James M. Walsh Pastoral Counseling

For the past two months I have been thinking about, talking about, asking about, wondering about, “anything you can imagine about” spirituality.  I’ve been slicing it, dicing it, taking it apart, putting it back together, and like the proverbial jello one tries to nail to the wall, I just can’t make anything stick!

Don’t get me wrong.  I can give you a very erudite essay that details the data on spirituality, might even inspire you or cause you to shout “Eureka!”  I’ve written clever narratives, filled with impressive logic and insights.  But to quote a beloved elder and font of wisdom, it was all a bunch of “hooey!”

OK, here’s what I make of mindfulness and spirituality.  To be mindful means you’re right here, right now, and not judging “it,” whatever “it” is.  You are awake, aware, alert but relaxed.  You’ve fallen awake, and you now experience life with clarity because you know your own “stuff,” your conditioned responses and automatic thoughts and crazy relationship habits and patterns.  And you can notice this stuff when it happens and laugh about it (to paraphrase Rumi), meeting it at the door and letting it in because it may be preparing you for some new delight.

But is that spirituality?  I have come to this conclusion: I don’t know.  I just don’t really know what spirituality is.  I just know that when I’m awake, aware, not judging, life is so simple.  I get up in the morning, have a cup of tea, read, talk to my wife, look out the window, wonder where all those birds are flying to.  I walk, breathe, do some work.  Phone calls come; I answer them as well as I can.  Sadness emerges; it guides me, tells me what is important, and then it passes.  Joys arise; they too guide me, help me to see what is important, and then joy, too, passes.  Suffering is not permanent says Thich Nhat Hahn, so work to relieve it.  Happiness is not permanent either; work to nourish it.

To be spiritual is to see the universe with clarity, to know what is an artifice of your mind and what is a clear perception.  When one’s body is safe, feeling relaxed, and one’s mind can notice emerging events without bias or prejudgment, then one responds with skill, and the response inevitably has at least a tablespoon of compassion in it.

That’s it.  See life with clarity.  Be a person of compassion.  You can try to force fit your conditioned mind and body into reacting sanely and humanely, but it’s much less taxing to simply sit, breathe, notice, learn to not judge, and then find that your body/mind begins responding to life’s emerging events with loving clarity.  Spirituality is your way of being in the world, if you live mindfully.  You can cultivate mindfulness in the service of something other than insight and compassion (e.g. for some kind of achievement or special task), but if you have a good teacher who guides you to simply notice and not judge over and over again, you’ll end up finding the font of compassion within and you’ll be transformed into your face before you were born, the face that looked at the world with new eyes, beholding everything, rejecting nothing.  And ready to smile.

Peace,

Jim

What is a “spiritual” practice anyway?

I recently had a great conversation with my friend Larry about what it means to be a Pastoral Counselor, a professional identity that Larry and I share.  At the crux of the issue is the word “spiritual,” and what we mean when we say that word.  Our conversations, both in person and via email exchange were quite lively, one might even say spirited!  (pun fully intended).  Given that most of us include meditation within the rubric of spirituality, I thought I would opine on a few ideas about the word “spiritual” in hopes of stimulating further thought and reflection for anyone interested in the topic.

Looking at the definition of the word spiritual in the online Merriam-Webster dictionary, I’m not sure that the creators of this dictionary have any better idea on this than I do.  They start off safe, simply saying “of, or relating to, consisting of, or affecting the spirit.”  Well that doesn’t really settle matters, does it?  Then they go on to say “of or relating to sacred matters,” leaving us to wonder what is meant by “sacred.”  Their next two definitions lapse into religious ideation, with “ecclesiastical rather than lay or temporal” and “concerned with religious values.”  OK, I get it, being spiritual is related to being religious, but I still don’t really know what “spiritual” means based on all this.

Their final two definitions didn’t help either.  “Related or joined in spirit” still leaves one to define “spirit.”  How much different is that from defining “spiritual”?  And, finally, “of or relating to supernatural beings or phenomena.”  Well, now I’m really lost.  I see my life as a spiritual journey, but I haven’t met any supernatural beings on the road quite yet.  And, frankly, I’m with the old Buddhist expression that says “if you meet the Buddha on the road kill him.”  I guess I’m just not into looking outside of my own being for evidence of the spiritual.

