Okay, where to start? This is the problem… How do I manage to get a hold on all of the thoughts, opinions, emotions, and ideas running through my head at once and organize them into a coherent thesis? For someone like me, a self-proclaimed over-thinker, this challenge is almost too much at times. Just ask my high school teachers—they tried to get me to come up with a thesis, a conclusion, and transition sentences, for heaven’s sake. I was asked to choose ONE point, not EVERY point, and I was often accused of being too “vague” in my writing, which I attribute to the fact that I was always trying to include every possible connection that could be made between my topic and everything else in the universe. And the process of writing was near torture—I would spend countless hours of grueling work at the desktop—with the occasional five-minute “shake everything you’ve got” dance session to calm my restlessness—only to come out of my reverie and discover one meager and totally convoluted paragraph staring at me from the screen.
Those many years of avoidance and procrastination and reluctance have passed, and somehow I have managed to overcome those obstacles and write a pretty good paper. But despite my newfound organization skills, the overactive mind relentlessly works on in my day-to-day life. This wasn’t much of a big deal in the past; in fact, aside from my academic struggles, I hardly noticed it for most of my life, until we started this yearlong trip. Suddenly, I felt like I could hardly get a moment of silence to myself…it was exhausting. For several months I was extremely upset over this new realization, because my overwhelm was making it difficult to function joyfully (my preferred M.O.) and I could not determine what about the trip was causing it (though my mind never ceased to point blame somewhere). I felt a constant craving for ease, for balance, for a feeling of lightness rather than the weight of my heavy mind constantly pushing me to the ground. The most frustrating part about it, however, was just how obvious my mind state was to everyone around me. I had my irises examined by an iridologist in New Zealand, and she told me, “You could make life so much simpler for yourself if you would just let go of those unnecessary thoughts.” My mom told me, “Most people have 3-4 mantras they use for their entire lives, and you are using 6 mantras a day!” And one Russian friend we met right before our retreat deduced my Numerology and told me simply, “You think too much.” It didn’t require much of a grasp of English for her to get right to the core.
It is hard not to blame yourself and get a bit depressed when you hear from all sides that all of your problems could be solved if you just didn’t make them problems, which, though partly true, often just serves to increase one’s burdensome negative emotions. I had found many ways to personally cope and ease my burden over our months of travel (mostly through a whole lot of letting go), but our 10-day silent meditation retreat at Suan Mokkh monastery in Thailand was definitely the climax of my self-understanding. There, I quickly discovered (with great relief) that most people struggle with an overactive “monkey mind.” This constantly distracted, shallow state of being is actually generally accepted and often urged in mainstream society, a place where one must be able to switch one’s attention quickly from one task to another without getting too caught up in any of them—Hold on, I need a moment to dance. I’ll be right back.
Aaaaanyway…where was I?
So we took a break from the demanding travel life to enter the silence and reflective tone of the monastery. I was very much looking forward to this experience, excited about some good quality quiet time, some time to really focus within and rejuvenate. The experience of travel involves stepping out of the real world into a place where you get a much clearer view of your own limitations. There are no responsibilities to focus on, but rather than silence, your mind rushes to fill in the blanks with more thoughts. Often, the mind will build up all sorts of expectations of what the future will hold, and when those expectations do not come true, it leads to stress and doubt and fear and all sorts of defense mechanisms in an attempt to protect the ego. I imagined that some time to meditate would provide some respite from these conditions, but in fact it only served to take the conditions to a further extreme—no responsibilities (aside from my daily sweeping duty), no talking, no reading or writing, two meals a day, no running—no place at all for the mind to hide.
At the beginning of the retreat, I became very familiar with the idea of dukkha, or suffering. The first few days I wondered if I was actually insane and just hadn’t realized it up to that point. Every minor thing was capable of driving me crazy, particularly the actions of others. The woman in the room next to mine brushed her teeth three times a day, for the full three minutes, with her electric toothbrush, despite the fact that we only ate twice a day. There was no talking and limited interaction, so instead I would find myself trying to glean some meaning from others’ expressions, and sometimes I would even find myself getting offended if I felt they were not being polite enough in their reservedness! One Spanish girl refused to make eye contact or acknowledge others in any way, and I found it entirely infuriating. If someone appeared to be acting in a less-than-mindful way, I would launch into a full-on mental rant about their total misunderstanding of the retreat’s purpose and my disappointment in the human race as a whole. In those moments when I could not focus on others for distraction, I would either hear cartoonish voices putting on goofy plays and giving nonsensical lectures to nobody in particular, or James Taylor’s song Fire and Rain playing on loud repeat. To put it lightly, it was a bit much.
After a few days, I began to get some respite from these overwhelming and chaotic moments. Relief came in the form of a hot cup of cocoa, a soak in the hot tub, a rejuvenating yoga session. I found a great deal of joy in pouring cold water down my back at the communal bathing pool, which I did twice a day to combat the hot jungle weather. One day I watched a cat squat down and take a big poop right in the middle of a bunch of people trying to focus on their walking meditation, and I had to run away to keep from laughing out loud at their bewildered expressions. These small moments of joy helped me to be more fully present and able to focus on the lessons of Buddhism.
