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.

Befriending My Demon

Some time after my parents passed away, my family gathered at my parents' home, our childhood home, to divvy up their belongings. When we were finished with the more obvious items, we combed the house for anything else one of us might want. Searching a drawer in the basement, I came across the little guy in the picture. We were all surprised; no one remembered seeing him while we were growing up. Later, a little online searching would reveal that this bronze figure is a devil or satyr fireplace damper pull--it would dangle over the fire on a chain from the damper and glow red as it heated. But at the moment we saw him, no one had any idea what he was.

When I was little, the basement was a spooky place, especially in the dark--I couldn't run up the stairs fast enough. Sometimes I'd have nightmares about little demonic beings coming up from the basement. As I grew, my dream demons were replaced by an invisible, disembodied but menacing evil presence. When I married and started a family, I no longer felt personally endangered by the demonic presence, but I'd have nightmares in which it threatened my wife and children.

I had my first lucid dream when I was about 14, and from then on, I had spontaneous lucid dreams once or twice a month. I enjoyed becoming aware in my dreams. Lucid dreams were always vivid, feeling almost more real than waking life, and sometimes, I had amazing experiences. When I was in my 50s, one night I dreamed I was in an brightly lit white attic. Suddenly, I felt the invisible evil presence gather at the opposite end of the room. This time, the presence triggered lucidity. Realizing this was a dream and nothing bad could happen to me, I decided to accept whatever would happen.

As I stood there, the presence coalesced into the form of a teenage boy, someone I'd known, a pariah, not one of the cool kids. I remained present with my sense of dread, and I consciously relaxed. He walked across the room, stood in front of me, and reached out and hugged me. As he dissolved into me, the sense of evil dissipated, and I felt almost overwhelming compassion and acceptance.

As time passed, I could tell that the dream had changed my relationship with the demonic presence. I still would dream of it occasionally, but now, it felt lonely, eager to be accepted, as if it were a puppy. I wasn't afraid of it anymore, but instead, I felt affection for it. I sensed that it had been trying to protect me, probably from very intense subconscious material. In another dream, I went down to the basement again and felt the presence. But the dark, frightening basement of my boyhood had changed into a walk-out basement, with windows and a door to the outside, filled with light. The wall opposite the exterior was lined with filing cabinet drawers. I opened one, and I knew that all the material in every cabinet was now available to me.

So, years later, when I opened the drawer in my parents' basement and came across the damper devil, I felt an immediate sense of recognition. I asked if anyone else wanted him, and when no one spoke up, he was mine. Back home, I cleaned him up a bit and placed him on the bottom shelf of my meditation altar. I feel a deep, compassionate connection with him. He's a tangible reminder of the path we're all on, the journey to recover the parts of ourselves that we've lost.

Remarks on an Unremarkable Brain

I had an MRI last week, to diagnose a partial hearing loss, nothing horrible, especially at this stage of my life. My ENT gave me a copy of the report, and I'm drawn to this sentence: "The enhanced and unenhanced MR appearance of the brain is unremarkable."

I know that were Mom still alive, she would disagree. Mom was all about the brain, and she was sure that each of her sons had a remarkable cerebrum. She raised us to be smart. I don't know how many timed math and spelling tests she gave me after school, right in the door, before homework or play time or anything else. Mom even wrote and self-published a book about how to raise scholars, Hey, Grandma, a source of much embarrassment. I was a National Merit Scholarship semifinalist--I always tested well. But a scholar, no.

Mom would be chagrined to learn that the family ear trouble has touched me. Mom's side of the family had a history of ear problems, some of which have trickled down to my sibs and me. Mom had Meniere's disease, and besides nearly total hearing loss, she suffered from balance problems and vertigo. Tough Nordic farm girl that she was, she insisted on her independence, pulling her arm away from an offered hand and weaving her way over uneven sidewalks like a drunken sailor.

While I am relieved that the MRI report tells me that "Ventricles are appropriate size" and "The orbits, sella, and vascular structures appear within normal limits," I still come back to "appearance of the brain is unremarkable." Mom would take umbrage. Sorry, Mom.

