“Communion”


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This is my response (slightly edited here; this is my site, so I’m a bit more blunt and direct here 🙂 ) to a comment that I received on another site in reference to a comment I left there (and that I posted here as my previous blog post “Connection”)

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why oh why does this existentialist view point make me (and all disciples of it) feel so much like jumping off a bridge, or just sitting and contemplating the knotted roots of a tree?

I think that’s how it feels in the beginning—and for a while (a year? 10 yrs? who knows; it varies from person to person) after that. I know it felt like that for me in my teens and even into my twenties. Of course, I didn’t dive headlong into it. I sort of fell into it bit by bit, as it were. Everyone else around me was doing their thing, living life in a very non-existential (blind) way. So I was on my own. I stepped—fell—into existentialism and despair little by little—and I never did it full-time. It was more seasonal and part-time. As a teen, I would have these intense excruciating experiences of my smallness—my cosmic insignificance, how infinitesimal I was, how little my life was in the scheme of things, how vast the eternity before me was and after me will be. And I would be left wondering: What’s the effin’ point? How did I get put into this predicament?

And then I would run—dive headlong into school, friendships, play, whatever would distract me and keep me from thinking these terrifying horrible thoughts. I was living in denial.

And the process would repeat. A moment—or several moments, repeated over the course of days or weeks—of excruciating intense existential clarity—and then my attempt to escape from it, to unseen what I had seen, to unthink what I had thought, to numb and distract myself from what I had realized, to get myself to forget what I had glimpsed and to go back to “normal” life.


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I would try to play games with my fears—peak at them, try to master them, try to trigger them and then calm and soothe myself, rescue myself from the terror suddenly unleashed and raging within me, the sudden turbulent whirligig of giant white-hot thrashing waves that had capsized me and was pulling me under.

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I would read or think something frightening, unleash the terror, and then throw myself into the water after myself and try to rescue myself life a Coast Guard diver. I would try to soothe myself and restore my equilibrium, get my heart-rate down.

 

And I was just a kid—just a frightened 13 or 14 year old kid at first, and then a 20-year old, then a 23-year old.

But at some point in my very early twenties, I made the choice to stop running (or at least to stop running using the ways that I had been using). No more bar-hopping, no more anesthetizing myself with sex or by trying to pick up women.

I was no longer going to live the way those were around me were living. I didn’t want any more of the insubstantial bar banter and chitchat. I wanted to have friends who didn’t look at me as if I was bat-shit crazy or as if I had “finger-banged their cat” when I wanted to talk about some existential thought I had had.

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No, John, you’re not supposed to do that; you’re not supposed to talk about morose depressing things. You’re not following the rules and playing nice; everyone else here wants to talk about the Cleveland Browns or how hot that girl over there is and how best to approach her; no one wants to talk about how life is fleeting, empty, and fragile. You’re such a buzz-kill, dude.

Needless to say, my “friends” and I soon parted way—their choice more than mine. And I was left to look for new friends. Oddly enough, I didn’t really find any live ones. But I did find some dead one, some antecedents—Peck, Nietzsche, Buddha. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had opted out of the conventional approach to life. Apparently I wasn’t so strange after all. There were others; at least, there had been a few others here and there sprinkled through history.

But were there others who were alive now?

That would seem to be a needle in a haystack type proposition.

At the very least though I had found some decent books to read; I had found at least a few minds whose thoughts resonated with me and actually seemed firmly connected to the way life actually is.

And so I read and read and read—and I wrote and wrote and wrote, as well. And eventually I started writing more than I read. And then some time soon after that my thinking took on a life of its own, or rather, my thinking came to life—it brought me to life. I had found my own voice. It was there all along, but it had been stuffed down most of the time under a lot of denial and fear and avoidance.

No more.

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why oh why does this existentialist view point make me (and all disciples of it) feel so much like jumping off a bridge, or just sitting and contemplating the knotted roots of a tree?

I think that’s just (just?—when you’re feeling it, it feels far far from “just” anything!) how it feels in the beginning—and for a while (a year? 10 yrs? Who knows; varies from person to person) after that. The first noble truth of Buddhism is “Life is suffering” (or “life is unsatisfactory”). Peck and Rilke both wrote about how life is difficult. Sartre wrote: “‘Life begins on the other side of despair.” Most people are afraid to face this—or at least to consider/ponder this. Most people are afraid to face the facts, they’d rather believe what they want to believe, what makes them feel good, what helps get them through the day; most people live behind a curtain of fantasy; and so (arguably) they never really live. Because as long as a person lives on the near-side of despair, without having faced or considered/pondered what scares them the most, they will be living a hemmed-in anxious life of avoidance, denial, and very limited awareness; they will always be preemptively excluding things from their consciousness that might frighten or trigger them, and they will turn to relationships, shopping, reading, writing, bars, football, dancing, et cetera, all as means of trying to anesthetize themselves and keep their mind occupied and from straying onto what scares the shit out of them.

And they will do all of this in a Sisyphussian attempt to make themselves feel better about their life, that it’s not as scary and frightening (that life isn’t as fleeting, that we’re not as fragile, et cetera) as they fear. Every morning they will get up and roll the rock of their particular neurosis / amalgamation of avoidance and denial and distraction up the hill. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Repeat. Always the same underlying fear driving them on. Until one day, they get brave, they get tired of rolling the rock up the hill; the weariness of their neurosis becomes greater than the threat of their fear, and so instead they start to actually face their fears. And really it’s not so much out of bravery as it is out of weariness, out of the desire to experience something different than the rock they’ve chained themselves to. The comfort zone of their rolling their rock up continually back up the hill life has become a dead zone.

But how much better would it have been to have begun from the realization that we are alone, that we are lost, that we are forlorn? How much life could have been not wasted? It was just a matter of the weariness getting big enough. It was just a matter of the weariness becoming big enough that it was more cumbersome than what it was originally intended to save and insulate the person from.

So that’s the position we’re all in. Continually rolling our particular neurotic tangled rock up the hill again, and again. And again. And our culture offers us an abundance of potential distractions and anesthetics—means of distracting and anesthetizing/numbing ourselves—Internet, 4G cell phones, books, movies, television, shopping malls and centers, pornography, drugs, alcohol, bars, restaurants, even religion. All of these can be used as means of occupying our thoughts and taking our mind off of what we most fear and what seems to hold no solution.

So how much better is it or would it be to cut to the chase and begin from the realization that life is suffering, that we are alone, to begin with despair, and to really face that, instead of always running from it and trying to avoid it? Why not try to get the pain out of the way first? Yes, of course, facing life honestly and directly may be like taking a “headlong dive into a bottomless bucket of shit.” It may indeed be like going down a rabbit hole of despair that has no end. It may be the equivalent of getting sucked into a psychological black hole. But apparently some people *have* taken the journey, some people have gone before us. And what they have to tell us is that there is a bottom to the bucket, the rabbit hole doesn’t go on forever, there is something worthwhile and even better and more beautiful and joyous on the other side of our fears and despair.

So that’s the choice we’re all faced with: red pill or blue pill. Deny reality and live in our own little fantasy worlds, believing whatever it is we want to believe—and then searching for others who share our particular peculiar version of neuroticness and have a penchant for the same anesthetants and distractions that make up our neurosis. Or start facing reality—whether out of boldness or out of weariness from the alternatives—and see who else, if anyone, we meet along the way . . . .

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You can choose to connect to people…despite the aching, droning truth that in the end, you are alone. It just feels better to share a laugh, doesn’t it? Laughing alone is the stuff of lunatics (more often than not). . . . So…we all have these new toys to communicate with. Nothing has changed, really. We are still alone AND we still have the choice not to be.”

That’s the question—do we really have a choice in not being solitary? Can we ever escape the prison of ourselves and find some real deep and lasting connection or communion with another human being? Certainly we can meet up with others who are opting to distract and anesthetize themselves in a way similar to the way we are numbing and distracting ourselves—and we can doll this up and call it “connecting.” But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t call it that: I would call that level of relationship or connection an “acquaintanceship,” because two such people haven’t met and connected with each other from their core: they’ve met and connected with each other from their periphery, from their particular neurosis.

And I suppose we always have a choice in that—in connecting with people from that place—from the place or level of our neurosis, because the stuff of most people’s neurosis—the stuff that most people use in their distraction and avoidance and denial—is fairly common stuff—bars, TV, dancing, sports, fitness, yoga, meditation (most people use meditation as a way of avoiding /escaping from life and themselves, not as a means of really facing themselves and their demons and their fears/terrors), shopping, book clubs, surfing the web, hiking, “nature loving,” et cetera, et cetera—the vast majority of people seem to participate in these things from the near-side of despair, not the far- or other-side of it. And so at the very least, most people will at least have that in common—that they’re both living in denial; it’s just that the particular mechanisms or means that they’re each employing in their war against reality and suffering may differ.

So can we really choose not to be alone? Can we really choose to connect with people?

I don’t think so. I think we *can* choose to relate to people, to try and understand them and what they are going through. But our success in that will be limited by how well (i.e. honestly, truthfully) we understand ourselves and our own motivations and struggles and underlying fears, and how widely we have lived and thought (and read—what we have read—how many wise and deeply truthful minds we have rubbed up against and wrestled with). These factors will definitely influence how well we can sympathize with others, understand what they’re (likely) going through. So the more we read and think and reflect, and the wider and more broadly we live and the deeper we become, the better able we will be to interact with understanding and compassion with others.

But as far as finding a real live soul mate or someone with whom we can connect and converse deeply and experience a deep and profound meeting of the minds, that seems to require quite a stroke of luck, because it requires that two do deep and well-self-developed souls / persons actually happen upon each other.

But the first step is developing oneself, and that ultimately means ceasing to deny reality and instead learning how to face it and ourselves directly and heroically.

“Our relationship with our deeper selves is the foundation upon which we achieve any notable communion with others.” – Bill Plotkin

The extent that we get real with ourselves and with life in general, to that extent will we be able to connection deeply and genuinely with others—but we will also find ourselves that much more alone / isolated / unrelate-able—strangers in a strange land—a very strange land, what T. S. Eliot refers to as a wasteland, wandering and wading through all of the varieties of ways that we humans have created in order to distract ourselves and buffer ourselves from raw existence.

“When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.”

