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.


Biology, Spirit, and Transcendence

My blog’s tagline includes the word spirituality, which has devolved into a vague term that can mean almost anything. In the interest of clarity and to balance the two previous posts that emphasized material takes on human life, this essay will outline my spiritual path and beliefs. Readers may or may not be interested, but it helps me to spell out my philosophy from time to time, especially since it’s still maturing.

What follows rambles through my ideas about different metaphysical stances, to my own personal experiences with them, to a description of my current stage of development. Since my understanding of the world’s religions is superficial, at best, don’t be surprised if my statements about faith and practice sound obvious or naive.

Two posts back I stated that our animal identity constitutes “the most central and accurate description we could give of ourselves.” After all, it seems unarguable that humans are mammals with large brains. Even while writing that sentence, however, I remained aware that many resist considering themselves ‘mere’ biological organisms. Indeed, when I posted the same essay on my Psychcentral blog, the following comment came in:

Hmmmm, so we are reduced to “cycles of carbon and calcium?” I prefer that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made” by our creator. As a believer, I will be returned to Him.

This reader’s opinion probably resonates with many who consider themselves religious or faithful. Here’s an edited version of what I wrote in reply:

You bring up the other common opinion about ultimate identity: that we are best described as conscious entities (souls) inhabiting organic forms. But even if one takes that view, at death the body is still reduced to its constituent elements and recycled in the biosphere. The two viewpoints are not mutually exclusive. In fact, since our biological form is apparent, while our spiritual nature remains debatable, even believers should look for ways to interweave the two perspectives. To deny our biology is to deny material reality, just as to deny our divinity is to deny higher meaning.

Divinity, as I intend it here, is a loose term meant to suggest that we have inner measures of soulfulness that go beyond the solid, predictable qualities of organic matter.

In the opinion of Christians and Muslims, each person has an immortal soul that is born once to this world and then consigned to eternal bliss or damnation based on a lifetime’s accounting of virtue, sin, faithfulness, and redemption. The sensible person thus works toward righteous behavior in order to secure a place in Paradise.

According to many Hindus and Buddhists, a soul (or its equivalent) is reborn repeatedly through time because of karmic entanglements accrued in previous incarnations. The wise soul engages in right action to limit such attachments and thus escape the cycle of death and rebirth.

Not all religions postulate an eternal and personal soul. For instance, Western Buddhist teachers seldom mention reincarnation. They discuss the basic principles of detachment and right behavior without reference to rebirth. This obviates the need to discuss a soul-entity, and in fact the Buddha himself rejected the existence of a discrete soul, since he found no evidence for any consistent, fixed self in his deep explorations of mind. Most Buddhists in the USA seek direct, meditative insight into the nature of consciousness as the ultimate goal of practice and don’t worry about escaping the cycles of birth and death. The focus is on mental process without invocation of any divine or eternal soul.

Many contemplative traditions (including some strains of Sufism, Christianity, Buddhism, and Hinduism) also reject the personal soul-concept. However, they do so by invoking a universal consciousness that subsumes the individual. This is the non-dual stance, which sees no meaningful distinction between soul and body, or between spirit and matter, or between God and individual souls. According to this philosophy, all beings arise as creative expressions of one vast Presence that manifests in myriad forms but retains core unity, which unenlightened humans fail to grasp. Such analysis rejects boundaries as illusory, whether between individuals, between people and animals, or between people and Divine Nature. We are viewed as all of one body, in the deepest sense. This perspective is essentially ecological and fits well with what we see in the biosphere.

Those of conventional scientific persuasion bristle at mention of either soul or universal consciousness. They see any suggestion of mystical reality as unfounded, infantile, and dangerous. But there is no scientific evidence that rules out either individual souls or cosmic consciousness. Quantum mechanical principles such as entanglement and non-locality provide plausible, if completely unproven, mechanisms whereby enduring impressions of mental life could be retained in the cosmic matrix without violating established physical laws. These ‘recordings’ could possess all the qualities we expect of discrete souls or universal awareness.

