One the many lessons of meditation practice is impulse control. I don’t like that itch or that knee pain, but I’m trying to stay still right now. Can I relinquish the need to scratch or to adjust my position? What happens if I try?

In meditation, the underlying motives behind such movements—even these trivial ones—are brought into conscious awareness and examined.

And for me, these examinations have led me toward an interesting idea: that the root cause of almost all our movement is dissatisfaction with life as it is, and desire for things to be otherwise.

Humans—perhaps even all living organisms—are programmed to seek out pleasure and avoid the unpleasant.

From infancy, every movement we make is either to move toward and grab something we want, or to move away from or throw away something we don’t want. All because we have been programmed to believe that we’ll have the best life experience if we get what we want and avoid what we don’t.

And to a large degree, that works pretty well for us. We gravitate toward the people, the foods, and the music we like, and do our best to avoid those we dislike. And whether we’re infants or adolescents or adults, we usually do our damnedest to get what we want, or avoid enduring what we don’t want.

This drive is so basic and unexamined that the vast majority of what we do in life is in the service of this particular concept of “making things better”. We go through life wedded to the idea that perhaps someday we will reach some magical place where we are “happy”, needing nothing more to be fulfilled.

Few people actually think about what true happiness would look like. If we were truly happy, all that infantile want-based grabbing and throwing away behavior would be unnecessary. What would it be like to be truly happy? Wouldn’t all that motion which is impelled by desire and aversion simply cease?

And that’s what I’d like to talk about now: the idea that every volitional movement we make is an expression (or a manifestation) of our dissatisfaction with the way things are.

That in itself is an interesting insight that few people ever investigate. But if one were to take that idea seriously and allow it to actually inform our decisions, it would result in a life that is structured very differently than most of us experience and pursue in modern America.

I suppose it’s becoming a familiar trope that we cannot find happiness in the never-ending quest to change our world to better suit us, and that peace can only come through internal growth, so that our happiness isn’t dependent on forcing external circumstances to be “just right”.

But what that might look like is not so obvious at first.

So that’s one hypothesis: that if we were truly happy and at peace with life as it is, all that extraneous movement would simply stop. But that’s a very linear, American way of looking at it. What if we turned the underlying cause and effect relationship on its head?

One of the more useful techniques in modern psychology is cognitive-behavioral therapy, which is often summarized as “fake it till you make it”. Patients are asked to model attributes and practice behaviors they wish to manifest—such as confidence, strength, or independence—even if they don’t necessarily feel that way internally. The idea is that maintaining the appearance of a desired effect can be part of the cause that eventually makes the effect feel “real”.

If we approached the question of happiness and movement in the same manner, we flip the idea that “happiness causes motionlessness” idea on its head, and come up with a new hypothesis: “motionlessness creates happiness”.

Preposterous, right? Sure, the idea that sitting still might make us happier sounds ludicrous to most of us at first, but it’s actually the basis of many meditation practices. The benefits of silence and physical and mental stillness underlie the Buddhist samatha practice of calming the mind, as well as most yogic and Western derivatives.

Just ask the average Joe off the street to describe what meditation is and he’ll say ”sitting still and being quiet“. Ask him what it’s supposed to accomplish, and he’ll use words like: relaxation, stillness, calmness, tranquility, and peacefulness. The idea that stillness can somehow contribute to happiness is not as alien as our instincts tell us. In fact, it’s been around for centuries.

Practicing and strengthening our ability to be motionless can lead us toward a deeper understanding that all our grabbing what we want and throwing away what we don’t cannot make us happy. And that perhaps our best route to happiness is to practice quelling the impulses that underlie all that grabbing and throwing: learning how to relate mindfully to our desires and aversions, rather than be mindlessly ruled by them.

The hard-bitten Americans in the audience will have an instinctive reaction to this. What, do we just stop moving, then? That won’t make me any happier! Do you expect us to just give up all hope of making this a better world for ourselves and our children?

No, progress inevitably march on. But it’s vital to see that the things American culture has told us lead to happiness simply have not and will never work. We don’t have to give up on progress and development, but we do have to accept that despite how much the conditions of our lives have improved, we aren’t significantly happier people, nor will our children be.

There’s a very real limit to what scientific progress has done (or can do) for us and our species in our quest for happiness. It’s about time we tried something else! Your happiness is what’s at stake.

I challenge you to put serious effort into exploring these kinds of alternatives, rather than blindly believing the illusion that getting what we want will someday make us “happy”. If more people did so, not only would we be significantly happier with our lives, but it would constitute meaningful progress, too: arguably the greatest advancement in human social and ethical development in two thousand years!

I spent yesterday in a one-day retreat held by my Kalyana Mitta (spiritual friends) group. I wanted to share some notes on that topic.

