It's one of the mysteries of my life how it is that I can see things about myself I want to change, see what I could do to help those changes along, and still not be able to act to make those changes happen. This is true with both large and small issues - I know I would feel better if I exercised more and ate better, but I just can't get myself to do it. My frame of mind would be better if my house wasn't such a mess, but I just can't get myself to clean up. I know I would feel better if (fill in the blank) but I just can't seem to do it.
This is true even when I'm sure my life would go better if I made those changes. Who wouldn't want to feel healthier and more energetic? Or have the mental clarity order in my environment would bring? Or go out more in the world when I know socializing invariably lightens my mood?
Obviously, there's conflict inside me and a deep and constant ambivalence. A conscious "Yes, I want to" and an unconscious and very powerful, "No, I can't."
I used to think I had to unpack the whys of that "Don't." It must come from my childhood, the fears and anxieties of my mother which got installed in me, or from a human existential ambivalence which has a certain romantic glamour. If I can trace it back, understand it fully, then it will be lifted from me and I will be changed.
But I no longer think that kind of understanding will get me very far. It's a kind of magical thinking, believing that understanding will render me changed and then I will be free of resistance and the old habits of the "don'ts."
I'm trying a different approach. When conflict and ambivalence come up, I try not to collapse under their sway. I welcome them in, acknowledge they are a very deep part of me. Then I try to see what small action I can take to counteract my old habits of mind and behavior. It's too overwhelming to think about cleaning and straightening up my house, but maybe, just maybe, I can clean out one, just one, storage drawer in the kitchen. I can force myself to say yes to the next social invitation I get, and try not to spend hours thinking about how I can out of it. I can't seem to force myself to write a proposal for some classes I want to teach, but maybe, just maybe, I can jot down some notes, five minutes worth.
I recognize that some days I won't be able to do even that. But I think I have a chance if I stop waiting for the light of understanding to change me, and start acting to change myself. I no longer want to dangle over the morass of conflicts and vague possibilities. Instead, I'm going to stop waiting for revelation to change me. I will come back up to the surface of my life where concrete action is waiting. I can accept all my resistance and fear, sit down with them and have a cup of tea. But I am larger than that, and the larger part of me can act despite them and take as small a step as I can.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
I'm fascinated by the fact that we can have bolt-from-the-blue experiences, those that hit us with the force of revelation. (We say revelation as if the new perspective is the "real" one. but actually we can see the experience neutrally, as the exchange of one view of "reality" for another.) I'm thinking of the kind of experience that makes you clap your forehead in wonder - I was blind but now I see!
How is it that our consciousness can undergo a complete revision, see what was black yesterday as white today? Has something been building up inside, unknown and unfelt, until the tipping point is reached and we go tumbling into the new? So many wheels are turning in our consciousness that are just beyond our awareness, so much lies hidden in potential - and then the thoughts and feelings of those wheels reach the surface and we have a grand revision, or the smaller version which we call an epiphany.
We think our beliefs and thoughts are solid, tied to something eternal and unchanging, but history is full of examples of the kind of internal revolution that brings us to a new reality. Religious history is full of examples of conversions - Paul on the road to Damascus is a prime example - but there are also political awakenings, scientific revelations - and the revelations that come when you fall in love. Maybe you've known someone for a long time and barely noticed him or her. Then one day you catch sight of a certain gesture or facial expression and in an instant you're madly in love. "How could I not have seen her before?" Suddenly, the world looks different, you feel different and full of electric energy. If you were depressed before or thought things were just so-so, now you see with new eyes how beautiful the world is, full of possibility.
I'm fascinated by these experiences because they tell me how ephemeral all our thoughts and feelings are. They are always subject to revision, to change. The idea that there are no systems delivered from on high to cling to, that all of what we think is real, is actually constantly ebbing and flowing, created in our own consciousness - this idea is terrifying to many people. They see themselves floating in the void, without an anchor, alone in a cold and alien universe. But I see an anchor in the very recognition of the ephemeral nature of reality, in the realization that thoughts and beliefs are subject to change, that what I believe is true today isn't static, written in stone, but constantly unfolding, evolving, undergoing transformation. Basho, the great 17th century Japanese poet wrote, "Every day is a journey and the journey itself is home."
All is unfolding and there is always the possibility of change.
