Anxiety Reflection 1

 “When I see an anxious person, I ask myself, what do they want? For if a person wasn’t wanting something outside of their own control, why would they be stricken by anxiety?” —EPICTETUS, discourses 2:13:1

Anxiety seems very prevalent in the post-COVID time, and I am recently finding Epictetus quotes coming up on my facebook. Epictetus was one of my favorite Stoic writers, and I wanted to explore a bit about the meaning of the above mentioned quote. I find it quite interesting, for one, that Epictetus refers to asking himself what an anxious person wants? Meaning, the roots of anxiety is always some kind of desire, whether it's a desire for recognition, certainty or security of some kind or another. This is an important element because a lot of times, unchecked desires can give rise to a feeling that we want more than we have to survive. It's interesting how the popular media also feeds into this by weaving a discourse around deficiency. We are continually told that we are not smart enough, healthy enough, disciplined enough, loved enough, etc. and this feeds into a general concern that we will start to lose important things that we need to survive. But when one closely examines their life circumstances, they might begin to wonder: is this want a need, or is it a preference?

The second part of this quote is even more intriguing because it brings up the issue of control. It may seem counterintuitive for a person to be less anxious about something they know is not within their control. After all, aren't anxious people most afraid of not being "in control" all the time? This is a tricky element in Epictetus and Stoic thinking in general which indeed needs further unravelling. Something that is within our control is something we have choice over, and thus anxiety is most consumed over trying to calibrate one's actions to be the most in control of it. But when it comes to something that we have truly established is beyond our control, is there anything to try to control in that instance? Once we establish, in fact, that something is not within our control, then we can finally realize that it's ok to relax into it. The situation simply has to be borne in as best a way as we can, without worry regarding whether we are doing things the right way or not. After all, if something cannot be forestalled, we might as well face it with a certain degree of acceptance, knowing that anything else will only add more to the suffering itself.

Metaphors of Punishment and Test

 If someone is impolite toward me, I sometimes find myself wondering what I did wrong, or feeling as though I were being tested in the world. But the more I get into this mentality, the more I am feeding the thought of a separate self or an ego that is distinct from the world. In situations like this, I begin to wonder, where did the metaphor of life as "test" and "punishment" come from? I suppose the former from the educational system, the latter from parenting. And both are very powerful institutions indeed!

   The best way to undo this situation is to realize the underlying belief that someone's rudeness is a form of punishment for something I did wrong in the past. If I let go of this idea and start to realize that perhaps the person's rudeness has nothing to do with me, then I no longer feel the burden of having to respond to it. The rudeness does not impose any demand on me, because I start to lose the belief that it was deliberately aimed at me, and was a response to me doing something wrong, or even somehow being wrong. And then there is simply no ground upon which anger can stand or fall.

The Whole Self as Ocean

   One of the ways in which we can own the self is through the practice of acceptance. But, what does it mean "accept"? This is indeed a tricky thing, because what we encounter about ourselves from moment to moment is constantly changing and in a state of flux. There is a difference between having an image of the self and cherishing that image as "the person I truly am", and recognizing the fact that in fact there is no such thing as a permanent sense of self. The idea of self continually changes with the circumstances, a little bit like the tides. So the idea that there is a coherent self that can be loved starts to lose all meaning and coherence over time.

    If we think about the word "selfie", what often come to mind is a person taking a photo of themselves beside a favored destination or place. Rarely is a selfie indicative of the unsavory aspects of life, and we hardly think to post photos of ourselves on facebook in our lowest moments. But if we accept the idea that "self"--whatever that happens to be--is in a constant state of change, and there is no single image that we can point to as the definitive self, then we have to accept all these individual moments. Not doing so would be equivalent to trying to edit our experiences, which proves to be an impossible task in the end.

   Acceptance is always unfolding. If something is happening to me that I don't like, I tend to reject that part, as though I were disowning it. But that too is a part of my experience in the world. Whether it's irritability or hunger, or feelings of depression or even hopelessness and despair, these are possibilities that are always available to me. I can never imagine a time when I could not feel depression or even the wish to end life's sufferings. This is because the possibilities are endless of what the mind can experience. Knowing this, there is simply no need to edit our experiences, any more than we need to control the color of the ocean's water. And, in fact, when one is able to contemplate one's experiences as an infinite ocean, there is no longer any real need to control these tiny parts of the experience itself.

  If I am always trying to cultivate knowledge and yet fall into the trap of needing to control my image as a knowing person, what good is that? That is like an endless treadmill. Knowing itself is continually unfolding. There is never a final end to knowing. So why dream of finality, or that edifice of being
"fully" educated? These are delusions that only give rise to more suffering and attachment. So there are certain aspects of the self that prove burdensome, and are not worthy of attaching to.

Success as Trap?

  There is a danger that too much "doing" can lead to a kind of enervating process of being swallowed up into a routine or  schedule. Even the most creative endeavors in life can lead to an unreflective reproduction or rehashing of routines, as when an artist ends up falling into a style or genre that they've shaped and created for many years. Many people, I would imagine, may become jaded through overwork, being sucked into the karma of their own success. Although they might continue in the same way, their success actually becomes a trap for them.