Firstly, I should point out how honored I am to be a part of the group. We have become a close-knit family of well-intentioned, caring, serious practitioners who are willing to be completely open with one another. I’m honored to receive their friendship.

Meditating with this group is a delight. The sense of support and comradery is palpable, and in the two years since the group began, my practice has blossomed. Yesterday’s retreat was no different, and my deepest appreciation goes out to the folks who attended.

With that aside, I did have a couple interesting thoughts…

The first was an insight that might benefit practitioners with limited indoor space for walking meditation. Modify a gym-style treadmill so that it runs at one half mile per hour (or less), and voilà: the Buddhist walking meditation treadmill!

The other memorable incident happened at lunch. A thoughtful yogi brought a vegetable juicer and proceeded to juice some vegetables. Since I wasn’t eating anyways, I spent the lunch period meditating. But after spending the morning in silence, the noise of the juicer struck my ears as sudden, loud, and incredibly violent. Like someone was puréeing baby harp seals, but the blender was having a hard time breaking up their hard little skulls. That’s what it sounded like to me…

But overall it was a wonderful day of sitting and sharing aspirations and intentions with good friends. Really!

I actually have more to say about last spring’s two-day retreat, which was the KM group’s first retreat. For some reason, I held off posting about it, but I want to make sure a few of my notes are saved for posteriority… (sic)

Although it was only one night, it was actually my first overnight/residential retreat, which seems noteworthy.

Although the plan was for all eleven of us to stay under one roof, in the end it was just the hosts, myself, and one other guy. I was disappointed when my expectations for the weekend weren’t met.

At one point, while listening to a pre-recorded guided meditation by Joseph Goldstein, it became apparent that a second version of his talk was playing very softly in the background, slightly out of sync with the main one.

We had another good laugh when the hostess’ kickoff message was interrupted by Joseph’s full-volume baritone announcing, “Where is your mind now?”. Apparently the recorded guided meditation had continued playing (mostly silently) in the background for a while.

Note: unannounced candid flash photography during a silent meditation retreat is probably suboptimal.

Also, given that people try to eat slowly and mindfully during retreats, we learned that corn on the cob really isn’t the easiest thing to eat daintily and in silence.

Overheard from the house next door: “Mom! I’m gonna sing MacArthur Park until you let me have a slice of pie!”

Our hosts’ house has squeaky hardwood floors. My thought process after hearing one series of creaks went something like this: The house is settling. Isn’t it settled enough already? Do houses get unsettled? People get unsettled when houses settle. Does the house get unsettled when its people settle?

During one meditation, I opened my eyes and noticed that the four men in the room were all meditating in the same position: hands folded covering their crotches. Meanwhile, the two women both had their hands palms up on their thighs. I think this signifies something.

Thirty years ago, I felt that the Who’s song “Behind Blue Eyes” really captured the essence of what it was like being a teenager in the 70s. The key lyric goes, “No one knows what it’s like to feel these feelings like I do… and I blame you!”

That adolescent Ornoth fell prey to a common misconception: that if life’s conditions are good, and there’s still suffering, then it must be someone’s fault. If that blame is aimed at oneself, then it’s internalized as self-hatred and depression; if it’s directed externally (as it was in my case) it manifests as judgmentalism, anger, and hatefulness.

These days, I realize that my emotions—even the highest highs and the lowest lows—aren’t the least bit unique to me. They’re an essential part of the human experience that everyone on the planet shares.

The analogy can be extended to human society as a whole. For millenia, Western culture told us that technological progress was the key to achieving control and happiness. If only our basic needs were guaranteed, it would usher in a new age of lasting happiness.

In today’s modern society, virtually all of our needs are met, as well as most of our merest whims. But there’s still suffering. If anything, there’s been increased hue and cry about, “How can it be that we have so much, yet we’re more unhappy than ever before?”

Most people are still stuck in the mode of looking for someone (perhaps themselves) to blame for their unhappiness, but an openminded person doesn’t have to look far to find the real causes: every one of us suffers with our inability to predict and control the world, plus the inevitability of old age, sickness, and death. Happiness isn’t having everything one wants; it’s accepting what one has, and understanding the very real limitations on what life can—and cannot—give us.

The Who might have gotten it wrong, but their contemporaries the Stones got it right: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.

Mixed Nuts

Apr. 1st, 2010 10:48 am

Somewhere in my travels I came across this contrarian secret about Buddhist teacher interviews: if you express anxiety or confusion at an interview, the teacher’s job is to reassure you and give you confidence; whereas if you show up confident and in control, their job is to present you with deeper or more difficult challenges, to spur you to undertake greater effort.

