The discussion with Mara, every day

This is just a short post about an exchange a client and I had the other day.  Of course, it is anonymous.  On a bright Spring afternoon, we were engaging in a Compassion Focused Therapy role-play exercise together.

After several weeks of practicing a visualization of the compassionate self, and more weeks of training in mindful, rhythmic breathing, my client was playing the role of their compassionate self.  The process began with a brief meditative imagery exercise, with the client using imagination and mindful awareness to evoke and emotionally connect with the qualities of the compassionate mind; such as non-judgment, authority, loving kindness and courage.  My job was to play the role of their inner critic.  As we engaged in this process, exchanging roles, a dialogue unfolded, where the voice of anxiety, criticism and aggression was met, again and again, with a voice of compassion, warmth, and wisdom.  Whoever of us was playing whichever role, the discussion continued, like the rhythm of waves, with compassion, moment by moment, coming into contact with self-condeming, anxious thoughts and emotions.  Gradually, the flow of compassion, and the presence of the compassionate mind, brought perspective, calm and possibility into the room.

As the exercise concluded I remembered the image of the historical Buddha, sitting beneath the bodhi tree, calmly engaged in a dialogue with Mara.  The demonic, mythic figure of Mara, sometimes referred to as "the evil one" or "the tempter", personified a voice of threat, of fear, aggression and a desire to assert the needs and wants of the self over everything else.  The voice of the Buddha in these stories, emerges in his enlightenment, as the voice of pure, personified compassion and wisdom.  I was very moved by this connection.

Whether we are buddhists or atheists, psychotherapists or lawyers, scientists or priests, members of any religion or none, we all face this exact embodied dialogue again and again.  This discussion emerges within us through the evolution of our species and the evolution of our behavior.

Our inner discussion can mirror and embody this process, this most human process, wherein our threatened minds - frantic, agitated and aggressive - are met by the presence of our secure inner-attachment, our self-compassion and our intuitive wisdom.

As the Taoists might say, just as water pours over rocks to make them smooth as years pass, the cultivation of this immovable compassionate presence within us can soften our edges, and brings us into a healthier relationship with our struggle.

In a very real sense, we all are that selfsame Buddha, sitting in the presence of our aggression, our craving, and our fear.  In our inner work, we are honored by the engagement of this timeless process.

May we help each other to return to compassion, for ourselves, for every living being, and for everything that is.

I'm grateful to my client for our work together.

Peace,

Dennis

Preventing Unhappiness from Arising?

I'd like to share a recent event that helped me to wipe some of the soot from my eyes for a moment, and notice how my mind keeps weaving stories that I all too easily fall in love with.

A few weeks back, I took a few days off to work on some organizational tasks and just relax.

As a part of this time, I attended a meeting of the Hudson Valley Kadampas, a Gelugpa Buddhist organization in Nyack. The meeting took place in an elegant mansion overlooking the Hudson, that is currently owned by the Fellowship of Reconcilliation. It was a peaceful and gracefully beautiful setting for a quiet teaching on a very old Mahayana text, specifically, The Bodhisattva's Way of Life, by Shantideva. The teacher was Achok Rinpoche.

My uncle, Steve Lonegan, was with me. Steve is a highly conservative politician, who has a deep interest in Tibetan Buddhism and human rights. We are very far apart on the political spectrum when it comes to policy, but we share some core values, a curiosity about the nature of mind, and a similar sense of humor.

I was pretty excited to have brought Steve to this training. Looking back on this now, I can feel how much my ego and my pride was involved.

As much as this training was about compassion and wisdom, if I sit in this moment, and breathe into my emotional memory of the evening, I was very motivated to impress Steve with my understanding of Buddhism, and my access to some cool esoteric teachings.

Perhaps even more than this, I had been waiting to talk with Steve more about mindfulness, Compassion Focused Therapy and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy for some time, and our conversations had been building in these areas.  I assumed that when Steve would hear this dharma teaching, he would have an "aha" moment and realize how much ancient wisdom had in common with ACT and CFT.  My mind spun a fantasy that Steve would then be ready to dive in and learn more about how 3rd Wave Behavior Therapies can be helpful to people and organizations.  We would be off and running to create new projects and collaborations.  Thank you, mind, for that.