How is it that our consciousness can undergo a complete revision, see what was black yesterday as white today? Has something been building up inside, unknown and unfelt, until the tipping point is reached and we go tumbling into the new? So many wheels are turning in our consciousness that are just beyond our awareness, so much lies hidden in potential - and then the thoughts and feelings of those wheels reach the surface and we have a grand revision, or the smaller version which we call an epiphany.
We think our beliefs and thoughts are solid, tied to something eternal and unchanging, but history is full of examples of the kind of internal revolution that brings us to a new reality. Religious history is full of examples of conversions - Paul on the road to Damascus is a prime example - but there are also political awakenings, scientific revelations - and the revelations that come when you fall in love. Maybe you've known someone for a long time and barely noticed him or her. Then one day you catch sight of a certain gesture or facial expression and in an instant you're madly in love. "How could I not have seen her before?" Suddenly, the world looks different, you feel different and full of electric energy. If you were depressed before or thought things were just so-so, now you see with new eyes how beautiful the world is, full of possibility.
I'm fascinated by these experiences because they tell me how ephemeral all our thoughts and feelings are. They are always subject to revision, to change. The idea that there are no systems delivered from on high to cling to, that all of what we think is real, is actually constantly ebbing and flowing, created in our own consciousness - this idea is terrifying to many people. They see themselves floating in the void, without an anchor, alone in a cold and alien universe. But I see an anchor in the very recognition of the ephemeral nature of reality, in the realization that thoughts and beliefs are subject to change, that what I believe is true today isn't static, written in stone, but constantly unfolding, evolving, undergoing transformation. Basho, the great 17th century Japanese poet wrote, "Every day is a journey and the journey itself is home."
All is unfolding and there is always the possibility of change.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
WHAT WOULD IT FEEL LIKE?
One day, in the middle of a deep depression, I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when seemingly out of nowhere I found myself saying the words of the 23rd Psalm. This was strange; I'm not at all religious but I suppose that psalm is in the zeitgeist and I'd absorbed it without my knowing.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.
As I thought about the words, I suddenly heard the voice of the poet, of the man, probably King David, who had written those lines. I heard his longing, his need for comfort. I felt the immediacy of his need across the centuries.
I'd been in a very harsh place but those words made me wonder what it would be like if I was starving and came upon green pastures, or was thirsty and found cool waters. Like an actor in a sense memory excercise, I imagined what it would feel like to be restored to some kind of equilibrium, not by something out there beyond my consciousness but by coming in touch with the part of me that could reach for well-being, the part of me that could come out from under and move into action.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of death,
I will fear no evil for Thou art with me...
And surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
I felt the poet's emotion and I heard the words as metaphor. What would it be like to feel I wasn't alone and helpless, that there was at least the possibility of a refuge inside me, a place that was safe, a place I could count on? I had made a deep connection with that human voice across the centuries, those words of longing and the search for solace, and the intensity of that connection released energy, a spark of hope. It would take a long time for that hope to grow and transform into the certainty that comes from direct experience. But just a glimmer of hope was all that was needed to take the first step out of despair and doubt.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.
As I thought about the words, I suddenly heard the voice of the poet, of the man, probably King David, who had written those lines. I heard his longing, his need for comfort. I felt the immediacy of his need across the centuries.
I'd been in a very harsh place but those words made me wonder what it would be like if I was starving and came upon green pastures, or was thirsty and found cool waters. Like an actor in a sense memory excercise, I imagined what it would feel like to be restored to some kind of equilibrium, not by something out there beyond my consciousness but by coming in touch with the part of me that could reach for well-being, the part of me that could come out from under and move into action.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of death,
I will fear no evil for Thou art with me...
And surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
I felt the poet's emotion and I heard the words as metaphor. What would it be like to feel I wasn't alone and helpless, that there was at least the possibility of a refuge inside me, a place that was safe, a place I could count on? I had made a deep connection with that human voice across the centuries, those words of longing and the search for solace, and the intensity of that connection released energy, a spark of hope. It would take a long time for that hope to grow and transform into the certainty that comes from direct experience. But just a glimmer of hope was all that was needed to take the first step out of despair and doubt.