– Martin Buber

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“Connection”


One of the blogs I follow and on occasion read is a blog titled Analyfe. Erin, the writer of the blog, is an intelligent 20-something year old, who lives somewhere in Arizona, and who has an undergrad degree in psychology (I think). I stumbled on her blog a year or so ago (or maybe vice versa, she stumbled upon one of my blogs; I don’t know or remember), and what I enjoy most of all in her writings is her “searchiness” and the time and thought she puts into her posts. I don’t always agree with her posts or her conclusions, but I am very appreciative that she actually has depth to her thinking and writing; and so even if I disagree with something she has said, it often will end up as good food for thought for me—which is really what I want most of all out of a blog I read—I want food for thought—whether it takes the form of something profound I’ve never thought of, or whether it takes the form of something that I disagree with but that has been intelligently written, makes little difference to me. I value the food for thought.

What follows is my recent comment on one of her posts—on the surface it’s about upgrading to spiffy new state of the art 4G cell phone, but it’s really more of a musing about living in the moment and the quest for human connection.

Her original post can be viewed here (http://www.analyfe.com/2012/11/12/a-bittersweet-upgrade/).

And here is the comment I left—
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Interesting as always, Erin! A lot of food for thought!

And at many points while reading what you wrote, I wondered, Is this really true? (That’s what I do in general when I read: I find myself asking often—is this really true?) And not just true for you, but is it really true in general? Much of what you are expressing is certainly and arguably a fairly popular contrarian / counter-culture point of view. But is it really true?

(And before I go into this, you wrote, “I’ve started writing little notes in Evernote on my phone, instead of in my notebooks and journals. . . .” Just as a heads up, if your phone crashes or gets submerged in water, those notes may be unretrievable.)

At one point, you write about the human connection void—

“I go to the park to read and then feel inclined to share an incredible picture of the lake and trees, because I can. And that bothers me. . . . When I glace up to the trees–still green and lively–and then look around, I notice that I’m alone. Everyone else is fiddling around with the smart phones. I can’t help but wonder: what am I missing? Nothing. I know that’s the answer, yet I pull out my phone and feign productivity. I pretend not to feel the extreme existential disconnect of being in a group where no one pays the slightest attention to anyone else. We’re attempting to fill the human connection void with technology. We’re fooling ourselves into thinking that the feat is even possible.”

Maybe we are. Maybe some people are. But this all begs the question: what does it mean to actually really connect with another human being? What does it mean to reach that essential common uncommon common-ground with another human being?

Over a hundred years ago—meaning well before cell phones and PDAs and the Internet, et cetera—Rilke wrote: “And to speak of solitude again, it becomes clearer and clearer that fundamentally this is nothing that one can choose or refrain from. We are solitary. We can delude ourselves about this and act as if it were not true. That is all. But how much better it is to recognize that we are alone; yes, even to begin from this realization.” (“Letters to a Young Poet, letter # 8)

Yes, even to begin from this realization—existential disconnect, the human connection void—this is our lot: we *are* solitary. As C. S. Lewis wrote (in “A Grief Observed”)—“Alone into the alone.” We are born alone and we die alone. And we may partner up, develop a few seemingly deep friendships, even get married and have children, and still be utterly barrenly irremediably alone—with those supposedly closest to us utterly incapable of understanding us, “getting us,” penetrating us, accessing our inner solitude. And we may be just as helplessly incapable of understanding them and penetrating them to their core. Which begs the question: are we even able to access our own inner depths or core? Most people aren’t. Most people haven’t. Most people are incapable of doing so—understanding themselves let alone another, connecting deeply and meaningfully with themselves (with what is essential in themselves) or with another (connecting with what is essential or deepest in ourselves seems to be a prerequisite to connecting deeply with another).

And is this because of technology or an excess of technology?

Is this because of the widespread availability and use of cell phones, obsessive twittering, facebook updating, pinteresting, even blogging, et cetera? Are we dummying ourselves down through all of this to the point of being ineligible for connecting with others, never mind ourselves?

Is this, in fact, even a new predicament that we modern humans find ourselves in?

Not according to Rilke. Or Thoreau—

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. . . . A stereotyped but unconscious desperation is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them. . . . Our life is frittered away by detail. . . . Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand. . . . Simplify, simplify. . . . Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? . . . For my part, I could easily do without the post office. I think that there are very few important communications made through it. To speak critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life—I wrote this some years ago—that were worth the postage. . . . And I am sure I have never read any memorable news in the newspaper. If we read of one man robbed, or murdered, or killed by accident, or one house burned down, or one vessel wrecked, or one steamboat blown up . . . we never need to read of another. One is enough. If you are acquainted with the principle, what do you care for a myriad of instances and applications? To a philosopher all “news,” as it is called, is gossip. . . .” (“Walden“)

It would seem that we were solitary and disconnected long before technology made us apparently even more so.

Being disconnected and unable to connect deeply seems to come with the territory of living in denial. To the extent that we’re living in denial, we will be unable to connect deeply with others; and to the extent that we are no longer living in denial, we will be better able to actually connect deeply with others (who are also no longer living in denial), but in reality we will find ourselves still alone—and perhaps even more alone— because the mass of our fellowmen and -women will still be living in denial, still leading lives of quiet desperation (or not so quiet desperation—see Lesley Carter’s blog: http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com), and thus flitting along the surface and dissipating themselves with whatever distractions their particular culture and epoch provides. . . .

When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and after, the little space which I fill and even can see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces of which I am ignorant and which know me not, I am frightened and am astonished at being here rather than there; for there is no reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then. Who has put me here? By whose order and direction have this place and time been allotted to me? . . . As men are not able to fight against death, misery, ignorance, they have taken it into their heads, in order to be happy, not to think of these things at all. . . . The only thing which consoles us for our miseries is diversion, distraction; and yet this is the greatest of our miseries. For it is this which principally hinders us from reflecting upon ourselves and which makes us insensibly ruin ourselves. Without this we should be in a state of weariness, and this weariness would spur us to seek a more solid means of escaping from it. But diversion amuses us, and leads us unconsciously to death.” – Pascal, Pensees,” #’s 167-171, 205 (circa 1660 AD)

I tend to think that the human connection void is due to much more than the prevalence of cell towers, cell phones, PDAs, the Internet, FaceBook, twitter, Pinterest, video games, et cetera. I think these things are merely the latest scapegoats. The reality is most people aren’t in touch with their deeper or more authentic selves, most people aren’t very self-aware, most people don’t lead very examined lives, most people don’t think very critically—especially about their own assumptions and biases and thinking (and I could be a prime example of this), and most people are afraid—afraid of death and living in denial—especially those who say claim they aren’t (in my experience most of those people are living in la-la land; they haven’t truly faced death or a real brush with death or had a long cancer scare—things that might actually lend some credibility to their claims).

Switching subjects, Erin . . . at another point in your essay, you write—

“It’s wonderful that you were able to capture Allison’s first steps or Derek’s first school play, but while focused on manipulating the camera, were you really present in the moment? I went to a concert recently and watched as a girl in front of me snapped several photos, then proceeded to post the pictures to every social networking site and tag everyone she was with. Ten minutes of an enjoyable event was spent broadcasting to her networks that she was out living life. But in those ten minutes, she wasn’t really there. Modern society–myself included– look forward to enjoying memories of these moments but, in doing so, sacrifice enjoying the actual moment. Rather than being present, we choose busyness–completing mundane and unnecessary tasks. We live in an era where most people view playing Angry Birds as a better use of time than sitting quietly at the park to hear the birds sing. Life becomes some big display. Each of us a caged animal–we spend our days priming and posing and trying to impress everyone else. While busy flaunting every tiny detail of our lives, we begin missing out on the big adventures. Worse yet, we set out on spectacular journeys and come back unchanged, but for a few neat photographs. The moments captured, are also moments lost. It seems we so fear losing our experiences–the youth of our first born, an incredible trip abroad, a new relationship, or the shifting seasons–that we make the ultimate sacrifice and step out of those noteworthy events in order to take notes…notes that may hold no future relevance.”

What does it mean to you to be really present in the moment? Why does recording the moment and savoring it later not count as being even more present in the moment? Regarding the girl in front of you at the concert—maybe she was posting pictures on FaceBook or what have you to get her ego strokes and reflected sense of self, but what would her really being there at those ten minutes have really been like? And what would she have after that? Would she be changed deeply as a person because of those 10 minutes? Would she have a deeper memory of the experience? But even memory is fallible. So many studies have been done regarding the unreliability of memory. In my experience. the more we remember something, we often end up remembering our memories and not the actual experience. It’s like making a cassette recording or a cassette recording, or opening a JPEG in photoshop and working the photo and saving it again as a JPEG. Each time the file is saved and compressed—or each time a cassette duplicates a duplicate of a duplicate, et cetera, cassette, quality is lost from the original recording or JPEG. Personally I prefer fact to fiction, so I do plan to take lots of videos of little Allison’s or Derek’s first steps and first kindergarten play. I want to be able to savor the original 20 years from now, should I live that long. And I want to be able to give those recordings to my child(ren). I wish my parents had taken videos of me when I was a kid. I wish they had taken videos of an average day around the house or on a Sunday afternoon outing to the beach. Think of how much those recordings would change the psychotherapeutic process—to not just have to take a client/patient’s word for what their relationship with their mom and dad was like, but to actually be able to get some sense of it. I would love to see with my 40-something-year-old eyes what my childhood was actually like!—the way that my mom and dad tried to parent me, interact with me, how I interacted with my brother and sister, what kind of kid I actually was. Instead all I’ve got to go on are a lot of memories—a lot of very subjective and likely distorted memories.

Thanks as always for the interesting post, Erin, and the food for thought! I hope you are well.

Kindest regards,

John

How to Become a Genius in Life (or: “Life Isn’t Hard Because You’re Doing It Wrong, Life Is Just Hard”)


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Life isn’t easy.

We want it to be. We wish that it were.

But it’s not.

Life is fundamentally not easy.  Life is hard.

But look around and listen to people, listen to ourselves, listen to what we say to ourselves in the privacy of our inner monologues—listen as we complain, as we bitch, as we whine, as we grumble and act cranky. And even though on the surface the object of our complaining, bitching, whining, crankiness, grumbliness may seem different, beneath it all resides the same assumption—that life is supposed to be easy. We feel justified in acting bitchy, grumpy, cranky, ornery, like a jerk, because deep down we think—wish, hope, believe, hold, assume—that life is supposed to be easy. One big gravy train. And somehow right now, at this moment when we’re being bitchy or acting like a hothead, life is somehow treating us unfairly, singling us out for no good reason and giving us a raw deal. Our kids are being difficult. Our job is too difficult (or tedious). Our clients are being difficult. The other drivers on the freeway are being difficult. Our partner or spouse is being difficult. Trying to understand him or her is too difficult. And so on.