Over the years I’ve explored many different metaphysical positions. Raised as an atheist and educated extensively as a biologist, I never seriously questioned the strict materialist perspective until age twenty-nine. At that time, as I entered Alcoholics Anonymous and felt encouraged to find a ‘higher power,’ fate connected me with the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers). Quakerism eschews dogma and doctrine in favor of direct, experiential discovery of ‘the light of Christ’ within each of us.

In 2000, after a series of profound (even shattering) spiritual experiences, I converted to Catholicism. For many years I went to mass several times a week and tried hard to buy into the Roman Catholic worldview. But although I appreciated the call to mysticism and the sacred rituals, the Church’s dogmatism, reactionary sociopolitical views, and rejection of female priesthood alienated me.

As an alternative, I explored Buddhist meditation. For two years I went to local meditation centers for weekly sittings and occasional longer retreats. At the same time, I undertook an intensive program of reading about Buddhism. The emphasis on silence and detached observation of thought felt quite helpful and fit with the clinically oriented mindfulness meditation I’d learned ten years earlier in classes at a local medical center. But in the end, I had trouble with Buddhist emphasis on emptiness and detachment. Although I see the value of exploring these qualities, they offer little in the way of felt love or sweetness. Meditative consciousness is vast and reverberant, but not inherently warm.

Next, I explored a Hindu offshoot at a retreat center that opened a couple of miles from my home. The monastics taught me to visualize my soul as residing in the area of the third eye in the middle of my forehead. I learned to concentrate on my soulful qualities rather than my bodily identity. This approach challenged me at first, because so much noise and confusion seems to arise in my head, and focusing my attention there failed to quiet the uproar. At the suggestion of a skilled meditator, I adjusted the technique by moving my conscious centerpoint to my heart, where there is more peace and warmth. Before long, I awoke to the powerful illumination of an ancient inner awareness that has little use for my day-to-day worries, ambitions, and desires. This inner light feels like a combination of personal soul and universal Presence arising from the cosmos itself.

Oddly, and beautifully, I now find myself having gone full circle. After all my explorations I am back at the Quaker starting point, only with a much more palpable sense of that divine light within each of us. This is experience and not belief. I cannot justify it in rational terms and see no reason to try. All I can do is describe what happens when my meditations go well. It matters little to me whether my direct apprehension of love, unity, and rightness resides only in my brain or truly connects, as it seems to, with a cosmic consciousness. Because it is experiential and not referential, it feels quite solid and unshakable. Some days I interpret my soulfulness in mystical terms, and other days I think about it in purely neurological ones. But no matter what I believe about this state of mind, it brings me peace.

Every person must choose her or his own path, and I have learned to judge no one’s, not even my own. Those who prefer material atheism have adopted a belief system that requires no leap of faith and has a logically satisfying internal consistency. Those who believe in heaven or reincarnation, and who view souls as eternal and individual, have found a comforting formula that gives meaning to what happens here on earth. Those who meditate mindfully to enter spacious states of consciousness experience inexpressible mental stillness. Non-dualists, in turn, use their practice to find (what seems like) experiential confirmation of an ageless and infinite cosmic unity.

For my part, I know only that there is something that feels divine and non-egoic in the center of my chest. It beats like a spiritual heart throbbing in unison with the biological pump that moves my blood. My metaphysical position is neither more nor less valid than any other. It has features in common with the tenets of materialism, since my bliss seems deeply rooted in my biology. It shares some aspects of the soul-religions, because the brightness within acts like an eternal spark that illuminates my better nature. Consciousness also feels enhanced, as I tune into the infinite harmony that comes with silent meditation. My practice has non-dual aspects too, since in its highest expression I feel merged with all beings and all Nature.

This is my spiritual trail, which has been blazed through two-and-a-half decades of searching and introspection. I believe each of us must choose whatever path feels right. We should seek the tradition(s) that can heal both our own wounds and the troubles of the larger world.

