WillSpirit!

Where Will meets Spirit
∞ Love, Clarity, Balance, Peace, & Bliss ∞

A science, mental health and spirituality blog written by a physician.








  • Red_Exclamation_DotDisclaimer
    • Dear Visitors:
      Although I trained and practiced as a physician, my background does not include formal instruction in psychiatry beyond basic medical education. This journal presents ideas about treatment philosophy, but must not be considered therapeutic advice. Abrupt changes in one's psychiatric medications can trigger profound cognitive, emotional, and physical symptoms, including suicidal thoughts and actions. Consequently, pharmaceutical agents should not be increased or decreased without supervision by a mental health clinician.

    • ON THE OTHER HAND, your brain belongs to you, and your opinion counts. If you decide that changing your medication regimen will serve your best interest, then I believe your providers have an obligation to help you try to achieve your goals. I want everyone to be educated about their options, and do what will be most helpful for themselves. No one should feel pushed around by dogmatic and/or limited viewpoints, whether those of psychiatrists, anti-psychiatry advocates, or myself.


Freedom’s Just Another Word…

Freedom is:

It all worked out
The beach house with four big bedrooms
Each with an ocean view
The surgical career just challenging enough
The status and money all about right
The good hobby and fine art
Everything working

Until

So much went wrong
Too many mistakes
The house, sold for too little
The job, left too soon
The health, broken down like paralysis
My sculptures crumbling in the garage

Until

It no longer mattered
No job, no status, not enough money
The house of dreams vanished into a bland suburb
Daily life ordinary, unremarkable
And surprisingly easy and deep
And touchingly full

Until

Every life ends in the same place
Why question the path?
Why ask who walks it?
Freedom is: not hating anymore
Freedom is: not wishing anymore
Freedom Is.

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If It Wasn’t For Bad Luck…

Why curse anyone or anything?

Whatever harms us
May help us in the end.
Whoever insults us
May teach us about ourselves.

Fate is the black cat crossing our path:
Bad luck until it curls on our lap and purrs.

Enemies may be confused friends.

There is nothing to be convinced of here.
Nothing to be fully understood.
The ground is not solid.
The earth is not fixed.
And fate is alive.

Even bad luck
Swells with promise.

I know.
Injuries uncounted have struck.
Loss, humiliation, defeat, pain, sorrow,
Abuse, trauma, illness, disability, injustice,
Unbearable bereavements.
All have been in the picture since the opening credits.
They will continue rolling past until the final frame.

But I don’t hate any of it anymore.
Why bother rejecting what has brought me so far?
Why bother cursing the greatest gifts?
Sure, they may come wrapped in subpoenas or
Packaged as assaults.
They may add me to the endless queue of accused.
But I embrace it all.

To refuse the possibilities of destiny
Is to swim against the irrepressible
Currents and fertility of life.

The Buddha understood
And so do I, at last:
Joy and pain, loss and gain, fame and ill repute
Are just different spokes on the same broken wheel
Wobbling endlessly through the eternal garden of time.


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Self-self Duality

This might be my last essay for a while, though I will continue posting occasional poetry. After much thought about the matter, I’ve decided that routine blogging no longer serves as the best use of my time and effort. I’ll explain shortly.

First, let me state what’s been clear to me for some time: I’ve already written about most of what I’ve found important in recovering from troubled moods and moving toward a deeply informed life. In brief, the vital principles are: accepting that emotions come and go, recognizing that they have no power to destroy unless acted upon, and acknowledging that there is certain beauty even in pain. Then there are the life-experience corollaries: even trauma can teach, even terrible loss can lead to remarkable gain, and it is always possible to view events from different and healthier perspectives. The rest is experiential: meditate, accept, reframe, and you will find the way to peace.

Why not continue to write about these truths? Mainly because doing so is not currently helping me grow. I find that expository writing strengthens the verbal, rational part of my mind, and that is no longer what I desire. Instead, I’m hoping to become less articulate, less analytical, less relentlessly thought-full. I want to embrace sensation and felt life, and move away from ideas and description. Not that intellectual work hasn’t served me, or pleased me, or helped me. But right now it is time to live more and think less. That means writing less, or at least less prose.

Lately I’ve come up with an idea that humans are bound by the same duality seen in subatomic particles. I see in our lives the same phenomenon that allows photons, electrons, and other fundamental units to appear as interwoven waves under some conditions and as discrete particles under others. In parallel with the physical principle of wave-particle duality I call our disparate manifestation Self-self duality.