“If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience.” – Robert Fulghum

And our greatest desire is to make it all go away—all, meaning the difficulty of it. When people say they can’t take “it” any more, the “it” to which they are referring isn’t life but the difficult nature of their lives—the poverty, loneliness, unhappiness, depression, anxiety, fear, and so on.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?” – George Eliot (Mary Anne Evans)

But “it”—whatever the “it”—is difficult. Loneliness is difficult. Loss is difficult. Losing a job is difficult. Wrestling with our own mortality is difficult. Trying to be our best is difficult. Emotions are difficult. Relationships are difficult. Wrestling with our demons and not so savory tendencies is difficult. Chemotherapy is difficult. Rehab—rehabbing an injury or from an addiction—is difficult.

But that’s life.

Life is suffering,” said the Buddha. “Life is dukkha.”

Life is difficult,” wrote both Rilke and M. Scott Peck.

Love is difficult,” wrote Rilke.

Life isn’t pleasure, it’s constant struggle driven by relentless tension,” said Richard Rose.

Life is complex. . . . There are no easy answers,” wrote M. Scott Peck.

And yet as evident by the vast majority of our complaints we spend much of our time trying to live diametrically opposed to this truth—the truth that life is difficult.

We bitch and we whine and we lash out and we complain—and more importantly, we feel justified in doing so—because we think life is supposed to be easier than it is, simpler than it is, a lot less messier than it is, more pleasurable and fun than it is.

And when it’s not we get indignant about it, we mumble and grumble—or worse—about it.

For example, we get grumpy and self-righteous and indignant with elderly people—if not directly, then indirectly—who dare tell us (how dare they!) to relish our time with our children and enjoy it because this too will pass. And we get grumpy and indignant not because of what they’re saying to us but because fundamentally we’re living at odds with the fact that life IS difficult. We’re living in denial. If we actually knew life was difficult, then we’d be much more likely not to sweat so many things and not lose our cool so often and so easily. But because we think life is supposed to be easier than it is, because we’re living in denial, we think we are in the right and that it’s appropriate to bitch and complain about anyone who won’t sympathize with our plight whenever we’re feeling moody and give us a consoling there-there pat on the shoulder whenever we’re having a rough go of it with the kids, et cetera. We act as if our hardships and difficulties are unique and unprecedented on all the earth and thus our complaints—and our bitchiness and grumpiness—are entirely justified and appropriate. We think no parent has ever had so tough a go of it as we are having right now with our kids running amuck in the living room or in the aisles of Target or WalMart. How dare someone suggest that there might be a better way of looking at things!? How dare someone butt into our lives and tell us to enjoy these moments of parenthood because it all goes so fast!? That’s exactly what we want—for it—and this moment in particular—to go fast, to go much faster, for us to be able to go elsewhere, a place where life is easier, where we can sit down and rest and enjoy a little peace and quiet and a glass of red wine and something funny on the television, et cetera.

Easy, easy, easy. That’s our heart’s deepest desire—wishing things were easier, wishing that life wasn’t so (as in sooooo) difficult.

It’s been remarked (fairly often) that for we humans, one of the biggest pains (or difficulties) we have to deal with is the pain (or difficulty) of a new idea. And the idea that life actually is fundamentally, inescapably, and unavoidably difficult is at some point in each of our lives both a new and a painful idea. It comes as a quite a shock to us that perhaps life isn’t supposed to be that easy.

So what do we tend to do with this new and disturbing idea? What are we who have been raised and groomed on the assumption that life is supposed to be easy and that it can almost always be made easier to do with this idea that perhaps life actually is quite difficult?

Do we accept the idea with grace and equanimity? In other words, do we accept it easily?

Of course not.

If life is difficult and if accepting a new and potentially disturbing new idea or paradigm (way of looking at things) is difficult, why should accepting it and living in congruence with it be easy? Obviously acceptance too should be difficult—something quite difficult.

“Faced with the choice between changing one’s mind and proving there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof.” – John Kenneth Galbraith, “Economics, Peace and Laughter” (1971), p. 50.

Faced with the choice between changing one’s mind and accepting that life is difficult, versus proving that life is not difficult, almost everyone gets busy on the proof.

And for the vast majority of us that attempt at proof goes no further than our daily litany of complaints, laments, “why me?” moments, and frequent “ugh!” and “arrghh” and other much less civil not to mention much less printable yet sometimes quite colorful expressions and outbursts.

Life is difficult. And so is learning not to whine so much about it and become impatient and overheated—that too is difficult. It’s easier to live in denial and bitch and complain and vent and lose perspective and forget (deny) that life is difficult and messy and oftentimes requires a lot of effort and work and sacrifice and grit. Accepting that life is difficult—and learning (developing the self-control and perspective) not to whine and bitch and complain and take out our foul moods and weak-mindedness (ultimately that’s what it is, after all) on others—is not easy; it’s difficult—very difficult.

But—but—once we accept—actually, once we begin accepting more and more (because more often than not acceptance is not some grand pie in the sky moment, but a bit by bit, inch by inch, turf war) that life actually is difficult, once this becomes our mantra, once this becomes what we more and more tell ourselves or realize when our children or our partner or life is stressing us out, the paradox is that life becomes a bit less difficult. (Because we’re no longer making things even more difficult for ourselves than they already are through how we react to life.)

If our first thought in the morning was “Life is difficult. I’m ready for another difficult day. I want to rise to the challenge of my life and do my best and be my best. I wonder what difficulties and challenges I will be presented with today. I wonder what opportunities for bettering myself and others I will find or create amidst these difficulties?” that would set our hearts and minds in the right direction.

“It did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life—daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.” – Viktor E. Frankl, “Man’s Search for Meaning

But this way of thinking is likely the farthest thing from most of our hearts and minds first thing in the morning.

More likely we’re unconsciously hoping for an easy fun day.

Yet if we can begin by at least considering the idea that perhaps life isn’t supposed to be easy— and that if it were, we would never become who we’re supposed to be because we would never have cause to get stronger or wiser, and instead we would atrophy, soften, and become spoiled—if we can begin considering this and keeping this a bit more in mind, then perhaps life might paradoxically become a bit easier for us.

And not only might life become a bit easier the more we extend this realization and acceptance into different facets of our lives and live increasingly in alignment with it, life also might become proportionally a bit more joyful and wonderful. Because instead of our minds being bogged down so often bitching and complaining and wishing that life were easier, we would free up more space in our minds so we might actually enjoy (or embrace) life and some of its messiness and unease a bit more.

It’s a lot like that Seinfeld episode where George decides to be celibate for while his girlfriend (Louise) who has mono recuperates. . . .

[At Jerry’s apartment, George is sitting on couch, watching Jeopardy and playing with a Rubik’s cube while Jerry is talking to him.]

GEORGE: What is Tungsten or Wolfram?

ALEX TREBEK: We were looking for ‘What is Tungsten, or Wolfram’.

JERRY: Is this a repeat?

GEORGE: No, no, no. it’s just lately I’ve been thinking a lot clearer. Like this afternoon, (To television, “Jeopardy” is on) what is chicken Kiev, (Back to Jerry) I really enjoyed watching a documentary with Louise.

JERRY: Louise! That’s what’s doin’ it. You’re no longer pre-occupied with sex, so your mind is able to focus.

GEORGE: You think?

JERRY: Yeah. I mean, let’s say this is your brain. (Holds lettuce head) Okay, from what I know about you, your brain consists of two parts: the intellect, represented here (Pulls off tiny piece of lettuce), and the part obsessed with sex. (Shows whole lettuce head) Now granted, you have extracted an astonishing amount from this little scrap. But with no-sex-Louise, this previously useless lump, is now functioning for the first time in its existence. (Eats tiny piece of lettuce)

GEORGE: Oh my God. I just remembered where I left my retainer in second grade. I’ll see ya. (He throws finished Rubik’s cube to Jerry and he exits. Kramer enters)

So too it is with us. The space between our ears is for rent. And most of us unknowingly rent it out most of the time to what amounts to the lowest bidder—the path of least resistance, that part of us that wants life to be easy and simple and complains vocally whenever it isn’t. We live in an increasingly easier era where more and more things are being made easier, more convenient, more fun, et cetera. More and more of us are searching out ways to lose weight easier, to have more efficient and easier work-outs that will yield maximum results, to be able to eat more and more gluttonous sweet and or fatty foods without the consequences to our bodies.

So many of the things we take for granted—plumbing, refrigeration, microwaveable foods, drive-thrus, automobiles—were things that were unknown and even unimaginable to previous generations

And the dark side of it is that not only has all of this convenience and ease and abundance made life easier for us, but it likely has made us softer—another difficult idea to consider and accept.

“Wherever you look about you, in literature and in life, you see the celebrated names . . . the many benefactors of the age who know how to benefit mankind by making life easier and easier, some by railway, others by omnibuses and steamboats, others by telegraph, others by easily apprehended compendiums and short recitals of everything worth knowing, and finally the true benefactors of the age who by virtue of thought make spiritual existence systematically easier and easier. . . . You must do something, but inasmuch as with your limited capacities it will be impossible to make anything easier than it has become, you must with the same humanitarian enthusiasm as others, undertake to make something harder. . . . When all combine in every way to make everything easier and easier, there remains only one possible danger, namely, that the easiness might become . . . too great.” – Soren Kierkegaard, in “A Kierkegaard Anthology,” ed. Robert Bretall, pg. 194.

Yet as we begin to more and more accept that fundamentally life is not easy, things begin to shift inside for us. Instead of the part of our mind that is grateful, kind, loving, and that finds joy in life being relegated to a few tiny slivers of lettuce while the rest of the head is obsessed with assuming life to be easy and trying to make things less stressful and then spinning out and complaining whenever they aren’t, things begin to shift, the balance of power begins to shift within us. We begin to find our sanity. Life isn’t easy. We’ve been to see that we’ve been duped; we’ve been lied to; life was never supposed to be easy or simple or uncomplicated. And so the assumption that life ought to be easy no longer runs the show, is no longer our fundamental operating assumption and guiding thought. Instead more and more parts of our brain (more and more pieces of lettuce) are freed up to begin more deeply appreciating more of the little things in life that we’ve been missing and overlooking for so long because we’ve been mistakenly assuming that life was supposed to be easy!

Life is difficult. Write this a thousand times. Try repeating this to yourself a thousand times a day. Make this your new ground zero. Say it to yourself whenever the kids are trying your patience or your partner is getting on your last nerve. Life is difficult. Or “this too shall pass.”

In doing so—in realizing that life is difficult—it frees our minds up for more kairos (or vertical or soulful) moments of appreciation and wonder and gratitude.

The more we live expecting life to be easier than it is, the more we will miss these potential moments of real peace and perspective and grace.