It is actually embarrassing to write about the kind of grandiose head trip my mind can just wander into.  Yet I know how very human this kind of thinking is.  In my egotistical daydreams about spreading the good word about egolessness, I was again swimming in a typical, self-focused head trip - the kind that pops up, sometimes barely noticeably.  In fact, at the time, none of  this was really in my awareness.

Still, I can look back and notice how my mind was being driven by all sorts of motivations, some compassionate and some about competition.

Several years ago, Steve and I planned a trip to Tibet to explore and learn about Buddhism. I gave in to the objections of my girlfriend at the time, my financial limitations, and my own avoidance, and stayed home. Steve did go to Tibet and studied for a few days at monasteries there.  So, inevitably, some competitive motivation was acting upon me when we went to the training with Achok Rinpoche. I think I wanted to show that even though I hadn't sat beside the butter lamps in the actual monasteries of the Himalayas, the last 13 or so years of dharma and psychotherapy study and practice had meant something.

Some part of me was eagerly craving appreciation and grasping for approval. I'm inclined to judge that part of me, but, really, it just is an inevitable part of being human, after all. We all want to be appreciated, we all want to be impressive, and we all want to feel important, don't we? It is funny to me how such a small and seemingly well-intentioned evening's itinerary, dropping in on a dharma talk, could fire up the ego and the grasping mind so clearly and strongly.

The talk began with solemnity and reverence, with a brief informal period of mindful sitting, and it then moved to Achok Rinpoche's commentary upon The Bodhisattva's Way of Life.  I appreciated the wisdom and incisive wit that he brought to the talk and then a few words popped up that struck me sideways.  This Tibetan teacher told us to "Prevent unhappiness from arising."  What?  I didn't understand this.

So much of how Western psychologists have discussed concepts from Buddhism has involved allowing emotions to arise with a nonjudgmental attitude.  A great deal of what I've learned about ACT and the costs of experiential avoidance has been all about making space, willingly, for whatever experiences emerged in our awareness.  What Achok Rinpoche was saying didn't make sense.  Turning my observations inward, I could feel my own unhappiness arising.  My monkey mind was critical of the teaching, the teacher, of myself and a petulant side of me kept whirling thoughts and emotions about the situation.  I was thinking that surely, by "preventing unhappiness from arising" I would get stuck in a loop of entanglement.  What was going on here?

I wasn't alone in this opinion, as it turns out.  At the end of the talk, when there was time for questions, a series of other audience members (who wore suitably therapist-looking clothes, and spoke in 21st century psychology-speak) all raised questions about this point.  "Don't you mean to change your relationship with unhappiness, Rinpoche?" asked the first.  "No, I mean to prevent unhappiness from arising."  was the response.  Such questions continued.  "So, Rinpoche, I suppose what you are saying is that when we experience unhappiness, we should meet it with mindfulness so that it doesn't grow?"  was another questioner's tentative attempt to solve this problem.  Again, Achok Rinpoche continued, "No, Shantideva is quite clear, the text calls for us to prevent unhappiness from arising."  The resolute and calm, smiling repetition of this response began to make me quite curious and there was a discernible, growing energy in the group as the questions continued.

I don't recall the exact words that Achok Rinpoche used, but his response challenged and expanded my awareness of what becomes possible in practicing acceptance.  Often, in psychotherapy sessions and in personal meditative practice, speaking about "acceptance" refers to cultivating a willingness to experience difficult emotions as they arise, and to accept experiences without judgment.  Something more than that was now on the table.

In this context, this relaxed Tibetan teacher, half-smiling through a discussion of the difficulties in life, had a much broader vision of what acceptance can mean.

As I don't recall the exact quotes, word for word, from that evening - please consider the passage below, written from memory, to be a quote of the imaginary Tibetan teacher that my mind carries, just as we all carry mental representations of people from our past.  This is basically what was said:

