FINDING THE STILLNESS

I'll never forget the first time I met Tanya. She seemed so forlorn that I
couldn't help but fear she would kill herself. As she told her story, however,
my fear subsided. Tanya was searching for something in all her
grieving, and I sensed that the search itself would keep her alive.
Women throughout the ages have grieved as intensely as Tanya did,
sometimes even more so. They have wailed and howled, torn their clothes
and pulled out their hair-all to make peace with death. However, this is
not how we grieve in our time. We are more contained. So contained
that we often lose the opportunity to find our way through such terrible
loss. As a people, whenever trouble arises we tend to short-circuit our
feelings and move quickly toward solutions that offer immediate comfort.
Many of us might think that a more acceptable response to Tanya's
terrible loss would be for her to take some medication, be sad for a couple
of months, and then go out and buy herself a brand new red convertible.
I often wonder what it is that makes us think that we can use things
to erase trouble from our lives, that we can take a pill or buy a new car
and all will be well. What a powerful spell our culture casts to convince
so many of us that material comfort is the answer to human suffering.
It doesn't make sense! How can a new car or a diamond ring heal the
terrible loneliness that comes with the loss of a loved one? How can
alcohol or a pill be anything more than a temporary answer to abuse?
Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:
reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time, not always,
for every gardener knows that after the digging, after the planting,
after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.
-MARGE PIERCY

This belief in comfort doesn't reflect the truth that trouble is part of life
and can't be wished away. It also obscures the truth that trouble exists
not only in the outside world but also inside, in emotions that persist
even after we get the new car or the diamond ring. Most important, this
belief in comfort obscures the truth that trouble contains the germ of its
own resolution as well as the potential for personal transformation.
Tanya's story is important because she did, indeed, experience a transformation
in the very process of grieving her loss. The story of her healing
began as she and I created what has been called by Donald Winnicott a
holding environment, a safe place to pursue grieving and the search that is
embedded within it. It is a place designed to be fully accepting, respectful,
and dependable.1 In this context, Tanya found the courage to grieve for as
long as she needed, and she found the determination, the stick-to-it-ness,
that leads to healing. It happened through Mindfulness Psychotherapy.
Naming the trouble was our first challenge. It wasn't as easy for Tanya
as one might think, because naming and accepting the is-ness of Chuck's
death were wrapped together inside her mind. From the very beginning,
on the day he died, she had trouble acknowledging his death, partly
because it was sudden, but also because it destroyed the future they had
created. Certainly going through the steps of identifying the body, speaking
to the police, and going to the funeral helped make it real, but the
words Chuck is dead still didn't feel right inside. Even months after he
died, she kept trying to keep him alive, because she needed him. Indeed,
he helped her learn how to sing the blues-but that came later, after she
was more able to let him go.

Naming the emotions that come with the trouble turned out to be a
fruitful therapeutic endeavor. Tanya was curious about her emotions.
They interested her. She was aware, for instance, that she felt nothing
right after Chuck's death. It worried her. She even wondered if this absence
of feeling meant she didn't love him. But soon enough the horror
of his death had seeped in. And that was followed by a rage that made
her want to kill. And under it all was a deep despair. It took great courage
not to run from such emotions. And they didn't go away even after
many months of grieving! Secretly, she thought she might be going crazy.
That, indeed, is what brought her into therapy.

The extremes of human experience trigger extreme emotional reactions.
Having a loved one murdered, for instance, can induce horror and
rage. It can even produce the "extrasensory" perception that the murdered
person is still alive. This is the mind desperately-and very creatively
-trying to make sense of the experience. The problem is that we
often become frightened of the very grieving we need to do and believe,
instead, that we're going crazy. Then it's most likely we'll force the mind
back to commonplace thinking and so lose the opportunity to work our
way through our trouble.

Fortunately, Tanya didn't do that. Actually, she was one of those people
who can't stop grieving, even if they want to. She had to find her way
through, and therapy offered the opportunity. During one therapy session,
when she heard Chuck talking to her and thought she was going
crazy, I held her closely in my gaze, slowed down my speech, and reassured
her that this was part of the grieving process. As her breathing
slowed, I asked her to listen to Chuck's voice and be aware of the feeling
it triggered. So she watched the feeling of panic rise and fall like a great
wave inside her. To her surprise, the panic didn't overwhelm her; in fact,
it slowly dissipated.