So I turned to Google in hopes of finding something, anything, that might help me here.  So I searched on the terms “spirit hovered” and “ruah.”  I chose the term “spirit hovered” because it’s the first reference in the Hebrew scripture to “spirit,” found in the beginning of Genesis in reference to the first creation story.  And I chose “ruah” knowing that this anglicized spelling of the Hebrew word usually translates as spirit.  And wouldn’t you know it, the first “hit” on Google was to the Vatican website!  Well, maybe the Catholics know something about this, so I took a look.

At the Vatican website I found an essay titled “The Jewish ‘Roots’ of the Holy Spirit.”  Keeping in mind that Christianity has interpreted and reinterpreted Jewish scriptures for two millennia, sometimes for good and sometimes for ill, I proceeded cautiously.  As I read the text, it was clear that the Catholic point of view (and the Christian point of view in general) is that the Jewish scriptures are understood in light of the Christian revelations which come later.  But the article was clearly respectful, and actually helped me to see exactly how we might understand the word spiritual a little better by listing seven aspects of the word spirit.

First, the word spirit, in the context of the Jewish scriptures, is the translation of the Hebrew word ruah, which is properly translated as breath, air, and/or wind.  Second, spirit is seen as the source of ordering power; that is, that which transforms chaos into cosmos, disorder into order.  Third, spirit transforms dust into life, common clay becomes a human being with the infusion of spirit.  Fourth, spirit guides, brings counsel and power, along with wisdom and insight.  Fifth, spirit heals by allowing one to become a new creation, overcoming sin and restoring relations.  Sixth, spirit is universal, all humans (all creatures?) are filled and possessed by the spirit.  And seventh, the outpouring of the spirit leads to a feast, a celebration.  This celebration recognizes the gift of the spirit to all humans.

In the days and weeks to come I’d like to meditate a bit on these seven qualities of the spirit and hope to share some ideas about mindfulness and the spirit.  I like the idea that my meditation and commitment to mindful living are connected to these seven qualities.  More later, but for now notice your breath, come to know yourself in your sitting, and bring this transformational gift to all who you encounter in this ordinary time.

Peace,

Jim

Meditation can be a very pleasant experience.  We focus our attention, breathe with a regular rhythm, allow our bodies to “stand down” from the events of an often stressful day, and experience the body’s relaxation response.  The alert and relaxed body/mind feels great.  So what’s wrong with that?

Nothing!  We need the relief, and knowing that relief from stress is a breath away is a tremendous form of resilience.  Sometimes my day’s demands become overwhelming, and I can feel the fatigue encroaching like fog on San Francisco bay.  My neck gets sore and stiffened up, my stomach growls and I get a bit cranky.  It can be quite unpleasant!  But awareness of this depleted state arises and I take a mindful breath and feel relief.  My body lets go of “vigilance mode” and I begin to respond to my world instead of react to it.

Sometimes the pleasantness of the relaxation response can become seductive.  Considering how difficult life can get, that’s understandable.  Sitting in stillness, feeling very pleasant, your breath, your thoughts, your perceptions flowing along, not clinging, continuously noticing; it can be better than any narcotic.  But this is when you have to exercise caution and wisdom, because now it is so easy to make your meditations about getting something, getting that “good” feeling and getting rid of those “bad” feelings, and that can really throw you off.

That’s not what our mindfulness work is about.  Put simply, mindfulness is about staying present with whatever body/mind state we happen to have in this moment.  It may sound paradoxical, but simply having the intention to stay present with whatever IS in this moment, whether pleasant or unpleasant by our estimation, allows our body/mind to find its own equilibrium.  Right effort is often no effort, simply mindful awareness and attention.

