out of the toilet...
...endlessly rocking. (Bad reference to a good Walt Whitman poem. Forgive me.)
So, my mental health is greatly improved today. I realized something last night after finally shutting my laptop and turning off the music and just *sitting* with myself for a few minutes. I realized that shutting the laptop and turning off the music and just *sitting* with myself HELPS!
I'm always interested to know how people use their faith (whatever it might be, if they have a "faith" of some kind) to solve their problems or address their basic needs. For example, when Waspy is having a crisis of confidence, I'm curious to know how her Christian faith helps. (Sorry to pick on you for an example, Waspy.) Same with my friend Stubby who is also a Christian.
I have been disturbed, in my own life, to recognize how quickly my own "faith" seems to leave me in times of deepest need. For instance, when my brother died, I was shocked to realize I'd lost all feeling contact with anything spiritual I'd ever believed or drawn strength from. Sure, I sat at his funeral (somehow the most painful part of the whole experience) worrying a bracelet of prayer beads, repeating a mantra like a fool, but it was only a distraction and held no other comfort. It was many months, maybe even a year or so, before I was able to sink back into a meaningful spiritual life. I understood, then, what had never made sense to me before: the concept of losing one's religion. I'd always been so shocked and sad to hear people remark, when remembering a trauma, that they felt, during the hardest part, abandoned or forsaken by "god." I wondered what kind of faith could leave you feeling that way -- if a faith wasn't there to bolster you through the worst times, what was the use of it?
Well, what I've learned since (and what I learned a little more last night) was that you have to meet god or the great spirit or bodhichitta or *whatever* half way. The quickest way to do that is to be *present.* When I was desperately repeating that mantra as those beads passed through my fingers, I wasn't trying to connect with my spirit, I was trying to get as far the fuck out of the unpleasant experience of that funeral as possible. I wasn't even interested in being present and my presence is what I needed to be spiritually engaged.
So, last night as I sat with my computer bemoaning the terrible state of my mental health (while the radio hummed along in the background keeping at bay the silence I feared would engulf and drown me), I wondered why my faith wasn't helping. It was some of that negative self-talk that comes up when you're feeling low: "some buddhist you are, you're just as tossed around by moods and weather and crap as anybody else, what's the point of calling yourself a buddhist if it doesn't do you any good." And that's when the difference between "being" and "doing" came up. I could "be" a buddhist all day long, but unless I was "doing" the things I belived, I wasn't going to be miraculously comforted by a simple philosophy or belief system.
I looked at myself and my behavior and noted, sadly, that I was so scared of the feeling of sadness, I refused to look at it. Instead, I kept my head down, came home and opened up the computer, turned on the radio, surfed the net for something to distract me, something to keep me company. When I finally just *looked* at things, I started feeling much, much better. How sincerely lonely I was when I was abandoning *myself*! If I can somehow stay present for myself, I will not feel that overwhelmed, swirling down the toilet sort of feeling. And that's pretty promising.
So, my mental health is greatly improved today. I realized something last night after finally shutting my laptop and turning off the music and just *sitting* with myself for a few minutes. I realized that shutting the laptop and turning off the music and just *sitting* with myself HELPS!
I'm always interested to know how people use their faith (whatever it might be, if they have a "faith" of some kind) to solve their problems or address their basic needs. For example, when Waspy is having a crisis of confidence, I'm curious to know how her Christian faith helps. (Sorry to pick on you for an example, Waspy.) Same with my friend Stubby who is also a Christian.
I have been disturbed, in my own life, to recognize how quickly my own "faith" seems to leave me in times of deepest need. For instance, when my brother died, I was shocked to realize I'd lost all feeling contact with anything spiritual I'd ever believed or drawn strength from. Sure, I sat at his funeral (somehow the most painful part of the whole experience) worrying a bracelet of prayer beads, repeating a mantra like a fool, but it was only a distraction and held no other comfort. It was many months, maybe even a year or so, before I was able to sink back into a meaningful spiritual life. I understood, then, what had never made sense to me before: the concept of losing one's religion. I'd always been so shocked and sad to hear people remark, when remembering a trauma, that they felt, during the hardest part, abandoned or forsaken by "god." I wondered what kind of faith could leave you feeling that way -- if a faith wasn't there to bolster you through the worst times, what was the use of it?
Well, what I've learned since (and what I learned a little more last night) was that you have to meet god or the great spirit or bodhichitta or *whatever* half way. The quickest way to do that is to be *present.* When I was desperately repeating that mantra as those beads passed through my fingers, I wasn't trying to connect with my spirit, I was trying to get as far the fuck out of the unpleasant experience of that funeral as possible. I wasn't even interested in being present and my presence is what I needed to be spiritually engaged.
So, last night as I sat with my computer bemoaning the terrible state of my mental health (while the radio hummed along in the background keeping at bay the silence I feared would engulf and drown me), I wondered why my faith wasn't helping. It was some of that negative self-talk that comes up when you're feeling low: "some buddhist you are, you're just as tossed around by moods and weather and crap as anybody else, what's the point of calling yourself a buddhist if it doesn't do you any good." And that's when the difference between "being" and "doing" came up. I could "be" a buddhist all day long, but unless I was "doing" the things I belived, I wasn't going to be miraculously comforted by a simple philosophy or belief system.
I looked at myself and my behavior and noted, sadly, that I was so scared of the feeling of sadness, I refused to look at it. Instead, I kept my head down, came home and opened up the computer, turned on the radio, surfed the net for something to distract me, something to keep me company. When I finally just *looked* at things, I started feeling much, much better. How sincerely lonely I was when I was abandoning *myself*! If I can somehow stay present for myself, I will not feel that overwhelmed, swirling down the toilet sort of feeling. And that's pretty promising.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 8:57 AM
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