Grief and Letting Go

Grief is a tough one for me.

Or is it?

Having lost my parents when I was pretty young, I am prone to moments - on the treadmill, in bed in the morning or late evening, petting the cats, watching a movie - of missing them.

Or am I?

It's spring. My mother died on January 24. My father on March 15. My mom's birthday would be April 10, and my father's March 25. The spring is annually pockmarked with their absences.

For a long time I identified with my grief. Every time I was sad, it was about my parents. A therapist I had in my late twenties, concerned about my repeated, cyclical depression and anxiety, had me map my emotional responses. Sure enough, at the same time each month, I missed my parents. Missed them because they were dead, missed them because they were often absent even when alive. Missed the idea of having parents. Got angry at them for what they did. Wished they'd done otherwise. Regretted disliking my mother so much when she was alive. Rinse. Repeat.

The therapist said:
While I believe you were traumatized as a child and young adult, I think this cycle is chemical.
I was diagnosed with PMDD - pre menstrual dysphoric disorder. It fit the bill perfectly - a very severe emotional response to the normal hormonal fluctuations of PMS.

Ok. Good. I evened out more. Because I understood the chemical component of my sadness/anxiety, I could also see that perhaps I was holding on to something - my parents'/the idea of my parents/my sadness. I got that a bit. I became more able to let it go, meaning: it was already gone, and I could see it was gone. Came, went. Came again, went again.

However, only recently have I noticed that the acute pain of loss, of hurt and grief, 
returns as well.
Yes, it goes. Yes, it comes again.

On one of numerous road trips for a dharma program that I have recently been on, a sangha friend replied that, when I told her that my parents and grandparents were gone by the time I was 22,
You were all alone.
I balked, though I've been known to say things like this, honestly.
I said, No, I still had, still have, my two older brothers.
But you didn't have any - don't have any - aunts or uncles or anything?
That's true.

I felt the acute sadness behind this story - this story I have told so many times, felt sad about so many times. Yes, I am all alone, I have felt so often. Yes, I was abandoned. And yet, what I was feeling then, it feels like now, were the words. I was feeling the stor(ies)y, not the feelings.

Now, now I am feeling the feelings more. Thanks to meds, meditation and more and more practice recently than in a couple of years, I am sensitized, close to the surface, and aware. Aware when the feelings come, and aware enough to really feel them. Then, to really watch them go.

This is what I talked about in a more abstract way in my recent post on elephant journal.
This is what letting go is - letting them go. Permitting, nay, noticing, accepting that what is gone is already gone.

Each time I acknowledge my feelings and let them go away, see that they are already gone, I am actually letting go of my parents. This is something I haven't been doing in the past. Maybe it was extended denial, or shock. It seemed like acceptance, but as I get closer to some feeling of real acceptance, I can see how far off it was.

There's no problem with that. I am not angry at myself, or shocked, hurt that this is 
"still going on."
No, instead I am grateful, most of the time, that I can keep learning to let go, the only way how:
Now.
Now.
And now again. Experiential. Real. Non-conceptual. In the moment. 

That's the only way to let go.

Grounding in Humility

Fading light, Black Earth WI

Recently, a friend visited who is very well versed in Classic Latin and Greek. During one of our many amazing conversations, he mentioned that the word humility, which comes from the Latin humilitas, comes from the same source as ground, humus. Upon further research, the Wikipedia article even goes so far as to associate it with egolessness. Grounding in egolessness. Sounds paradoxical, doesn't it?

Only it isn't.

There's nothing like a good (seeming) paradox to get me to pay attention. Because one of my favorite teachers once told me to go toward paradox, since it indicates some concepts coming head-to-head inside our own mind instead of an opposition in the world, I draw them near and sit them down for breakfast. Humility, I have to say, I mostly associate with humiliation - and not to the more basal associated adjective "humble."

What happens if I think of humility as associated with humble instead of humiliation?
It feels very grounded indeed.

Egolessness is grounded because it is grounded in what is - the fact of everything co-existing without needing self-reference. That is what ego is, by the way, self-reference. The "self that doesn't exist" is that self-referential self, which is quite the opposite of humble. And, in fact, usually when I "get humiliated" it is a big pop to my ego bubble. I don't get humiliated if I am being humble - grounded - present - egoless. Humiliation is a return to the ground, if we let go of the shame and embarrassment that can arise out of it.