Listen, I know that life is rough and each of us can get overwhelmed even on a good day.  And if you’re carrying the body memories of abuse, the pain of anxiety or depression, the encoded behaviors of addiction, the desire for relief can become enormous, and very difficult to resist.  That’s when your training must come into play.  Go back to the very basics of your practice.  Sit, sit with attention, follow your breath, notice the sounds while you breathe.  Mind will wander; that’s what minds do.  Notice the wandering, accept yourself as you are, breathe.  Notice the breathing.  Notice the sounds in the background, then mind wanders again.  Notice the wandering, come back to the breath………

And so it goes.  Our practice doesn’t come to an end point.  There is no end point.  There is only now.

Peace,

Jim

I am supervising Masters level students this semester who are doing their initial clinical counseling internships at community mental health centers.  This is a very stressful experience for these student-interns as most of them have never worked with people suffering from emotional, cognitive, and behavioral disorders.  The people who we work with have suffered terribly from any number of injuries to their bodies, minds, and spirits.  While it is true that there are a number of medications that can be helpful, it is rare that medication alone can resolve psychiatric problems.  And it is also true that there are a number of therapeutic interventions that can be helpful, but it is also rare that a particular form of therapy alone can resolve psychiatric problems.

The outcomes literature in our field provides insight into how we can help those we are called to serve.  The strength of the therapeutic relationship, often called the therapeutic alliance, is critical.  It turns out that most studies endorse that the most important predictor of good outcome in the treatment provided to people with psychiatric disorders is the extent to which our clients report that they felt connected to the therapist.  That connection with the therapist is best understood as an empathic, non-judgmental, authentic alliance.  This alliance is one in which the therapist seeks to deeply understand the inner experiences of the client (empathy), accepts the client as a person unconditionally (non-judgmental), and is personally transparent in ways that allow the client to know the therapist without the encumbrance of knowing the facts and situations of the therapist’s day to day life (authentic).  For those reading this essay who are in the mental health field you recognize the three core conditions of person centered counseling as articulated by Carl Rogers.  It turns out that Rogers was right; these core conditions are necessary for treatment to be successful.

Late in his life Rogers added a fourth condition, which he referred to as “presence.”  In one of his final articles, published in the Journal of Counseling and Development in May of 1985, he discussed this characteristic at length.  Here is an excerpt:

When I am at my best as a group facilitator or a therapist, I discover another characteristic.  I find that when I am closest to my inner, intuitive self, when I am somehow in touch with the unknown in me, when perhaps I am in a slightly altered state of consciousness in the relationship, then whatever I do seems to be full of healing.  Then simply my presence (italics in original) is releasing and helpful.  There is nothing I can do to force this experience, but when I can relax and be close to the transcendental core of me, then I may behave in strange and impulsive ways in the relationship, ways which I cannot justify rationally, which have nothing to do with my thought processes.  But these strange behaviors turn out to be right (italics in original), in some odd way.  At those moments it seems that my inner spirit has reached out and touched the inner spirit of the other.  Our relationship transcends itself, and has become a part of something larger.  Profound growth and healing and energy are present.

Rogers’ original three core conditions provide a roadmap for the experience of mindfulness meditation.  When we meditate, we are called to be authentic.  Our work is with the actual inner experiences that come into our awareness.  It is the opposite of denial; we face thoughts, feelings, images, sensations, perceptions etc. exactly as they are.  And in facing our inner experiences authentically we develop a deep empathy for those phenomena.  In a sense, when I meditate I truly “get” my self, I develop deep self awareness.  And my response to this authentic, empathic understanding is to be non-judgmental, even compassionate with my self, unceasingly willing to work and be with my self exactly as I am.  I believe that our mindfulness meditation is a form of person-centered work that we do with our selves, and the irony is that in so doing we transcend the “person” and learn to let go of clinging to the needs and drives of the ever voracious ego.

I believe that Rogers was right about this idea of “presence.”  I have come to experience that when I can sit in meditation authentically, empathically, and non-judgmentally, that a new awareness emerges.  And what is perhaps most precious about his awareness is that it is not in any way an extraordinary experience!  It is actually the most ordinary experience one can imagine, yet we fail to imagine it because we fail to allow ourselves the birthright of being authentic, empathic, and non-judgmental toward ourselves and those around us.

