A Personal Reflection
My son Daniel was thirty when he died in a climbing accident. Although
I'd been living alone for many years, I found it unbearable after Dan's
death to come home to an empty house. Every evening after work, I would
drop in on friends, or go to a movie, or eat alone in a crowded restaurant.
Most nights I'd find a bar where I could sit until closing time. Before long
it took an extra drink to numb the feeling of desolation that was waiting
to greet me when I unlocked the front door.
All this busyness was a distraction, but I couldn't seem to stop. I had a
vague sense of yearning for something more satisfying, but I didn't know
what it was. When a coworker suggested I attend her meditation class,
I reluctantly agreed to try.
At first, I couldn't sit still, even for ten minutes. My mind raced. I spoke
to the instructor, who suggested that I try connecting some words to my
breath to help focus my mind. I can't say exactly how long it took—
maybe a month—before I noticed that my restlessness was easing and
I felt a sense of settling inside myself.
I started to meditate at home for five minutes each morning.
Then after a few weeks, I sat a little longer. I began to see that time as
wrapping my arms around my heart.
—JOHN
When you try to turn away from grief, when you hope to bypass or escape it, grief persists. Painful emotions—such as sadness, anger, or fear—linger and may even seem worse than ever. Until you stop running, begin to name or acknowledge and lean into all you've been through, and build a friendly relationship with grief, you'll almost certainly continue to suffer.
Alan Wolfelt, author, educator, and grief counselor, puts it this way: “. . . the pain that surrounds the closed heart of grief is the pain of living against yourself, the pain of denying how the loss changes you, the pain of feeling alone and isolated—unable to openly mourn, unable to love and be loved by those around you.”1
What would it mean to live instead with an open heart, denying none of your pain or grief, mourning in whatever ways feel appropriate and comforting, being loving and loved by those around you?
Perhaps you're already familiar with meditation and mindfulness. These rich practices can open a doorway into compassionate awareness and understanding that might resonate with you and support you.
We invite you to try a basic sitting meditation of being mindful of your breath and the subtle movements in your body as you're breathing. The idea is simple: Sit quietly and rest your attention on your breath, which is always there, always changing, moment by moment. As you inhale and exhale, see if you are able to feel the unique sensations of each breath. Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out.
Find a quiet place to sit, either on a chair with your feet on the floor, or, if you prefer, on a meditation cushion, or on your couch or bed. You may wish to close your eyes or soften your gaze and look at the floor in front of you. If possible, sit in a relaxed and upright posture with a comfortably straight spine, and place your hands on your thighs.
You might think meditating while being aware of your breathing will be easy. Most people, however, find they're barely able to sustain their attention for one or two inhalation-exhalation cycles before they get distracted. We're always thinking. Our minds dart to a to-do list, to what occurred earlier at work, to whether we like meditation, or to any of a thousand places, emotions, and sensations. When this happens, as it will again and again, try to maintain a non-judging and curious attitude and gently bring your attention back to your breath, back to the present moment. Offer yourself patience and encouragement, no matter how you think you're doing.
Notice whatever you notice. You may want to bring your attention to feeling your breath at your nostrils: the cool air coming in, and the warmer air on your upper lip as you are breathing out. Or you may feel your chest and belly expanding and softening on the in-breath and gently drawing back toward your spine on the outbreath. Some people like to feel their whole body breathing. As your body becomes quiet and relaxed, you might even feel and hear your heart beating.
If you are someone who has difficulty sitting still, or if you can't tame your wild, scattered mind, hope is not lost! There are other ways to meditate, such as walking meditation, that might suit you better. In walking meditation, you bring your attention to your feet as you take each step.
To begin, maintain a relaxed, soft gaze toward the floor in front of you and walk very slowly across a short distance (of perhaps thirty or forty feet), noticing all the sensations in your feet and legs, step after step. Take one full breath with each step, and bring your awareness to each part of your foot that touches the floor—your heel, the ball of your foot, then your toes. Notice sensations as you lift your foot to take your next step and again feel your heel and other parts of your foot touching the floor.
Slowly turn around when you reach the far end of the space you have chosen for yourself; then return, step by step, to your starting point. Continue, paying relaxed and concentrated attention, until the end of your meditation session.
Don't be surprised or discouraged if it takes weeks or months (or even years) before you begin to get the hang of meditation, no matter which approach you choose. Meditation is called a practice, because it takes understanding, repetition, and a kind of relaxed discipline to cultivate what is a new and profound habit. Many find it helpful to read an introductory meditation or mindfulness book, or to start with a class led by an experienced teacher, and then practice with a meditation group or communit.
Perhaps now is a good time to address the why of practicing meditation. Why pursue something that feels so unfamiliar, that's challenging, and perhaps feels pointless or boring? How might a meditation practice be useful in a time of intense suffering?
