A wave of nausea washes over you. Your eyesight becomes blurry and foggy, and within a few seconds, it completely dis -appears. Your throat is paralysed almost instantly, preventing you from speaking or swallowing. And over the next two to three minutes, this paralysis spreads throughout your body, until you can no longer breathe. This is how your life would end if you were bitten by the tiny bird-like beak of the deadly blue-ringed octopus, an organism no bigger than a tennis ball.
A good friend of mine, Paddy Spruce, likes to ask the question, ‘If you were swimming near a blue-ringed octopus, would you pick it up, chase it away, ignore it or simply observe it?’ Clearly all these options are available to us, but the first two are deadly, and while this octopus is not naturally aggressive, if you try to pick it up or threaten it in any way, it will bite. (Just before it attacks, you will see the blue rings on its tentacles suddenly light up.) As for the third option — ignoring it — that would be pretty hard to do, knowing how deadly it is. Plus, if you don’t pay attention to where it is, you might accidentally swim into it.
So the last option, observing it, is clearly the best. ‘Hang on a minute,’ you might be thinking, ‘there’s another option you didn’t mention. I could swim away from it.’ Yes, you could. However, the blue-ringed octopus prefers to hide under rocks rather than swim in the open, so if you stay still and observe, it will soon pass on by and leave you alone. And even if you choose to swim away, wouldn’t you first want to get a good look at it, knowing that as long as you don’t try to pick it up or threaten it, you are perfectly safe?
This tiny sea creature provides a good analogy for a painful emotion; if you hold on to it, chase it away, or try to ignore it, the results are usually bad. Unfortunately, many of us treat our emotions as if they are as dangerous as that octopus. We want to get rid of them or avoid them. We can’t be at ease when they’re around. We try to figure out how to make them go away. And this attitude, unfortunately, absorbs a lot of our energy and drains our vitality. However, it doesn’t have to be that way. Why? Because unlike the octopus, our feelings are not dangerous. If we stay still and observe our emotions with curiosity, then they cannot hurt us or harm us in any way; and like that blue-ringed octopus, sooner or later they will pass.
Now suppose you were a marine biologist and you had paid a small fortune for the opportunity to observe the blue-ringed octopus in its natural environment. Under those circumstances, knowing you were safe, you’d observe that creature with absolute fascination. You’d be curious about its every move. You’d notice the rhythmic movements of its tentacles; you’d notice the beautiful patterns and colours on its body; and you’d respect it as a magnificent work of nature. In other words, you’d be fully present. And it’s this type of open, curious attention that comprises the basis of expansion.
And if that sounds at all familiar to you, it should, because expansion is an aspect of presence. In other words, when a painful feeling arises, you don’t have to get sucked into it and you don’t need to try to get away from it; instead, you can be fully present with it. And if your mind has something unhelpful to say about that prospect — a protest, threat, worry, judgement, or some other form of resistance — then please let it have its say and carry on reading.
As many people get confused about the differences between thoughts, feelings, emotions and sensations, it’s worth taking a moment to clarify them. However, this task is slightly tricky because most ‘experts’ can’t completely agree on what an emotion actually is. But there are some things they do agree on. For example, there’s no doubt that emotions prepare us for action. Sadness, anger, fear, guilt, love and joy all predispose us to behave in particular ways. Also, on a physical level, an emotion includes neurological changes (i.e. involving the brain and nervous system), cardiovascular changes (i.e. involving the heart and circulatory system), and hormonal changes (i.e. involving the ‘chemical messengers’ of the blood).
However, while we can measure these changes on scientific instruments, this is not how we experience our own emotions.
When we look at our emotions with open, curious attention, all we will ever encounter are thoughts and sensations. By ‘thoughts’, I mean words and pictures inside our head; by ‘sensations’, I mean what we feel inside our body. As for ‘feelings’, some people use this word interchangeably with ‘emotions’ (as I do throughout this book), but others use it to mean the physical sensations that arise as part of an emotion (as opposed to the thoughts that are also part of the emotion).