So come, sit, notice your breath.  Distractions arise and minds wander; so be it.  That’s what minds do!  Notice thoughts, feelings, sensations; all the things that run through the mind spontaneously.  Notice these mental phenomena authentically; simply “see” what goes on without any filter.  And then “get it;” come to understand the nature of your own mental phenomena.  And whatever it is, don’t judge it, and whether it’s painful or pleasant allow yourself to feel compassionate for your self.  And as you deepen your person-centered connection with your self, notice something else emerging.  At first slowly, but in time quite palpably.  You are fully present!

Peace,

Jim

PS One additional thought, please.  As we experience presence in our meditation lives, then the people we meet in the ordinary encounters of the ordinary day will begin to experience our presence as well.  And if that encounter is an ordinary counseling session, then the person with whom we sit will feel our presence.  And from this presence can emerge the healing actions, whatever they might be, that are needed at that particular moment.

We live in a world that somehow has forgotten how to say “you’re welcome.”  Try this: listen to or watch an interview on radio or television, or a podcast, and at its end the interviewer will usually say “thank you.”  Notice how often the interviewee says “thank you” in return, rather than “you’re welcome.”  It’s odd, from my perspective, to say the least.  “Thank you” means that you’ve given me something I needed or wanted.  In this example the interviewer has been given something by the interviewee, not the other way around.  I realize that the interviewee may have gotten something in return (a payment, publicity for his/her book…) but isn’t “you’re welcome” more appropriate to say than “thank you”?

When I say “you’re welcome” what I’m telling you is that what I gave, I gave gladly.  That the process of giving was a gift to me also.  “You’re welcome” signifies that there’s no need to return anything, no need to reciprocate.  I’m telling this person that I was happy to do the service or give the goods, and did so willingly, freely, without expectation of return.  In other words, “you’re welcome” is a way of saying “this is about relationship, not transaction.  I give because I want to give, and I want to give to YOU.”

One cannot say “you’re welcome” sincerely without giving freely.  One’s giving must reflect unconditional caring about the person who is receiving.  Any other circumstance, any other motivation, means that “you’re welcome” isn’t appropriate.  Yes, we say “you’re welcome” at the end of most transactions, but the “you’re welcome” isn’t saying that the transaction itself was unwarranted, but rather that I entered into the transaction with only one intention: a fair exchange done as well as I could.

When you’re in a relationship, of whatever kind, in which you are expected to perform any action that is a service to another person, do it in the spirit of “you’re welcome.”  Even if you are going to be compensated for the action, still, do it with the intention to give and give completely.  You’ll be pleasantly surprised at how pleasant the action becomes, however unpleasant you might have perceived it previously!  And the receiver of your action will experience your act as one of caring, will feel that caring, and will experience that most precious of human feelings, gratitude.  By performing your acts with the intention of “you’re welcome” you are creating wellsprings of gratitude in the world, wellsprings that evolve into the spirit of “you’re welcome” in the actions of another.  Try it; you’ll like it!!

Peace,

Jim

A friend and colleague recently used this quote from Albert Einstein in an address to students about to graduate with a Masters degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling:

“A human being is a part of the whole called by us the ‘Universe,’ a part limited in time and space.  He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separate from the rest – a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.  This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to affection for a few persons nearest to us.  Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.  Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but the striving for such achievement is in itself part of the liberation and a foundation for inner security.”

Einstein is said to have responded with these words to a distraught father whose young son had recently died.  His words directed the father to turn his attention outward; to recognize that ALL persons are his closest and dearest relations, not just his son.  It is a delusion, he states, to see yourself as separate from humanity.  I am quite certain that this father experienced Einstein’s letter as a challenge, for the grief of a child’s death, one’s own child, overwhelms the soul.  Einstein’s directive to experience all living creatures and the whole of nature as equally deserving of our affection seems reasonable to do in good times, but so difficult when facing such a horror.