The idea of a larger Self versus a smaller self within us all is an old one, which can be succinctly stated. In my view, the Self, with the capital ‘S,’ is the soul with its manifold tendrils eternally connected with all life and all creation. It is wavelike, distributed, and feels interwoven with the universe. On the other hand self, with the small ‘s,’ is the ego, the personal, the human isolated in the modern and anti-mystical world. It is particulate, discrete, and feels separate from creation. Every person has both aspects. The Self, is expansive, loving, interacting, and generous. The self, is contracting, wary, isolating, and self-interested. Even when the self communicates with others, it does so with an eye toward its own wellbeing. Even when the Self stands alone, it does so with a heart open to the wide, amazing cosmos.

As is the case with wave-particle duality, the way we set-up our environment and activities determines which aspect of the Self-self duality we most observe.

Writing essays feeds my smaller self. Even when the concepts are large and loving, the words come out from the verbal mind, which by nature adheres to the egoic view. This isn’t wrong or evil, but it’s not where I want to direct my energies right now.

I am more tired and limited than twenty years ago, when perhaps I could have successfully pursued a career as a writer and a second career as a healer. Today, I need to choose. The healing is more fulfilling because it brings me in direct relation with the living, breathing biology of human life. By that connection, my own Self is enlarged and healed. The loving, caring connection that I feel toward those who come for treatment heals me as much as them. It is a process mutual growth that brings me toward greater realization of Self in the world.

Writing, while rewarding, brings less contact and stimulates more contraction. It is enjoyable and leads me to new and important truths, but my heart is calling out for more than words. It wants wellness in the largest sense of the term. That means living deeply within my organic matrix of limbs, fingers, organs, senses, and so on. It means placing this vital being and in the vulnerable position of reaching out to another with the intent to heal. This place of tender grace just can’t be reached via a computer terminal. Not by me, not now.

If Self-self duality means that one aspect or the other will dominate depending on circumstances, then we need to choose. If we encourage articulate, verbal communication, we automatically strengthen the self, no matter how laudable the words spoken or written. If on the other hand, we communicate through embodied, caring presence, we strengthen the Self, with its large heart and open exchange. Perhaps a great spiritual master could keep in touch with Self while working intensely in verbal mode, but I cannot. So until my growth progresses to the next level, I need to set up my world to encourage the presence of expansive, intimate relation rather than absorbed, verbal communication.

There are nearly 250 posts on this site, and they chronicle much of my progress. They will remain available until the time comes when I feel ready for another burst of writing like I just completed. I thank everyone who has followed my posts, and I wish you all the best as you find your Self in this difficult, terrible, wonderful, and affectionate world.

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This Thing of Darkness, I Acknowledge Mine

What do you find hardest to accept?

Are you most troubled by grim facts of life? For instance, are you dismayed by the rampant cruelty and injustice in the world? Do you resent corporate interests for destroying ecosystems in the name of greed? Do you find happiness difficult in the face of inevitable death and tragedy?

Or are painful states of mind more challenging to embrace? Do you resist chronic feelings of depression? Do you shove anxious feelings out of awareness? Are you locked in a wrestling match with your despairing emotions?

Is it regret that plagues you? Do you obsess about the might-have-been’s that will never be? Do you hate how your life has played out? Do you wish for a less chaotic past and a more pleasing present?

Or are you in fact most dismayed by your own personality flaws?

If it’s your character that bugs you most, then you know how I’ve been feeling lately. Although outer tragedy and inner moodiness distress me, and although my past causes regret, my glaring character defects crush me the most. In particular, I’m utterly disgusted by my mind’s ceaseless criticism, negativity, and pessimism. Obviously, even this reaction to myself manifests the sort of mean spirited judgment I hate. And I detest that, too.

I try to accept the world as it is, I truly do. I work hard to embrace my setbacks and disappointments. I try to endure my lot in life without complaint. I endeavor to remain understanding and compassionate even toward those who harm others. Unfortunately, I fail often. I find myself discouraged by fate and dismayed by history’s alarming trends. I see problems everywhere I look, and this leads to chronic emotional malaise. Let’s face it; I tend to be a malcontent.

Today, after a discussion with my ACT therapist, I identified a fundamental flaw in my views on acceptance. I’ve been under the impression that if I learned to accept everything that my mind ordinarily resists, my criticism and negativity would melt away. But what I’m finding is that even as outward surrender to circumstance becomes my shining star, my inner criticizing shadow gains ascendance. The more I try to think generous and tranquil thoughts, the more my dark nature stomps its feet and complains about what’s ugly and unfair.