Time to Get Ready

Evidence is mounting for future catastrophic effects of climate change and resource depletion. We need to get ready for the coming changes.

To limit the change in global average temperature to 2° C, the world must rapidly reduce and eliminate fossil fuel consumption. In fact, we have waited so long to make meaningful cuts to fossil fuel use that now, the cuts we need must happen so quickly that the effect will be similar to a collapse. But the phase-out of fossil fuels by itself will not achieve the goals of the Paris Accord. We also would need to quickly develop, test and deploy some new technology to remove and sequester carbon from the atmosphere.

Neither major US political party has demonstrated the will to either cut fossil fuel use or to develop and deploy carbon-removing technology. It seems inevitable that global average temperature will shoot past 2° C. Some climate scientists have predicted a change of between 7° and 10° C, changes big enough to endanger the survival of the human race. One "optimistic" scientist has said that change will be limited to 4° C, because civilization will collapse, limiting further greenhouse gas emissions.

Climate change is only one part of the larger, more general problem of overshoot. In 1972, the Limits to Growth predicted collapse due not only to environmental problems, but also the finite availability of resources. The study was largely dismissed, but a recent look at how the predictions from the Limits to Growth have fared has shown that the world is still on track for global collapse. In fact, according to the study, we are in the early stages of collapse.

So it's time--probably past time--that we begin to ready for collapse. There are three broad issues that we should address.

First, we need to prepare to deal with refugees. Millions of people will be fleeing increasing heat in the south and flooding along the coasts. In fact, we already have absorbed Katrina refugees from Louisiana. This problem will accelerate. We need to have a plan in place.

Second, we need to plan for less and less help from outside our area. Federal, regional and even state resources will be stretched to the breaking point. We should assume that we'll be left to our own devices to cope with local problems. Already, the Federal government has proven inadequate to deal with major disasters. We should inventory our strengths, what we have locally that will help us or be available for barter with nearby communities, and we need to account for our weaknesses, needs that will be difficult to meet. Then we should plan ways to mitigate weaknesses and build on strengths. For example, we're fortunate to have a university with a pharmacy college that can synthesize drugs, at least on a small scale--that's a strength. We lack local sources of energy--that's a weakness.

Finally, we need to make plans for an orderly out-migration of the local population, should it come to that. The area may eventually be unable to support its population. We need to identify areas that could accept refugees and develop relationships and assets along potential migration routes.

Unpleasant as the topic is, we need to start talking about collapse now, the sooner, the better.

Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome and Me

Not long ago, I got a phone call from someone who read one of my blog entries.  He's a young man suffering from chronic pelvic pain syndrome, or CPPS.  Listening to his story, his frustration and grief, took me back to the point in my own life five years ago when I started experiencing CPPS symptoms, to when I received my diagnosis and was told there's no effective cure or treatment.  The isolation, the anger and shame and depression and hopelessness--it all came back to me.  I truly did experience helplessness at that time.

I muddled through the pain and the emotions, and somehow, I felt my way into a set of practices that slowly but steadily gave my life back to me.  Feeling very fortunate, I put up a couple of web pages about my experience, in hopes that it might help someone else.  So I'm very grateful to this young man, and to the handful of people who've emailed me about CPPS.  I very much appreciate your feedback.  As a result, I've revised, updated and expanded my CPPS web site--it's here.  Thank you, all of you, for your helpful comments and questions.

CPPS is isolating.  At the worst point, my CPPS kept me from traveling more than a half an hour by car.  I had trouble sitting through movies.  I didn't feel like going out.  The isolation fed into the sadness and hopelessness.  So, when I hear from anyone who has CPPS, I respond as quickly as I can.

If you're suffering from CPPS, please take a look at my CPPS web site.  I hope you find something there that helps.  At any rate, it's free, and it's the best information I have available to me at the moment, based on what works for me.  And if you have a question or just want to communicate with someone who's been there, please write me.  You should be able to find my email address on my blog.

What is the Alexander Technique?