Such grief is not everyday grief, at least not for most of us.  All struggle with ordinary sadness, and some struggle with the torpor of acedia, the “noonday demon” depicted by ancient monks as the most troublesome of all evil thoughts.  When in the mental state of acedia one experiences a state of not caring, a sense of disconnectedness from the world, an apathy about one’s own needs and the needs of others.  Not quite depression, acedia saps spiritual joy from one’s demeanor, and leaves one in a downward spiral toward despair.  In his Summa Theologica Aquinas defined acedia as “sorrow of the world…sorrow about spiritual good” that leads to a person’s flight from the Divine good.  Acedia is in direct contrast to the spiritual joy of charity, of unconditional loving of our fellow man.

Ancient contemplatives knew this noonday demon well.  The Desert Fathers lived in seclusion, often as solitary hermits, where the temptation to become restless, bored, unable to either work or pray, can become beguiling.  Called to solitude in order to experience the living God, these ancient monks recognized that their prayer and meditation were in service of deepening their compassion for all human beings.  They were not called to isolation; they were called to experience the universality of our communion.  The greatest of these monks provided succor for the world, and left behind works of wisdom that demonstrate their profound connection to the Divine and to the world.  But at its worst this life in the desert could easily provoke spiritual lassitude, the state of acedia that all contemplative masters warn of.

Many people in our modern society experience isolation.  Though surrounded by means of communication that boggle one’s imagination, intimate human exchange is often cast aside in favor of the instantaneous rather than the emerging, the literal rather than the metaphorical, the cognitive rather than the affective, and the informative rather than the formative.  I believe that we accept this isolation mindlessly, seeking the pleasures of stimulation offered in our online age rather than waiting and watching for the satisfaction that comes from true and deep intimacy.  We are a restless people; we want more pleasure.  Should we be shocked, therefore, at our glut of gluttony, our addiction to distraction, and our need for a quick fix to our inner knowing that something just isn’t right with us?

Einstein was right; we’re delusional.  We believe we are separate from one another, and our information age reinforces this delusion with the illusions of connectedness it offers.  So we suffer, and call it depression but perhaps it’s something else, perhaps it is actually acedia. This acedia is, in some ways, deeper than depression.  It lingers, leading us to seek one stimulation after another, maybe in material goods, or in superficial relations, at times in the allure of casual sexuality, at other times in the pleasures of stimulating drugs and alcohol and the bright lights of the gambling hall, maybe to become fixated on the computer screen staring at images of light that divert our attention away from actual experiencing.  We run to the psychiatrist for a pill, and maybe it relieves for a time.  We seek out a therapist and hope for an answer, some wisdom that will make sense of it all.  Self help books, gurus, meditation halls, far flung retreats that promise answers; we forget to look within to our simple need for human connectedness, then to look outside of ourselves and offer compassion to a suffering world.  Einstein was right.  Our salvation lies with the realization that the circle of compassion must be as wide as the universe.  That we must strive to embrace all living creatures and nature in its beauty.  And that we will fail, and it will hurt at times, but the striving itself is the liberation, and that with this striving comes the foundation for inner security.

If you believe you are depressed, and find that your depression leaves you listless, not caring for your own well being, cut off from humanity, take heart in Einstein’s words.  Know that there is an answer for the delusion of separateness, for the spiritual isolation of acedia.  Reach within to find the compassion that you have, however much or little, and then reach out and allow whatever compassion you are capable of feeling to be experienced by the people around you who suffer.  In this you will find your relief.  And it will be a relief that takes enormous effort, and may be more painful than you can imagine at first as it forces you to shake off all of your illusions about disconnectedness and you see how superficial you have become.  But by finding deep connection, by coming to know that you are a part of the whole, not separate from the whole, all of your pain will make sense to you, and all of your suffering will begin to diminish.  Seek compassion, and finding all, find the ALL.

Peace,

Jim

In his spiritual classic “Thoughts in Solitude,” Thomas Merton wrote:

“When I speak, it is a demand that others remain silent so I alone may be heard. When I am silent, I hear my true self and reach my soul. When I am silent, I hear with a caring heart. Silence teaches us to know reality by respecting it where words have defiled it. If our life is poured out in useless words, we will never hear anything because we have said everything before we had anything to say.”