A reminder, sometimes a fierce or unwelcome one, to come back to what actually is happening. As jarring as that can be, it is the actual ground of what is. A good place to be, return to, exist.

You Are Not Alone

Mingyur Rinpoche on the Two Basic Kinds of Suffering
(only five minutes, but very powerful simple explanation, especially of self-suffering)

Underneath, most of us think we suck.
Most of us think we are an exception.
Meditation won't help us.
Yoga won't help us.
Medication won't help us.
Because we are beyond repair.
Beyond help.

Lately, I have come to realize how much of a drain this part of me is.
This part that takes tremendous energy to sustain - a lot of the energy I think I don't have to do things to help pull me out of the cycle. It's reiterative, a closed loop.
It's Samsara. 90% of our suffering is what Mingyur Rinpoche, in the video above, calls self-suffering.

Uphill Both Ways (Missive from Eagle Rock #2)

It's true. Last year at about this time I was in Vermont a secular Buddhist seminary retreat. Now I am in LA on a city retreat, and both times, I stayed just over a mile from where the retreat was located. This time, it's sunny and 70, that time it was snowy and 30 (or below). Both times, my walk to and from - which I chose to walk the first part of my stays in both places - was uphill both ways. Really.

14 Questions about Buddhism

Awhile back, a student at Edgewood College here in Madison asked me if she could interview me for a paper she's doing on Buddhism. Actually, the paper is on the role of silence in spiritual practice, I found out when she came to interview me. We talked about John Cage and chanting and all kinds of stuff. She took notes and recorded our interview, but it turned out the tape didn't come out right, so she asked me recently to "re-answer" some of the questions.

Here's those answers. Some fun stuff to consider. Also interesting to remember how I answered them then, off the cuff, not knowing what was next, versus now, the second time - partly because I have had more time to consider them, and also because I have changed, even in a few short weeks...

1. How did you initially become interested in Buddhism?
1. I read a lot about Buddhism in High School. A boy I had a crush on was really into it. But it was all intellectual discussion - no meditation and no real heart connection.

Later, in college, I got back into creative writing (I had gotten a scholarship to college for my writing in High School, but dropped it after my mom died) and after college, hooked up with a local community of writers. One of them brought me to a class with a woman who taught what I teach now - writing with a Buddhist bent. From there I joined the meditation center downstairs from her office and the rest is history.

2. How does it shape your life?
2. The other day I had a really gross interaction with a woman I am acquaintanted with who has a pretty cranky manner. During the interaction, I watched as my emotions went from offended to sad to angry, but I kept an even keel with her, though called her out on some of what she was saying. Once we were done, I realized that the way she was acting isn't "her" - it was just the way she was acting. I also realized I had a choice - I could continue to wreck "vengeance" by acting like a jerk to everyone all day, or I could accept what happened, and use it as a positive lesson - to think twice before snapping at someone and act with compassion.

It affects everything, but this is a particularly poignant example. Sitting allows me to actually see what is happening and act with wisdom and patience.

3. What is it like to live in Madison as a Buddhist?
3. There are a LOT of Buddhist groups here and all are pretty active. At a dinner party recently, I was "the only Buddhist" and so was a bit of a novelty, but everyone understood the basic tenets of Buddhism and respected them. So it's not Buddhist "paradise" but also a pretty privileged place.

4. What are the challenges, if any, to practicing Buddhism?
4. The challenges are all interior, really. This morning I want to practice Yoga, for instance, and I keep putting it off. Why? Yoga really connects me with my body and spirit, is an extension of my Buddhism, and yet, I put it off. I make excuses, choose to do other things. I "forget the instructions" - the most basic ones - to do it, just show up and do it. Once I show up it is far easier than the battle to show up.

5. Does it affect the friendships and relationships in your life? If so, how?
5. Well, see 2 and 3, but in addition to that, it is true that certain friendships have been strengthened because I have had the good luck to have, for instance, my two closest female friends, both friends "before Buddhism" also be Buddhists. And there have been folks who's behavior - drinking constantly, doing a lot of drugs, not being very mindful in their lives, etc, I let fall away because we could no longer relate. It's not that I am better than them by any means, but that we have different goals.