The best way to make sense of this is to check it out for yourself: observe your emotions with curiosity. As you do this, you will either notice something comprised of sensations or something comprised of words and pictures. Or rather, you will notice complex, interweaving, multilayered tapestries of pictures, words and sensations. And you can zoom in on specific thoughts or sensations, or you can zoom out and take in the whole spectacle.
Often emotions give rise to a sense of meaning, but that ‘meaning’ itself is a thought, made of words and pictures. Urges also often show up as part of a strong emotion; but pay close attention to any urge, and what you will discover are sensations in your body, and words and pictures in your head. The same also holds true for any memories: look at the memory closely and again you will discover sensations in your body, and words and pictures in your head. (And if your memory involves smell or taste, well, those are also sensations.)
To make this clearer, consider your favourite movie. If you were to watch a one-second segment of that film, all you would encounter are sounds and pictures. We wouldn’t call any one of those sounds or pictures a movie in itself; and we wouldn’t say a movie is nothing but ‘sounds and pictures’. But, experientially, when you look at any second of any movie, all you will encounter are sounds and pictures. You can think of an emotion similarly: a rich, compelling, multilayered creation comprised of many, many interweaving sensations and thoughts.
Recently I discussed this concept in an email exchange. My correspondent wrote back, ‘I see what you’re saying . . . and yet . . . there’s something else in an emotion that can perhaps only be described as like a flavour or a colour . . . amorphous, but at the same time sharp! Perhaps it’s a spiky, colourful, amorphous blob!’
I replied, ‘The thing is, a flavour is a sensation — a sensation of taste. It may seem amorphous (i.e. it has no clear shape) but you can sense where it is located in your body through noticing the sensations of pressure, temperature, pulsation, etc. If you experience a colour, then you must be ‘seeing’ a picture of some sort (even if it is an abstract picture — pure colour with no obvious shape). If you experience it as ‘sharp’ or ‘spiky’, you either have encountered a sensation of sharpness or you have imagined a picture of something sharp. So when you zoom in and observe any aspect of that ‘spiky, colourful, amorphous blob’ you will find sensations, words and pictures. And then the question is, can you open up and make room for whatever you encounter?’
When we pay attention to the threatening, unpleasant or painful stuff inside us — to all those thoughts and feelings that we normally turn away from — and when we are willing to take a good honest look at it all and really examine it with openness and curiosity, then we are likely to discover something useful. We learn that it is not as big as it seems; that we can make room for it. We learn that it cannot harm us, even though it feels unpleasant. We learn that it cannot control our arms and legs, even though it may make us shiver and shake. We learn that there is no need to run and hide from it, nor to fight and struggle with it. This frees us up to invest time and energy in improving our life, rather than in trying to control the way we feel. Without genuine curiosity, it is unlikely we will ever discover this.
Normally, when painful feelings arise, we are not curious about them. We have no desire to get up close and study them and see what they are comprised of. We have no particular interest in learning from them. Generally speaking, we don’t want to know about them at all. We want to forget about them, distract ourselves from them, or get rid of them as fast as possible. Rather than take a close look at them, we instinctively turn away. It is much the same as the way we automatically recoil or avert our gaze from the sight of a diseased or deformed body. And yet, as automatic as it is, this is a response that we can change with practice.
Working as a doctor, I have had the opportunity to see many different ways in which the human body can become deformed: through blistering skin diseases, the terrible scarring of burns, the merciless rampages of cancer and AIDS, the distorted swollen joints of immune disorders, the missing limbs that result from surgical amputations, the misshapen heads and twisted spines of rare genetic disorders, the bloated abdomens and yellowing flesh of liver disease, and the myriad forms of physical deterioration associated with old age, illness and death.
