Pema Chodron writes about a particular practice called tonglen, where one is visualizing the process of taking in the pain of the world into one's body, while exhaling goodness toward other beings. While many meditation practices tend to focus on relaxing the body or getting oneself into a certain state, tonglen would work for those who suffer chronic pain, because it asks that a person makes use of her or his pain to extend compassion toward other beings. I think the fundamental part of tonglen that interests me is that it is not about self-blaming, self-victimization or even self-pity. Rather, it's the acknowledgement that suffering is a universal part of being human, and that my suffering can powerfully connect with all others. In fact, this dissatisfaction that is at the heart of human life is the way to open up to all life, a kind of universal compassion. Writes Chodron:
You breathe in so that you can really understand what the Buddha meant when he said that the first noble truth is that life is suffering. What does that mean? With every in-breath, you try to find out by acknowledging the truth of suffering, not as a mistake you made, not as a punishment, but as part of the human condition. (p.80-81)
I think that tonglen is a useful practice in the sense that it does something with suffering rather than scapegoating it or consigning it to something that is not desirable. All too often, when I am sitting in meditation and feel pains in my body, I pathologize the pain. In my mind, I am thinking, "this shouldn't be happening", and I even go to the place of thinking that the pain is punishment. But what is interesting about this practice is that it makes suffering of pain ontologically meaningful. Rather than viewing pain as some kind of mistake or a sign that something is deeply amiss, pain can become the signal to awaken to connection with others. It is this attaching meaning to pain that can allow the practice to have a purpose, and it also allows people to practice even in the midst of pain, rather than seeing it as a distraction.
I have often heard the argument in Chan that one should let go of the body in order to fully practice. It's interesting because at certain times in my practice, I am ready to do so, because I am seeing the changing nature of the body. Here, there is no sensation to cling to that is mine, 'my' body, or 'mine forever'. But there are other times when pain is so strong that it calls out to one's inner being, needing to be received in some way. It's not something I can simply label as 'impermanent' in those situations. I think tonglen is an effort to transform the real experience of pain into something inherently meaningful, rather than trying to bypass pain through a rational or intellectual distance. In fact, while the rationalizing might work in the short run, I have found that it simply falls apart during meditation. Most 'reasons' do fall apart, unless they connect to real experiences, such as concrete perceptions or sensations.
I think the important thing when meditating is not to see some experiences as 'distractions' while others are 'extra important'. All of this is mind, so it makes no sense in that moment to discriminate between something that is useful and something that is simply unimportant. Pain is also something that often gets labeled as a distraction, when in fact it is material we can use to practice inquiry into the source of the pain as well as how pain interconnects us to others. In that regard, pain can be a real friend to practice as well as a transforming agent.
Chodron, Pema (2010) Wisdom of No Escape. Boston: Shambhala
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