Also, because of my sangha (community), I interact with people I wouldn't normally interact with - different ages, interests, beliefs - and I think that is very healthy. It's good to not just hang out with people "like us" as much as possible.

6. Have you experienced or witnessed the practice of Buddhism in other parts of the world or United States? If so, is how you and others in Madison practice different from other places?
6. I am a part of Shambhala, which is a modern re-configuration of two ancient schools of Tibetan Buddhism - Kagyu and Nyigma. Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, the founder of Shambhala, was a Lama in both of these traditions. I haven't spent much time with other groups - when I got to this one, I knew I was "home" because there is so much emphasis on the arts and on everyday life here, something a lot of other groups don't focus on as much, from what I understand.

So I travel a lot to teach, actually, in Shambhala Centers across the USA and a bit in Europe, and the centers I visit are a lot alike - similar aesthetics, practices, etc. I haven't necessarily seen other communities on my travels.

7. Do you follow a specific school of Buddhism? If so, explain the difference between yours and others.
7. Besides what I said in 6, Shambhala has very similar basic core beliefs, like all of Buddhism, but the feeling of it, the aesthetics, the focuses, and the intentions are different. For instance, we share a shrine space with a Korean Zen group and they all wear black robes to sit, sit facing the wall, chant in Korean. We wear regular clothes, face out into the room with our eyes open, and chant in English.

8. What is your perspective of classifying Buddhism as a religion?
8. It's hard not to. "Back in the East" (I hate to say it that way, but it's pretty much true) Buddhism has been used, still is used, as a religion. But our main Western understanding of religion is that it is "theistic" (meaning: belief in a deity) and no Buddhism is that way to the same extent that the major Abrahamic religions are - like Islam, Christianity and Judaism. In this way it is more akin to other philosophies - Taoism, Confucianism.

I have read a great passage about how Buddhism fits the container, like water, it is put it. So some places that flask is a religious shape, some times more secular, like here in the US.

9. Being raised as an atheist, is it hard to classify yourself as a Buddhist, because it is portrayed as a religion in society and to outsiders?
9. At first I was really shy about it, but now I don't mind. We can't control what others think of us, and I'd rather be a "Buddhist" than any other label, regardless of any inaccurate associations. It was hard for me to have faith in anything, thinking that would be a weak thing to do, but Buddhism encourages healthy doubt, and eventually, I realized it's not as much faith as it is understanding from personal experience.

I do have to say that being Buddhist has given me a ton more respect for people's relationships with religion, and I like that. I used to be pretty intolerant.

10. I've been reading articles about the effects of meditation on psychological disorders such as anxiety, depression, OCD and addition. What do you think are the benefits of meditation? Do you agree with these findings?
10. Absolutely beneficial. I have a Buddhist friend who tells me that being a Buddhist is like "having a therapist who totally understands me in my head 24/7, free of charge." That having been said, that same friend has sometimes insisted when I am depressed or having a panic attack (I am prone to both) that if I "just sat" i'd feel better.

For me, though not true for everyone, I also rely on meds, therapy and exercise to keep me going. As a "team", meditation keeps this act all very strong. None of these "solutions" work on their own for me. I guess I believe it's really personal - has to do with trauma, chemistry, and a lot of things we don't understand. I am generally pretty wary of any "one solution" kind of answer - life is too complicated for that, though it may work for some folks, like my friend.

11. What do you think about programs in jails that teach meditation?
11. I think they are superb. They have wonderful results again and again. What a great way to use that time, away from society, as a retreat? I know it can be tortuous, and I think meditation seems to really help. I have had friends teach it in prison and it has really changed my friends, too. I think that gratitude and curiosity, two of the biggest things that you develop connects to in meditation, are big salves for a lot of the world's social ills.

12. Do you meditate in silence or using mantras or music?
12. Silence.

13. What do you feel is the importance of silence in meditation?
13. Spaciousness. We cram our lives full of sounds - radio, tv, conversations. Just like being in a quiet, calm place visually, it is good to reduce stimuli and allow us to have an experience of auditory space, too.

I have never really used mantras. Not in our tradition. But I have done long periods of chanting, and while it is not the same result as meditation, I think I understand the purpose - to alter the mind in another way, open up to a different kind of space. But me, personally? I am very partial to silence.