“There is no doubt that the most radical division that it is possible to make of humanity is that which splits it into two classes of creatures: those who make great demands on themselves, piling up difficulties and duties; and those who demand nothing special of themselves, but for whom to live is to be at every moment what they already are, without imposing upon themselves any efforts towards perfection—mere buoys that float on the waves. . . . The decisive matter is whether we attach [to] our life . . . a maximum or minimum of demands upon ourselves.” – Jose Ortega y Gasset, “The Revolt of the Masses,” pg. 15.

Keep the faculty of effort alive in you by a little gratuitous exercise every day. That is, be systematically heroic in little unnecessary points, do every day or two something for no other reason than its difficulty, so that, when the hour of dire need draws nigh, it may find you not unnerved and untrained to stand the test. Asceticism of this sort is like the insurance which a man pays on his house and goods. The tax does him no good at the time, and possibly may never bring him a return. But, if the fire does come, his having paid it will be his salvation from ruin. So with the man who has daily inured himself to habits of concentrated attention, energetic volition, and self-denial in unnecessary things. He will stand like a tower when everything rocks around him, and his softer fellow-mortals are winnowed like chaff in the blast.”– William James, “The Principles of Psychology,” Chapter 4, “Habit,” pg. 126.

The TWO Preliminaries Necessary to Train In In Order to Awaken and Truly Change & Grow


At this point in my life, after whatever portion of life I’ve seen and experienced and lived through and read and written about and reflected on (which may be a little or may be of some significance), I am convinced that there are only TWO ways of truly changing our lives and waking up.

There are many ways of making more or less superficial or cosmetic changes to our lives—what Covey refers to as the way of “the personality ethic.” And these “changes” will only change us sideways or in reverse; they will not truly change us in any real and deep and profound sense—in the sense of real growth, in the sense of changing our character, in the sense of changing our stripes, in the sense of leading us to truly experience an awakening of our conscience and our soul and having our level of thinking and clarity and self-control radically increase and improve.

There are only TWO ways of truly CHANGING our lives in the sense of waking up and radically (meeting at a fundamental or “root”—radical comes from the Latin “radix” meaning “root”) altering oneself and one’s character, transforming oneself, having a metanoia, a true spiritual awakening, dying while alive and being completely dead in order to be born again spiritually and psychologically.

And neither of these paths of real change is easy or simple. In fact, both are quite painful. And both tend to go heavy on the pain and suffering and put it first, make you pay up front, and then give you the happiness and joy and bliss later, down the road.

And if these TWO ways are not painful—if they’re easy and simple—then a person can pretty much be sure that he or she isn’t doing them correctly, if they’re even really doing them at all.

And combining both of these TWO ways is what will have the greatest impact and effect on us in terms of waking us up and changing us deeply, fundamentally, irrevocably.

Lastly, the first of these two ways often leads quite naturally to the second way as well. But the second way doesn’t necessarily lead back to the first way, and, in fact, without the addition of the first way, the second way is apt to be a watered-down even cosmetic “personality ethic” version of what it could be with the addition of the first way as well.

So clearly, in my estimation, the first way is by far the more important of the two ways, but if we truly want to grow we must employ both ways wholeheartedly.

So what are these two ways?

The first is DEATH—getting real about death, taking the blinders off, ceasing to live in denial, getting real about our own and others’ death, and immersing ourselves more and more in our mortality so that things reach a critical mass in us. And I don’t mean reading more and more cheesy vampire fiction; I’m not speaking about that sort of pop-death nonsense; what I’m speaking of is real death, truly beginning with the end in mind and doing so in tangible ways—i.e. volunteering with hospice, visiting a hospice ward, driving by graveyards and cemeteries and actually looking at the grave markers and not turning away but deeply realizing as we are now, they once were, as they are now so too will we be, as will be all of those we love as well as those we dislike, those who irritate us, try our patience, et cetera.

Remember youth as you go by,as you are now so once was I. As I am now so you shall be, prepare for death and follow me

Remember youth as you go by,as you are now so once was I. As I am now so you shall be, prepare for death and follow me

If any real change is to occur in our lives we must begin having an actual living relationship with our own death/mortality. Living, meaning consulting one’s own and others’ death must become an active and ongoing and semi-constant “preoccupation” (for lack of a better word), for us.

We have to start thinking about death, reflecting on death, contemplating it, reading and writing about death every day. That’s the practice. That’s the discipline. If—if—we truly want to change and awaken and grow.

Because if we aren’t frequently (i.e. several times throughout the day) and searchingly consulting our own and others’ death, then our decision-making processes are likely to be off—to be too narrow, too myopic, too limited in scope, too based in gratifying the Id or one’s want of comfort and security and an easy or fun and frivolous life. The space between our ears is for rent; it’s up for grabs, to be occupied by either love or fear, perspective or myopia, truth or falsity, good or evil; there’s no neutrality; every moment is either a moment of sanity or insanity/discursiveness/blindness/falsity.

I am convinced at this point in my life that there’s no way of living sincerely and mindfully without integrating one’s own and others’ mortality into one’s life and giving it it’s proper place in our lives.

Yet when I mentioned this line of thought the other day to someone, she made it sound like I was being unrealistic. She assured me that only a person like the Dalai Lama would do this sort of thing (think about death and impermanence). And I responded that anyone can do this, it’s available to everyone—anyone thoughtful normal person who has reached the age of 25 or 30 has likely lost someone significant to them through death, and so that person should be able to start thinking ahead and realizing that death is in store for everyone, including themselves, but that everyone around them seems to be co-conspiring in the “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to death and dying, and so everyone else is living in denial and everyone else comes down hard on (ostracizes) anyone who refuses to play by the same rules.

And sure enough her response was to de-friend me from her Facebook account because she was already under enough stress and only wanted to surround herself with “positive” people.

I kid you not.

But this is 98% of the human race: blind, asleep, not beginning with the end in mind, living in denial (which suggests that they are beginning with the end in mind, they just don’t want to face it honestly, so instead they want to face away from it and be dishonest about it). . . .

“Be aware of the reality that life ends, that death comes for everyone, that life is very brief. When you realize that possibly you don’t have years and years to live, and if you start living your life as if you only had a day or a week left, then that heightened sense of impermanence and fragility also tends to increase our feelings of preciousness and gratitude and love. It puts things in perspective.” – Pema Chodron

.

“It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth—and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up—that we will begin to live each day to the fullest, as if it was the only one we had.” – Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

It’s only when we truly know we’re going to die that we stop fucking around in life and get serious about aligning our current actions with those that we think are going to matter most when we get the cancer scare or when we’re on our deathbed.

Death alone—that level of pain and anxiety—is what seems to be sufficient to cut through our bs, restore us to sanity, give us clarity and perspective.

And death also seems to be the only real source of true gratitude. Without death—i.e. when we’re living on autopilot and as if life goes on forever—we invariably take things for granted. But by more and more facing death, we begin to take the good and neutral things in our life with much more real gratitude and appreciation.

“Until you make peace with who you are, you’ll never be content with what you have.” – Doris Mortman

Part of making peace with who we are means making peace with the fact that we are mortal, that we have a body, that we will die, as will everyone else, and that what happens afterwards is essentially a matter of belief and speculation—it’s a mystery, and no matter how much we would prefer to solve that mystery, it is ultimately a mystery for now.

And it is in recognizing this and really reflecting on this, and doing so more and more often, that we can begin to become much more truly humble and appreciative.

And this—thinking about death, truly doing the inner work that will allow us to make peace with our own death and others’ deaths—is also what will allow us to get our priorities right: to give Love, goodness, compassion, understanding, gratitude, kindness, their rightful place in our lives. Because in the end, these soul qualities are what will (likely) truly matter: Did we kiss this life enough? Did we love others? Did we let another or others truly and deeply in? Were we good to this world or were we just another troubled guest who darkened the earth and used others and lived like a thief in the night?

Were we a hero? Or did take the coward’s way out?—Did we hide out from life, play it safe, live and love as if life went on forever?

 . . .

The second way of deeply changing our lives is really a combination of steps 4 through 10 of the 12 Steps.

If we truly want to change and grow as a human being and awaken, we have to begin identifying more and more with our conscience, with that part of ourselves, and nourish and feed that part of ourselves.

Our conscience is our inner quality control expert—it’s what monitors us and monitors our level of effort in life. Are we doing our best or near-best? If our conscience is working and is well-formed, we will get one answer; if it is underdeveloped and we are living life in denial and emotionally (primarily from our feelings and the emotions and moods of the moment) and reactively, we will get another answer—a distinctly less honest and less realistic and less conscientious answer, one that makes us feel good but that likely is far less than truthful and realistic.

Our conscience is also what allows us to take the hit emotionally in life. It’s what allows us to not always have to feel good. In fact, it’s what allows us to prioritize things such that we can put doing good ahead of feeling good. People without a conscience or whose conscience is underdeveloped CANNOT do this—they cannot put doing good ahead of feeling good; everything revolves around their feelings—around feeling safe, loved, secure, accepted, validated, wanted, and when they feel all of this, they act one way (normally with decency), and when they don’t feel this way, they act an entirely different way (meaning, they typically act ungrateful, spoiled, entitled, bitter, petty, resentful, et cetera).

In order to raise the level of our conscience and to better develop it, we must start making regular (meaning every day, without exception—WITHOUT EXCEPTION!) searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves, admitting to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs and our shortcomings and our character defects.

And the day we skip a day of doing this, is the day we fall of the wagon spiritually; it’s the day we prove that we really don’t want to change—that all of our talk about change is just that—talk, and not something real.

“It is impossible to grow and transform as a person unless we are prepared fully to cooperate in the process. Each step in the process depends on our wholehearted concurrence, because, in the long run, self-transcendence can only be the result of constant and tireless practice.

“Not until we have begun to practice continuously and vigilantly, with complete awareness, can we be said to have really joined the way. From then on the wheel of growth and transformation never stops turning. The process of transformation requires that all that is contrary to our essential being to be relinquished.” – Karlfried Graf Durckheim, “The Way of Transformation,” pg. 79.

Moreover, because we have to participate in our own redemption (meaning, because we have free will), we will have to consent to allowing our character defects and shortcomings to be removed. —And we will have to do the work as well and participate in removing our own defects of character and conscience; we will have to put in actual time, labor, effort, work, real blood, sweat, and tears, and actually monitor ourselves and right our wrongs or our failings as soon as we notice them, instead of trying to trying to hide them, save them, cover them over, etc.

We need to be entirely ready on onboard for this to happen; we cannot cheat in this process.

And this is where DEATH comes in. Death, if faced honestly, cuts to the chase and cuts through our bs and denial like nothing else in life can and can actually keep us on track—death is what allows us “to race out beyond all lesser dangers to be safe around that one great danger”—that one great danger where we can bloom.

