Category Archives: being human

How we can see beyond our beliefs (dark moods & irritability)

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Kaspa writes: Human beings are covered in stories. But there is something else as well. It is possible to be connected to the world in a clearer way. A way in which we project less of our own stuff onto the world and see it more as it really is…

That’s a bit of a metaphysical start to the blog post, and I’m pausing here, before getting more metaphysical, to relate it to a real experience I had recently.
Last week I was away taking part in some intense psychotherapy training. In the last session of the last day another participant shared some childhood memories, with great tenderness and emotion. As they talked I felt a great welling-up of emotion in me, and some memories from my own childhood, when my parents were separating, bubbled to the surface.
I was able to share a little of those memories in the group but I came away feeling it was the start of some other process. Since the end of last week I have had vivid dreams, and increasingly dark moods. 
Looking back I can see that the experience in the group last week was like a reset button being pressed on some of my deeply held beliefs about how I am in the world. Things around being rejected, or judged and the counterpart to that: despairingly wanting the world to leave me alone.
The dark moods and irritability this week have all been around those themes too, I see them as the death cry of these beliefs, “Please don’t let me go… “
Last week I also started reading a book called Sacred Mirror. This is a book in which therapists and spiritual teachers apply what they call ‘non-dual’ wisdom to psychotherapy. Some of the language is a little esoteric but essentially it’s talking about how having an experience of what a person is (or can touch) beyond those stories I mentioned at the beginning can be very healing. 
What is it beyond those stories? When you look out, you see and hear the world as it really is, and when you look inwards you see that the stories and beliefs are just will-o’-the-wisps. What can be touched beyond them is often described in spiritual terms, Buddha-nature, divine-love, the peace that passes understanding… 
As I was reading a chapter about sitting with clients, and seeing their inner-light (so to speak) I had an experience of suddenly being aware of the world in all its lit-up glory. I could hear the clock ticking in the next room, a blackbird’s song, a cooing wood pigeon, and my own heartbeat. I could see the sunlight playing on the leaves of our beautiful house-plants and the scarlet leaf our kitten had caught and brought inside…
I had a feeling that the bubble of beliefs that had been rising up and filling my mind these last few days had burst.
There is a great lightness beyond the stories we tell about the world and ourselves, and sometimes we can touch it.
I’m sure there are many more bubbles of self to rise and fill my days and nights, but I have faith that they are just bubbles…. there is something else. (Of course, when they are deeply embedded in us, they feel deeply real and affecting.)
There are two ways of working with these bubbles of belief. One is to reach beyond them, to look beyond them and to try and see the world as it really is. This is what our small stone practice is all about. Clear seeing/hearing/touching and so on…
Some of these bubbles are anchored deeply, and hard to let go of. The second way of working with them is to look inside, see how the light makes shapes on their surface. Taste the quality of the air there. What beliefs do we hold? What stories do we make up about the world? How to they drive our lives without us knowing? How do they keep us from the light?
In my therapy practice those questions are ones that I keep in mind, alongside remembering the ultimate translucency of such stories and beliefs.
In our e-courses we look from both sides, out at the world to what is really there, and inwards at our own stories and beliefs and ask, what is really true?
Registration is now open for Journalling your way home and Finding your way home, our June e-courses. There are also still a few spaces available on our June Creative Intensive.
What lies beyond your beliefs?
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Forestbubble by ecstaticist 

The day I lost everything & how you can lose everything too

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Fiona writes: I stepped onto the train platform and felt for the strap of my handbag.

My rucksack was there. The present for my friend Heather was there. My tube ticket was there. Where was my handbag?

My handbag was gone.

I’d travelled early that morning from Malvern to Paddington, and taken the tube to Charing Cross on the way to my psychotherapy supervision training. I was half an hour away from the Tibetan Buddhist centre where the training would take place. Without my handbag.

I went into action mode. I ran after the disappearing tube to see if I’d left it on my seat – nothing. I walked quickly to find a tube employee – who sent me to the mainline station, who sent me to lost luggage, who said I’d have to call Paddington lost luggage. As I walked I racked my brains. Could I remember taking my handbag from the first train? I would rather it had been stolen, to save my embarrassment, but I had a horrible feeling…

As I walked from place to place, I was counting the loss. £160 in cash. My phone & all those numbers. My Kindle. My iPod. My bank cards, driving license, all the cards in my wallet. My £70 train ticket home & travelcards for the weekend. My house keys. My filofax, which contained my entire life – all my client appointments, all my addresses, my schedule for the year. Gone.

I asked the train staff if they could call Paddington for me – I had no money and no phone. My eyes pleaded with them. They said they couldn’t help me. At this point, I realised that I had a choice. I was feeling more and more panicky. I could either burst into tears, schlep back to Paddington, cancel the weekend’s training & go home with my tail between my legs. Or I could take one step at a time and go forwards. I went forwards. I carried on to my destination.