Our sitting in aloneness is our preferential option for solitude. One way to understand solitude is that it is the joyful aspect of being alone. In solitude, I can hear my own voice, represented verbally, in my thoughts and words, but also non-verbally, in the feelings, inclinations, sensations, and inspirations that arise in the spontaneous ground of awareness. In solitude I have not sought escape from the world, but rather retreat, a chance to fall back in order to take stock of my self and my situation, allowing time to heal, if necessary, and respond to the direction of my inner self. In solitude I silence my voice and allow my body to enter into stillness. In solitude I become receptive, curious, ready. In solitude my intention is to return to the world refreshed and renewed, more capable of compassion, with eyes and ears that see with greater clarity.

In contrast is the preferential option for isolation. One way to understand isolation is that it is the painful aspect of being alone. There is pain that arises over and over again in this world, pain that becomes suffering in our rejection of the reality of life. In pain I might seek escape, developing an illusion that in escape the essential pain of living will dissipate, and all will be pleasure. In isolation it is my voice that must be heard above all others, so that my needs will be met, so that my will be done. In isolation my words are useless because they fail to take account of the suffering of others. In isolation my intention is to descend deeper into a way of being based on denial and defensiveness.

To live in solitude is to share in the spiritual journey of others who seek clarity of mind and peace of heart. Living in solitude one accepts life on life’s terms, seeking better insight into the way of things while focusing on relieving the suffering of others. The paradox of living in solitude is that it achieves its highest fruition only when lived in community, side by side with like minded people. When I sit in meditation in my personal space it is with the intention to have an open and caring heart. When I leave the meditation cushion I reenter the world of people and things filled with compassion, better able to see joy and suffering emerging moment to moment. When I sit in meditation in the midst of my spiritual community I share in the collected wisdom and compassion of the group, strengthened by the personal and interpersonal bonds that have formed over the years of sitting together. Sitting in community, breaking open our hearts and minds to one another, sharing a meal and laughter, we become united and sustained.

If you are in isolation find a spiritual community. Find the people who are a part of your natural “spiritual tribe.” Sit alone, and sit with them. Break open your heart; be vulnerable. Silence your voice, bring stillness to your mind and body. Allow wisdom to enter; let compassion emerge.

Peace,

Jim

Once again, the answer can be found in the NY Times!  Here’s a link to a great article to read that was published there on Thursday, March 13, 2014.

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/13/business/retirementspecial/the-science-of-older-and-wiser.html?action=click&module=Search&region=searchResults%230&version=&url=http%3A%2F%2Fquery.nytimes.com%2Fsearch%2Fsitesearch%2F%23%2Fscience%2520of%2520older%2520and%2520wiser%2F&_r=0

I love the title: “The Science of Older and Wiser.”  As I grow older (59 and counting) I’m hoping that I’m at least getting a little wiser.  As I read this article I was struck by the number of attributes of wisdom that connect deeply with the spirit and attitude of mindfulness.  Here are a few examples:

1. “One must take time to gain insights and perspectives from one’s cognitive knowledge to be wise (the reflective dimension of being wise).  Then one can use those insights to understand and help others (the compassionate dimension of being wise).”

2. “Wise people are able to accept reality as it is, with equanimity.”

3. “(Wisdom is) an expert knowledge system concerning the fundamental pragmatics of life…(There is) general wisdom, the kind that involves understanding life from an observer’s point of view (for example as an advice giver), and personal wisdom, which involves deep insight into one’s own life.”

4. “If you are wise…you’re not only regulating your emotional state, you’re also attending to another person’s emotional state…You’re not focusing so much on what you need and deserve, but on what you can contribute.”

5. “One aspect of wisdom is having a very wide horizon which doesn’t center on ourselves or even on our own group or organization.”

As I reread these quotes they seem to capture the essence of our mindfulness practice.  We sit with our minds calm and focused, accepting everything, curious, not judging, alert yet relaxed.  When these conditions become present, then we are fully present to the moment-to-moment emergence of the mental objects that stream through our minds.  There are moments of great stillness in our sitting, moments when we see with clarity and are able to let go of the illusions we’ve created about ourselves and the world.  From this clarity comes an instinctive compassionate response to our own suffering and the suffering of others (#1, above).  But this compassionate response is only possible if we allow ourselves to accept reality as it is, with equanimity (#2, above).  These insights are not only about our own experience in the world, but also the nature of the world and the people in it (#3, above).  As a result of this clarity, our bodily sensations and perceptions and emotions are no longer “the driver,” but rather simply indications concerning where we can best direct our attention, suggesting the next most skillful response to the unfolding events (#4, above).  In our mindfulness work, the ultimate lesson for each of us is that this existence is not about me; ego-centric living becomes completely non-sensical (#5, above).