Monday, December 28, 2015
THE POSSIBILITY OF A NEW PERSPECTIVE
Years ago, my days were pretty much filled with nothing but anxiety. A terrible tension, as if it were 3 o'clock in the morning and I had to figure out everything by dawn or else some unknown phantom would take me out and shoot me. It didn't matter how I tried to calm or distract myself - fear of some undefined future, dread of the abyss I was certain was up ahead kept me in a paralysis of indecision -- how could I choose anything when that choice might be a fatal error, a mistake which would consign me to a lifetime of loneliness and failure?
Then one day I was talking to some friends and someone said, "One day at a time." Such a cliche, I thought, but for some reason the words stuck. \ I heard, really heard them, and with a jolt, my constant inner tension gave way to a new realization. If I actually saw my life as one day at a time, it meant I didn't have to be haunted by the failures and mistakes of the past, and I didn't have to live in dread of whatever was to come. I could focus on the present, a place where one action leads to another and then another. No choice could be fatal or final; it would only lead to a new set of circumstances out of which I would make new choices. Each action was part of a continuum, the slow unfolding of my life. An image of the abyss had been constantly in front of me, I thought it could engulf me and so I feared a fatal error, the possibility of complete destruction. But the sense of a continuum which was now opening out felt like solid ground, a path made up of events and accidents and the unforeseen and the wonderfully unexpected, all of it grist for the mill of my ongoing evolution. There was spaciousness in the unfolding, ample room for steady deep breaths.
On that day, I began to find a new perspective from which to view and understand my experience. The overarching image of the abyss began to give way to the image of the continuum unfolding day by day. I began to understand that the circumstances of my life might not change, but my view of those circumstances could be transformed.
It is this I keep coming back to: out of the miraculous consciousness our brains give rise to, we always have the possibility of a new perspective, a new idea
which can set us free.
Then one day I was talking to some friends and someone said, "One day at a time." Such a cliche, I thought, but for some reason the words stuck. \ I heard, really heard them, and with a jolt, my constant inner tension gave way to a new realization. If I actually saw my life as one day at a time, it meant I didn't have to be haunted by the failures and mistakes of the past, and I didn't have to live in dread of whatever was to come. I could focus on the present, a place where one action leads to another and then another. No choice could be fatal or final; it would only lead to a new set of circumstances out of which I would make new choices. Each action was part of a continuum, the slow unfolding of my life. An image of the abyss had been constantly in front of me, I thought it could engulf me and so I feared a fatal error, the possibility of complete destruction. But the sense of a continuum which was now opening out felt like solid ground, a path made up of events and accidents and the unforeseen and the wonderfully unexpected, all of it grist for the mill of my ongoing evolution. There was spaciousness in the unfolding, ample room for steady deep breaths.
On that day, I began to find a new perspective from which to view and understand my experience. The overarching image of the abyss began to give way to the image of the continuum unfolding day by day. I began to understand that the circumstances of my life might not change, but my view of those circumstances could be transformed.
It is this I keep coming back to: out of the miraculous consciousness our brains give rise to, we always have the possibility of a new perspective, a new idea
which can set us free.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
CLOSED CONTEXT: OPEN CONTEXT
There are "frameworks" and "contexts" which are the opposite of what interests me. Many contexts grow out of rigid ideas - the orthodoxies of organized religion, political ideologies, conspiracy theories. These are closed systems and their main characteristic - and failing - is that they don't allow for new information and ideas. Everything that might be "new" is made to fit a locked world view, interpreted as further evidence of the rightness of the particular set of beliefs. These systems constrict rather than expand, limit rather than increase.
All beliefs - those that constrict and those that expand - are just that, beliefs. For a long time, I believed every negative thought the voices in my head shouted at me, believed that I wasn't good enough and was doomed to frustration and unhappiness. I thought there must be something fundamentally wrong with me, some flaw I couldn't see. And because it's hard to act against that tidal wave of fear and doubt, the facts of my life lived out those thoughts. I was frustrated and unhappy, felt alien and isolated; I censored myself over and over again because, since I was doomed to failure, what was the point of even trying to achieve and connect? These self-loathing, self-lacerating beliefs ruled me and turned me into an emotional anorexic; I was starving for connection and purpose but I couldn't feed myself. I was living in a closed system of negative beliefs and everything that happened was proof of the rightness of those beliefs. How could it be otherwise when I myself was the main witness for the prosecution?