The latter was my experience in a recent interview I had with Michael, one of the teachers at CIMC. I began by telling him that I was fairly satisfied with my life and that when I meditate, no pressing issues seem to come up for me.

I told him that in general I am on top of things, using my planning and organizational strengths to mitigate the risk involved in anything I commit to or undertake. When that happens, he suggested that I examine the energy level and the motive behind the actions I am taking, because sometimes that impulse to have everything under control is driven by fear or anxiety, rather than wisdom.

He then asked whether I had any suffering in my life or any deeply buried insecurities or fears. While my life is generally quite good, of course even I have a couple things I keep way down in the murky depths. Without getting all personal about my own particular demons, it’s important to be able to allow those feelings to reveal themselves, rather than to instinctively suppress them, so that one can then make choices and act out of wisdom rather than reactiveness.

So I left that interview with a bit more anxiety, and more of a sense that I need to do a better job admitting and facing the things I fear, rather than burying them. Joy.

Later that week we held another dharma movie night. I had proposed the animated film “Waking Life”, which is stuffed with philosophical meanderings. Even though it’s mostly a bunch of talking heads, and not everyone is as fascinated by philosophy as I am, I expected people to find it thought-provoking. I might have even hoped it would receive as positive a response as my book club selection had.

But before the movie began, we got into a discussion of our next book club selection: Mark Epstein’s “Open to Desire: The Truth About What the Buddha Taught”. When I was asked my opinion, I was honest: I think the book is logically flawed, ridiculously deluded, and dangerously misleading. On the other hand, a couple people enthusiastically loved it, and wanted me to explain why I disagreed with it. As the only person to openly criticize the book, I was on the defensive, and at a disadvantage because it had been a month and a half since I’d read it, and I didn’t have my notes to refer to. So that unexpected discussion left me feeling a bit singled out.

Then we started the movie, which got a predominantly negative reception. In fact, about a third of the way in, four people (out of nine) got up and walked out of the room, spending the rest of the evening outside on the patio rather than watching the rest of the movie. While I have no problem allowing people to make their own decisions, and I know that disliking the movie isn’t the same as disliking me as a person, I still had some emotional turmoil to work through as a result of their surprisingly blunt rejection of something that has a lot of personal and philosophical meaning to me.

In between those two events, CIMC had a dharma talk by Winnie Nazarko that related to creativity. While the talk didn’t touch any nerves for me, one point she made has stayed with me. In general, people engage in a meditative practice because they’re looking for something, whether it’s the answer to a personal dilemma or relief from generalized existential angst. Winnie emphasized the importance of knowing what your overriding question is, so that you can judge whether or not you’re on the path toward an answer.

When I considered that question for myself, two responses came immediately to mind. The first is my familiar refrain of how to live my life such that I will have no regrets on my deathbed, as I discussed here. The other is to learn how to make decisions which are more consistent with my deeper sense of personal ethics and reflect the person I aspire to be and the kind of world I want to manifest. I think it’s a positive sign that those answers came so easily to me, because it shows that I have a clear understanding of why I practice and what I hope to achieve.

And last night at CIMC Maddy held a dharma talk on generosity, and how it is the basis of practice. As we age, we have to let go of everything we have—our possessions, our relationships, our health, and eventually our lives—and the essence of the spiritual path is learning how to be at peace with that process so that we can both live and die with grace and fulfillment.

If that is so, then acts of generosity are a good way to see if we can let go of our possessions, and what it feels like to do so. By exercising our ability to see beyond our attachment to material possessions, we are practicing and becoming more familiar with the kind of letting go that we must all eventually become accustomed to facing.

On top of that, generosity is a truly ennobling act that is a demonstration that one cares about others’ suffering. And it provides fulfillment beforehand (in contemplating giving), during (in the act of giving), and afterward (in the memory of having given). There aren’t many actions one can take that are so pure and have so many positive effects, both for others as well as for oneself.

So I'd like to take a few minutes and tell you about one of the most transformational events in my life, and how it has played out in a recent episode from my life.

My first series of anecdotes comes from my senior year in high school, and my first real relationship. Steeped in the intensity of the conflicting emotions of adolescence, I found myself to be an intensely jealous person. I wasn't just jealous of people, but anything that received the attention or affection of my girlfriend, Ailsa.

For example, one of the popular songs when we were dating was Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger", which came out with "Rocky III". Ailsa loved it so much that whenever it came on the radio, she'd stop whatever she was doing (even if it was necking with me!), turn the volume up, and sing along at full volume. It didn't take long for me to absolutely despise that song, with a blind hatred that burned fierce and blinding.