Why do we sit?  Why do we work our minds in this way day by day by day?  Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) program teaches that mindfulness helps to relieve the body’s stress response, with many beneficial clinical consequences.  I’m in favor of that, of course, but is it enough to sit in order to be less stressed out?  Maybe it is, but there’s a tiny voice in my mind saying “take more, take more.”  Stress reduction may be the roots and stems of mindfulness practice, but the cultivation of wisdom and compassion must surely be the flowering of this eternal plant.  The MBSR program clearly invites its participants to go further, an invitation that reappears in each moment of sitting, as our minds become clear, and insights arise, and compassion emerges.  Perhaps you, too, might here that tiny voice exhorting you to take more as you sit in the stillness of this day and the next.

Peace,

Jim

I had the pleasure of sharing lunch yesterday with a good friend who told me about her two year old daughter’s occasional “need” for chocolate at midnight.  Don’t worry; she made it clear that the little rascal does not actually get any chocolate at midnight, but who hasn’t had an absolutely insane need, like eating chocolate at midnight, at one time or another?  I believe we had plenty of those insane needs as two year olds, and I hope that we all had a parent as wise as my friend to make sure we didn’t get what we thought we needed.

I have to confess that I have the occasional insane need too.  Just the other day, after what seemed like the hundredth snowfall of this winter season, I actually looked at real estate listings in Florida!  Now, that might not seem like a terribly insane need but asking my wife to pack her bags and move to Florida would cause an awful lot of insanity in my life (“too many bugs and things that crawl in Florida” she says).  On top of that I have an active clinical practice, I teach in a Masters degree clinical education program that means the world to me, and I’m involved in a professional organization that is dedicated to improving the lives of Delawareans affected by mental illness.  And just a mile from my home is the edge of hundreds of acres of pristine forest known as the White Clay Creek State Park, where there are scores of trails for running and biking and contemplating.  In other words, I have a great life here in Delaware.  But in that moment, with a combination of snow, sleet, and freezing rain cascading across the windshield of my car, my feet frozen and my fingers a bit numb, moving to Florida seemed like an awfully good idea.

Did my friend’s little girl “need” chocolate at midnight?  Of course not, but in her two year old mind, in that moment, perhaps with an hungry belly, it sure seemed like it to her.  Did I “need” to move to Florida last week in the middle of that snowstorm?  Of course not, but in  my mind, in that moment, with a body hungry for warmth and comfort, it sure seemed like it to me.  Adults and children alike, we all have our moments of intense need.  The men and women of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) have an acronym that can help us all to understand this phenomenon: HALT (“Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired”).  Our friends in AA have it right; when the human drive system, the part of our brain/body that “wants” is aroused, that “wanting” sure feels like a “needing” and it’s hard to resist.  Our brain/body creates a sensation that feels like an imperative.  It is as if the person is being dictated to, commanded to act in response to the brain/body’s arousal.  And when we acquiesce, when we feed the arousal of wanting we feel pleasure and relief.  If repeated often enough, the sequence of wanting, needing, feeding becomes conditioned, then habituated, and then a mindless routine leading to more pain, and more clinging.

I think that we all cling to some sort of chocolate at midnight.  It comes in many forms; for the person in a hurry, it’s the way people drive on the highway.  For the teenager with a secret crush, it’s the attention of that someone special.  For the person struggling to succeed, it might be a fantasy of wealth and excess.  The most difficult pieces of chocolate, at least for me, are those that involve losing something.  A beloved parent dies, and I argue to myself that it’s not fair, that he died before his time.  A therapy client relapses into his alcohol addiction, and I see myself as a failure, and that can’t be tolerated because I must always succeed, at least in my mind.  A dear friend’s situation changes and she has to move far away, and I want her to stay because it’s so good to have her near.  All of these things I want, all of these things I need in order to be happy.  But it’s not these things that are making me unhappy, it’s that I cling to them as if they were the conditions of happiness, and they’re not.