This was the kind of work we did together many times, not only
with panic, but also with rage, horror, and despair. Slowly these emotions
lost their charge. Indeed, by watching her fear of going crazy over
time, it eventually disappeared. And Chuck's voice became more comfortable
to live with, not as a sign of mental illness but as part of the
grieving process.
Stillness was the first great gift of all this effort to heal Tanya's emotions.
It came with the slowing down of time that allowed her to sense
the beating of her heart and the ebb and flow of her breath. Her mind
itself quieted down-and yet it was focused. There was no fear, no guilt,
just deep sadness, and then a few precious moments of peace. Once she
told me she felt cradled in those moments, held in the silence. Chuck
wasn't present, and yet she felt loved.

From that stillness came her second great gift-the blues. Singing
was a conduit, a funnel through which she could give voice to her grief.
People who would never have such a terrible experience of loss sensed
her grief. Those who had had such experiences understood. Singing became
her route back to everyday life. And when someone was able to
hear her songs deeply, it filled her with great joy. That joy was an affirmation
of her path.

ON HEALING

As you read the following chapters, you will see that every one of the
women engaged in the practice of Mindfulness Psychotherapy. Although
the seven components of the process didn't come in any particular order,
each woman named her trouble and then named the accompanying emotions.
Sometimes the naming was hard-especially if she had grown accustomed
to living with confusion. Clarity hurt as the reality emerged. It
was also difficult for those who had hidden emotions such as shame,
guilt, fear, or despair for years on end. Each emotion stung painfully as it
was finally felt.

Finding her way toward a complete acceptance of trouble, and the
emotions that came with it, each woman understood that her emotions
were sometimes causing more suffering than the trouble itself. Often,
much to her surprise, a complete acceptance of the is-ness of emotions
didn't drown her in a sea of feeling. Paradoxically, she actually began to
feel bigger than her emotions, more free of them. And so her suffering
was reduced.

For some, this was their first taste of equanimity-the balanced mind.
They developed a greater capacity for being matter-of-fact and nonjudgmental.
This gave them the freedom to explore the mind/body process
that gave rise to suffering. Slowly, by learning how to use awareness
as a tool, most of these women understood that, because suffering is
grounded in the mind/body process, it can be diminished.
As time went on and exploration became part of everyday life, every
woman, at least to some degree, developed an observing self. In this way,
the practice began to transform daily experiences. New people, new talent,
new opportunities arose.

Finally, the search for compassion took its place in the women's healing.
They grew to recognize the seeds of it in themselves. And they nurtured
those seeds. Healing couldn't have taken place without compassion
for themselves and others.

A few went further on the path to wholeness and used meditation to
develop a spiritual life. Trouble might have been the reason they began,
but they continued in order to know the buoyancy, the humility, and the
uncanny insight that come with states of stillness. After long practice,
they learned how to experience life holistically and so touch the larger
whole or feel held in the hands of God. At first this seemed extraordinary.
But after much effort, when they finally did catch a glimpse of that
state in themselves, it actually turned out to be rather ordinary, something
that just was. The same can be said for the stars and the Milky
Way. They are truly miraculous, and they just are.

ON MEDITATION

The meditation at the end of this chapter is about finding stillness. Especially
in a culture like ours, in which people are addicted to ever changing
sensations and constant activity, stillness is a special gift. So addicted
are we to busyness that we forget the experience of having nothing to
do. We forget that this state can offer many riches: the sound of the
wind, the touch of the air as it brushes our skin, the sight of a hawk
soaring through the sky, the experience of being. And the meditative
instruction is: Just be aware.