So although I spent two posts honoring humans as living, breathing organisms, it feels vital to round out the discussion with my conviction that we also embody a loving, timeless Presence that permeates and transcends our material forms. This may be a personal soul, or a universal one. It may be pure consciousness or an artifact of brain physiology. No matter. It dwells within each of us, waiting for the day we abandon our desperate scheming and open to Life in all its terror, splendor, and Grace.

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Biology, Spirit, and Transcendence was published on January 15th, 2012 . 5 comments






Sinful Desire?

This will be my last word, for now, on desire. So far I’ve summarized the Eastern view on it and dealt with two of the questions that inevitably arise: How do we motivate ourselves if not by desire? and Are there not healthy forms of yearning?

To round out the discussion, let me point out that although one post was titled “The Road to Hell Is Paved with Desire,” I did not mean to imply that desire is sinful in the usual sense of the word.

We in the West are conditioned by Judeo-Christian theology. Within these religions, there is a presumption that God judges our actions and condemns our sins. Lust, greed, sloth, wrath, pride, gluttony, and envy are all related to desire in one way or another. When we yield to these “seven deadly sins,” and hence to our base hungers, God rebukes us. Or so we are told by the Abrahamic lineage.

This kind of thinking is at odds with the views of Eastern traditions. The Hindu God is a complex entity with many facets and manifestations. But if God appears in personal form at all, he (or she) is more a companion and neutral witness than a punitive judge. The Hindu and Buddhist concept of karma implies that we are free to choose and suffer the natural consequences of our choices. If we elect to cause harm, we will reap darkness in this or future lifetimes. If we choose compassion, we will receive mercy in kind, eventually. The emphasis is on inevitable cause and effect, not just desserts.

In spelling this out, I am not claiming that one view is necessarily right and the other wrong. Rather, my point is that both Divine punishment and Karmic consequence deal with ultimate effects, not immediate results. In contrast, these essays were not written to suggest that desire leads to a hellish afterlife or unhappy future birth, but to misery in the here and now. Craving creates hell on earth.

Desire causes suffering automatically. It is not sinful in the sense of leading to eternal damnation. Nor do we necessarily accrue bad karma if we choose to live by desire. But if we bank our happiness on satisfying wishes, on constantly adjusting our circumstances to meet our expectations, we are doomed to suffer disappointment. This is a utilitarian judgment, not an ethical one.

The many questions that arise when one proposes rejection of desire become less important when we see things this way. Those who prefer to live passionately, or who feel strong hungers and enjoy pursuing them, are perfectly free to do so. Such people are neither unworthy nor unspiritual. They are free to ride the stormy waves of yearning, satiation, and more yearning. No doubt they can, as much as anyone, find realization if they want it badly enough. They can choose ethically supportable desires and reject destructive ones; they can hunger for social justice and world peace; they can elevate their passion to mystical ecstasy and so counterbalance the grinding frustration of appetites.

But those of us who tire of the roller coaster, who seek equanimity, can find it by rejecting the promise of desire. We can see how pursuit of hungers leads to nagging dissatisfaction. We can transcend the yearnings of body and ego, and move to a deeper and quieter space within.

Yes, there will be a price to pay. Life will lose its power to stimulate and arouse. But we will gain steadiness and profound insight in exchange.

The choice is ours and ours alone. The universe will love us either way.

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Sinful Desire? was published on November 2nd, 2011 . 8 comments






Hold the Light, But Hold It Lightly

Remember how I said essays were too distracting for me right now and that a break was needed? The plan was to post mainly poetry, and that’s still my intent. But during a recent visit with my dear aunt we shared an interesting conversation, and afterward she remarked she wished she had a recording of it. In order to collect the ideas we touched on, I wrote the prior essay about how one can find reassurance in any situation by developing the right attitude toward life. Now, as I look at that piece, it appears incomplete. I need to write another.

That last essay gave the impression, perhaps, that I believe spiritual pursuits unnecessary. However, that’s not my stance. Transcendent development is important. The problems arise when people hold fixed beliefs about the nature of reality. Because we can’t know ultimate truth, any idea or theory is provisional. New data could appear at any moment to undermine conviction. If one believes, for instance, that God works in mysterious ways for our own welfare, one can too easily end up bargaining with the cosmos: “I’ll be happy if there is an all-powerful deity who decides what’s best for me.”

