stepping in
I have been thinking for the last month or so about a buddhist koan. A koan is a made-up story meant to teach a lesson or impart wisdom or demonstrate a principle. one of my favorites is about a guy who is being chased by lions and he comes to a cliff, which he dangles off of only to see that there are lions below, too. so lions above, lions below, death is certain, it's only a matter of time. as he is dangling there, he sees a ripe strawberry on a vine within his reach so he grabs it and eats it and it's delicious. pretty outrageous, but it's about enjoying the moment, not being worried about what just happened or what is about to happen, but showing up right where you are and BEING there. you might not necessarily enjoy it, but there is a tenderness about life that can be gleaned compassionately in every moment.
the one I have been thinking about, though, is a lot different. it's about a monk who is sitting in a cave with monsters. horrible, smelly, terrifying, snarling beasts. and he's just sitting. meditating, sitting with them, even though they are repulsive and terrifying. not reacting, just sitting. one by one, as he sits there with them, they disappear. except one. the biggest, stinkiest one that the monk is most horrified by. but the monk sits. and sits. and sits. the monster stays. after a long while, the monk gives up. he stands up and approaches the monster and just steps right in its mouth. then the monster disappears.
there's a buddhist principle about letting go - it goes along with not being attached to things. so by not trying to resist and giving in to the monster, the monster no longer exists.
i was thinking about that a lot when my mom was sick and every new thing that happened was so terrible and scary that I wanted to run away. I did actually think for a minute about leaving my family and never talking to them again. just all the pain on top of our family dysfunction was too much for me. after that, though, I thought about that koan some more and decided to step in to the scary stuff. every time something happened that seemed terrifying or overwhelming, rather than run away or leave the room or shut down, I said to myself "this is really awful" and took a mental and emotional -- and sometimes physical -- step *closer* to what was happening. my mom gasping and moaning and saying "hurry" when we were in the hospital because she couldn't breathe was fucking awful. and my brain started to spin on "oh god oh god she is going to die and I wish it was last night again and we were sitting in the living room..." or whatever, and I stopped it, took a deep breath, told myself what was happening was awful and terrifying, and took her hand. or stood up and literally took a step closer to her.
it was so, so, so calming. it was like watching a storm come and go. I could feel the panic rise and then I made a conscious decision to be present with what was happening and acknowledge why I was panicking and it was like a wave of calm would come over me. and I could be there. just be there, which I think was the best I could have done for my mom. and for me.
but now ... now, there are no more scary procedures or moments or decisions. and I feel like the only thing left to step into is this unspeakable, bottomless grief. and that's more terrifying to me than anything that happened. so now I have to switch up my coping, but I don't know how.
because I am not stepping into that.
the one I have been thinking about, though, is a lot different. it's about a monk who is sitting in a cave with monsters. horrible, smelly, terrifying, snarling beasts. and he's just sitting. meditating, sitting with them, even though they are repulsive and terrifying. not reacting, just sitting. one by one, as he sits there with them, they disappear. except one. the biggest, stinkiest one that the monk is most horrified by. but the monk sits. and sits. and sits. the monster stays. after a long while, the monk gives up. he stands up and approaches the monster and just steps right in its mouth. then the monster disappears.
there's a buddhist principle about letting go - it goes along with not being attached to things. so by not trying to resist and giving in to the monster, the monster no longer exists.
i was thinking about that a lot when my mom was sick and every new thing that happened was so terrible and scary that I wanted to run away. I did actually think for a minute about leaving my family and never talking to them again. just all the pain on top of our family dysfunction was too much for me. after that, though, I thought about that koan some more and decided to step in to the scary stuff. every time something happened that seemed terrifying or overwhelming, rather than run away or leave the room or shut down, I said to myself "this is really awful" and took a mental and emotional -- and sometimes physical -- step *closer* to what was happening. my mom gasping and moaning and saying "hurry" when we were in the hospital because she couldn't breathe was fucking awful. and my brain started to spin on "oh god oh god she is going to die and I wish it was last night again and we were sitting in the living room..." or whatever, and I stopped it, took a deep breath, told myself what was happening was awful and terrifying, and took her hand. or stood up and literally took a step closer to her.
it was so, so, so calming. it was like watching a storm come and go. I could feel the panic rise and then I made a conscious decision to be present with what was happening and acknowledge why I was panicking and it was like a wave of calm would come over me. and I could be there. just be there, which I think was the best I could have done for my mom. and for me.
but now ... now, there are no more scary procedures or moments or decisions. and I feel like the only thing left to step into is this unspeakable, bottomless grief. and that's more terrifying to me than anything that happened. so now I have to switch up my coping, but I don't know how.
because I am not stepping into that.