What does just be aware mean? It means being continuously mindful.
For example, in a few moments I will ask you to make the body the
object of your meditation-two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head. Doing
this may make you more aware of the vibrancy, the aliveness of it. In
this case, being aware means being continuously in touch with whatever
sensations arise in the body. The challenge is to sustain that awareness
matter-of-factly, with curiosity. Being matter-of-fact is a skill. It's the stance
of the scientist while he or she watches the paths of subatomic particles
in a cloud chamber or the eating habits of the great ape in the jungle. It
takes curiosity, patience, and a calm mind.

Now, an interesting thing will probably happen as you try to be mindful
of the body: thoughts will interrupt. Soon you will find yourself
thinking about something that must be done, something you forgot to
do, something you didn't do well. You might even create a fantasy, and
before you know it you're on a beach in Hawaii. The mind keeps us busy.
It cuts us off us from the experience of being. When this happens-and
it will happen repeatedly-the meditative instruction is once again: Just
be aware.

Don't try to ignore your inner voice, or stop it, or in anyway control
it. Simply accept its presence. Here's the key: Make it background to
your meditation. When you're focusing on the breath moving through
the body, expect thoughts to come and go, and as soon as you recognize
their presence, return to the focus of the meditation. This sounds easy.
But it isn't. You will repeatedly get caught by the power of the next thought
and so lose the focus on your body. Time will pass before you realize
what's happening. That's okay. Simply return to the body.
Alternatively, feelings can arise. You might feel irritable, antsy, resentful,
controlled. You are asking the mind/body process to slow down,
to follow an instruction, and it resists. Again, the instruction is to return
to the object of your meditation. Eventually you will be able to do so.
The goal of meditation isn't simply to concentrate on the body. We
learn to stay with the body so we can understand what it has to teach.
What is the nature of the body sensation that comes with fear? Is it clear
or subtle? How does it change? How long does it last? What do we have
to learn from it, or from any other experience of life? The purpose of
meditation is to penetrate experience, to see things as they are. We don't
avoid, run away from, or argue with a sensation or a feeling. We slow
down and learn to live in stillness so that we can watch a thought or a
sensation with curiosity, matter-of-factly, without trying to control it or
change it. And then we see that it changes by itself. Over time, this practice
can be applied to the rest of life.

Before we begin this first meditation, let's take a few moments to consider
certain basics. For instance, holding the right posture is important.
When you meditate, keep your spine straight and your ears in line with
the shoulders. Relax those shoulders, tilt your head slightly forward,
and tuck in your chin. Try not to tilt sideways, backward, or forward. Sit
as if there were a string between the sky and the top of your head. Keep
your hands on your thighs or in your lap, palms up in a cupped position,
with the left cup in the right cup. This gives your posture strength. It's
your body at its best, strong and relaxed, expressive of its own nature.
The posture is symbolic. You don't mold yourself into the chair or shape
yourself for others; instead, you exist as you are, hanging on your own
spine. At first the posture may be hard to maintain, but eventually you
will find it comfortable.

It's traditional to sit cross-legged on a cushion; however, you can
also hold the posture in a straight-backed chair by sitting slightly forward,
perhaps with a pillow under your feet. You can even hold it standing
up. Often it helps to change positions, especially when you're a beginner,
so please feel free to shift while you're doing the meditations that
follow. But do so slowly, and stay aware of the subtle changes in your
body as you move.

Soon you will see that sitting isn't always easy. You might hear yourself
think, I'm uncomfortable; I'm getting hungry, I have to go to the bathroom,
I'm annoyed with the constraints of the posture. That the body craves
so much attention is an important insight.

You might also hear yourself think, I'm not doing it well. I'm not cut
out for this. What's wrong with me? Of course, it can go the other way: I'm
a natural-born meditator. I'm fantastic. Others will soon see how good I am.
Both kinds of judgment present the same problem. They separate
you from the experience. When you finally have moments that aren't
filled with the constant haranguing of the I, you will actually have a
sense of peace. And if, at the end of the following meditation, you don't
think you've been able to keep the focus, remember that even just a few
brief moments of stillness are important. They massage the spiritual substance
of your being and deepen your sense of life as it is.