In India, sadhus (ascetic students of yoga) sometimes practice austerities, committing themselves to difficult, long-term observances.  One example is hand raising.  A devoted sadhu may decide to raise his hand and never lower it.  We in the West look at a practice like hand raising and wonder how a person could do that.  We would never choose to deliberately contort our bodies for years at a time.

But in fact, like the hand-raising sadhus, we do practice bodily austerities.  The difference between us and the sadhus is that they consciously choose to practice mindfully.  But we develop our bodily contortions unconsciously, mindlessly, seldom realizing what we are doing to ourselves.

As young children, we are taught to sit still for long periods of time, often in chairs or desks that don't quite fit our growing bodies.  We learn to focus our minds and ignore bodily sensations.  At home, we learn how to slump on the sofa and watch TV or play video games, remaining out of touch with our bodies as we lose ourselves in the sounds and images.  We learn how to deal with tension and unwanted emotions by holding them in our bodies.  We graduate and take jobs that demand continual repetition of bodily movements, maybe on an assembly line, maybe at a desk.  If we have a career devoted to abstract mental tasks, we sit for hours at a time in poorly designed office furniture, working with our minds and ignoring our bodies. 

In our 20s and into our 30s, our youthful bodies can adapt remarkably well.  Somewhere in our late 30s, however, our bodies most likely begin to try to get our attention--a little twinge here, a small ache there.  By the time we're in our 40s, after a couple decades practicing the Western equivalent of hand-raising, our bodies raise the volume of their protests.  The aches and pains are more intense and last longer.  We might have a sleepless night once in awhile or miss a day of work now and then.  Pain relievers and sleep aids begin appearing in our medicine cabinets.  A chiropracter or massage therapist might find a place in our address books.

And then one day, our bodies finally demand our undivided and complete attention.  The pain reaches a level of intensity that cannot be appeased, and it does not go away.  We discover that the medical community has no good answer for our suffering.  We wonder how this happened, and we begin searching for a way out.

If you are as lucky as I am, you may find an Alexander Technique instructor.  The Alexander Technique has been a very important part of my way out of chronic pain.  An instructor can see unnatural patterns of muscular tension and knows how to help the student perceive them, too.  She gradually, patiently guides the student to release muscles that have been held dysfunctionally for years.  Instead of trying to teach an idea of correct or good posture, which really is just another form of bodily holding and rigidity, she instills the idea of ease of use, of the body as a dynamic, ever-moving system.

Much about the Technique seems counterintuitive or just plain wrong at first.  The Technique is a form of undoing, of unlearning, of breaking habits, of changing the way the body is felt and perceived.  When the instructor first helps the body release into an easier state, it often feels odd, or even wrong.  Many times, my instructor has had to show me in the mirror that, no, despite the sensation that I'm leaning to the left, that I'm tipping forward, that my legs are bent, in reality, I am standing more nearly upright than I have in a long time.

The Technique can be an emotional as well as a physical exploration.  The body can hold anger, fear, embarrassment, shame, guilt.  Releasing the body can be like opening a shaken bottle of emotional soda.  The emotions can bubble up, memories can gush into consciousness.  The enhanced bodily awareness I've received from the Technique also is an enhanced emotional awareness.  When I feel my left abdomen tensing, I know I'm becoming upset.  When I feel my lower back become rigid, I'm aware that I'm feeling embarrassed.

The Technique is an ongoing education.  The lessons continue out in daily life.  I learn something new about my body and emotions nearly every day.  The Alexander work has given me a sense of curiosity about my body and its relationship to my mind and the world around me.  I'm feeling a pain in my jaw?  That's interesting!  I wonder what would happen if I invite my shoulder to relax?  I'm feeling tension in my hip.  Fascinating!  Could it be related to this deadline I'm working under?  What would happen if I took a short break and breathed deeply for a few seconds?

After a couple of years of working with my Alexander instructor, I am free of the chronic pain that led me to her.  But I continue the work.  As each layer of tension, each pattern of holding, peels away, I find a new layer underneath.  Lifting away the pain reveals new possibilities of a visceral joy and ease.  I can't wait to see what I'll find tomorrow.