Me and My Shadow

 

 Me and my shadow, strollin' down the avenue
--"Me and My Shadow," lyrics by Billy Rose

Shame, embarrassment, humiliation--these are the forces that divide the self into my ego--the part of myself that is recognized as self--and shadow--the part of myself that is seen as other. My ego is not consciously aware of shadow, but it sees shadow everywhere, all the time, outside myself, because my shadow is projected outward onto others. Shadow work is the development of awareness of and compassion for shadow, and eventually, the integration of shadow.

The popular fear regarding shadow is that deep inside, we're all axe murderers. It's the idea that my shadow is a dark cell imprisoning horrible monsters just waiting for the chance to leap out. But in reality, the shady prison holds sobbing children, spurned lovers, betrayed friendships.

 

All these imprisoned bits of self are guarded by complexes, habitual intense emotional reactions that defend my ego against shadow. Complexes are the real monsters, not the shadow itself. To keep from being overwhelmed and swept up by reactive emotions, meditation practice is a necessity. Simply becoming aware of complexes is a huge step. To work with shadow, I have to develop presence to the point where I can remain mindful while experiencing emotional eruptions. When a complex can be tolerated, then the pain underneath the fear and anger can be experienced.

 

Shadow work comes in many forms. Dreamwork, journaling, doing art, entering psychotherapy--these are just a few of the many ways to work with shadow. I'll look at several in the next few posts.

Sailing Past the Sirens

Ulysses and the Sirens, by H. J. Draper

Come this way, honored Odysseus, great glory of the Achaians, and stay your ship, so that you can listen here to our singing; for no one else has ever sailed past this place in his black ship until he has listened to the honey-sweet voice that issues from our lips. --The Odyssey, Book XII

Meditation can be categorized in many different ways. In my practice, I do what some would call mindfulness meditation, an umbrella term that includes focus meditation, transcendental meditation, vipassana, and open meditation. In mindfulness meditation, the meditator can focus on something, for example, a mantra, the breath, a candle flame, or a mandala. Or, the meditator can just open to the present experience. During mindfulness meditation, perceptions arise, either external, such as sounds, or internal, such as thoughts. The meditator opens to the perception and releases it. If the meditator is using a focus of meditation, the meditator returns the attention to the object of focus. Mindfulness meditation has no goal; the meditator simply experiences each moment.

When Odysseus sailed past the Sirens, he had his crew plug their ears with wax, but he had himself bound to the mast with unstopped ears, so that he could hear their singing. In mindfulness meditation, my commitment to my practice binds me to my seat, and I listen to the singing of my thoughts and emotions. The allegory breaks down when I am swept up by the inner song. But unlike Odysseus and his crew, I can swim back to my ship and try again, over and over. This continual return is the practice. There is no purpose other than to experience whatever happens.

There is nothing wrong with using other kinds of meditation for other ends. Guided meditation steers you through some scenario to achieve some purpose. Augmented meditation uses special sounds, such as binaural beats, to help you achieve some particular state of consciousness. But these other types of meditation are not a replacement for mindfulness meditation. Since mindfulness meditation is all about remaining present with whatever comes up, it develops and strengthens the ability to remain present in everyday life, when you’re not meditating.

Much has been written about meditation. Heck, I’ve even written about it—Meditation 101, Meditation and Compassion, Whole Lotta Nothing, and Greeting My Experience. In general, simpler is better. I like the way Peter Russell teaches meditation; he emphasizes simplicity and ease. Peter's writing and videos would be a good way for anyone to learn meditation.

The Practice of Compassionate Presence

This post begins a series about spiritual practice. I’ve been meditating for nearly 50 years. I’ve attended several different types of retreats and programs and have incorporated bits and pieces from many of them into my practice. I’m also a husband, father, retired IT professional, and former editor. I can speak about practice from the context of everyday life, not from the point of view of some kind of enlightened master. I don’t claim that anything I say will be new or unique, but my perspective may be different from that of a spiritual teacher.

For me, spiritual practice has two aspects: the cultivation of presence or mindfulness, and the nurturing of compassion or open-heartedness. Compassionate presence, open-hearted mindfulness—this is the essence of spiritual practice. Both aspects support each other. Presence gives clarity and awareness. Without mindfulness, I’m at the mercy of my reactive patterns and mindless habits. But presence without compassion is brutality. Without compassion, I stand naked before my inner judge, with no hope of mercy.