Making a change also requires that we make amends, that we make a list of all the persons we have harmed and wronged and fucked over, and that we are willing to humble ourselves and go back and correct our mistakes (except in those very rare and exceptional cases where doing so might cause serious injury to the other person—so this is not a caveat that allows any real wiggle room). This is part of what mental health, in the sense of complete and ongoing dedication to reality and to truth at all costs, means—it means that we don’t spare ourselves the expense by trying to save face and not taking the hit emotionally to our pride.

And truly making a change means that we to continue taking a searching and fearless personal moral inventory every day, that we remain vigilante, watchful, mindful, observant, honest. And whenever we notice that we are wrong, we need to swallow our pride, take the hit, and promptly admit our mistake or transgression, and not act in ways that invest ourselves even more heavily in our mistake. . . .

Having a truly working and functioning conscience means that there is something within us—what’s best in us—that’s active and that won’t let us lie to ourselves or cheat or cut illegitimate corners or get away with doing less than our best for very long. It means there’s something in us that monitors us, that doing quality control on us and our effort level, and that will call us out on our own bullshite. It means that we have an up and running personal ethics that allows us to feel another’s pains and the effects of our own actions (or lack of actions; i.e. withholding, withdrawal) on the other person. It’s what allows us to not do to another what we would not want done to us if the situation were reversed, and to do to another what we would want done to us if the situation were reversed. And it’s what allows this to happen in real time or near-real time, with minimal lag and minimal wiggle room for self-deception and lies and rationalizations (rational-lies-ations).

And one of the best ways to help this process along—this process of kick-starting our conscience and taking the quality of our moral reasoning and living to the next level—is to imagine we’re in a theater and we’re watching the story of our life—the highs and the lows. What would you be watching? What would you be seeing? And would you be the hero or the villain the story? Would you be proud of yourself and in awe or would be ashamed and embarrassed, even horrified? (Gurdjieff said that a person cannot awaken and truly change his or her life until he is completely appalled and “horrified” with himself—that that level of emotional disgust is necessary in order to motivate a person to get serious about waking up and letting all the smaller false I’s die. Facing death squarely also has the same effect of energizing us and getting us serious about waking up and living with greater clarity and maturity and Love.)

And now imagine watching yourself in your final days or when you get a diagnosis of terminal cancer. Watch yourself on your deathbed hours before dying. Was it worth it?—the way that you lived? Are you proud of how you conducted yourself here on earth? Are you proud of what you stood for and fought for and believed in? Did you do your best?

Now try taking yourself out of the equation: If you were watching someone else on screen doing the things you have done in your life, how would you feel about that person? How does he or she treat others? How does he or she treat him- or herself and the world? Is this person a good and noble soul? Or is he or she the proverbial “troubled guest darkening the earth”—full of chaos, fear, causing others pain? How would you feel watching this life review? Because right now you are trading your life to be this person—so is it worth it? Is this really the type of person you want to become? Are you doing your best or near-best? Are you even trying any more?

A searching and fearless and honest moral inventory is what will help us to more honestly and deeply ask and answer these questions—as will facing death squarely.

Dedication to Reality v Dedication to Fear and Avoiding Reality: Are you turning your weakness into your sickness?


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Truth or reality is avoided when it is painful. We can revise our maps only when we have the discipline not to avoid pain and effort. To have such discipline, we must be totally dedicated to the truth, not partially. That is to say, we must always hold truth, as best as we can determine it, to be more crucial, more vital to our self-interest, than our comfort. Conversely, we must always consider our personal discomfort relatively unimportant, and, indeed, even welcome it in the service of the search for truth. Mental health is an ongoing process of dedication to reality at all costs. What does this life of total dedication to the truth means? It means, above all, a life of continuous and never-ending stringent self-examination and honesty with oneself. — M. Scott Peck, from “The Road Less Traveled,” pp. 50-51

Try just for a moment to accept the possibility that you are not as mentally healthy as you might normally assume. That you are, in fact, perhaps rather mentally unhealthy, out of shape, that you are perhaps more unstable than you’d like to consider, that you are actually confused, lost, living in denial.  That you lie to yourself—sometimes so frequently, so naturally, so effortlessly—that your thinking has, as a result, become so distorted and unconsciously motivated by avoiding difficulty that you can never trust your thinking or yourself; nor even your emotions; because everything about you conspires to mislead you.

This is the situation for any and all of us who have been living a life more dedicated to comfort and the path of least resistance than to truth.  We live this way for so long that we no longer have any difficulty in fooling / hoodwinking ourselves and convincing ourselves at every opportunity when given the choice between a difficult right and a less difficult wrong, that what we are choosing is the difficult right—and we’re SURE of it!—even though if we are more dedicated to comfort and the path of least resistance than to truth, we are again in all likelihood choosing the less demanding wrong, as we have almost always done before.

Moreover, consider whether you might not actually prefer your current state of mental unhealthiness over mental health, and not simply because you are indeed mentally unhealthy, but because being mentally unhealthy is easier and less demanding than being mentally healthy, and that the demands of mental health are too great, too daunting for you—that living a truly conscientious and virtuous life, that living with emotional self-control, living with real love and appreciation and goodness and generosity, living with real perspective, living in a way that truly recognizes that you and those you love could actually die at any moment—that living in alignment with all of this is just simply too demanding, too painful, too taxing, too unsettling, too effortful for you.

And so you are mentally unhealthy because of it—because it is an easier life, even though it’s one filled with unhappiness, voluntary self-crippling and self-sabotage, cowardice, lies, deception, rationalizations, distortions, confusion.  All of this is easier than and preferable to facing your fears, overcoming your weaknesses, making amends, feeling shame and guilt, going back and correcting past wrongs. It’s easier just to stay on the wrong path, the easy path, and continue on and keep shuffling.

Intuitively, I think we all recognize at some level what mental health actually means: ultimately it’s about growing up and facing reality. And equally intuitively, we all recognize and fear what actually doing so might actually do to us–it might overwhelm us, undo us, cause us to have a nervous breakdown.  In the words of John the Cougar Mellencamp, “Growing up leads to growing old and then to dying, and dying don’t sound like that much to me.”

So why voluntarily put ourselves through the equivalent of a heart attack or major psychological catastrophe in the prime of our life when we don’t have to, when our deepest desire is to live long and die without ever knowing so while sleeping?  Why put ourselves through the wringer psychologically and emotionally just in the faint hope of genuinely growing up, waking up, and transforming our lives completely and irrevocably?

I think we all recognize at some level that the largest part of truly growing up means facing our own and others’ mortality squarely, meaning in a way that costs us emotionally, a way that will forever change or alter us and how we treat life and others and ourselves.  If we truly face death and “die while alive” we will be forever altered.

Yet few of us however are willing to fully submit to this, to this knowledge and to these demands. Why?  Because it seems to be the surest way to suck the fun right out of life.

Few of us are willing to let the knowledge of our own and others’ mortality reach a critical mass in us because doing so is difficult, not fun, and runs completely contrary to our self-preservative tendencies and want of ease and comfort and to be settled and have some sense of “peace.”

In fact, truth be told, we are likely to do whatever we can and need to do in order not to let this knowledge reach a critical mass in us. We will do whatever we have to to keep this knowledge under our control, clamped down in a box.  Which means, as a natural consequence of this, we will continue making choices in life that suggest that we think that we and those around us that we care about have all the time in the world.

And in so doing we begin failing at the art of living.

And the art of loving.

Mental illness or mental unhealthiness is at essence a way of trying to illegitimately deal with our immense and inordinate fear of death and dying and emotional pain and suffering. Our fear of death is so large, so intuitively terrifying and unsettling, so potentially overwhelming, that avoidance, denial, not listening too closely or too carefully to our conscience—to that still small voice in us, to our soul—and instead giving into fear again and again, are the only alternatives we are left with.

If we are unwilling to face our own and others’ mortality, then we are left with leading a discursive self-centered life of distraction, avoidance, self-numbing, comfort, ease, hiding out from life and love, a life of continual petty little ego projects and meaningless self-aggrandizement and dissipation.

Either we dedicate ourselves to truth and reality at all cost, which means invariably “racing out beyond all lesser dangers” and wrestling with that single biggest danger of all—our own (and others’) mortality, brevity, and fragility. Or we opt for comfort and the path of lesser resistance whenever we sense the truth or reality to be too frightening, too overwhelming, too difficult, too demanding, likely to cause too much upheaval, and we end up unwittingly dedicating ourselves to mental unhealth and to preserving what’s worst and weakest in us.

And, in doing so–in unconsciously pledging our allegiance to comfort instead of to truth and to necessary and appropriate levels of personal discomfort–we end up running the very real risk of forever turning our weaknesses into our sickness.

What Does Spirituality Mean to You?


Do you have a spiritual practice?  And is it truly a spiritual practice?  And how can we know if what we consider to be a spiritual practice, truly is a spiritual practice?  What is the proof?  What are the fruits?

For me, a true spiritual practice is a practice or discipline that allows us to truly take on and deal with what is worst and weakest in ourselves–and others–and contend with it in a fairly mature and loving/compassionate way, and even overcome it and not let it run and or ruin our lives. 

And so for me, a spiritual practice means organizing my life and my days and my thoughts around certain key ideas and principles/virtue: courage, Love, truth, goodness, self-transcendence, impermanence, death, loss.

Ultimately self-preservation is a flawed strategy. Self-protectiveness will always only be temporary successful.  As will avoidance. What we most fear will one day have the upper hand on each of us will indeed one day have the upper hand on us.  Perhaps sooner rather than later.  And there is no escape from this fate. There’s no avoiding this eventual reality. On a long enough timeline self-preservation, self-protection, and avoidance will always fail.

So what else does spirituality mean to me? It means sobriety—meaning in this sense not necessarily living free from drugs or alcohol, but living free of the inebriants of lies, distortions, and crazy discursive cloudy confused thinking.  Spirituality means clarity; it means thinking very clearly as well as seeing very clearly; it means not living in denial, not perpetually numbing and deluding ourselves and taking up residence in an avoidant world of fantasy and lies and distortions and self-protective isolation—isolated from what might undo us, from what threatens to bring us face to face with ourselves, from whatever lies outside our carefully controlled comfort (i.e. control-freak) zone.

A true spiritual practice seems to be the only means we have of trying to transform and transcend our self-protective and avoidant tendencies. A true spirituality (as opposed to all of the false pseudo-spiritual practices and religious dogma that are around) means learning how to squarely face life’s losses—life’s inevitable and necessary losses—including our own and others’ deaths—and not shutting down or isolating ourselves in response to these losses and the threat of these losses, and living an uncourageous closed-off life of perpetual avoidance and self-deception and denial as a result of our fear, anxiety, nervousness.