Such specificity in belief is precarious. If too much hardship accumulates, one begins to doubt God’s beneficence. The traditional religious solution to such wavering is to cleave even more tightly to ‘faith’ in a particular kind of God. This hardening of ideology in the face of contradiction underlies many religious and philosophical battles, sometimes with lethal results.

So it is important to find a foundational belief system that relies as little as possible on blind faith, and as much as possible on incontrovertible fact. That all life is interdependent can hardly be questioned. That we are reliant on others is obvious. Taking such evident truths and using them to conclude that what matters is the whole collective of life and not our personal stories offers a stable system for making sense out of hardship and tragedy.

One could go the next step and believe that humans are interconnected on a non-material plane through subtle influences in the ground substance of reality. This might seem to provide a stronger basis for insisting on the sanctity of all. However, such a putative matrix of universal awareness, while possible, cannot at present be proven. So it serves as a poor platform for stable contentment.

This does not mean, however, that mystical awareness should be ignored or discounted. True spirituality is not based on belief, but on direct and nonverbal experience. Transcendent states can be described by the rational, verbal mind, but they can’t be entered through it. Through meditation, or contact with nature, or after reversals of fortune, one can discover immanence. The nature of radiant consciousness is such that words become inadequate, and the unity, rightness, and encompassing love of the cosmos feel immediately present and beyond question.

Left to its own devices, the mind quickly begins to conceptualize such experiences. A Christian might believe the spirit of Christ has embraced her. A Buddhist might believe he has gained direct insight into the ultimate nature of reality. A Pagan might interpret the radiance as the collective energy of nature. But the experience itself belies such categorization. It simply is.

A habitual atheist would perhaps explain a similar state in synaptic terms, ascribing the numinous feelings to atypical neurotransmitter balance. This is nothing more than yet another metaphysical stance, albeit one reliant on scientific study. Despite the tremendous progress in neuroscience, we cannot even begin to explain states of mind in terms of cellular activity. The belief that the transcendent experience is potentially explainable in purely material terms is just that: a belief. In any event, if the altered state was exceptionally powerful, it might alter the atheist’s worldview, (as happened in my own case).

The belief system can also affect the unfolding of the transcendent state. I suspect that if visual phenomena arose, a Roman Catholic would be more likely to see luminous forms suggestive of biblical angels, whereas a Tibetan Buddhist would perhaps observe lights tracing the shape of a mandala, as described in some texts of that tradition.

No matter its form, and regardless of how it’s interpreted, mystical awareness has tremendous transformative potential. It reforms a neurotic life into a numinous one. At first, such improvements last only a short time, perhaps a few days. But as we gain confidence in the significance and reality of direct realization, our neurosis becomes less solid and destructive, while peace gains ground.

The best approach, I believe, is to experience mystical awakening without demanding anything of it. The verbal mind wants to organize and explain what happened, but that leads to unstable belief systems that require defense. Better to simply remain open to the flow of sensation and realization, and not place constraints on it.

Mystical experiences feel weightier than ordinary states of mind; they resist reduction to simple neurologic description. They engender a profound sense of connection with forces much larger and more distributed than the individual personality. Even so, there is no way to prove that any objective reality underlies the subjective sense that transpersonal currents are at play.

True, many writers have described how contemporary physical theories are consistent with the existence of distributed consciousness in the cosmos. But even though I personally believe such cosmic presence to be real, it remains a belief with all the problems described earlier in this post. Ideas and theories are not stable enough to serve as a nucleus for inner peace; one needs a foundation based on fairly certain facts in order to sidestep doubt and the tendency to fossilize opinions.

Spiritual growth is important. Whether or not there are mysterious forces outside the individual mind, it is unarguable that human beings contend with powerful and untamed energies within. Reconciling these qualities, befriending them, and making them work for us is important. At the very least, humans are spirited in the secular sense of the word, so ‘spiritual’ practice makes sense if we want satisfying and meaningful lives. But we need to keep our rational minds open to all possibilities and not concretize a universe far too complex and subtle for full and final description in verbal terms.