"Yes, it is very hard to prevent unhappiness from arising, but little by little, day after day, this is what we practice.  You ask if it is possible to prevent unhappiness from arising.  Well, do you believe that enlightenment is possible?  Do you believe you can wake up?  If you do, then you must believe that preventing unhappiness from arising is possible.  After all, if a problem can be fixed, we have no need to be unhappy about this.  And if a problem has no solution, also, becoming unhappy does not really help us, does it?  Let's imagine that I am in my study and I spill water all over the floor.  I may become very angry.  Does that clean the water up?  Does my anger dry the floor, dry my papers?  No.  Of course it is very natural to become angry, to struggle, to become very unhappy.  This is the way we are born.  Yet, with the dharma, we train our minds to fully accept the reality that we encounter, every moment.  So, maybe at first we practice to be with one small thing that makes us unhappy.  We train ourselves to just accept, to relax, and to allow reality to be what it is with just this one small thing.  I do really dislike when I spill things.  So, maybe when I begin I practice watching my reaction to this.  I watch how I struggle for reality to be something different than what it is.  I practice preventing my unhappiness in reality from arising.  I allow myself to grow happy in the reality that exists, in what is.  Of course you will sometimes, you know, get angry.  You will sometimes be unhappy.  But Shantideva says that our aim, the direction we go, can be towards practicing to prevent unhappiness from arising.  We can practice compassion when we see what we don't like, what we don't want.  We can practice kindness.  This kindness is very important.  We practice happiness."

Silence entered the room then, and it remained for some time.  There were no more questions, and the evening concluded with smiles and farewells.

As Steve and I left the hall, my sense of competition, my sense of self-importance, and all of the inner arguments and commentary had fallen away.  I watched how even concepts like mindfulness, acceptance and compassion could be seized by my grasping mind, pulling me into ever greater attachment and fusion, even with the foundational ideas in spiritual liberation.  What a miracle of delusion our minds can be.  Beyond this, a moment of encountering real acceptance, of being in the presence of Achok Rinpoche's very real, palpable desire to alleviate the suffering he felt around him, all around us, provided a warmth and a spirit of liberation, that left all of us just a little bit transformed that evening.

This leads me to the conclusion that I really do need to get out more often.

Namaste,

DT

Gifts and Puzzles

I had the opportunity to meet with a few dear friends and trusted mentors this week, in preparation for the coming Spring and Summer season of workshops, trainings, travel and writing.  A lot of psychologists in the ACT world and 3rd Wave CBT are preparing for ACBS, and there are great things going on in the science of Compassion and mindfulness all of the time.  Our work in theory and practice is growing, and it involves a deep personal engagement with our own processes.  As a result, it feels very important to consult and learn from fellow travelers, and people who embody compassion and wisdom.  We're lucky in that our community has quite a few of these rare individuals working among us.

When I have a chance to learn from people like Paul Gilbert or Kelly Wilson, I am always grateful, and something emerges from the exchanges that makes a new world seem a little more possible.  Meeting with them both this week and discussing compassion in psychotherapy, pointed the way to a deeper practice.  Still, the truth and courage in my friends' words brought me eyeball to eyeball with the pain and anxiety that I carry, as a living human being, moment by moment.

Even though it would be more accurate to say that we move through space and time rather than time passing us by, the sense of time rushing by was everywhere these past few days. What brought on this sense of urgency, and the inevitable tightening and stress that accompanies it? Not surprisingly, moving towards what I truly value brought the reality of my own suffering that much closer.

What kind of suffering? What is the shape and contour? Why here and now? In a sense the content is not that important, is it? Life continues to teach me that if I move towards what really matters to me, I am damn sure to contact that within myself that I just don't want to see. I can't avoid the aspects of my mind, heart and behavior that I am ashamed of, that I fear, or that I would just rather turn away from or destroy. Beyond this, I will face the limits of what is possible in the world. I'll be reminded of the people in my life whom I will never reach or connect with. I recall those people whom I have loved, and who have faded from my life, through illness, death or following a path that draws us ever farther away from one another.

Wow.

This pain, the pain of loss, the pain of shame, the pain of the finitude of life, is a companion that will walk with me if I am to move where I know I am drawn to go. More and more I know that this is true for us all. I feel a comfort in the community and universality of this, and a deep sadness in the knowledge that everyone I love will carry a similar load.

Thankfully, a singular truth emerged from my discussions with Paul and Kelly, with friends in New York, and my time speaking with fellow CFT psychologist Russell Kolts.

Within the puzzle of our contact with pain and with desire, within the struggle to just get rid of what we don't wish to have, and within our desperate craving to have what is impossible to reach, we are shocked into an awareness of our common humanity. As we face our pain, we can find a gift within the puzzle of struggle, and we can learn how to come into the moment, to rest in the breath and to find an appreciation for the miracle and gift of just this one moment, moment by moment.