Another of the things that she loved were irises. My mother had coincidentally planted three or four such flowers along the side of our driveway, and one day when Ailsa and I weren't doing so well I got so irritated by their reminding me of her that I pulled up all the flowers, bulbs and all, and smashed them into oblivion with a sledgehammer right in the middle of our driveway.

These certainly aren't the only such stories, but they serve to underscore how irrational, how overpowering, and how instinctive my jealousy was at that age.

Now, fast-forward twelve years, when Ailsa and I began dating a second time, and lived together for a short time. Both of us had been through marriage and divorce, and we'd begun exploring various sexual fringe groups: she'd spent some time in the lesbian community, and we were beginning to explore both BDSM and polyamory together.

As we attended various "play parties", she commanded attention from some people, and I commanded it from others. Each of us met new people and were accepted into new groups that we wouldn't have been able to enjoy if we'd operated separately. It became very apparent that we both benefitted socially when we allowed one other to make contact with other people.

Now, under these circumstances, you'd think that jealousy would be an immense problem. After all, we're talking about your primary partner being pretty explicitly affectionate with someone else, right in front of your face! However, we both realized that we'd each get our own share of attention, and that we were committed to one another in a way that was much stronger than the more casual exchanges we had with folks outside our relationship.

This really hit home for me when Ailsa developed a serious (but at the time unspoken) infatuation for another woman she knew. Knowing that I'd gotten the lion's share of attention from people outside our relationship, I knew it was only fair that I give her the green light to see where their relationship might take them. I also knew that my relationship with Ailsa wasn't threatened, so I let it go ahead. It really was a completely new frontier for me, being able to completely support my partner's interest in another person.

And once I got that far, I found myself in a position where I didn't just passively authorize their relationship, but actively put the two of them into situations that had romantic potential. Since I'd already decided that it would be okay with me that Ailsa take on another lover, that extension only made sense. And besides, it was fun!

The most powerful part of the situation, which cemented it permanently into my behavior, was the feedback I got. Because she knew it was okay with me, Ailsa was free to share the heady excitement of her new relationship with me, which was an absolutely wonderful way for me to experience positive reinforcement for the freedom and support I'd given her. Seeing the woman I loved, flush with the thrill of a new romance, was incredbily moving, and I found myself in the almost unbelievable position of supporting her relationship and not feeling even a hint of the jealousy that I otherwise would have expected.

It has been only recently that the made-up term "compersion" has appearred in polyamorous circles to describe this very unique feeling I experienced: the abundant joy of seeing someone you love falling in love. Most people (certainly virtually all monogamists) in such a situation will respond from a place of fear, selfishness, denial, resistance, and possessiveness. Taking polyamory to heart enabled me to respond in a completely different way: from a place of love, trust, support, and sharing. And what a wonderful energy I got in return! This kind of basic transformation of your relationships is why I consider polyamory a far, far more integral part of who I am than mere "passtimes" such as BDSM and bisexuality and so forth.

What this episode did was firmly establish the perspective from which I treat the people I care about. Love is not about possession or control, which is what 95 percent of people practice (even though they do not admit it); love is about making another person's happiness just as important as your own, and really acting that way.

Now let's fast-forward another seven years. After four years of dating perhaps the most wonderful woman I've ever met, I'd pretty much decided that Inna was the love of a lifetime, something I had been absolutely unable to envision after the failure of my marriage. And yet, at the same time, Inna (a monogamist) was becoming more and more convinced that I was not the person she wanted to grow old with, and that we needed to stop seeing one another in order to give her enough room to see other people. She and I had a number of long discussions about how and why she thought this outcome would make her happier in the long run. For me, coming from my world-view, that was the most important factor: her happiness.

Many of my friends wondered how I could surrender my own hopes and desires for the relationship, and support Inna's desire that we separate. I'm sure that some of them surely think that my lack of a dramatic, possessive, selfish tantrum proves that I don't really love Inna, but in fact they've got it exactly backwards. The only reason why I can give up my dreams of a life together is because I love her so much, and because her happiness is so very important to me.

Between my divorce and my relationships with Ailsa, I've developed a very simple but unique philosophy, which has been tested and, in my opinion, proven correct in my relationship with Inna. If you love someone and they want something, you have a simple choice: you can either support their desire and help them pursue what they believe will make them happy, or you can establish yourself as an obstacle between your partner and their happiness. You might even be able to get away with standing between your partner and her happiness for a period of time. But every time you do that, you will prove that her happiness is not important to you, and in the long run she will tire of your selfishness and leave you. In short, the typical monogamist tactics of jealousy and selfishness and possessiveness are self-defeating long-term strategies.

So for me, the answer is clear: always remember that "love" means valuing someone else's happiness, and always do your best to help the people you love achieve the things that will make them happy. That's how you act from a place of love, not from a place of fear.

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