Clearly, I’ve underestimated the importance of self-acceptance in this work. In the end, it’s not that hard to lovingly tolerate the bleakness all around us, or the frailties and cruelties we see in others. We can’t change the world or our companions in any quick or substantive way, so acceptance simply makes sense.

Forbearance around our own flaws, however, is an entirely different matter. We feel responsible for our personalities, and we believe we should be able to mold our thoughts and behavior to our ideals. Unfortunately, we have much less influence than we think. Shadowy and unwanted tendencies always arise, and they do so more vigorously whenever we struggle to suppress them.

The painful truth is that in order to be a fully accepting person, I need to embrace that which is most hateful: my own darkness. I have to acknowledge as my own the negativity, judgments, irritability, and impatience that so alarm me.

I thought all those unsavory qualities would evaporate once I learned genuine acceptance. Today I understand that expecting surrender to erase my dark side is actually an insidious form of non-acceptance. It bespeaks an undeniable rejection of self. It seems laudable to battle negative traits, but it’s counterproductive. Better to honor the hidden destructive tendencies than to attempt to crush them through force of will or contempt. Accepting ownership allows one to influence the subterranean energy that otherwise might pop up and sabotage the more elevated self. There will be less chance of harming others through the rebellious acts of a repressed shadow.

So this afternoon I practiced allowing criticisms and negative thoughts to occupy my mind without wishing I could prevent them. From a slightly detached perspective, I monitored rather than wrestled with my least laudable tendencies. I found myself entertaining thoughts that sounded petty and immature, but at least I didn’t compound my distress by blaming my soul for its complexity and humanity.

The hardest thing to accept is that being human often means feeling shabby and small minded. It sometimes means hurting others and destroying situations we value. It can mean dissatisfaction in the face of abundance, and misery while surrounded by love. These qualities are just as characteristic of humanity as compassion and altruism.

True kindness can only blossom when the soul’s murky and mildewed qualities are welcomed into the heart along with our lighter and freer natures. Hopefully, once accepted, our dismal tendencies will cease being destructive, and will inform life in beneficial ways.

That’s my idealist vision, but the judgmental part of me is not as optimistic. In the spirit of genuine acceptance, I will do my best to acknowledge my doubt as a worthy partner to hope. Perhaps if I embrace my complaints and confusion, I will free my spirit to find gratitude and clarity.

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Riding on the Storm


Progressive forces within the mental health services encourage meditation. My personal experience convinces me that meditative practice can help a person learn to cope with dark moods and sorrow. It can teach one to appreciate the full spectrum of human emotion rather than always striving to feel ‘good.’

My meditative work began in 1987 soon after I first attended Alcoholics Anonymous and faced the program’s advocacy of spiritual growth. I realize now my good fortune in finding AA at age twenty-eight, since the twelve-step movement was perhaps the earliest major mental health program to advocate meditation as a tool for psychic wellness.

But AA’s theological language troubled me, because my scientist father had raised me as an atheist. I did not feel comfortable with overt references to God as a divine and omnipotent personality. In working through these conflicts, I tried a number of churches and spiritual traditions. I soon discovered a Quaker meetinghouse near my apartment. Because my maternal ancestors had all worshiped within the Religious Society of Friends, and because I’d been raised to respect the values of that group, finding the Fifteenth Street Meeting a few blocks from where I lived in New York felt like a Godsend. Sitting in silent worship without scripture or sermons worked perfectly for me. I became a committed meditator in the Quaker mode. The Friends’ emphasis on right behavior and the contemplative experience of spiritual presence helped me find direction and meaning in life. My more hopeful outlook helped ease my burdens, but my depression still frightened me, and I fought hard against it.

Much more recently I started to hear that meditation helps people cope with mood issues, and I expanded the goals of my practice. Rather than meditating solely for spiritual realization, I started practicing to improve my ability to tolerate and benefit from uncomfortable emotional states. I soon learned that addressing my relationship to moods actually helped my progress toward mystical transcendence. I began to understand, in a deep way, how my suffering with depression was a manifestation of a deeper spiritual confusion.

Interestingly, this wasn’t the first time I’d used meditation for a practical purpose. In 2000 I had taken classes in Jon Kabat-Zinn’s mindfulness techniques in order to deal with chronic physical pain. Through direct experience, I’d learned that inwardly observing somatic distress makes it more bearable. Rather than running from pain, I began to consciously explore it and found great comfort and relief in doing so. Physical discomfort ceased being a frightening enemy, and became a teacher.