Buddhism is not only about silencing the mind, it is learning to let go of all of the things that the mind deems important. The pain we create now is always some form of nonacceptance—some form of unconscious resistance to What Is. We have to accept what is, and not try to resist it or change it, because it is futile. Buddha says, “What could be more futile, more insane, than to create inner resistance to something that already IS?” If we can fully accept the “isness” of life, then we have already greatly eased our burden of suffering. We will not be constantly trying to make our lives feel less unsatisfying, because we will have accepted the terms of life entirely. Besides, that is another truth of life—it is unsatisfactory. This isn’t a pessimistic idea; it is merely telling us that we will never find true happiness if we seek satisfaction in material objects or other people or anything else which is ultimately impermanent. The joy of eating ice cream only lasts so long as the ice cream is being eaten, and no process of looking forward to it or remembering it will allow that pleasure to continue. We will never be free of suffering if we attach ourselves to the idea that true happiness comes from outside of ourselves, because due to the impermanence of all things, we will forever be chasing happiness from one place to another. This attachment, this constant craving, this desire for something which is merely an illusion and by its own nature is subject to change, this is suffering. Buddhism says, “This too shall pass.” Embrace that and find peace.
In addition to letting go of our attachment to the material world, Buddhism urges us to relinquish our idea of a Self. This idea is really complicated and I found myself struggling a great deal with accepting it during the retreat (probably because it would mean letting go of my “identity,” which is an indescribably difficult thing for the mind to do). Regardless of my acceptance or nonacceptance of this idea, however, I see a great deal of benefit in living selflessly. Most people I know (myself included) spend a good portion of their time building upon their ego (or identity), and the rest of their time defending it. That is why I felt like I was “driving myself crazy,” because I believed that the I doing the driving and the I who felt crazy were both me, rather than seeing the mind as a separate entity and allowing myself to let go of the need to associate with it. If I am not attached to what my mind is doing, I don’t look there for evidence of who I am. I still pay attention to how I feel, because emotions are good tools, but I no longer identify with those emotions and allow them to take me over completely. “The ego is in perpetual resistance to the present moment, and needs the ideas of past and future to survive.” So I let go of my attachment to both, and live in the only place that is actually real—the Now. Buddha says that when you live fully in the moment, “you see yourself in everything, but there is no “Self” that you need to protect, defend, or feed anymore.”
Finally. Buddhism teaches that life is always about taking the Middle Way. One of our teachers was very fond of telling us that “Life is neither easy nor difficult,” which has proven to be quite true for me. Meditation is the same way. If I spent too much energy trying to attain a certain level of concentration, then inevitably I would get too hard on myself and become angry and frustrated. If I just sat there and did not try at all, then it would take about twenty minutes for me to come back to reality and realize that my mind had taken me on some crazy adventure of the imagination and I had not been present at all. This idea also relates to those who try to move toward or against ideas. For instance, if we like something, then our mind urges us to seize on it and take it over. If we do not like it, our mind pushes it away in an attempt to be rid of it. We make huge efforts to become one thing and to not become another, whichever pleases the mind most. But if we do these things as a way of bringing the mind satisfaction, rather than as a response to our inner truths and abilities, then we are trying to force a reality which is not actually based in truth, and therefore we will suffer. Instead, one does whatever is required in any situation without letting it become a role to identify with. Then the action is performed for its own sake, and there will be no sense of identity loss if the duty becomes obsolete. Taking the middle way sounds simple, but it rings true, and it leads to both motivation and relief because it shows that one need not do more than one is able, and that if it feels right, it probably is right. By taking the middle way, we can first do good, then refrain from doing evil, and then finally transcend good and evil altogether and reach a higher state of functioning that is without judgment. We can also find relief in letting go of the past and future, and living fully in the moment.
These lessons and many more can become quite deep and complex, so I will refrain from going too far in this blog, but I wanted to mention a few of those which had caused me to deeply rethink my ways of responding to the events in my life. I saw very clearly the workings of my mind and the ways it becomes attached to illusion, and I began relinquishing my need for control. I rejoiced in gratefulness and loving kindness. I appreciated the beauties of nature, and especially that blissful moment when I found myself dancing silently and ecstatically in the hot pools while it rained. Oh thank you, universe, waving trees, blue-black sky, cold rain, soundless underwater, Bliss!! The only thing that could make this experience anything less than perfect would be…. FIRE AND RAIN playing in snippets on semi-repeat!!! DUKKHA!!! …Oh well, nothing is permanent, I suppose. Except Styrofoam. That stuff never biodegrades.
Since the end of the retreat, I have given myself more opportunities to listen to my own inner truth and not follow my mind down its imaginary paths as eagerly as I once did. I am definitely not an expert meditator yet, and I bet that title is a long way off, but I have had a few powerful moments of presence which have changed the way I see many things. Much of my life up to this point has involved a lot of reminiscing nostalgically about the past and catastrophizing the future, and I am joyfully letting go of that. I am also having an easier time cutting off the beginnings of an imagination which could take me down a path of stirring up old emotions or building new ones. I stop the thought and allow silence to enter for just a second, like taking a breath, consciousness without thought. Stillness. Ease. But not easy.
Now I think I’ll take another moment to dance, but this time, for a different reason.