I arrived at my training (late) and announced to the group that I’d had a disaster. They were all wonderful. The centre director looked up numbers for me on his computer (Paddington lost property, my bank to cancel cards…), the course leader leant me money for lunch, my husband got in contact with Heather to warn her I was uncontactable, I hogged the phone during the breaks and during lunch.

It wasn’t a great day. I felt waves of panic, anger, feeling utterly stupid, fear of the unknown, despair. People kept saying I was dealing with it all ultra-calmly, and I wondered if I was in shock.

I guess a Buddhist centre is a good place to practice non-attachment, and here was my big opportunity…
I kept working with the feelings as they arose. I thought ‘one step at a time’ or ‘it’s only money and inconvenience, nobody is ill’ or simply ‘let go’. My gaze kept returning to the huge shrine in the room we were working in, and the three big golden Buddhas. I allowed myself to feel supported by the universe. I’d be looked after, one way or another. I had faith.

By the time I stood under the clock at Waterloo station, waiting for my friend Heather, I felt better than ‘OK’. I felt good. I had truly given up on getting back the contents of my handbag. I thought they might recover my filofax, if I was lucky. I had let go.

As I waited, a man approached me.

“Are you Fiona?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Pete. We’ve got your bag.”

They’d travelled from Malvern that morning. They’d seen my bag left behind on my seat, and watched people walk past. They thought, ‘we have to do something’. They took it to lost property, who told them they’d charge for me to collect it. And so they found my text message to Heather on my phone, arranging when and where we were meeting. They’d been trying to get in touch with her all day to let her know that they had my bag. And then they’d COME TO MEET ME.

For the first time that day, I burst into tears. I hugged them both. I’d let go of it all – my Kindle, my filofax, my phone, my iPod, all that much-needed cash. And here it all was. Returned to me – delivered to me on the other side of London – by strangers who wanted to do the right thing. I could hardly believe it.

On my way back from London yesterday, I read this:

“When we are forced to attend to the places where we are most stuck, such as when faced with our anger and fear, we have the perfect opportunity to go to the roots of our attachments. This is why we repeatedly emphasise the need to welcome such experiences, to invite them in, to see them as our path. Normally we may only feel welcoming towards our pleasant experiences, but Buddhist practice asks us to welcome whatever comes up, including the unpleasant and the unwanted, because we understand that only by facing these experiences directly can we become free of their domination. In this way, they no longer dictate who we are.” (Ezra Bayda, from ‘Beyond Happiness‘)

I know this to be true.

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Go on your own adventures towards letting go by signing up to one of our June mindful writing ecourses – Journalling Our Way Home, Finding Your Way Home or our new Creative Intensive.

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‘the tube’ by Matthias Rhomberg

The hardest (and best) thing: being human

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Another PlaceKaspa writes: It’s becoming more difficult for me to write. Why? Because more and more I am trying to ground my writing in my real human experience, with all of its messiness and f’d up-ness – all of this alongside the cute kitten photos and the rhapsodising about how beautiful the countryside here is.

Two weeks ago I gave a Dharma talk during a Buddhist service that was very well received because of the humanity in it. Last night I began a talk by listing some of my flaws (I didn’t have time to mention all of them).

After last night’s talk someone said they weren’t sure if there was something different about me, or if there was something different about how they were listening. I suspect a little of both – it can be easier to connect with someone who accepts their own humanity and vulnerability than with someone who is keeping their messiness under wraps.

Usually I upload recordings of the talks to the website of my Buddhst group: Malvern Sangha. I haven’t put the last two online yet. They are usually uploaded the next day, and it’s been over a week now. The superficial reason for this is that it takes time to convert the filetype, and I’ve been busy (and it’s a boring job). The real reason they are late is because I know that in those two talks I am more exposed than I usually am.

I know and trust everyone that was physically present at the talks. In that situation it’s a little easier to relax than online where I don’t know everyone that might listen – I’m suddenly more vulnerable again.

Once a month our sangha have what is called a stone passing. Essentially we use a stone as a talking stick, and each person gets a chance to speak from the heart, whilst others listen. This is one of the most powerful forums I have experienced. As people sink into trusting the group, and are able to open up, they are able to admit to being human. They can say, “this is what I am struggling with this week”, or “this is why my heart is heavy”, or even, “this is why I’m really excited at the moment”. For those of us listening it’s a relief to hear that we’re not the only one.

Being exposed to vulnerability allows us to be vulnerable, and my experience of being able to be vulnerable is that a weight is lifted. Sometimes, when I’ve been holding onto some grief, or struggle, it’s like a spot bursting. An initial painful pop, as all the emotion spills out and then the lightness and softening that follows.

There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in ~ Leonard Cohen

Okay. Now I’d better upload those talks….