However, sitting with depression proved more challenging than relaxing into pain. So much ancient sorrow lay buried in my soul that at first gales of grief threatened to blow me off my intended course. My tolerance for mood extremes started out low, so I could only endure a little sadness before needing to distract myself with pleasant visualizations or other calming techniques. But gradually I acquired the confidence to delve deeper into my depression. Because I worked hard and persisted, I grew able to move through the painful opening of my heart. It was necessary, I realized, to accept my bereavements and regrets rather than deny them. Healing would only come by allowing my emotional body to have its say. So I did my best to remain calm and allow my sorrows free reign.

The process reminded me of the Buddha’s experience under the bodhi tree, when he was assaulted by the forces of darkness intent on diverting him from his path toward awakening. As I sat still in my moodiness, every manner of despairing emotion rose up over time, feeling terrifying and destructive, so that I often wondered whether sitting passively in the face of agonizing moods really made sense. But I continued working, going as far as possible each time.

Gradually, I began to experience the seemingly overwhelming emotional states for what they are: transient feelings. They are not physical reality, they cannot kill me, and they always pass. If I just sit with them and don’t act out, they eventually resolve and my mental life gets at least a little easier. Afterward, I feel wiser and stronger for knowing I tolerated the onslaught.

One time, about eighteen months ago, the emotions felt especially dreadful. I suffered a nasty flu, my neck arthritis was causing severe physical discomfort, and I was withdrawing from an antidepressant. So my mood spiraled lower and lower. I lay in bed trying to move toward my feelings, but every cell in my body simply wanted the pain to end. I yearned to run away from my despair. I’d have welcomed death.

Then, a simple thought occurred to me: “I couldn’t possibly feel any worse.” At first, this seemed to be a complaint, but very quickly I recognized a profound truth. I was at my absolute lowest emotional state, and it turned out to be survivable. I realized that no matter what happens in the future, the worst I will ever experience could never exceed the pain I already survived. It was a moment of realization, of Grace.

This is what it can be like to meditate through depression. You get to meet your demons. In fact, they will rush at you with their most spectacular fury. But if you stand your ground you will see them as they truly are: illusory and transient. They cannot destroy you. Their only power lies in their ability to frighten you into taking action that could indeed be harmful. If you do not act, you suffer no injury. Eventually, you come out the other side with newfound strength and wisdom.

No doubt I have much to learn about meditation and the human mind. However, I already have discovered what matters most: I can tolerate my moods. I can live through them. They can instruct me. Oddly, I can even enjoy the emotional turmoil that so intimately connects me with humanity’s fate on earth. Meditating through my depression has shown me the universality of pain, and the availability of Grace.

Depression still surrounds me from time to time. Dark weather systems move across my psychic landscape, but rather than feeling tossed about by the tumultuous winds of moodiness, I sit quietly and enjoy the energy and majesty of emotional life. Such is the gift of meditation.

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The Membrane of Now

Acceptance underlies most of my recovery from what was once diagnosed as bipolar disorder.

As earlier posts have made clear, I no longer buy into the concept of ‘mental illness’ because the phrase refers to putative brain disorders that are viewed as irreversible. My recovery demonstrates that my formerly intense moodiness did not result from a structural or genetic neurologic condition, but rather from errors in relating to the chaotic vicissitudes of life. My instability resolved once I learned to accept my experience, no matter how painful.

Healing through acceptance used to be a common theme in my blogging. I learned from those earlier posts that many people feel uncomfortable with the idea on first hearing. In fact, I resisted it myself. Aren’t some things in life simply unacceptable?

In working to make the concept sound, well, acceptable, I’ve tried a number of strategies. One that seemed effective was to distinguish between acceptance and acquiescence. In this context, the former means embracing what can’t be changed. The latter refers to giving up. Most of the time we feel calmer when we quit fighting the unavoidable, but first we should be sure we aren’t yielding to something we can effectively work against. In political life especially, a state of affairs can appear as fixed and unchangeable, but if committed objectors band together, the edifices of power frequently topple despite their apparent solidity. It is a mistake to acquiesce to injustice on the grounds that it can’t be rectified. It can.

One key distinction is between past and future. Obviously, anything that has already come to pass might as well be accepted. It can no longer be changed. On the other hand, those events that have yet to manifest can potentially be influenced. The degree to which we can change what’s coming varies, as does the effort we feel ready to exert in trying.

If our home is engulfed in flames, we probably can’t prevent its destruction. To stay calm in the face of this disaster is to accept the inevitable. It would be foolish to run in with a garden hose if the building appeared doomed. On the other hand, a child trapped inside might compel us to attempt rescue even in the face of grave danger and high likelihood of failure. Either way, we’re talking here about responding to an unfolding future, which is fundamentally different from making peace with the settled past.

We always have choices to make, and we should only accept an approaching problem as inevitable when we have worked as hard as makes sense to divert it. We don’t waste effort on minor inconveniences, and we don’t give up on important causes. But whereas our relation to the future involves important judgment calls, our relation to the past truly does not. For instance, once a tragedy has occurred we can no longer prevent it. Our only choice lies in how we cope with misfortune. And the first step in adapting to past events is to accept that they have occurred. Why rail against manifest fact?

In mindfulness meditation, we learn to embrace what we call the ‘present moment’. Note how we can spot a subtle misnomer here. What we are actually experiencing is not the present, but the near and immediate past. Granted, rather than remembering last year or anticipating next week, we pay attention to sensations and mental life immediately as they occur to us. In doing so we may feel like we are attending to ‘right now,’ but in truth we can only feel something after it has happened. The true ‘present moment’ is an infinitesimally short interval that always lies just ahead of conscious awareness.

If a breeze caresses your cheek, you feel it not when it actually happens, but microseconds later, after the neural impulses reach your consciousness. And as the sensual experience of ‘wind on cheek’ registers, there are a few cycles of awareness that occur extremely rapidly, often before we are fully awake to what’s happened. Watching this early processing is the closest we can come to living in the moment. We can’t attend to the breaking edge of ‘now’ because it happens much too quickly. One picosecond later, and we’re already in the past.

This simplifies the task of acceptance. Any process we seem to be experiencing this moment (but which is actually already in the past), and any event more clearly historical, can be safely accepted without fear of slipping into the acquiescence trap. It has already happened and so it is unchangeable. The healthy choice is to honor it as a reality.

We may have an obligation to prevent future reoccurrence of mishaps or mistreatment, but events in the past are solidly fixed in history. I wrote the most recent poem on my blog with this in mind.

It helps me to visualize the eternal now as a membrane that rides the forward wave of cosmic unfolding. To the rear of this infinitely brief moment lies the past, while to the front lies the future. Everything behind the ceaseless sweep of history’s curtain is grist for acceptance. Everything ahead should be evaluated for action. Mindfulness means riding the trailing edge of time’s membrane as the potential coalesces into the actualized. We hold in mind the goal of accepting every experience which the fleeting fabric of now has moved beyond.

We can start with the simple serenity prayer:

Grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change,
The courage to change the things we can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

One step toward gaining discerning wisdom is to be mindful of the boundary between past and future. We remain alert to the Membrane of Now.

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Growth Resisted, Growth Embraced

Did I protest too much?

In a recent comment exchange with reader Anna following my post To Feel or To Think, I found myself arguing a position that once felt important to me. However, as I thought about the conversation afterward, it became clear that my attitude has changed.

As it should. No one committed to growth should feel locked into any belief, because as we mature our view broadens and our opinions change. A year or so ago it felt important to embrace my emotions. Throughout my entire life I’d been scared of my intense feelings. They seemed dangerous and (of course) irrational. The fear bore its fruit of avoidance. My desire to sidestep pain grew so great that I accepted antidepressants and many other psychiatric drugs in an effort to keep a lid on my experiences. This strategy proved disastrous. Side effects mounted, my productivity declined, and I felt a chronic low grade misery in place of the intense mood swings of earlier years.

Fortunately, I learned another approach. Under the guidance of an Acceptance and Commitment Therapist and also my good friend Tom Wootton (founder of Bipolar Advantage), I began to move toward rather than away from my strong emotions. I learned to be still as feelings flowed through me, first during meditation and later in day-to-day life. The deep sadness, the powerful surges of creativity, and the abiding ache of love and oneness became my teachers rather than my enemies. Emotions became beautiful, even when painful.

Tom Wootton and I have discussed the next phase in development. After one learns to surf the raging waves of extreme mood swings without decompensating, one begins to see them for what they are: unnecessary. As soon as the palpable reality of strong feelings gets replaced by awareness of their transience and emptiness, they begin to seem less exciting. The initial thrill of riding emotional surf gets replaced by something akin to boredom and disinterest. As I look back on my replies to Anna’s comments, it seems clear to me that I have been resisting this next step in evolution. I have become attached to my experience of beautiful, powerful feelings.