I actually listen to less music and talk radio than I used to. I can sit around for hours in silence, reading or writing or doing "nothing". It's calmed me down a lot.

14. Do you feel you have reached enlightenment? If not, why not? If so, how can you tell?
14. This is such a great question. I mean, all your questions are great, but this one is so "controversial" in the Buddhist world. Why? Who knows why. Enlightenment is supposed to take a lot of work, but in relative terms, the Buddha found it really quickly. Some teachers, like the rogue named Adyashanti, say you find it all the time and shouldn't deny it, that Buddhists are in this weird state of self-deprication/deprivation and are denying themselves the benefits of what they already have. I think there is some truth in what he says, and yet?

I experience flashes of major insight. It's not like a solution to a math problem - I don't suddenly know all the world's answers - but more like total clarity, awareness. From that space I can answer with complete compassion - my problems, someone else's. But they aren't that common. They were something I experienced before practicing but they were random - now they are pretty regular, but still more like on and off lights than a constant experience. My guess is that if I were "like that all the time" I would "be enlightened".

It's funny, too, because although we "talk about enlightenment" Buddhism is very anti-goal orientation. You can shoot yourself in the foot if you put the cart before the horse. The path is the way, you are already enlightened, is what the teachings say. That's what I wonder about with someone like Adya. But we all have our own paths to hoe.

When It Rains...

I managed to pull a weird muscle in my eye last night crying.
Behind my eye, of course. Eyeballs don't have muscles.

I remember in High School when my theater group took a trip to NYC for the first time, and Luke, one of the actors, got a burst blood vessel during the flight due to sudden changes in pressure. He said it didn't hurt, but it looked like hell. Blood floating all over his eye, but inside the cornea. Trippy.

Dylan couldn't see anything burst or pulled or off in my forehead or eye last night, but maybe that's just because I was crying. I woke this morning and the pain was gone. When we talked about it this morning I joked that maybe I cried so hard because it finally rained last night - for the first time in almost a month. Nada, nothing; cloudy days but no rain, for 21 days. It was such a relief last night, walking back with the in laws from dinner, to feel a cool breeze, some dampness on my skin, the smell of fall made that much huskier by the wet air. I guess my eyes needed some rain, too.

There's nothing like having a strong set of feelings come out with direct no trigger to bring meditation, writing or any kind of mindfulness practice to play. Thich Naht Hahn has said something to this effect (what Buddhist teacher hasn't?) - but he said it so well. That we can learn and learn all we want, but it isn't until the crap hits the fan that we actually really begin to practice. A friend of mine who runs a used bookstore in Appleton and was the first to publish my poetry, would always tell me, as a teenager, "It's good you're in pain; write from that." I never understood it then, but now, thinking so much lately about how deep feelings really help - strange to say but true - jerk us into the moment, to be here NOW, if we let them - us make direct contact with our lives. This doesn't mean I seek being in pain, but when it happens, it can actually be a gift. Even if a funny one.

We joked about this lightly yesterday, after the Harvest of Peace address at the Shambhala Center, as I was having 10 different "Madame Director" conversations at once while also putting away lots of gear - zafus and folding tables and digital projector, oh my! - and someone accidentally squished my finger between two heavy tables. I went from being overwhelmed and multitasking to being in very sharp pounding pain within two seconds. I yelped and she moved it, and I began to laugh. "I bet you're really here now," someone said, and I laughed more, "I even saw it coming, and didn't stop it!" and we all began to guffaw as if someone had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Maybe the only reason why feelings seem so overwhelming is that once we have opened that gate, let one or two in, a whole mess can come in at once. It's like meditation, when we leave so much space so that our mind can reign free and let go for a bit. The bits of mind usually hiding under the surface come in to play, too. Suddenly it seems as if we are "thinking" more when in fact we are thinking the same amount, just noticing it more. Maybe feelings are the same. Piggybacking, interdependent feelings accompanying the distinct sadness of a severe crying jag, or anger of a screaming match. The clown car of emotions - fit them all in at once. Who knows when the next opening will come.

So today I am letting whatever is left drift out. I have my suspicions of the things that "set me off," and read a chunk of Courage to Heal last night to help work gently through those. The chapter on feelings reminded me that I don't get to control them, that they come when I least expect them and often all mixed up. The best I can do is give them space.