?