It's Like This Now

The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character.
So watch the thought and its ways with care, and let it spring from love
Born out of concern for all beings.  - The Buddha

On Sunday I returned from a 9-day silent meditation retreat at Insight Meditation Society. I intentionally didn't listen to the news on my drive home, wanting to preserve as much as possible the continuity of awareness and mindful power I'd worked so hard to cultivate. I sensed that something socially or politically significant had occurred while I was off the grid -- these days that's a pretty safe bet --but whatever it was, it could wait until I got home.

When I heard the story of what happened in Charlottesville, my first reaction was to open my heart and send wishes of loving-kindness to all involved. I felt sad and deeply disturbed, and once again wondered what it must be like to view everyone who is different from you with suspicion and hatred, to be so threatened by difference that you feel the need to dominate and destroy. Thus I included the fascists and neo-Nazis in my on-the-spot metta practice, because I had just heard my dharma teacher say multiple times a day, "everything belongs" and "be willing to include."

I wish I could say the story ends there, but it doesn't. That attitude lasted about half an hour, until I heard Trump's remarks about how some "very fine" people had been among the "alt-right" group, and that there was blame on all sides. I heard this person -- whose number one job requirement is to represent and protect all citizens -- defend hatemongers who seek to destroy our democracy, and I watched a slow-burning fury begin to grow in my belly. The anger that arose within me at that point has grown exponentially over the past few days, coming on me in waves that require me to sit right down and feel, breathe, let go. Can I get inside the head of a neo-Nazi? No, thankfully, but I sure know what rage feels like, I know the urge to smash something, to want to see someone punished, and punished cruelly. And when I look intimately at that rage, what I find is fear. Sticky, searing, life-choking fear.

That's why they're called terrorists. They act from fear and incite fear and misery in others.

So Trump won't call them terrorists, but I will, and so will anyone who can tell the difference between love and tyranny.

Still, what are we supposed to do at times like this? How do we speak the truth and hold haters and their apologists accountable, without adding to the violence and terror? How do we work with the rage within and without?

My Buddhist teachers would say, "turn toward it," "allow it to be however it is," even "say yes to it." Wha!?! Say yes to neo-Nazis? Say yes to hate? That just doesn't sound correct, not at first anyway. But what that really means is to accept whatever is, however it is, in the present moment. Then take appropriate action. If something is unacceptable, if harm is being done and you can stop it, by all means please do. But do it skillfully, consciously, humbly. I may not be a terrorist, but I've got the capacity for a whole lot of manic bitterness and violence, and if I don't know this about myself it will manifest somehow. If I can't move in close to my fear and let myself feel it without judgment, it will become the driving force that determines my conduct and my speech. I have learned this through experience.

A recurring meditation instruction from Mark Nunberg is, "Something is being known. It's like this now. Can that be okay?" The "okayness" is not about the object being known, but about the way I'm relating to it. Can I be okay with how afraid I am, how angry I am, how much grief I feel? Yes. I can say yes to these true facts, moment by moment. And the interesting thing I have observed is that turning toward these energies as they arise within me often diminishes them. The powerful urge to kick Christopher Cantwell in the balls or to see Trump humiliated and thrown out of office is not a solid thing; it is an energy that changes, impermanent like everything else. It's unpleasant, and not very peaceful or loving, but I see it. I'm beginning to know its ways, make some space around it so it can't take hold, can't push me around anymore. In this way I create choices, can take effective action, or no action if that is what is called for.

It looks like the violence in Charlottesville is just the beginning; at least, that's what the fascists are promising. So we absolutely must be ready to stand up to this hate, act in love and faithfulness, be willing to make sacrifices, and find a way to unite so that we can make a world where "everything (and everyone) belongs."

It's like this now. Are you willing to include?

The Second Arrow

Because of the particle-like nature of consciousness, we can enter the space between instinct and action, between impulse and reaction. To do so we must learn to tolerate our pain and fear. This is not easy. . . .  We must learn the difference between reaction and response. . . .  When someone cuts us off in traffic, we can angrily retaliate by racing up to them shouting, trying to get back at them, or we can breathe and let it go. When we are criticized, when we are betrayed, we don’t have to reinforce the pain of the situation by adding to the pain by our reaction. -- Jack Kornfield, Responding With Love and Courage

Jack goes on to describe this personal reactivity as "the second arrow," a classic Buddhist description of what we do when in conflict or some other negative situation. Something painful happens, and it's like being shot with an arrow. Then we habitually, unconsciously pierce ourselves with another arrow, causing extra, unnecessary suffering.

"Unnecessary" is the key word here; we do not have to reinforce the pain. Alexander lessons, meditation practice, Qigong and other forms of mindful movement, all offer the opportunity to unhook from this automatic reaction, over and over again. At first, and always, it's necessary to see this happening. Like most habits, we become so used to judging ourselves and others that it feels normal, even unavoidable. You can't change what you don't know about, so waking up to the habit comes first.

When we look, we see that we do this quite consistently, so it's useful to recognize how reactivity operates, dominating our lived experience. As Jack points out, this requires the willingness to tolerate challenging emotions: pain, fear, disgust, loneliness, powerlessness, [insert your favorite unpleasant emotion here]. Our aversion to be with these feelings comes in many forms, but it needn't be acted upon. We can pause and attend to the space between the stimulus and response, the urge to react and the reaction itself.

The freedom to make new and better choices in response to whatever arises is a hallmark of the Alexander Technique. Those who study it soon discover that what seems like a little pause is actually quite spacious, that a momentary stop provides enough power to see, sense, and switch off harmful habits of thinking and moving. In meditation, as steady attention is cultivated, it becomes very easy to see how we add extra pain to painful situations (by pushing away or running away), or ruin pleasant experiences (by grasping and greed).

So what is the cumulative effect of practicing the pause, of finding the gap and waiting there? Sylvia Boorstein describes it this way: 

If I want to free myself from endless cycles of struggling..., I need to keep rediscovering that the pain of the struggle is greater than the pain of the desire. If I develop the habit of restraining myself, I'll enjoy the relief of feeling the desires pass, and I'll remember that desires are not the problem. Feeling pushed around by them is. I'll continue to have desires, of course, because I'm alive, but they'll be more modest in their demands. 

I don't know about you, but I often feel weary of being pushed around by my own reactivity; it wears me down. I have experienced the liberation that comes from turning toward my pain and pausing there, the freedom to notice that I'm wounding myself with the second arrow, and stop.