So instead I choose acceptance, I choose to ride a road that includes dying fathers, relapsing clients, and friends who move away.  It hurts to not have these pieces of chocolate, but the hurt soon fades, and in letting go I see new ways to honor my father, another pathway to help my client, and a thousand ways I can continue to enjoy my friendship, even at a distance.  It turns out there really wasn’t any chocolate at midnight to cling to, only my mind clinging to ideas of chocolate as if ideas were reality.  And breathing in I notice these ideas, breathing out I feel solid and stable, knowing I live and breathe as these thoughts and feelings and sensations pulse in and around me.  And that these thoughts and feelings and sensations come and go, wax and wane, are ephemeral.  There is nothing really there to cling to, just an illusion that I created by myself and can uncreate as soon as I practice acceptance.

What is your chocolate at midnight?  What ideas and feelings and sensations do you cling to?  What illusions do you have about the way things “must” be?  Don’t feel bad, we all have them.  A thousand pieces of chocolate may exist in your mind, and they may all be a source of pain for you, but in clinging to them that pain is transformed into suffering.  Let go, allow the clinging to dissolve into acceptance, and feel your suffering dissolve too.  You may still have pain, but pain comes and goes, waxes and wanes.  And in the accepting your mind becomes free to see other paths, other ways of being.

Peace,

Jim

What do you want?  What do you need?  Do you confuse the two?

Yesterday my wife and I spent a few wandering hours in the arboretum at Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, PA  (http://longwoodgardens.org).  When you first enter the arboretum after a very cold and windy walk from the entry building you are literally smashed in the face with warm humid air that smells like spring rain.  In the midst of winter cold and dry and the feeling of a stinging face you feel spectacularly awake and back “in the moment.”  And there before you is this view:

I think visiting an arboretum in winter is a great antidepressant.  I felt like I was absorbing energy; it was like the chlorophyll in the plants had mercy on me and shared a bit of their abundance!  There’s a children’s garden there that’s a delight, and a vast collection of orchids.  And among all of the ornamental and somewhat exotic plants, there’s a section with garden plants!  What a delight it was to see tomatoes growing again, and to rub our hands on the various herbs (especially the rosemary) and get that delicious smell into our senses.

But I think the best part of the visit happened after we had been strolling about for two hours and sat down in the main atrium.  Here’s the picture I took from my seat:

I couldn’t help but notice how little the plants needed.  Sunlight, water, soil; the right climate.  That’s all, that’s everything.  The plants are present, asking for nothing but what they need, not really asking of course.  The “asking” is in our imagination, a way to give a bit of our own mindedness to the plants.  The plants grow and become what they are meant to become, and have no desire, no “wanting.”  They are content, again allowing for an injection of a human quality, to simply be, and be themselves as fully as their environment allows.  I think the Catholic monk/poet Thomas Merton captured this quality when he described the ancient carvings of the Buddha and his followers at Polonnaruwa in Ceylon.  Merton wrote about “…the silence of the extraordinary faces.  The great smiles.  Huge and yet subtle.  Filled with every possibility, questioning nothing, knowing everything, rejecting nothing, the peace not of emotional resignation but (the peace) that has seen through every question without trying to discredit anyone or anything.”

These plants, this arboretum, “knows” what it needs, and is perfect as a result.  It is only us, the spectator, who imagines that “it” wants anything else.  Of course “it” is not what the plants want, but rather our own desire to make the world in our own image and likeness, a heresy in any religion.

Do you know what you need?  Do you know what you want?  Do you know the difference?  If you do, then you know peace.  If you know this peace, then you are mindful, filled with every possibility, questioning nothing, rejecting nothing, not trying to discredit anyone or anything.

Peace,

Jim

The quote from Thomas Merton can be found on page 233 of “The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton,” published by New Directions.  Here’s a photo of one of those extraordinary figures that he described: