My last post talked about my encounter with emptiness, and how it has disoriented me. I phrased the dilemma in Buddhist terms, but I also pointed out that although much of that tradition appeals to me, I don’t define myself as a Buddhist. I resist such self-labeling for a couple of reasons. The Buddha himself, I suspect, would have discouraged people from defining themselves that way, or any other way. In addition, I want to remain wide open to other sources. In particular, I maintain loyalty to my Quaker roots. (The Religious Society of Friends figured largely in my ancestry, and that faith has helped me ever since I first questioned my atheist upbringing in the 1980′s.) In taking up the trade of acupuncture I’m encountering philosophies that, although not incompatible with Buddhism (since they are Eastern in derivation,) are undeniably different. In this as in all things, I like to foster a receptive mind, while picking and choosing what works for me.
During an appointment yesterday, my acupuncturist offered me an alternate way to frame my current angst. He pointed out that one can grieve for negative influences almost as much as positive ones. I know this firsthand from the death of my stepmother. I went through a clear-cut grief process after her departure, even though I don’t miss her in the slightest. She treated me kindly on only the rarest of occasions, and could usually be counted on to deliver a cutting comment that undermined whatever was most important to me. Add in her breathtaking cruelty toward me when I was little, and you’ll understand why I primarily felt relief when she died. And yet, I also felt bereaved.
The loss this time is not of a person, but of a battle, or a war. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fighting psychic demons. Self-hatred, discouragement, bitterness, fury, confusion, grief, doubt, and many other painful mental states have often threatened to consume me, and I’ve attacked them all, tooth and nail. An enormous amount of energy was expended in this ceaseless assault against my mind’s weather. How could it not be all-consuming to wrestle the incontrovertible fact of one’s emotional condition at every moment? I finally understand the futility of my lifelong struggle. If one feels something, one feels it. Why not just settle into the experience? Then one will have more energy to pursue thoughts and actions that might foster better frames of mind. But it’s a waste of effort to fight the emotion that’s already in place, or to bemoan the past, or to fear the unknowable future. Change happens with action, not fretting. But I have made a religion out of fretting.
No longer. I simply don’t feel the internal pressure and outrage anymore. I can sit comfortably with sorrow, or disappointment, or any of the other other so-called negative emotions, and wait for it to pass. Each discomfort passes away. And then it comes back. I see that now, and I’m OK with it.
Which leaves me standing on a silent battlefield, in full war regalia, with no enemies in sight. It’s as if an exciting, epic Hollywood war movie suddenly came to an anticlimactic ending. The enemy vanished without warning, as did the allies. The war and the armies disappeared. You can see how that might be a little disorienting.
Now what? I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is to reach out to others, to help them gain the same insights into the futility of fighting reality. In my current dullish frame of mind, I almost wonder if offering this will truly be a kindness. Maybe it would be better to let others remain in maximum battle mode. Then I remember that I know peace now, as I never have before. If the price of serenity is a bit of boredom and grief, it is worth it. At least I find the bargain fair, and I believe others should be offered the same emotional armistice. Some will no doubt choose to pursue a better victory rather this slightly unfulfilling stalemate. They are welcome to fight onward. Others, I am sure, will welcome the freedom to live with a peaceful mind. And yes, peace can be a bit boring.
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