In her wonderful book, Being with Dying, Joan Halifax describes the process of being with one's own suffering so that we can be available to the suffering of others.. She remarks:
We need to learn to stay with suffering without trying to change it or fix it. Only when we are able to be present for our own suffering are we able to be present for our own suffering are we able to be present for the suffering of others, and the difficulties they may encounter in dying. The practice of insight meditation, in which we able to be present for the suffering of others, and the difficulties they may encounter in dying. The practice of insight meditation, in which we watch the ebb and flow of mental activity, is a good way to cultivate this ability. (p.157)
When I read Halifax's passage, I am struck with the two main principles she introduces in this chapter on attending to one's suffering. The first is the notion that there is simply no 'right way' of doing so. In fact, the practice of meditation that Halifax describes is not at all about having a right or a wrong way. Rather, it is simply being present with the experience, and even going so far as to accept the behavior that arises from that experience. By letting go of the notion that there is a right way or a wrong way to experience pain, there is a whole lot that is lifted off a person's shoulders.
The second principle that is introduced in this chapter is the notion of a bare encounter with pain and suffering. I used to think that this meant a kind of process of letting go of labels and just seeing something the way it is. But it is somewhat different from that, because even labels themselves are part of the experience. It is not even about separating the labels, but simply seeing that everything is a kind of creation of mind. So when there is anger or irritation, is there a need for me to strip away the ideas around that anger or irritation? Sometimes, there is not even necessarily a need to curb that anger. It is more like turning toward the anger and embracing it as part of my whole experience, rather than longing for a neat resolution to the anger itself.
Many years ago, I attended a Dharma talk by Venerable GuoXing from Dharma Drum Mountain, where he had compared experiences and phenomena to gold that is shaped into various pieces. Sometimes the gold is shaped into a beautiful statue, while other times it might be shaped into a toilet. Is shaping the gold into the toilet devaluing the nature of gold? According to Fashi, the gold itself doesn't devalue according to the form. It is rather that we judge certain forms to be more desirable than others. Because anger often feels hot and unfinished (as in a frustrated wish), we might want to change anger into something more desirable, such as happiness. But the practice of meditation encourages us to look to the source of that anger and see that the source of all emotions is already pure. There is no need to transform that desire into something else to get to a more 'authentic' experience of mind.
Another way of looking at it is that the wish to 'resolve' anger is actually based on a kind of delusion. It's like saying that the goose is trapped in the bottle. Who put the goose in the bottle to begin with? Because of my desire to escape from anger and go to a cooler or more comfortable emotion, I get this stigma about anger and want to send it away or throw it from my body onto someone else. Thus arises the expression, "take it all out on someone else". It is as though one had a hot potato and simply wanted to throw the potato on someone else to resolve the pain. And it sometimes happens that a person might use strong words to steer others away from making them annoyed. But more often, the success of this approach only leads to further alienation: others become afraid to approach us, and we believe that the anger is something we couldn't stand to embody, let alone want to experience. So the vicious cycle of emotional alienation continues indefinitely.
Halifax, Joan, (2008) Being with Ding: Cultivating Compassion and Fearlessness in the Presence of Death. Boston: Shambhala
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