Open-heartedness allows me to accept the pieces of myself that I have rejected, those parts of me that embarrass or disgust me and that I project outward onto others. The good news is that these bits of me also contain lost gifts. They are the doorway to my native wisdom. Without compassion, I risk falling into tyrannical cynicism. But compassion without mindfulness is ungrounded and potentially delusional.

Meditation is essential to the cultivation of mindfulness. Meditation nurtures the ability to be present with whatever arises without being overwhelmed. Shadow work is the wellspring of compassion. The shadow is the part of myself that I cannot recognize or accept. By working to become aware of and befriend my shadow, I develop compassion for myself and others.

Open-hearted mindfulness, compassionate presence--this is the focus of my practice. I'm a work in progress, not a finished product. I don't live each moment in complete mindfulness and total open-heartedness. But that's the direction I'm headed, I hope.

Greeting My Experience

Why do people give up on meditation? "I can't make my thoughts go away." "It's boring." "Nothing happens." "I get fidgety." These are all variations on the same theme: "When I meditate, I don't have the kind of experience I think I should have." All these reasons not to meditate miss the point of meditation. I don't meditate to have a certain kind of experience; I meditate to be more fully present with whatever experience happens while I meditate.

When I meditate, I try to have an open curiosity about whatever comes up. I don't foster an analytical curiosity, a type of curiosity that tries to identify and understand. Instead, I try to develop more of an artistic appreciation of whatever is happening, a curiosity about what this experience actually is. I don't try to resist or push away anything that arises. Instead, I try to greet everything, to welcome anything that comes up. This doesn't mean I try to like everything I experience while I sit. It's a little like wandering through a museum, or listening to a concert, or watching a movie. I may not like everything I'm seeing or hearing or feeling, but I try to appreciate everything as it is.

So, for example, if I'm having thoughts, I just recognize that I'm thinking, and I let it go. I may have the thought, "I'm thinking--I shouldn't be thinking!" Okay, I realize I had that thought, and I let it go. If I feel I've failed because I'm having thoughts, I say to myself, fine, I'm feeling failure--and then I let it go. The same applies to boredom--okay, I'm bored. No big deal, let it go, on to the next moment. If my entire meditation consists of me releasing thoughts or recognizing I'm bored, then that's what that meditation experience was. The point is to accept the truth of each moment, as it is, without resistance.

Over time, this ability to appreciate each moment begins to affect daily life. As I become less likely to react dramatically, I become better able to pause and consider what has happened, and then, I hope, to act more wisely. I become less caught up in regrets about the past and worries about the future; I become more involved with what is happening here and now.

This is the essence of meditative practice. It's not another means of controlling what is happening, it's not one more expectation to meet, it's not one more challenge that leads to either success or failure. It is simply allowing yourself to greet the present moment, whatever it is. Everything else that you might want to get from a meditation practice flows from this.

Whole Lotta Nothing

What do you need to meditate? Not much! All you really need is a little time. You can meditate almost anywhere, anytime your attention isn't being demanded. As long as you are conscious, you can meditate.

While you can meditate anywhere, it's best to have a dedicated quiet spot where you aren't going to be disturbed, especially if you're new to meditation. You should have a comfortable place to sit in a position that doesn't foster drowsiness. You can use a cushion, or a chair--you don't have to contort yourself into a pretzel. (If you want to practice walking meditation, you don't even need a place to sit!) Reclining or lying down can invite sleepiness, but if you have some kind of bodily limitation that makes it difficult to sit for long periods, then lying down is a good option.

You probably will want a timer. During meditation, your sense of time can be tricky, so especially when you're beginning a practice, it's good to time your meditation. But you can meditate without a timer--just meditate for as long as feels right. While you can spend a goodly amount on a dedicated meditation timer, it's certainly not necessary. A timer doesn't need to be anything fancy--free timer apps are available on smart phones, or you could use a kitchen timer. You can also use a clock or watch, and peek at the time when you think your meditation period is over.

Some people like to have a meditation altar. If you meditate within a religious or spiritual tradition, an altar might be a nice idea. An altar can reinforce the sense that the place you meditate is dedicated to your practice. But you don't have to have an altar to meditate. Likewise, objects like crystals, statues, pictures, incense, flags and banners might help make your meditation space feel like a special place devoted to practice. But you don't have to have any of those things to meditate, either.

You can pay an instructor and take meditation lessons. Investing a little of your money in your practice might be a good thing--it tells your subconscious that you're serious. It might make it more likely you'll maintain a practice over a long period of time. But it's not necessary. A teacher might grant you some kind of mantra (a phrase to repeat) or some kind of spiritual empowerment. Regardless of whether such things actually have any power, the sense of specialness might energize you. And being part of a student community, a community of practitioners, can only help your practice. But you can meditate without a teacher, without a special mantra, and even without a supportive community.

So if you're curious about meditation, if you have any interest at all, there is nothing stopping you from giving it a try. The only obstacles to meditation lie inside.

Meditation and Compassion

A meditation practice can be brutal. Meditation is all about being present with whatever arises. And since I've never been a saint, a perfected being right from birth, some of what arises during meditation is not pleasant. Unhappy memories, feelings of embarrassment and shame, anxieties about the future, anger, frustration--all these boil up at one time or another, along with the more mundane distractions, the shopping lists, the todo lists.

But it's not just while I'm on the cushion. Meditation has given me a small space between provocative stimuli and my habitual reactions, a gap that gives me a chance to catch myself before I react destructively. But that space also can be a harsh spotlight that shines on the uglier sides of my personality, the parts of me that want to lash out in self-righteous anger or that want to numb out with mindless entertainment or a drink or two.

Meditation provides me with a mirror, both while meditating and while going about daily life. I don't know very many people who look in a mirror and like everything they see. By itself, a meditation practice can become a harsh, tyrannical court of self-condemnation. That's why practices to develop compassion are a necessary complement to meditation practice.

In my experience, compassion means shadow work. All the parts of me that I don't own, that I project outward onto others--that's shadow. Shadow contains all those unpleasant bits of self that cause embarrassment, shame, guilt, everything I don't like. Shadow also contains treasures, hidden talents, secret passions. There are many ways to work with shadow--Jungian depth psychology, dreamwork, shamanic practice, and many types of Buddhist practice, for a few. All center around reintroducing the self to the parts that have been pushed aside.

Shadow work is self-expanding, heart-opening, empathy-developing. It's the essence of compassion. It allows me to sit with myself as I am, to embrace whatever arises, on the cushion or off. Open-hearted mindfulness, compassionate presence--this is the center of my practice. And "practice" is definitely the right word; I haven't mastered this yet, and may not ever. But sometimes, in the gap between stimulus and reaction, when I can stand there and be compassionately present, wisdom can miraculously appear. And that's when the wonderful, mysterious, healing magic happens, the magic of responding with wisdom, rather than reacting mindlessly.

That's what it's all about.

Meditation 101

I'm offering my services as a meditation mentor, so I thought I'd begin posting a few pieces about meditation. So for this inaugural meditation article, I'd like to begin with what I feel is the most essential item you need to begin a meditation practice--commitment.

You have many reasons to begin meditating. You might be seeking relief from pain, or a lower risk of heart disease, or mitigation of the effects of stress. Medical research has shown that meditation can have many benefits for your health and well-being. Or, you might be trying to improve your golf game--many top athletes and coaches practice meditation. Or you might want to achieve enlightenment, or develop the special powers mentioned in the Yoga Sutras. But your initial motivation can change or even disappear with time. Your medical condition might resolve, you may lose interest in golf, you might lose interest in your spiritual or esoteric path.

Difficult circumstances can challenge a meditation practice. It's easy to meditate when there's plenty of money, no danger of losing your apartment or home, no chance you'll miss a meal. When you have plenty of leisure time, it's not hard to spend a few minutes each day meditating. But circumstances change, you may lose your job, or you may get a new more demanding job, or you may start a family. Time may become more precious.

But there is one thing that will guide your meditation practice through the perils of shifting motivation or challenging times, and that is commitment. Commitment to a meditation practice--internal commitment, not commitment to someone else or some group--this is what will keep your practice alive.

How can a person have commitment? By realizing that a meditation practice is worthwhile in and of itself. This only happens via meditation--more meditation can develop more commitment. It cannot be put into words easily. It's an inner knowing that builds up slowly as you experience meditation over time.

An enduring, resilient meditation practice stems from meditation practice. Whatever gets you on the cushion or the chair seat at first, whatever put the idea of developing a meditation practice in your head--that will take you only so far, like the push a parent gives a child when they start learning how to ride a bike. You have to start pedaling yourself. That's when commitment will grow and your meditation practice will really start rolling.