The reality is is that there is a clock ticking for each of us.  As well as for each one of those we love and depend on and care about.  And a true spirituality begins with this in mind—with the end in mind—and does not cheat on or cheapen this.  And it keeps this end in mind as often as possible; so much so that it actually makes a difference in our lives and in how we make decisions—we consult our own and others’ deaths, we think about what will matter when all is said and done. We get down to the heart of the matter and cut through our own bullshite and denial. If we are living and loving as if life goes on forever, as if it’s still early on in the first quarter of the game of life and we have all the time in the world, then we’re living and loving in denial. We are asleep. We are spiritually blind. We are just another troubled guest darkening this earth and causing more nonsense for ourselves and others because of our denial, our escapist tendencies, our reality- and truth-avoiding tendencies.

Spirituality also means learning how to truly Love. It means how to transcend the smaller self—the weaker and errant and even evil and malignant and toxic parts of the self (instead of trying to protect and save and preserve and keep them). It means surrendering our smaller self, giving it up instead of preserving it, holding on to it, and remaining attached malignantly to it.  It also means committing ourselves fiercely to becoming our best self and to loving and living more passionately and deeply and mindfully (with much greater awareness). To allow ourselves to be anything less than our best or near-best at any moment is to be wasting that moment of our life. It is to be living in denial of our own and others’ mortality. There is simply no time to lose. When we waste time we are living in denial. When we allow ourselves to be sidetracked, distracted, anesthetized, intoxicated by unessential and trivial things, we are living in denial–in denial of the ticking clock.  When we live without appreciation and gratitude and love for those around us, we are wasting that moment of our life. Life is short and capricious; there simply is no time to lose, no time to waste. We cannot truly love another if we do not have the relentless ticking clock near-constantly in mind and understand that the clock could run out suddenly, without warning, at any moment. To live in a way other than this is to live in denial; it is to be asleep; spiritually blind; to be wasting our lives.

Already the ripening barberries are red
and the old asters hardly breathe in their beds.
Whoever is not rich now will wait and wait

and never be himself.

It’s all over for him, he is like a dying man.
Nothing else will come to him; no more days will open
and everything that does happen will cheat him.
—Even You, my God. And You are like a stone
drawing us each daily deeper into the depths. 

-Rilke

Ultimately the refusal to face ourselves and to face what most truly frightens us in this world is a refusal to grow. It is to make fear our master and send love to the gallows. This world is full of lost and sleeping and frightened souls who build their lives around convenience, playing it safe, the path of least resistance, who habitually confuse the easy way with the right way, who cannot get their mind and heart out of the prison of their own self-protectiveness and fears; people who when they make a mistake go to even greater lengths to avoid correcting their mistake, and in doing so make even more senseless and unnecessary mistakes.

Any wine will get us drunk, wrote Rumi. So many things in life will numb and anesthetize us and titillate the little monkeys in our mind.  Only truth and genuine love combined will truly sober us up and free us from ourselves–from what’s worst and weakest in ourselves.

So what does spirituality mean to you?  What (spiritual) practices do you have that are not just bringing you peace of mind, but also bringing you closer to reality and to being able to handle life’s inevitable losses with greater equinamity, efficacy, grace and perspective?

The person who, being truly on the Way, falls upon hard times in the world, will not, as a consequence, turn to that friend who offers him refuge and comfort and encourages his old self to survive. Rather, he will seek out someone who will faithfully and inexorably help him to risk himself, so that he may endure the suffering and pass courageously through it, thus making of it a “raft that leads to the far shore.”

Only to the extent that a person willingly exposes himself over and over again to annihilation, can that which is indestructible arise within him.

In this lies the dignity of daring.

Thus, the aim of a spiritual practice is not to develop an attitude which allows a person to acquire a state of harmony and peace wherein nothing can ever trouble him. On the contrary, a truly spiritual practice should teach him to let himself be assaulted, perturbed, moved, insulted, broke and battered—that is to say, it should enable him to dare to let go his futile hankering after harmony, surcease of pain, and want of a comfortable life in order that he may discover, in doing battle with the forces that oppose him, that which awaits him beyond the world of opposites.

The first necessity is that we should have the courage to face life and encounter all that is most perilous in the world.

When this is possible, meditation itself becomes the means by which we accept and face and confront the demons which arise from the unconscious—a process very different from the practice of concentration on some objects as a protection against such forces. Only if we venture repeatedly through zones of annihilation, can our contact with what is Divine, with what is beyond annihilation, become firm and stable.

The more a person learns whole-heartedly to confront a world and way of living that threatens him with isolation, the more are the depths of the Ground of Being revealed and the possibilities of new life and Becoming opened for him.

(Karlfried Graf von Durckheim, “The Way of Transformation,” pp. 107-8)

Short Term Life Review


So how has life been for you the past 2 or 3 months?

How have the last 2 or 3 months of your one precious little life been for you?

How about for the past several years?

How is your life behind what may be the bars of the latest cage you’ve made for yourself?

Are you offended by the suggestion that you might be living in a prison of your own making?

The Panther” – Rainer Maria Rilke (my rendering)

(in the Jardin des Plantes, Paris; & the Corona Ave apartments, in Dayton, Ohio)

His seeing, wearied and vacant from being locked away
behind bars for so long, adheres to nothing anymore.
To him the world is just bars—the flashing glint
of bar upon bar—penting in his gaze, numbing his sight.
A hundred thousand bars. And beyond the bars, nothing.

The supple restless swinging stride
of the smoothen black silky flank
has been reduced to a tiny ring—a dance
of potential lithe energy around a center
in which a great will now stands stunned.

Only from time to time do the curtains
of the eyelids open on this muted life
and an image rushes in, winds its way
through the taut silence of the frame,
only to vanish, forever, in the heart.

That’s what Rilke is suggesting here . . . that each of us is more less living like this panther—that we are each living a “muted” life, a life that’s unnecessarily losing its color, because the way in which we live actually stunts our courage and atrophies our will and make us more afraid (hence imprisons us; we unwittingly imprison ourselves).

We go for comfort, we go for safety, we go for security, we go for easy, we go for the easiest side of the easy, and we do so at every turn, and we do so at every turn, and we never grasp what, on a long enough timeline, this does to us, which is to say, what we unwittingly do to ourselves.

We live far away and remote from anything that daily requires us to act courageously or in a fiercely determined way. We live far away from God, from real Love, from death, from anything that requires and nurtures and forces our courage and wisdom. We live and love remote from these things. And so we do these things badly, very badly. We live the mysteries and bigger questions of life badly, very badly, immuring ourselves from them, hardly giving them even the faintest hint of a thought.

And so we live asleep, blind, partially born, dead, mechanically, reactively, sleepwalking. Pick your figure of speech, because they all equally apply.

And at best we may make occasional laughable attempts (truly, how can we call them laughable in light of all of the senseless destruction we leave behind in our wake?) to break out and flee our self-made prison, but our attempts at escape are invariably misguided, misdirected. Comedies. Exercises in self-humiliation and personal disintegration.

The only thing in life that will bring us freedom is freeing ourselves from what’s worst in us—the prison of our own fears and aversions (“in the end, it is our unshieldedness on which we depend” – Rilke). As long as we insist upon always trying to absolve ourselves and shift the blame to our surroundings, and then trying to break free from our external surroundings (geographic cure), yet insist on packing and taking our same sad self identical to the one we fled with us, nothing will have changed; we’ll just end up making another cage for ourselves in our new home temporarily elsewhere (until we get restless and need to flee again).

Sometimes life isn’t just a series of bars, of bar upon bar, penting in our gaze, limiting our sight—and outside the bars, nothing any more; and inside the bars, a wilting self-caged partially alive, partially born creature that runs the same or slightly varying courses away from itself, day after day, because its will and courage have been stunted so much by the accumulated effects of living so avoidantly and uncourageous day after day, year after year, for so long, and so now this once possibly magnificent creature has been reduced to leading a muted life, a life where its existence has been reduced to a series of daily escapes from the truth about itself and its own existence.

Sometimes there’s more to it than just the bars. Sometimes the world is reduced to a series of bars because the world around us is also a series of triggers—thing after thing that triggers us and reminds us how we have failed here or been devastated or hurt here or hurt ourselves and others at this place and then at this place, et cetera. Sometimes it’s not just about playing it safe; it’s about not being overrun and overwhelmed by our own emotions and inner upheaval, so we try desperately to control the world around us, keep out anything that might set us off or unnerve us. Sometimes living in the real world is just too painful. It’s just one useless sadness after another, one more reminder after another of how much life we have wasted out of fear, lack of courage, how much life we have wasted and are continuing to waste by running away from ourselves and from the truth about ourselves. So much wasted life lays around us, so much life wasted because of fear, because we can’t stand facing ourselves. And because we can’t stand facing ourselves and telling ourselves the truth, we double and deepen our misery and our lostness, as well as our honing even more our skills at being avoidant, discursive, afraid, timid, and so life becomes for us a series of bars and escape attempts, followed by a new prison and then another escape, et cetera.

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Even the most courageous among us only rarely has the courage for that which he really knows.” – Nietzsche

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Far more crucial than what we know or do not know is what we do not want to know”. – Eric Hoffer

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Growing up and having real faith and real trust in life means we prefer truth when it hurts us to falsehood when it comforts or profits us.” – Hadrat Ali

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All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.” – James Thurber

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Breathe.

What’s going to save you or me from ourselves (from what’s worst in ourselves) isn’t someone or something outside of us. It’s only us; only our self; only what’s best in each of us. It’s that small still part of us deep inside that still recognizes truth and that hasn’t been wounded or corrupted or made neurotic and avoidant and afraid by this world. Our conscience—our true conscience. That’s what will save us each—recognizing it, listening to it, living it. That, and only that. And to fail to recognize this and respect it and listen to it—to spend our lives trying to drown it out or numb and deafen ourselves to it by surrounding ourselves with music and discursive thinking and idle chitchat and other forms of incessant noise—is to waste our lives.

We can’t corrupt our kill our conscience; it’s always in there, alive, whispering, even after we’ve tried again to cover it over, bury it, stuff it down, drug it, drug ourselves, numb ourselves to it, and escape and avoid it. It’s still there, it’s telltale heart still beating beneath the floorboards of our life, telling us in whispers and in dreams that we’re better than this, that we’re braver than what we’re showing, that we’re more Loving, that we already know what the truth is about ourselves if but we would only stop running from it and just once act with courage and beauty.