It cannot be denied that sages throughout history have taught that much of what we take so seriously in life is illusory. Some even say the entire formed universe represents Maya, or illusion. If so, and if one could attain that realization on a deep level, one would begin to feel less intensity simply because nothing would seem so vitally important. Not pain, not sorrow, not life, not death. All would be glorious, but not heartbreaking.

There’s a feeling of loss as I anticipate this prospect. What of the passion that’s driven me so long? What of poetry, and art, and drama? No doubt they will still appeal to me, but perhaps with less gut-wrenching impact than before. Hence my instinctual rejection and dismissal of the suggestion that emotions might be outgrown: to not feel, I proclaimed, is to deny life.

But is it really? Maybe the true denial comes from not seeing reality for what it is. If we embrace the unity of all life, if we internalize the eternal circularity of history, we must sooner or later recognize that peaceful equanimity is the only sensible stance. The feeling tone will lessen. Emotions might not disappear, but they won’t pierce the heart like before.

And isn’t that what I always wanted? To protect my heart from those slings and arrows of misfortune? Why would I grieve the loss of that? Probably for the same reason one grieves any bad habit once abandoned. It may not have been healthy, but it was a crutch. Powerful feelings are a great lever to move boredom out of one’s experience. In a calmer mind, I’ll need to find new tools to flavor life with zest. Stay tuned…

And thanks to Anna for guiding me toward this next phase of my gradual (and sometimes reluctant) enlightenment.

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Contentment in the Round

In seeking satisfaction, it helps to explore a broad spectrum of human potential. To use Ken Wilber’s language, we can look at multiple “lines of development,” such as material security, emotional bonding, and spiritual realization. Our relationship to each of these important currents in life grows through relatively definable stages. For instance, our attitude toward material acquisition might start with concern about our own sensual pleasure, then extend to wanting to provide for our family, and then mature to a calling to do our part to help a world in need. Similar stages can be mapped for emotional and spiritual growth.

In the last post, I repeated one of my favorite Daoist quotes: “He who knows he has enough is rich.” It’s impossible to say exactly how Lao Tse meant this (especially since some authorities think he was a mythical sage, so we can’t even be sure who created the aphorism), but we can apply it in all three spheres defined above, and others as well. It’s clear how the saying helps as we evaluate our material situation, but let’s consider how it might fit with emotional and spiritual life.

We know interpersonal attachments are often as necessary to human happiness as food, clothing, and shelter. But how many relationships are enough? We see a wide range in society: from loners, to couples who rarely socialize with others, to sensitive souls with a few close friends, to bighearted people with many loved ones, to the highly gregarious who have huge numbers of acquaintances but few deep relationships. In each of these cases a person might or might not be satisfied, depending on their personality and their attitude.

As always, I can express this most clearly with a personal anecdote. In the past I criticized myself because of my very small social circle. Although I’d try to excuse myself by remembering how much abuse and neglect I suffered in childhood, there was no escaping the reality that I tend to isolate. Innately shy and highly sensitive, I’ve usually found it easy to build lasting romantic attachments, but hard to form friends outside that intimate bond. I’ve been with my wife for twenty years, which I count as an accomplishment, but until recently I enjoyed few other friendships. When you consider that we both come from very small families, that our parents have died, and that we have no children, nieces, or nephews, you can begin to see why I felt like a social failure. As I entered my fifties and contemplated old age, I began to fear ending up elderly and all alone. I envied my acquaintances who’d had children and now enjoy the satisfaction of watching their offspring blossom into adults. It was easy to imagine them in the future as happy grandparents, and myself as an isolated ancient.

A few things helped rescue me from this neurosis. A first step was a bit of reality testing: I began to see how having children in this society is no guarantee against loneliness and struggle in old age. It was even more helpful to recognize that my ability to endure (and even benefit from) hardship and loneliness is much greater than I once believed. Many times in recent years I’ve settled into deep sadness without panicking, whereas in the past I’d have run to a psychiatrist for an antidepressant. I’ve found a kind of melancholy serenity during those times. Even if my ‘golden years’ are spent in isolation, there’s a chance I’ll embrace the same soulful peace that helps me through the dark epochs now.

So I’ve changed my assessment of my social circle. It may be small, but it feels like enough, at least for now. I no longer feel desperate for more connections. As a result of my increased confidence, I’m finding that it’s now easier to make friends. Ironically, once I felt contented with my tiny social circle, it began to grow. If recognizing that I had enough social contact to survive made me rich, then I also learned that the rich get richer. We often encounter this lesson first in the romantic sphere: nothing is more unappealing than a desperate date, and nothing more alluring than a warm, serene, confident one. But the principle generalizes to all social interaction. If we approach others with a sense of contentment, we’re better liked than if we exude neurosis.

Before closing, I’ll briefly bring this reasoning into the arena of spiritual development. Until I began my quest for metaphysical clarity twenty-four years ago, growth in this area meant nothing to me. But once I started to reap the benefits of a few awakened moments, I wanted more. As I further matured, so that even in ordinary life it became possible for me to connect with the calm, light center of my heart, I found myself wishing the connection were more robust and continuous. Growth was happening, but because the very process of opening highlighted how much of me remained closed, it was tempting to feel discouraged. Then, fortunately, I recognized that humans seldom complete the task of cosmic realization. At every stage short of eternal transcendence, there is opportunity for further maturation. Once I understood the spiritual path to be endless, I felt satisfied with my current level of development. It’s important to emphasize that I still want to awaken further, but I don’t need more attainment to be comfortable. I’ve found enough peace to feel contented.

Which brings me back to where I ended last time: contentment is about appreciating where we are right now. It does not mean abandoning plans for further progress. Live brightly today, but build an even better tomorrow.

In their comments, readers noted that my last post focused mostly on material and career development. The fact that I treated those realms first is probably a consequence of my history as a (previously) overachieving American male. But even as I penned the last essay it was clear to me that much of importance was being left out. Such is the nature of blogging: you can’t cover everything in a single entry. I hope today’s post has succeeded in expanding the discussion into areas arguably more important than career and physical comfort.

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Is Contentment a Copout?

As I did recently on GuidePosts to Happiness, I’m going to use a comment as the basis for a blog post. In response to my essay Blogging to Fruition, Mary writes:

You said that to be contented with who, what, and where we are is to be fully alive and in tune with creation. Being content is often a result of compromising our needs and desires, isn’t it? I feel what you are saying but find it so difficult to be content when I am not sure that I should be. How does one know that where they are and what they are living is their true destiny? Doesn’t contentment often stifle growth or change, that may be needed in one’s life?

Mary’s paragraph (which I edited slightly), raises at least three excellent questions: 1) Does contentment require compromising our needs and desires? 2) How do we recognize our destiny? and 3) Does satisfaction stifle the impetus for growth? I’ll address these questions individually.

FIRST: To what extent does contentment require us to settle for less than we need or desire? The two words, need and desire, carry different meanings, of course. What’s more, we often think we need something, when really we just want it. Research has clearly established that once people possess the basics of food, clothing, and shelter, further acquisition no longer correlates much with levels of satisfaction. On the basis of this finding, I would advise against compromising a true need, like for adequate housing, but I submit that some of what we think vital to happiness we could probably do without and still feel reasonably contented.

Desires are even easier: persisting in craving what we don’t have is a recipe for suffering, as the Buddha told us long ago. So the short answer? Contentment sometimes requires that we scale back desires. The Lao Tse quote I used in the Blogging to Fruition post remains relevant: “He who knows he has enough is rich.”

SECOND: How do we recognize our true destiny? Keep in mind that in most cultures throughout history one’s station was determined by one’s parents. If the father was a blacksmith, the son became a blacksmith too. If the mother raised a family in poverty, chances were very high the daughter would also. Only in modern society do we find an obsession with bettering our position and choosing the ‘right’ life path. In most times and places, people have not had the luxury. So we should ask if the idea of seeking our “true destiny” is a cosmic mandate or a cultural artifice.

But let’s grant that modern society expects us to find our own unique way. Consider that in most cases, meeting the following criteria will lead to a satisfying career: finding work we can do competently, that gives us a sense of accomplishment, that contributes to the greater good, and that pays well enough to provide for our needs. Realistically, these standards do not set that high a bar, especially if we entertain the notion of getting by with less.

But does a satisfying career a destiny make? Here everyone must decide for themselves. On the one hand, it is clear that some people are born with a particular gift and/or passion and are fortunate to leverage this innate leaning into a career. These folks may feel like they’ve found their destiny. But most of us have a variety of talents and interests, perhaps none so striking as to stand out as a center of gravity for our entire lives. In these cases our careers are likely to be determined as much by fate as anything else. In what directions do our parents push us? What mentors do we meet? What chance opportunities open along the way? There is so much randomness that even if we find ourselves in a satisfying position in life, we may never feel like we have followed our destiny.

But is that doubt reasonable? Can we be sure that life had something else in store for us? Usually not. And in most cases, it is easier to change our attitude than to change our career. There is the story, possibly apocryphal, of the sewer cleaner in India who was thrilled with his life because he could do important work well. In contrast, I never felt like being a surgeon was ‘right’ for me, even though it met all the above criteria. Eventually my neck deteriorated until I couldn’t do the work anyway. But looking back, I see that it would have been easy for me to feel better about that occupation if I hadn’t been obsessed with the idea that I was ‘meant’ to do something else.

FINALLY: Does contentment stifle the impetus for growth? Here I’ll take a different tack. Despite everything I just said, it seems to me that continuing to push forward in life always makes sense. Contentment is about being fulfilled by the present, but we can always work toward building an even more meaningful future. In fact, if we feel satisfied by today, we might have more energy to pursue our visions for tomorrow. In any event, it seldom pays to make ourselves miserable. Why not try to be contented with what we have, while realistically assessing how we might improve our situation?

A good analogy for how we might approach being contented while working on goals is our wish for young people as they enter college. We hope they enjoy getting an education even as we want them to work toward a meaningful career. In contrast, a sure recipe for misery is to always be working for something better, while never enjoying what we are doing today. Chronic unhappiness saps our strength, whereas contentment gives us a solid foundation on which to build our dreams.

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The Necessary Pain of Love

Despite my warning to readers in the opening paragraph of the last post, that essay’s thesis wasn’t truly challenging. Desires can lead to trouble? I hear my readers thinking: “Tell us something we don’t already know.” Consider how many novels have been written about the mayhem that surrounds those who act without restraint. A major task of growing up is learning to steady behavior rather than pursue whims. Granted, the Buddha took that basic knowledge to the next level, and showed how even subtle craving can cause suffering, but the message still sounds like common sense: unbridled wants lead to angst.

In the millennia since the Buddha imparted his teachings, these concepts have been elaborated into sophisticated recommendations for achieving equanimity. During the past fifty years, many Westerners have adopted Buddhist practices and precepts. For instance, the doctrine of non-attachment has entered common parlance.

As I have done with a number of spiritual systems, I devoted myself to Buddhist study and practice for a time. I learned the deep peacefulness that comes with following the breath during meditation. I even managed to experience my egoic personality as a mirage, as a biological process within this body’s neural structure, suspended midway between the subatomic and galactic realms.

For all the insight I gleamed from Buddhist practice, however, the idea of non-attachment always remained a bit troubling. Sure, it works fine if applied to material or fleeting pleasures like cars, chocolate, or love affairs. The transient pleasures of life cannot be sustained, and chasing thrills is a doomed strategy for happiness. But what about genuine, deep-seated, love? How can non-attachment make sense when we speak of those closest to us?

For once, I don’t have an answer here. In theory, we could love with all our depth while a person is with us, then calmly let go when he or she departs to the next plane. But even Buddhists grieve, right? And isn’t grief the necessary and worthy price of love?

Denial is a powerful tool of the mind. Even when we know better, we block out awareness of the inevitable death of those we hold dear. To dwell on mortality seems to serve little purpose, so we avoid looking at it. My father was hospitalized with ominous medical problems a year before he died, but when I got the dreadful phone notification of his passing, it still came as a shock. I should have known better, but I didn’t want to. My bond to him, despite our many conflicts, was too important for me to permit thought of sunder. In his case I was strongly attached, and I don’t regret it. But I do regret not taking better advantage of my dad’s final year. My fear of loss fueled a denial that tricked me into squandering time with my father.

Keeping a loose grip is fine, and not that hard, when pleasures are only of the senses. But when they have deeper roots, and touch the heart and soul, holding lightly becomes far more challenging. And is it even desirable?

Do we really want to remain non-attached to those around us? Are not the joy and pain of love and loss vital experiences in life? Where do we draw the line between the pleasures we should release, and the ones that sustain our humanity?

Guess what? We’re back in the realm of hardship. We so quickly slip from joy into pain. The hardship of losing those we love is one of those ordeals that can expand and teach us. But getting to that enlarged and wise state requires that we embrace the pain of grief, and at the same time release our grip on the departed. Only then can we experience the timeless alchemy of tragedy and grace.

So how to sum up non-attachment in matters of the deeper heart? It comes down to cherishing every moment with those we love. We recognize the fleeting nature of all our relationships, and the inevitable breaking of all attachments. As painful as loss is to contemplate, we accept that we our bonds of affection will be disrupted at the end of every life. We guide our hearts by this truth of transience, while keeping our minds in the present, focused on those dear to us. Attachment to the ones alive, sweet letting go of those deceased.

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