Then something inside me began to shift, and the closed narrow ideology of my self-loathing and fear slowly, very slowly showed enough cracks so that the light of hope, at first a despairing kind of hope, could come in. A flicker of possibility, the merest shadow and I grabbed on to it. I didn't know it then, but I had come a great distance in order to begin, to climb out of the bushes and step on to the path.
Questions worth asking:
If belief, meaning and value are conferred by us through our interpreting consciousness, how do we know what's True with a capital T? Does Truth even exist?
How can we create a new context through which to judge our experience, transform a context that constricts into one that expands?
How do we move toward freedom?
All beliefs - those that constrict and those that expand - are just that, beliefs. For a long time, I believed every negative thought the voices in my head shouted at me, believed that I wasn't good enough and was doomed to frustration and unhappiness. I thought there must be something fundamentally wrong with me, some flaw I couldn't see. And because it's hard to act against that tidal wave of fear and doubt, the facts of my life lived out those thoughts. I was frustrated and unhappy, felt alien and isolated; I censored myself over and over again because, since I was doomed to failure, what was the point of even trying to achieve and connect? These self-loathing, self-lacerating beliefs ruled me and turned me into an emotional anorexic; I was starving for connection and purpose but I couldn't feed myself. I was living in a closed system of negative beliefs and everything that happened was proof of the rightness of those beliefs. How could it be otherwise when I myself was the main witness for the prosecution?
Then something inside me began to shift, and the closed narrow ideology of my self-loathing and fear slowly, very slowly showed enough cracks so that the light of hope, at first a despairing kind of hope, could come in. A flicker of possibility, the merest shadow and I grabbed on to it. I didn't know it then, but I had come a great distance in order to begin, to climb out of the bushes and step on to the path.
Questions worth asking:
If belief, meaning and value are conferred by us through our interpreting consciousness, how do we know what's True with a capital T? Does Truth even exist?
How can we create a new context through which to judge our experience, transform a context that constricts into one that expands?
How do we move toward freedom?
Saturday, December 26, 2015
THE SEARCH FOR DEEPER MEANING
Years ago, I came across a book by a Dutch woman named Etty Hillesum. It was her journal for the year between the Nazis marching into the Netherlands and the time they took her away ultimately to die at Auschwitz. Her entries went from terror, helplessness, the desperate need for someone to save her, to a faith that freed her to act, to be of service to all those around her who were sufferings. She wrote, "No matter when they do to me, there is always room for praying hands." Praying hands isn't a phrase I relate to, but I understood she had had a spiritual awakening. She had faced a situation she was powerless to change but instead of that powerlessness destroying her, she found courage in it, a fearlessness that allowed her to do what she could do. She found a purpose to her suffering - helping others - and that purpose led her to a connection to something greater than herself. No matter what, she knew she would always feel that connection. She would find freedom in the most unfree circumstance.
Hillesum's spiritual awakening provided a framework, a context, for all the horrors she saw around her, for the horrors she knew were still to come. That context was the realm of the spirit and it was beyond everything, arching over everything. always present. Her belief was personal, individual, and it was real; it had real effect on her daily life and thought. It led her to acceptance and peace, which in turn enabled her to act.
Hillesum's spiritual awakening provided a framework, a context, for all the horrors she saw around her, for the horrors she knew were still to come. That context was the realm of the spirit and it was beyond everything, arching over everything. always present. Her belief was personal, individual, and it was real; it had real effect on her daily life and thought. It led her to acceptance and peace, which in turn enabled her to act.
Friday, December 25, 2015
ONLY BEGIN
I take it as a given that it is we humans who confer meaning and value to our experience. We don't discover a meaning and value out beyond our consciousness. Experience comes to us through our senses and we interpret it, we give it meaning, we assess its truth. When Victor Frankl says that no matter what our experience is, we are always free to change our attitude, to create new meaning, he is pointing to the greatest freedom we have, the great gift consciousness confers, which is the ability to interpret, to choose, what our experience means.
We may suffer but out of our consciousness and our spirit we are able to find a larger context for that suffering, a framework to discover the deeper meaning and purpose of our experience. That search for context, for the deeper meaning, is what I intend to write about here. I especially intend to write about the freedom that search confers.
We may suffer but out of our consciousness and our spirit we are able to find a larger context for that suffering, a framework to discover the deeper meaning and purpose of our experience. That search for context, for the deeper meaning, is what I intend to write about here. I especially intend to write about the freedom that search confers.
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