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Hold the Light, But Hold It Lightly was published on July 31st, 2011 . 6 comments






The High Price of Freedom

The openings began just before the 2000 spring equinox. The timing seems significant, since in many ways I experienced a rebirth when they first occurred. The initial springtime of the new millenium: a season suited to a sweeping and surging renewal.

Since 1987, when I first attended a 12-step meeting, I’d been yearning for a sense of spiritual connection. Being raised by an intellectual has its advantages, but my father’s atheism, shared by most twentieth century scientists, meant that I was brought up to view mystical ideas as superstition or fraud. So although Dad trained me to think critically, and question ceaselessly, he also entrained me with the belief that our universe is unconscious, material, and meaningless. For many years I therefore reflexively dismissed claims of higher planes. Even having direct spiritual experiences did not cure me of this skepticism: the rational mechanisms in my brain would sooner ascribe dysfunction to my mind than mystery to creation.

For some reason, it has taken me a long time to find writers who both question the dogmatic materialist view and insist on objective proof for non-standard influences. I mentioned one author last time; more recently I’ve read The Sense of Being Stared At by Rupert Sheldrake. Despite the non-catchy title, this is a very exciting book. Only the most rigid and insistent materialist could read it and not question the reigning assumption that science has identified all existing forces and fields in nature. Personally, I believe Sheldrake has proven that there are more potencies at play than the strong, weak, electromagnetic and gravitational forces.

Which brings me back to my recurring experience of a larger reality. In the past I’ve described some of these awesome moments. Occasionally I write about what they teach me. Today, I want to write about what they mean to me.

The most recent happened two nights ago. Sleep often eludes me, and I was having extra difficulty because the previous day had been extremely upsetting. It had me questioning the wisdom of many of my plans, and the reliability of someone I’d hitherto thoroughly trusted. Such abysmal moods overcome me periodically, usually after setbacks, but I’ve learned to weather the storms without taking them too seriously. Even so, I felt truly awful about my decisions and course in life. Plus, my arthritis was acting up, so I suffered with distressing physical symptoms as well. Strangely, despite my agony, I began to experience an all-encompassing and stunning clarity of mind. As happens almost every time I have a ‘spiritual’ experience, it felt like I truly understood life.

Every aspect of reality, from the molecular make-up of my body to the mistreatment I endured in childhood seemed coherent, and it all harmonized with the rest of creation. I could grasp how the human body exists as a resonant entity as clearly as I could understand the emotions that drove my stepmother to torment me. Even as I felt utterly miserable, I felt deeply at peace. It all made sense.

I put the last sentence in italics, because it is my most succinct description of the experience. To fully explain the breadth of my apparent vision would take a book, not a blog post. This gift of peace simultaneous with despair has come to me before. It is the surest sign I have that my psyche is finally maturing.

However, my being is only seasoned in its ability to understand, forgive, and accept at some times. Other times, I get lost in the same mix of confusion, resentment and resistance that has long plagued me. Even so, because I have learned about detachment and patience, it has become easier to take my anxieties a bit lightly, let them have their moment, and then move on. What’s harder is deciding what the expansive moments mean. With admitted grandiosity, I wonder if there is a message in my experiences that should be transmitted to others. And if so, how could I possibly broadcast my ideas?

Or have I already reached an endpoint? Is our primary charge to understand, forgive, and accept? Is the whole point of life to learn solutions, without necessarily recommending our idiosyncratic path to others? It is easy to put all stock in the social dimension, and measure our worth on the basis of how much we are valued by others. What if the only entity we need to serve is our own soul? I’m not suggesting selfishness, because the soul is nourished more by altruism. But what if our deepest responsibility is to our own little spirit, and its intrepid struggle to thrive? Perhaps this is a conclusion obvious to all but those who were raised to put themselves last.

Finally, is it enough to make sense of things? Is getting to a place of compassionate comprehension worth the arduous journey that precedes it? For all the majesty of my moments of grace, for all their clarity and ineffable salience, it is tempting to conclude they were purchased at too high a cost.

