Sunday, at sangha, we were discussing the word “present” in the Heart Sutra. The discussion evolved into people talking about how for them being present meant having gratitude for their past suffering or how hard it was to be present when there are so many demands on our time. Present was an oddly complex word. It surprised me, the range of personal definitions.
For me, present means not holding on to anything–fully letting go in the moment–with the knowledge that every moment is the present and everything is impermanent and these two concepts exist at the same time. Being present is recognizing the stream of everything and letting it flow over. When I was a kid, we used to make flicker pads–pads of paper with drawings that were a hair different from the one before and after, such that when you flipped the pages, the images became animation. Being present is seeing each still as it is AND the animation.
This learning has helped me so very much. It has made me better at life. I mean, it has reduced suffering in my life. I’ll try to explain…
Life arises. Joy arises. Fear arises. Pain arises (physical or emotional, doesn’t matter). Knowing that I have no real control over what arises* and that whatever arises will move on is liberating. It also reduces anxiety which reduces pain and suffering, including physical pain.
(*I do have control over how I respond to what arises–I control my behavior–but what feeling or emotion arises is out of my, or anyone’s, control)
When I had gnarly butt surgery a couple of years ago, learning that it was necessary should have scared the hell out of me. The fear of possible surgery had kept me from getting the consultation, in fact, until I grew enough to accept that I had to face it. Whatever was happening, either it could be fixed/improved, or not. Better to find out.
In some ways, after getting the word that surgery was (very) necessary, I was indeed scared. But not catatonically so, which is how I would have been in my past. Mostly, I felt the relief of knowing something was going to be done and the years of pain I had been experiencing would likely end, or at least change and, probably, get better. There was something about choosing to trust my doc that permitted me to let go of a lot of the fear. The surgery was, literally, out of my control (I would be unconscious–he and his team would be slicing and dicing) so there was no use in worrying about it. Thus, I was scared and hopeful. At the same time. I could hold both. And I knew that, whatever the experience, it would be temporary.
After the surgery and as a part of the recovery, I had to undergo several in-office procedures that were quite painful. I approached them with meditative breathing and the knowledge that whatever pain there was would be short-lived–acute then fading–and that each was a step to healing. I let myself feel the pain (albeit usually with some pain killers on board) and told myself, “yup, that’s pain!” I didn’t try to hide from it but neither did I call it “my pain.” It was pain arising, and I knew that it would change, moment to moment. I got curious about the nature of the pain (“it’s sharp and radiates…” or “that feels like I’m clenching the muscle or something…”) and, I think, that curiosity enabled me to feel the shift to its lessening sooner.
My doctor said he thought I had incredible pain tolerance and that I dealt with it all super well. I’m not sure if it was tolerance so much as acceptance. I accepted that it was going to hurt, and hurt a lot (in fact, the first office procedure was done without meds so, um, boy howdy), but knew it would stop hurting, eventually if not sooner. I didn’t fight the pain and I didn’t make it mine. It was just pain arising and pain leaving. I attribute how well I handled the whole thing to that practice: observing and being curious.
This has happened with emotional pain as well. I remember when, a week before my first law school finals, I discovered my then-husband was cheating. The one thing I would have bet he would never do he was not only doing, he was doing in a particularly gross and personally (for me) demeaning way. I was floored and furious and hurt and…. and I had a choice to make: how to respond to all that was arising. I chose to let myself have a good cry (feel my feelings) and then chose to put aside responding, that is, dealing with my marriage, until after my exams. So, I told the hubs that I knew about it and we would have a conversation, later. I chose to focus on my studies.
It wasn’t like I didn’t feel hurt and angry, etc., but I didn’t live in that. I didn’t feed the monster. When the feelings would arise, and they did, I would ride the waves with compassion and the understanding that they would abate. Arise > have a cry/whatever > abatement > back to the books….rinse and repeat. It was a mix of Finding Nemo‘s Dory (“Just keep swimming”) and Scarlet O’Hara (“I can’t think about that now…I’ll think about that tomorrow”). And, of course, I got through it. All of it.
Before I started meditating and studying Buddhism, little things would completely flip me out. When you have trauma in your background, this is a pretty typical thing. Car problems? Illness? Getting cut off on the freeway? End of the world kind of emotional reactions. Now, when shit happens, and shit will always happen, it’s just not as big of a deal. In the shitshow that is life in Trumpistan (v 2.0), I’m extra thrilled I did the work to get here.
Of course, I still have (strong) feelings. But now I can observe them and not let them own me. I choose and, very importantly, I recognize that I have the ability (power, some might say) to choose how I respond to what arises. I can see things from a very different perspective now and even laugh in the darkest shit, particularly when I catch myself forgetting my ability and reacting instead of responding. I laugh at my own monkey brain. Then, I get back on the path and choose to do something wiser.
I am by no means enlightened. Or perfect. Or fixed. But I am better. I highly recommend it.