When we recognize this, our aim to alleviate the suffering within those we love, within ourselves, and within every pair of eyes we make contact with is advanced. As we wake up to this moment, and learn to rest in the kindness of mindfulness and compassion, lessons that cannot be put into words are transmitted and we are gradually transformed. The gifts and puzzles that cause me to twist and turn, to escape and to surrender are not necessarily what I would choose at all, but I am coming to see that they are really miraculous, and they begin to allow me to wake up, if even for a few moments. If that can help me move in the direction that really matters to me, the direction that I would willingly live for, then I choose to step into this experiencing, and commit to this choice, again and again.

 Sending warm wishes, DT

Welcome to The Art of Waking Up

Hello,

Sending warm wishes to you and yours as 2012 begins.

It is just a bit too late to say Happy New Year, but I hope this relatively warm winter is bringing you some new happiness, nonetheless.

This is the first entry of a blog that was inspired by many discussions and explorations that I've shared with my friends, colleagues, mentors and buddies over the years.

I'd like to use this blog to speak casually, impressionistically, and in direct language about what I've come to understand about how mindfulness and compassion can help us to come into a healthier relationship with our emotions, and to move in important and vital directions in our lives.

My first aim is to base all of these observations upon the state of the art of scientific research, and upon ancient meditative techniques that have been supported by such research.

My second aim is to pretty much abandon an academic or scientific style of writing, as much as I can. There are lots of avenues for psychologists to write in precise and cautious ways about our work. I'm aiming for something a bit broader here on this blog. I'd like to speak from the heart, and risk falling off a cliff in the process. That feels like a blog worth writing.

As a result, I may just write what I believe speaks to the questions at hand, and provide supporting references later, for the kind of folks who like supporting references. I'm one of that kind, so I get it. Go geeks!

I work as a psychologist, practicing forms of cognitive behavioral therapy that emphasize mindfulness, acceptance and compassion as key processes in human well-being. In time, we'll look closely at these processes together.

Cognitive behavioral therapy, or CBT as it's commonly known, is actually a family of therapies that share some common principles. In the past several years, advances in areas such as Compassion Focused Therapy, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy and Emotional Schema Therapy have led us in exciting directions that are as new as they are ancient.

Evolutionary principles, behavioral theories of language, and emotional neuroscience have begun to unearth the science behind centuries of esoteric thought. There has never been a time in our history, as far as we know, when so much information processing power, technology and wisdom has been brought to the question of human suffering. As I'm sort of addicted to scientific and spiritual inquiry, I'm pretty psyched about what has been going on.

In addition to my work as a psychotherapist, I've spent a fair bit of time studying contemplative disciplines and meditation methods from a range of sources, over the years.

As a result, I'm lucky enough to have some remarkable people in my life, who take the alleviation of our suffering very seriously. Although their methods have varied, all of the teachers that I've learned from directly, and all of the books and resources have pointed towards a central possibility for we humans, in some form of another.

They have all invited us to wake up.

What does that mean?

"Waking Up" is a central metaphor at the heart of thousands of years of wisdom traditions and a century of Western psychological research.

It refers to our tendency towards experiencing the stream of symbolic mental events that steadily flows through our awareness as though it was reality itself.

When we speak of waking up, we are suggesting that we can undermine the potential tyranny of our stories, of our words, of our internalized rules, and of our habits. The Art of Waking up involves the possibility that we can break through to something more "real" than repeatedly falling under the sway of our personal myths and limited, filtered perceptions. Maybe, through this art, through this creative act, something new can become possible . . .

A few years ago I wrote this in a journal on a retreat:

"Each morning, we think that we wake up,

but we don’t.

We are not awake.

when we ‘wake up’ . . .

we awaken into sleep, and into identification with streams of words and symbolic relations that we have absorbed.

We surrender to a ‘self’ that appears static.

We experience ourselves as something separate and infinitely cut off from the rest of the living universe.

In our 'sleep' we forget this living 'flow', to which we are intimately connected . . .

on the very finest of levels, as well as the most vast.

In doing so, we aren't experiencing what is real . . .

we are walking through a private dream world, and we may just hand our behavior, our very lives, over to where this dream takes us.

I prefer to wake up. May I begin by remembering myself."


"Waking up" is also the linguistic root of "Buddha", which means 'the one who woke up'.

So, now we have begun.

Namaste,

Dennis