It's important to say that Mindfulness Meditation isn't a magic potion.
Rather, it's a precise inquiry into the mind/body process-a method that,
fortunately, has been laid out by generations upon generations of meditators
who came before. Because of them, the path is more accessible.
The meditation that follows offers an experience of stillness. I'm grateful
to my teacher, Shinzen, for teaching it to me. Please be aware that the
experience of stillness shifts in quality and intensity as you become more
experienced. Perhaps at this point in your practice you will be able to
find the quiet and the relaxation that are often the first taste of this state
of being. With years of practice you may be able to find a stillness that is
both exquisitely quiet and deeply sustaining.

To begin, find a quiet space, choose a cushion or a chair with a straight
back, and to the degree you can, protect yourself from external sound.
And please have patience with yourself.

Try listening to this meditation by using the compact disc that comes
with this book; hearing the guidance can make the meditation more alive.
If you choose to follow the printed instructions, begin by reading the
entire meditation first, noting how each paragraph contains new instructions.
If you like, use the memory prompt in the summary at the end of
the meditation.

Because this meditation is designed to calm the mind, I will ask you
to repeat it before many of the other meditations in this book. For this
reason, you might want to memorize it.

At appropriate times, I'll cue you to put down the book so you can
take more time to soak in that particular experience. Place a timer by
your side so you can measure the length of time you meditate by yourself.
And if it helps you keep track of your progress, take some notes.

A Meditation on Finding the Stillness

Close your eyes and take a moment to let the body settle. Allow your shoulders
to drop an inch or two.
Now make the object of your awareness the body . . . specifically the
right side of the body . . . just the right side. Scan the length of it . . . the width
of it . . . the breadth of it. Cover as much of it as possible. As best you can, be
aware of the right side of the body.

Note the difference between the right side and the left side.
Then let go of the right side and make the object of your awareness the
left side of the body . . . just the left side. Be aware of how it stretches out into
space along its length and along its width. Sense its depth.
When you're ready, bring the two sides together, right and left, into one
unified whole. Cover that whole volume of feeling space with awareness . . .
experience it all . . . the length . . . the width . . . the depth of that body space.
Sit with an awareness of the whole body.

Let go of that, and make the object of awareness the front of the body . . . just
the front. Soak its length with awareness. Soak its width with awareness.
Now bring your awareness to the back of the body . . . just the back.
Soak that with awareness . . . both its length and its width.
Finally, bring the two together, front and back, into an entire whole. Feel
how the whole body becomes more alive when it receives this attention.

Let go of that, and make the object of awareness the upper half of the body,
both back and front. Feel it as a volume that has a back and a front and a
depth. Be aware. Two arms . . . half of the torso . . . a neck . . . a head.
Now, shift your awareness to the lower half of your body. Scan its length
. . . its width . . . its depth. Half a torso . . . two legs . . . two feet . . . ten toes.

Be aware.

Now include both the upper and the lower halves of the body in the same
awareness. Feel the volume of feeling space . . . a head . . . two arms . . . two
legs . . . and a torso. An integrated . . . fully functioning . . . whole. Sense the
vibrancy of it.

Please put down the book at this point and use this meditation strategy
by yourself. Set your timer for five minutes.

After five minutes have passed, slowly open your eyes and sit quietly . . .
preserving the stillness even as you let everyday life in through your eyes.
Feel the slowness of your breathing, the relaxation of the body. These few
moments are important. They give you a glimpse of how it's possible to preserve
the stillness in the midst of everyday life.

Take a moment to think of a trouble that you have, perhaps an unhappy
marriage or the illness of a child. In the stillness, name it. Try to accept the
is-ness of it, the reality that this trouble exists. And sit quietly for a while.
Then slowly stand up, once again feeling the stillness in your body. As
you go about the rest of your day, remember that stillness from time to time
. . . and be aware that you can return to it whenever you want.

May all beings know stillness.

Training for Awareness

1. Bring your awareness to the right side of the body and scan for
sensations. Do the same for the left side. Do the same for the
whole body.
Repeat this sequence for the front half of the body, the back
half, and the whole body.
Repeat this sequence for the top half of the body, the bottom
half, and the whole body.
2. Give a name to something that is troubling you. Accept the
is-ness of it.

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Copyright © 2007 Barbara Fishman; all rights reserved.