The best short and beginning answer is that meditating helps you steady your mind. When you concentrate on a single domain or object, such as your breath or the sensations in your feet, you are gathering your attention and training your mind to become calmer and more stable. As your mind becomes steadier, you're able to attend not only to an object like your breath, but also to be aware of other sensations (sight, sounds, touch), as well as to your thoughts and emotions, to your mind and your body—to all your experiences.
Mindfulness—paying attention in a particular way to all that's happening in the present moment—allows you to pause, and to clarify and focus your thoughts (develop insight), and to feel your feelings. Then, (with practice) you have an opportunity to respond wisely and compassionately to whatever is happening (good or bad) with skill, freedom, and peace of mind.
Most of us, if we notice it and admit it, spend our time living on autopilot. We ruminate on the past, worry about what might (or might not) happen in the future, and pay little attention to what we're experiencing in the present moment. We spin along and react to each thing we encounter, missing out on the depth, texture, and meaning of our lives.
Mindfulness is a way of living and being that might be new to you. It's simple, and yet at the same time it's profound and not easy. Renowned mindfulness practitioner and author Jon Kabat-Zinn describes mindfulness as a purposeful and compassionate way of paying attention, moment by moment.
Mindfulness has the quality of being nonjudgmental. When you are being mindful, you try to let go of judgments about whether you like or don't like what's happening, whether something is good or bad, easy or difficult. Instead of struggling with your preferences and desires, your hatreds and frustrations, you try to meet experience as it is.2
Mindfulness also has the quality of being openhearted. As you practice mindfulness, you maintain a kind, loving presence toward yourself, no matter how you're doing or how you feel. The intention of mindfulness is to create a safe, welcoming space that extends to our imperfect selves the same qualities of compassion and acceptance we would offer a dear friend.
Many begin practicing mindfulness while sitting in meditation. As you become more experienced, you are able to bring mindfulness to more aspects of your life. You don't need to do anything special. You can practice everywhere: on the couch, driving the car, doing the dishes, walking, cooking or eating a meal, or sitting at your desk—all with the intention of bringing your mind and body together in the same place at the same time.
You draw your attention to sensations in your body, as well as to your thoughts and emotions as they arise. Gradually, you notice ways that you seek and grasp onto pleasant experiences and try to suppress or avoid unpleasant experiences. You see how you struggle, respond unskillfully, and create unnecessary suffering for yourself and others. And you begin to catch a glimmer of a more mindful, more awake, freer way to live!
When we bring an attitude of mindfulness to grief and suffering, we try to look clearly at, and experience directly, everything that has happened, just as it is. We allow or make room for it all—including experiences and feelings we don't want.
Let's say, for example, that you're overwhelmed by anger. Try to just sit with anger's uncomfortable feelings and sensations. See if you can get in touch with ways that anger (even though it may feel empowering in the short run) might mask another emotion or vulnerability that sits underneath anger and is even more challenging (such as hurt, betrayal, or abandonment). To the best of your ability, try to hold yourself tenderly and make space for everything that arises, one day at a time.
(We note here that some people experience anxiety—even terror—as they sit in meditation and stillness, perhaps for the first time. If this is true for you, try not to push yourself beyond your comfort level or limit. Instead, experiment with dipping in and out of difficult territory in order to titrate your experience. Consider whether to consult with a mental health professional or seek guidance from an experienced meditation teacher.)
Being mindful is a way of listening deeply to our inner voice, and of connecting with strengths and vulnerabilities. Instead of turning away, we include or allow all our feelings—regret, fear, confusion, anxiety, sorrow, as well as joy, exuberance, happiness, and hope. We return home fully to ourselves, just as we are.3 Mindfulness helps us remember to pause, take time out from the daily demands of our lives, calm our minds—and to sit with and bear raw grief.
“Personal times of stillness are a spiritual necessity,” writes Alan Wolfelt. “Stillness restores your life force. Grief is only transformed when you honor the quiet forces of stillness.”4 In stillness, we begin to reassemble our shattered lives. We find the strength to face suffering, to open to the changes that grief has brought, to remember and celebrate those we've lost, and to honor what is most deeply true in our loved ones and ourselves.
Sit quietly for a few moments, noticing the subtle movement of your body as you breathe. Say slowly, to yourself, the following phrases:
May I allow moments of quiet and stillness.
May I feel my breath as I breathe in.
May I feel my breath as I breathe out.
As I open to grief, may I hold my suffering tenderly.
Find a quiet place and practice a short walking meditation:
Find a quiet place and practice a short listening meditation:
Eat a meal in mindfulness:
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
—Wendell Berry