We each can save ourselves—but it depends on our capacity to recognize the truth about ourselves, to discern true from false, and to listen to this still small voice. —And more importantly it depends on how willing and fiercely determined we are to do all of this. Yes, the irony is very obvious—asking creatures in whom a will now stands stunned to act with fierce determination and courage. And impossibility, is it not? The formula is inalterable and not negiotable: No determination, no change; know determination, know change. If we’re not horrified by our own existence and by how dishonestly and avoidantly and uncourageously we are living and have lived—if we’re not horrified by this and ourselves to the point of retching, to the point of full bodily heaving and nausea—then no change will take place. Whatever emotion we feel short of this—short of being utterly horrified by ourselves—won’t carry with it the escape velocity necessary to free us from the immense gravitational field of habit and the familiarity—however unhealthy—of our current self and all of its, which is to say, our, avoidant and self-deceptive tendencies.

But how can we expect frightened timid creatures—creatures who are afraid of their own negative emotions most of all—to look at themselves so honestly that they well up in guilt and shame and horror over how they’ve lived and what they’ve become and unwittingly done to themselves and made themselves into? Yes, the irony is very obvious.

The vast majority of people are only as good as they are compelled or forced to be. (“Men will always prove bad unless necessity compels them to be good” – Machiavelli, “The Prince,” chapter 23). Otherwise the vast majority of us will always prove bad and we will break down, sell out, betray each other and what’s best in ourselves, overheat emotionally, lie, deceive, self-deceive, avoid, act meanly and icily coldly and hard-heartedly and do whatever we need to with methodical calm (like an assassin) in order to preserve our self, stay in charge, maintain our fragile equilibrium, and stave off being overwhelmed completely by reality, anxiety, and our own emotions.

Life around us doesn’t force our hand or compel us to be very good. We don’t live in a totalitarian regime of philosopher-kings and spiritual warrior princes and princesses where we are forced to overcome our weakness and avoidant tendencies. Rather, we live in a quotidian wasteland of the lowest common denominator, a terrain bereft of any real honor, integrity, Love, maturity, courage. And so time and time again we have no problem proving to be bad.

The reality is that only great necessity—only the constant threat of agonizing pain or impending death—can liberate our spirit and loose the egoism completely ingrained in each of us. . . .

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The sole means now for the saving of the beings of the planet Earth would be to implant into their presences a new organ of such properties that every one of these unfortunates during the process of existence should constantly sense and be cognizant of the inevitability of his own death as well as the death of everyone upon whom his eyes or attention rests. Only such a sensation and such a cognizance can destroy the egoism that is now completely crystallized in them.” – G. I. Gurdjieff

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Let death—and let banishment, rejection, misfortune, and every other thing that appears appalling and terrifying and that you’d rather ignore—be before your eyes daily, but most of all death, and you will never again think anything petty or cowardly or mean, nor will you ever desire anything discursive or extravagant again.” – Epictetus

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You know, people get up every day and tell themselves they’re going to change their lives. They never do. Well I’m going to change mine.” – from the motion picture “The Town

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Do we want to actually change our lives or just talk about it and stay at the level of desiring change but not actually wanting to do the work, feeling the fear, sweating the inner bullets, and going through all of the emotions and real-world rigors that real change requires?

Do we want to actually change our lives tangibly for the better or just talk about doing so and stay trapped in the infinite loop of always planning and talking but never actually doing?

How sincere are we? Do we really want to wake up from the dream? Or do we just want to be like all of those inwardly dead and asleep people and just talk about it and think about it and theorize about it and just stay asleep and dream and fantasize and intellectually masturbate and self-medicate to thoughts of waking up? . . . “Oh how wonderful life will be when I wake up! oh how much more uninterrupted joy, how many more hearts and flowers and unicorns there will be! Everyday will be full of rainbow-colored horsies and chocolate frosting!”

That’s the question: how sincere are we? Are we truly motivated—truly horrified by ourselves? Or are we just a little bit unhappy and waking up sounds like something interesting to explore and ponder?

Only death can wake us up. Only death can jar us and rouse us to action. Only death is big enough and horrifying enough to put the horror that we will see when we look honestly at ourselves and how we’ve lived—escapistly, avoidantly, timidly, meanly, dishonestly—into perspective and keep it at a manageable and workable and motivating level. If looking at ourselves honestly is the biggest source of horror and anxiety in our life or that we’ve experienced, then we’ll never do it; we’ll never scale that tower. But if we’ve recognized or gone through something even worse—if something even more immense, like honestly and deeply contemplating our own mortality, has already popped our cherry—then looking at ourselves honestly and courageously shouldn’t be nearly as frightening and overwhelming.

Most people don’t have the level of being (differentiation) necessary to support sustained contact with reality or with what’s best in them. But contemplating and recognizing the brute fact of our own death is what frees us and gives us perspective. Facing our fear of death, becoming more and more cognizant emotionally as well as intellectually that we will die, that life is short, that nothing is certain, and then taking up permanent residence and dwelling in these and similar thoughts, is what gives us the strength to face ourselves and live as true spiritual warrior. It is what gives us strength indefatigable.

It’s ineluctable: the further we live away from death and from thoughts of our own and others’ mortality and fragility and life’s fleetingness, the more we live badly and timidly and necessarily self-deceptively. To be an honest human being means without exception to face the fact, in fear and trembling, of our own and others’ mortality, and not in some sterile abstract way, and to do so each and every day and let ourselves be overwhelmed by it, perturbed by it, horrified by it, assaulted by it. And then to live and make choices each day in light of this greater reality.

Almond Trees in Full Bloom” – Rilke

(Almond tress in blossom—the most we can achieve here is to know ourselves fully and fearlessly in our earthly appearance.)

I always gaze at you in wonder, you blessed ones,
at your composure, -you who know
how to bear and delight in our transience,
your perfect demeanor in the face
of our vanishing beauty.

If only we knew how to truly blossom
we would race out beyond all lesser dangers
to be safe in that single great one.

To the extent that we live blindly, asleep, ignorant of and walled off to our mortality, we will also have to live in many other ways and in many other areas of our life ignorantly, blindly, impulsively, avoidantly.

The two things are inexorably interconnected. Know death, know honesty. No death, no honesty. And if we don’t know death, if we deny it, then we not only avoid death and anything related to death and dying, we also avoid ourselves, life, Love, growing up, and instead we basically live and love like a coward, dying a thousand little deaths in order to spare ourselves the big one, and having to continually concoct and tell more and more lies to keep the old ones viable. Exhausting, isn’t it? And a completely waste of life. Living in the shadows, behind bars in a self-made self-imposed cage is an utter waste of life.

And this basic dichotomy, this fundamental dilemma or position in life that we each must stake out—either consciously or by default and avoidantly—can be thin-sliced in a myriad of ways. . . . For example: we can look our own and other’s relationship to difficulty and learn a great deal about ourselves and others. We can learn how deeply internalized a person’s life principles are versus how susceptible to stress and anxiety a person is and how easily he or she will break and sell out and loose her inner demon of self-protectiveness and emotional self-preservation on others in order to avoid feeling the fear, anxiety, guilt, shame, tension, et cetera.

The barrier between who we are and who we want to be and can be at our best isn’t simply knowledge, if it were, then the world would be full of fully awake and virtuous people. Rather the great barrier, the great divider that separates the psychospiritual pretenders from the real contenders, and that separates each of us from our best self, is suffering, plain and simple, and in all its raw and distressing and unpleasant and overwhelming forms. The barrier or membrane between us and waking up is one of intense pain, despair, anxiety, panic—fully feeling these as they arise (“fully feeling the fear”) and doing what ought and needs to be done anyways.

And a map of all of this won’t take us anywhere on its own. And a map of all of this, no matter how accurate and detailed, certainly won’t take us there effortlessly or painlessly. The map will only lead us to those pains that are essential and that must be faced. The map will only help us avoid getting even more and more lost.

Midway in the journey of my life, I awoke to find myself lost in a darkened forest where the true path had been wholly lost. How wild and dense the woods, how overgrown and frightening, how difficult and dark. The right path was no longer anywhere to be seen or found. I was truly lost. How afraid I was. Dying could have hardly have been thought worse or more terrifying. I was in the middle of the road of my life, and I could not say when or where I had entered the wood or at what point or place I had abandoned the true way, the one straight and direct path. I was so full of sleep. I had fallen asleep somewhere. I was in the dark in a wild and frightening place where the sun was silent.” – Dante, from the beginning of “The Inferno” (my rendering)

Again, a good map will only show us the way out. We will still have to stand on our own and we will still have to cover the distance and suffer our fair share of fear and trembling. . . .

No matter how much you change, you still have to pay the price for the things you’ve done. So I got a long road.” – from the motion picture “The Town

The cost of admission to experiencing a much happier and more integrated and truly loving way of life is pain. There’s no way around it. It’s what separates the pretenders and daydreamers in life from the real contenders—those who truly can come more to life, live more mindfully and awake, and live and love not as slaves to themselves and their fears, but as gloriously self-conquering heroes and poets. There will be guilt, there will be shame, there will be despair, there will be black moods and black days, there will be suffering.

If there isn’t, then we’re not really waking up and giving birth to our real self; instead we’re going more to sleep.

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We must accept our reality as vastly as we possibly can; everything, even the unprecedented, must be possible within it. This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us. For it is not inertia or indolence alone that causes human relationships to be repeated from case to case with such unspeakable monotony and boredom; it is timidity before anything new and inconceivable, any experience with which we feel ourselves ill-equipped to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn’t exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another human being and even life as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being and draw his actions from there.
( – Rilke, “Letters to a Young Poet,” letter no. eight)

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[T]he aim of a genuine spiritual practice is not to develop an attitude which allows a person to acquire a state of harmony and peace wherein nothing can ever trouble him. On the contrary, a person’s spiritual practice should teach him to let himself be assaulted, perturbed, moved, insulted, broken and battered—that is to say, it should enable him to dare to let his futile hankering after harmony, surcease from pain, and a comfortable life go in order that he may discover, in doing battle with the forces that oppose him, that which awaits him beyond the world of opposites.

The first necessity is that we should have the courage to face life in all its vastness and to encounter all that is most perilous in the world.

When this is possible, meditation itself becomes the means by which we accept and welcome the fears and anxieties and demons which arise from the unconscious—a process very different from the practice of concentration on some object as a protection against such forces.

Only if we venture repeatedly through zones of discomfort and annihilation can our contact with what is Divine, and with what is beyond annihilation, become firm and stable. The more we learn wholeheartedly to confront the world and a patterned way of living and reacting that threatens us each with isolation, the more the depths of our own being will be revealed and the more the possibilities of new life and inner transformation will be opened to us.