“Welcome,” I imagine you saying, “to human life.”

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The High Price of Freedom was published on October 14th, 2010 . 2 comments






Tilling for the Soul

PlowingGround

In my upcoming talk this Saturday, I hope to establish three central points: 1) People have the capacity for elevated, selfless modes of consciousness that go a long way toward easing psychic distress. Higher mind states do not lead to perfect happiness that never ebbs; rather, they make life enjoyable despite inevitable trials and jagged emotion. 2) Contrary to the standard model of mental health care, which expects emotional growth to be slow and arduous, people can abruptly transcend despair. 3) There are steps we can take to make such decisive transformations more likely.

My last blog entry touched on what’s been learned about elevated consciousness, and later I will come back to the issue of gradual versus sudden change. For today, let’s skip ahead to consider how we can promote ‘awakening’ experiences. To cover this territory in depth would require an entire book, and many texts and even bibles have been written to help people attain transcendence. Fortunately, my intended audience limits the scope of my endeavor. My goal is to provide suggestions that people can incorporate into ongoing programs of recovery from depression and anxiety. Even at my best, I don’t believe my elevated consciousness rivals that of a true spiritual leader. All I can claim is that regret, worry and despair no longer plague me. It would make my entire stormy life worthwhile if I could help one or two people transcend their labyrinths of remorse and terror, and ascend to a new state of mind.

Probably, those most prone to benefit will be those with long histories of misery, who feel like they can’t take much more pain. It was only because my desolation had become nearly unbearable that I finally saw the light. It seems probable to me that less wretched anguish would be less likely to push one to the precipice of decisive change. Certainly, most people who have described abrupt, transformative experiences had first descended to abject despair. By this reasoning, my audience will be people with severe dysphoria, who will likely have already explored a number of different pathways to relief. Many will have undergone therapy, many will have been prescribed medication, and many will have turned to spiritual programs. Prior work is important, because I believe one needs to build a foundation before one can fashion a spire into the heights of understanding.

Coming as I did from a catastrophic childhood, one necessity was time spent sorting through the conflicts and confusion bequeathed me by the dead past. My guess is that the greater the turmoil in one’s history, the greater the need to expend effort coming to grips with it. Probably most people with life-ruining depression will have had the benefit of at least a little therapy aimed at exploring the circumstances that predisposed them to such problems. This is a bit elitist of me, I realize, since it takes financial resources to get psychotherapy in our unjust society. I am not saying that one needs to spend many years and thousands of dollars hashing over one’s upbringing, but a bit of assistance from someone knowledgeable about the lingering effects of childhood trauma seems vital.

These days, the trend in psychotherapy is toward focusing on thought and behavior in the present rather than getting bogged down by the past. Although this is a positive and empirically supported development, I suspect that those with really difficult pasts may yet need to examine what happened. Running from the past is not the same as escaping it. On the other hand, in addition to therapy that addresses childhood trauma, recovery from depression and anxiety requires major changes in how we think and act. For this reason, it is helpful to learn the techniques of cognitive behavior therapy (CBT) and its many spinoffs. Whether these skills are learned from books, or from therapists, it is important to recognize the fundamental role of thought in despondence. When the mind does little but cycle through hidebound regrets, worries and obsessions, mental anguish will persist, impeding the journey to higher consciousness.

Today’s post begins a discussion of how psychotherapy, self-examination and thought management provide a foundation for steps toward transcendent awareness. I’ve tried to emphasize that my comments are directed to those with severe depression and anxiety, most of whom probably have histories of both childhood trauma and negative obsessional thinking. In one way or another, the childhood needs to be looked at; if therapy is out of reach, then journaling and reading might well suffice. In addition, one must learn to discipline thoughts, and cut down on negative rumination. The next post will continue this discussion of the groundwork that facilitates a journey to an elevated frame of mind. We are fortunate to live in an age when much has been learned about the roots of misery, and about how we can prepare the field for a blossoming future.