    I find that people are, in retrospect, often at their most creative when they are either in a transition period (sometimes known as a "liminal space") or are somehow unlatched from a reputation they might have previously cultivated yet became a social addiction for them. I think that success can have a way of consuming a person or fixating them into an identity that "works" but does not allow for any further exploration. There is also a tendency to equate success with completion--and one becomes a victim of it because they no longer are able to see anything outside of it. As people get older, they have difficulties imagining how to repeat their previous "successes" or peaks, and might even begin to feel that the remainder of their life is either meant to preserve their previous glory or to just sustain the status quo.

     I wonder if there are certain points where the replication of a past success, or the resurrection of a successful identity, might end up becoming a millstone around one's neck. Particularly for musicians who are reviving a career, this can actually become a matter of trying to replicate an old style. Could this sometimes be an impediment that blocks further exploration or growth? This, I think, is where it might be important to step back a bit and cultivate a beginner's mind.

The Unconditioned

 Recently, I had the insight that language moves me a lot. Being a reader, I put great store on language and its power to sway or influence the mind, particularly on a rhetorical level. But I want to propose that each time a word arises in the mind, there is a subtle opposition that arises. For instance, if I am told to do something or encouraged to behave in a certain way, I follow the line of that thought, or conversely, resist that line of thought. An opposition or a kind of duality is created within the mind around this; I tell myself that I should go one way or the other. Conversely, I tell myself how inadequate I am to live up to the expectations of the statement itself. In this way, I create a sense of frustration within myself.

  Now what if it were the case that there is something within the mind that is not conditioned by thoughts at all? If this were the case, language would in no way cause the unconditioned to happen, or even reveal the unconditioned, since language relies on a duality of "this" or "that", "not this" or "not that". Such an unconditioned mind could not be found by adding more words or exhortations, or even censoring certain thoughts or behaviors. Instead, the unconditioned is the already existing, already "thus". The only problem is that we are using language to obscure that unconditioned state.

   But the trick is that, because language is merely conditioned, no amount of words can obstruct the unconditioned. To say that words obstruct the unconditioned is like saying that clouds block the sky. The sky itself is the very condition upon which clouds can even be said to exist. 

   The way to reveal the unconditioned is not through seeking something. Whatever we seek is likely going to be something that is conditioned, like a thought or an object in the mind. So how do we find the unconditioned? Not even 'letting go' will reveal it, since the exhortation to "let go" is also something that adds a condition to a mental experience. So what I am aiming at is that we may only have the confidence that whatever arises in the mind is not obstructing the unconditioned and does not even, in any way, relate to the unconditioned. If one thinks this way, their tranquil mind will naturally surface, and all the thoughts will be seen as harmonious. One is no longer using thoughts to get to something that has no conditions to it. One can then really and truly see thoughts as simply the clouds in an empty dream, and can use language skillfully without getting trapped in it. One, under this approach, already can relax. 

   But this is not an easy feat, because the habit of thinking in terms of conditions is so deeply engrained that we will probably end up making the same mistake again and again until we become fed up with it and drop attaching to words altogether.

A Place to Sit/A Place to Stand

  A rock, a chair or a stool. Recently, I read in TTC that we should always be ready to leave a seat vacant for someone else "if we are able". Then I begin to wonder, what does "able" in this context mean? I suppose that for the majority of people, sitting is entirely an option, but I can imagine in a Kantian universe, everyone's duty is to stand rather than to sit. And how might we know for certain who is able and unable to stand? These are quibbling remarks, but prelude to something else that I am driving at.

    Sitting is often a metaphor likened to stewing or incubating, whereas standing tends to connote a firm conviction or belief. We sit on something when it hasn't yet hatched: an idea, an embryo of a thought, a seed, a notion, etc. We stand, on the other hand, when we are certain that the bedrock under us is sure and clear, hence the term "to take a stand", "stand up for" or "a place to stand". While sitting connotes prevarication, standing connotes authority. Now, to my main point: is it possible that the reason so many people sit rather than stand is that they lack the conviction of their own beliefs, let alone the confidence to feel themselves grounded in the world? I think that the tiredness that I feel is related to the idea that I may not fully know where my feet are planted, and this takes a lot of faith and confidence. It is like saying, "the time for thinking is gone and I have made my decision. I know where I am in the universe". And this is a liberating feeling.

   I suppose there is a point where thinking has to stop and one must know where the gravity points to. And it's acceptable not to have to go further into deliberation. This is about being strong in one's heart, based on what one has learned from past experiences.

The Many Dreams We're In

     If we think about it, we are inhabiting many dreams: some good and some horrific. Nonetheless, they are all dreams. And if we can contemplate that we are not the dreamer--that is, we are not identified with the dream--then we are able to inhabit those dreams and benefit all the sentient beings in them.

    If I feel alarmed by my behavior---it's not who I wanted to be--I must ask myself: is the person I want to be "real" or just a wandering thought? Is the subject or topic I want to learn truly worthy and valued, or is it too just passing fad and fashion? Many thinks can be objects of curiosity, but at the end of the day, they are just like the colors in a kaleidoscope. Though working with them may prove to be valuable to some degree, they are not absolutely necessary or essential. For this reason, we should always meditate on what we are holding onto so tightly in these dreams.

   As for nightmares: knowing their impermanence, do we need to feel that they will go away, or can we ride them out? This is a reflection on the ethereal nature of all dreams, and knowing that there is nothing we need to emerge from at all, because we are not part of the dream itself.