(– Karlfried Graf Durchheim, “The Way of Transformation,” pp. 107-108)

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It should be clear at this point that just as crucial and essential as our capacity to recognize the truth is and will be in helping us to heal and grow and hence “save” ourselves, our capacity to cope emotionally with truth and reality will be essential and requiring addressing. Because it’s not just about how willing we are to see the truth about ourselves and others and life. Rather, it’s about how willing we are to cope with it emotionally—how willing we are to take the hit, bear the full brunt of the narcissistic injury, the laceration to our pride and comfort and tenuous sense of security and fragile sense of self. Peck defined mental health as an ongoing dedication to reality regardless of the cost emotionally to ourselves. Meaning, our own emotional comfort and tolerances for stress cannot be the determining factor (limiting belief) in how much of life and truth we bite off—we can bite off or we ought to bite off. When it comes to truth, our eyes have to be bigger than our stomach—bigger than what we can take in and digest emotionally. We have to be gluttonous toward the truth, let ourselves be overwhelmed by it, flooded by it, fall to absolute pieces because of it, if that’s what’s in the cards for us. Because every bit of truth about ourselves that we spare ourselves or put of for some future imaginary tomorrow when we think will be strong enough for it, leaves more and more room now for more lies and for further dishonesty to take root in us. More weeds, more rocky soil. If we’re not getting busy saving ourselves, then we’re getting busy further damning ourselves—we’re just making more and more room in our life where fear and self-deception can take root and enter and reenter and cover over our still small voice of conscience and love—that small part of us that recognizes truth and thrills to it and aspires heroically to it—irrespective of the consequences to ourselves.

What Peck is telling us by defining mental health as an ongoing dedication to truth and reality irrespective of the emotional cost to ourselves, is that we are stronger than we think we are. How strong or not strong we think we are is what gets in the way of revealing the truth about how strong we actually are or could be if we just once had the courage to act bravely and beautifully just once and get outside of our own heads and let what wants to happen to us happen to us—if we did this, it would in all likelihood show us that we are each stronger than we think. That what limits us each more than anything else is our own minds, our own preemptive apprehensions, our fear of fear, our own fear of being overwhelmed, our own fear that we’re not strong enough. If we just had the courage to get out of our way and get out of our head and let life press us to the test, we’d see—and we’d see differently afterwards because of it—for having acted just once with courage and beauty—that alone nudges our level of being up a bit, and increases our level of differentiation. . . .

Gurdjieff said that people won’t change or grow or wake up until they are horrified about the truth of who they are and how they’re living. It’s only the truth and being fiercely dedicated to it and fiercely determined to listen to it and hear it and withstand the perhaps oftentimes fierce leveling blows it strikes to our comfort and pride and self-deceptive self-image that will set us free—you will know the truth and the truth will set you free. For most people, truth, reality, is too tough and too rigorous of a subject matter to cope with emotionally—the truth about themselves, their life, their possible place existentially in the universe in the grand scheme of things—these ideas are too overwhelming, too disorienting, too stressful to consider fully and honestly. And so in order to protect themselves, most people have to do two things: they have to dramatically cut back and limit how much of life, themselves, their actions, their motives they’re willing to see and take in and consider and reflect upon (which means in general that they must live a more superficial and distracted life where they never really have any “free time” to think about these things—these things that they actually have no interest in thinking about because they are so

And secondly they have to start lying to themselves, deceiving themselves, bullshitting themselves, spinning their own behaviors, telling themselves all sorts of rationalizations (rational sounding lies); basically they have to corrupt themselves, avoid truth, light, reality, and cripple themselves, make themselves even more unfit for life, cage themselves up in a myriad of ways, a live like Rilke’s “Panther.”

For the vast majority of us, our weaknesses will always be the best predictor of how much we can grow and wake up in life. In love, the person who loves the least controls the relationship. In regards to ourselves and our own relationship with ourselves, it will be what’s worst in us that will run and hijack the show, not our strengths.

Unless. . . . unless we get so fed up with ourselves, so fiercely determined, we cut off all ties with all of the lies in our past and live only and only in the truth, like Jim Carrey’s character in Liar, Liar, or Jeff Bridge’s character in “Fearless” (I don’t want to tell any lies”).

Death can do this for us. It can end all of our bullshit.

Two people have been living in you all of your life. One is the ego—garrulous, demanding, hysterical, calculating—; the other is the hidden voice of wisdom you have only rarely heard or attended to.” (Sogyol Rinpoche, in “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying”) And death will lay bare these two voices, these two aspects of our being, and finally fully expose ourselves to ourselves for what we truly are. This is judgment day—when we finally get to see ourselves fully revealed for who and what we are, and either suffer the final and eternal damnation of being horrified by ourselves and what we’ve done in life and how timidly and avoidantly and deceptively and meanly we have lived, or when we will see ourselves as we are, with love and pride, like a proud parent looking upon their child who has succeeded in some hard-fought and long pursued endeavor. That, the latter, is heaven.

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So what do you think the last 2 and 1/2 months—the past 14 years—have been like for me if thoughts like these no longer phase me. How much of my own and the world’s horror have I likely had to take in to no longer be phased or overwhelmed by such thoughts—by thought that most people would consider too heavy or depressing or grim or glum? To me, these thoughts are the easy part. The hard part is how to help bring myself and others to the point where we’ll actually live them and translate them into action.

As I wrote elsewhere, several days ago, for most of us, by the age of thirty, we have lost most of our psychological plasticity and our character has set like plaster, and will never soften again.

Thus, if we often falter in life and flinch or fail in giving our best effort when life or difficulty puts us to the test and we consistently bail out and opt for the easy way out (the path of least resistance, whatever partially-baked solution most seems to promise some gain of immediate gratification and or tension-relief) of whatever sticky situation we’ve put ourselves in, before we know it our integrity and our will (the effort-making capacity in us) will be gone in us, and our wandering attention will wander and mislead us with even more skill and tenacity, and our fears and insecurities and weaknesses (what’s worst in us) will direct us with even greater skill into all sorts of even more debilitating dilemmas, crises, and calamities that are of our own making, that are self-chosen, that we have brought upon ourselves and those around us who we purport to “love” and “care” about because of our own highly honed and highly-toned avoidant and self-protective tendencies.

And in order for us to find ourselves at all bearable to live with in such a condition, we will have to become very, very proficient at lying to ourselves, very, very skilled at deceiving ourselves, at avoiding by any means necessary the truth about ourselves.

We will have to divorce ourselves completely and perhaps irrevocably from any realistic sense or assessment of ourselves. We will have to take up full-time residence in a full-fledged fantasyland.

.

“Listen . . . listen to me for a second. I will never lie to you again, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yes, I promise you. Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Why? I won’t believe you.”

“Yes you will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll fucking hate the answers. . . Think about it, all right? . . . I will never lie to you; I will never hurt you; and if I lose you, I will regret that for the rest of my life.”

(from the motion picture “The Town”)

.

Unless—unless—we have the courage to enter into a very honest and remarkably truthful conversation with ourselves—or to enter into such a conversation with another, a friend, a therapist, a guru. If we have the courage and willingness and desperation to write tender, agonizing, explicitly honest and probing letters to ourselves about ourselves out of sheer frustration, exhaustion, horror, and then read these letters back to ourselves and see—face—withstand see ourselves for what we are and bear the full force of our own words staring back at us, there is hope for us. But if we cannot do this—converse in someway honestly and deeply with ourselves—or with another about ourselves—then we will never change. Never. —Or at least not until it’s too late—not until we’re on our deathbed or trapped inescapably in a plane plummeting to the ground—in which case it will be too late, because we will have wasted our lives, wasted our time here on earth, avoiding ourselves, protecting ourselves emotionally, deceiving ourselves and others; we will have been nothing more than just another confirmed troubled guest that darkened the earth during his or her brief time here.

The hell to be endured after this life that theology tells us about is no worse than the hell we make for ourselves and others in this world by habitually fashioning our character in the wrong way and unleashing it—which is to say—ourselves—on the entire world.

The City” (That We Each Are) – C. P. Cavafy

You said, “I will go to another land,
I will go to another sea.
Another city will be found,
One better than this.
My heart, like a corpse, is buried.
How long must I remain
In this (self-made) wasteland?
Wherever I turn here, wherever I look
I see the scorched and blackened ruins of my life
Where I have spent so much time
Wandering and wasting away
.”

You will find no new lands,
You will find no other seas.
The city you are
and constantly trying to flee from
Will follow you everywhere.
You will roam the same streets elsewhere
Age in the same neighborhoods
Grow gray in the same houses.
Always you will arrive again and again
At this same doorstep
In this same city.
Do not hope for any other.
For there is no ship for you,
There is no road.
As you have destroyed your life here
in this little corner,
you have ruined it in the entire world.

.

“Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Why? I won’t believe you.”

“Yes you will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll fucking hate the answers. . .”

.

Who sits down and writes and journals and has conversations like this with themselves? Who can emotionally cope with having such a conversation with oneself—a conversation where we will fucking hate the answers—a conversation of that honesty and depth and truth? Who is brave enough or daring enough or exasperated and desperate enough (has hit rock bottom and doesn’t have still some shred of pride that prevents us from admitting so) or horrified enough to risk this honest and transparent of a conversation and not let oneself lie to oneself? Who can emotionally cope with having this raw of a conversation with another?

It’s easier to have conversations where we just bullshit ourselves with ourselves, where we just feed ourselves (delude ourselves with) the facile easy answers that we want to hear, and ask slushy softball type questions that we can go to town on and have a heyday with. Who doesn’t, when they come to talk to themselves or journal and stand in front of their emotional and psychological mirror, in some form ask of themselves, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me all of my good points, make me feel good.” Who doesn’t do this? Who wants to see themselves warts and all, take in their full potential and actual loveliness as well as horror, the good and the bad and the wretched?

What must life get to for you for you to be this honest with yourself? What must it have been like for me to have gotten me to this point?

What will it take you for you to get even more serious about living more honestly and courageously? Will it take finding a lump? Will it take a near-car accident? Will it take the undeniable hardened crushing steel of an actual accident to wake you up, to remove the cake of scales from your heart and eyes? Will it take a diagnosis? Will you have to be in a doctor’s office and hear him or her tell you that there’s nothing they can do, that you have only months to live? Will you have to be struck down by news like that and turn white and ashen and ghostlike before you will actually wake up and get serious about actually inhabiting your life and being fiercely honest with yourself? Is life for you destined to be wasted and misspent and just one big bullshit-fest until something catastrophic and inescapable seizes you and leaves you no wiggle room? Or will you always find wiggle room no matter what and opt to turn white or faint or go numb or go into shock or deny the truth, deny reality, right up until and through your last breath?