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Tilling for the Soul was published on February 22nd, 2010 . 2 comments






Praying for Selflessness

Prayer

Prayer draws us near to our own souls. (Herman Melville)

Last time, I made the point that (at their best) most religions promote a state of mind that dethrones ego. This elevated condition goes by many names: Christ-consciousness, selfless awareness, enlightenment, etc. Anyone following this blog knows that I have been blessed with this frame of mind off and on since mid-January.

When I am fully installed in it, my petty concerns melt away, and my heart feels full and grateful. I don’t worry about my future, or fret about my past. Criticism goes silent. In its place comes a nonverbal belief that life is acceptable in every way. Not that I’m unaware of the need for improvement; in particular, working toward greater selflessness becomes more important than ever. But life seems calmer, easier, and more beautiful.

When I give up all resistance, and settle into this accepting and loving mode, the world feels sacred. It is easy for this awesome feeling of peace to take on a religious character. The first time I experienced it, in 2000, I felt embraced by God. At one point, Jesus spoke to me, directly and in person. It was a profound religious moment that led me to convert to Catholicism.

In the years that followed, I read a lot about spiritual experiences. In particular, I educated myself about the neurological underpinnings of transcendent consciousness. I found out that there are regions in the brain (e.g., the temporal lobes) that seem to be activated during profound states. Others (e.g., the left parietal lobe) may become quiet. Learning these facts led to a series of changes in my outlook. At first, I concluded that these brain structures must be the portals through which God operates. Later, doubt crept in, and I started wondering if the experiences were simply seizure-equivalents; perhaps ‘it was all in my head’. Over time, regardless of what I believed, I settled back into egocentrism, more depressed than ever.

This year, after I again encountered Peace of Mind, I realized it doesn’t much matter whether it is a purely biological condition versus something of divine origin. These are the important points: 1) this state of mind has been experienced by many people; 2) it does not depend on any particular belief system; 3) it erases my depression whenever it is active; and 4) it makes me want to be a better person.

In Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives, William Miller and Janet C’de Baca describe many swift transitions from common ego-bound human neurosis, into exactly the state of grace I’m describing. The transformations felt like gifts (often in the midst of crisis) rather than earned rewards. The authors maintain neutrality about the origin of these changes, but they emphasize that many lives were permanently improved.

In my case, the improvement has not been exactly permanent; my feelings of transcendence wax and wane. A few days ago I suffered food poisoning, and selfless consciousness evaporated. Within hours I felt as miserable and depressed as ever. I’ve been working to realign myself ever since. At first I tried meditating, walking in nature, exercising, reading and writing. Nothing seemed to help.

Then I did something new: I prayed. Not to God, because my atheist upbringing makes belief in God challenging for me. I needed to pray to something that I knew existed. So I prayed to that deeper part of my mind that is so much wiser than me. I know, from firsthand experience, that something within me understands the world in a holistic way that erases anxiety and depression, so I prayed to that part of myself, and asked it to rise again. I begged my deeper ‘Spirit’ to come to the surface and take over. My ‘Will’ admitted that it was making a hash of things. It surrendered.

Praying worked: before long I felt the warmth again. I watched the anxieties fall away, the depression lighten, the smile and the love return. I found that surrendering to this deeper part of myself, through the mechanism of verbal prayer, brought me back to my center.

There are those who will believe that God must have played a part here. Why rule that out? Perhaps God is open-minded enough to accept my ego’s surrender, even if the surrender was not specifically directed toward God.

But it is also possible that this act of prayer merely allowed my deeper nature to step into the driver’s seat. My ego admitted it needed to hand off the wheel, and that allowed my heart to start directing things again.

Whatever the mechanism, the transformation was effected, and I feel more contented, more accepting, and more motivated to be a better person. Isn’t that all that matters? And if orthodox religions can bring others to this place of comfort and growth, then shouldn’t we respect them for it?

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Praying for Selflessness was published on February 17th, 2010 . 6 comments






The Rational Wings of Faith

Wings

In light of my recent awakening the mystical seems thoroughly mixed with the mundane. Even ‘secular’ mental health topics now lead me beneath the paving stones of structured thought. It has become obvious that everything ordinary is a bit magical, and everything magical is a bit ordinary. There is something beyond understanding in the simple fall of a raindrop, while the prosaic rhythm of our hearts paces the most profound religious moments.

‘Magic’, as used here, refers to things the logical mind discounts. These include connections that can’t be proven, wisdom without worldly value, and love as a guiding principle. It helps to embrace such things if we seek faith, but we do not need to invoke blatantly supernatural forces. My awakening demonstrated that spiritual connection does not require belief in phenomena that violate the normal patterns of events. And for the record, ‘spiritual connection’ can be coarsely described as awareness that the self is small, and that the universe is meaningful and alive with interdependence.

There are countless paths that lead to openness. Many find faith in a supreme deity, but those without such beliefs can still experience deep and universal connections. (Note that faith is available without theistic convictions, but this by no means rules out a creative, omniscient God.) Traditional Buddhism relies on the expectation of reincarnation; commitment to escaping the cycle of rebirth motivates the entire practice. But meaningful peace can be achieved without these tenets, whether reincarnation occurs or not. In fact, no specific set of beliefs is essential to feeling supported by the currents of mystery.

My uncompleted series of spiritual essays were put forward to counter (seemingly) rational obstructions to feeling connected with deep forces. Fervent materialists, for instance, base their views on narrow interpretations of scientific findings. A broader look at established facts can undermine such arguments. The series’ goal was to counteract resistance caused by rigid and false reasoning.

After writing out ideas that had been accumulating for years, I awakened to some simple but profound truths. If our egos did not keep us in blinders, I realized, we would better appreciate the magic of life. We would know that we live in the midst of a blossoming miracle. We would feel how matter, energy, and consciousness evolve and intertwine all around us. At first, this direct experience made me think my rational arguments had been superfluous and unnecessary. Why even bother with the ego’s petty objections, when the truth is so elegant and apparent?

Then my transcendent awareness receded. Although vivid memories remain, direct experience is elusive. This proves what spiritual pilgrims have always found: discrete ecstatic moments, while valuable, are not enough. One must make ongoing efforts to remain open. In Achieving Enlightenment the Dalai Lama talks of two types of meditation. In the ‘analytical’ kind, one uses reason to explore truth, which then informs meditations that set thought aside. So using the mind to investigate the validity, source and meanings of faith might actually be a useful practice. Combined with quiet sitting and altruistic efforts, it might help a person (like me) stay spiritually centered. So why not continue the series?

A new motivation to proceed with my spiritual project is also apparent. After my recent awakening, depression that had tormented me for decades lost power. My heart remains at peace, even though I continue to feel bodily sadness, ancient grief, and shadows of trauma. Moods still ebb and flow, and dark clouds still roll across my mental landscape, but my core feels safe because of faith. In essence, by breaking down my ego, and embracing deeper realities, my soul attained abiding serenity.

Importantly, my soul-shaking experience arose without belief in anything blatantly supernatural. No supreme deity, no reincarnation, no disembodied spirits. (Again, I am not saying any religious principles are wrong; only that they are unnecessary to effective faith.) Rational ideas about creation, and looking at my situation with clarity and perspective, opened me to a wordless experience of cosmic unity.

The significance cannot be overstated. Faith that arose alongside a strict belief in science led to mental health. Psychotherapy (including CBT and ACT), 12-step programs, and self-help books helped get me ready to change. But experiential faith, based on logically supportable thought provided wings that lifted me away from the gravity of my suffering. Since others might find peace along this path, my story must be told.

Growth might have been easier within an established religion. But an atheist upbringing and years of scientific training blocked me from becoming a convinced Christian, Buddhist, or anything else. Those traditions and others informed me, but left me short of my goal. Do many besides me desire faith, but feel blocked by rational objections? It’s hard to say. And whether my ideas will help is also unknown. But the same feeling of connection that shook me awake prompts me to resume the series.

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The Rational Wings of Faith was published on January 26th, 2010 . 4 comments






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