Before I entered the medical profession, I felt a sense of shock, fear, aversion or disgust whenever I saw people with these conditions. But over the years, I gradually learned to see past the unpleasant exterior and connect with the human being inside. I learned to pay attention with warmth, curiosity and openness and, over time, my aversion and fear disappeared and in its place came kindness and compassion. However, this only happened through my willingness to be present and open up; to make room for my automatic emotional reactions, without letting them control me. If we are willing, we are all capable of making this transition.
At this point, let’s note that there are two very different types of curiosity. There is a cold, detached, uncaring curiosity, such as that of a lab scientist doing experiments on a rat or monkey. And then there is a warm, caring curiosity, such as that of a kindly vet trying to work out how to heal a sick animal. You’ve probably met some doctors who are cold and detached, curious only about the illness, interested only in the diagnosis and treatment. They seem to care very little about the human being inside that afflicted body. And you’ve probably met other doctors who are the opposite: warm, kind and caring in their curiosity. They care first and foremost about the human being; they treat the whole person, not just the condition. Which kind of doctor would you prefer to have treating you?
The word ‘curiosity’ originates from the Latin term curiosus, which means ‘careful’ or ‘diligent’. This, in turn, comes from the Latin word cura, which means ‘care’. I find this very interesting. When practising mindfulness, we are caring for ourselves; we care about what we feel and we care about how we respond to our feelings. Avoidance of our feelings is, in contrast, very often an uncaring act. We get so focused on trying any way possible to get rid of them that we end up harming ourselves or shrinking our lives in the process. The word cura also gives us the word ‘cure’ and this seems appropriate because curiosity plays such an essential role in emotional healing; instead of trying to escape from our pain, we turn towards it, investigate it, explore it and, ultimately, make room for it. This is a true act of caring and healing.
So next time loneliness, resentment, anxiety, guilt, sadness, regret or fear shows up, what if you could become really curious about those experiences? What if you could shine a light on them, study them as if they were the prize exhibit in a show?
As we look more curiously into any intense stress or discomfort, we will find that it is comprised of two major components. One is the storyline: a bunch of words and pictures inside our head — beliefs, ideas, assumptions, reasons, rules, judgements, impressions, interpretations, images and memories. The other is our body sense: all the different feelings and sensations inside our body. And as we’ve already dealt with stories, we are now going to focus on the sensations.
In order to understand the power of sensations, bring to mind a difficult emotion by thinking about your current reality gap. Once you’ve tapped into some pain, work step-by-step through the exercises that follow. (And if you want a voice to guide you through this process, you can purchase my MP3 The Reality Slap from www.thehappinesstrap.com, which contains recordings for all the exercises in this book.)
Notice Your Emotion
Pause for a moment.
You are about to embark on a voyage of discovery; to explore your painful emotion and see it with new eyes.
Take a slow, deep breath and focus your attention on your body.
Start at the top of your head and scan downwards. Notice where in your body this feeling is strongest: your forehead, eyes, jaw, mouth, throat, neck, shoulders, chest, abdomen, pelvis, buttocks, arms or legs? (If you have gone numb, continue with the exercise, but focus on the sensations of the numbness.)
Once you have located this feeling, observe it with wide-eyed curiosity, as if you are a marine biologist who has encountered some fascinating new denizen of the deep. See if you can discover something new about it — about where it is, what it feels like, or how it behaves.
Notice its energy, pulsation or vibration.
Notice the different ‘layers’ within it.
Notice where it starts and stops.
Is it deep or shallow? Moving or still? Light or heavy?
What is its temperature? Can you notice hot spots or cold spots within it?
Notice any resistance you may have to it. Is your body tensing up around it? Are you breathing more rapidly and shallowly? Is your mind protesting or fretting?
Name Your Emotion
As you notice your emotion, name it. Silently say to yourself, ‘Here’s fear’ or ‘Here’s anger’ or ‘Here’s guilt’. (If you can’t pinpoint the exact name of the emotion, then try: ‘Here’s pain’, or ‘Here’s stress’ or ‘Here’s numbness’.)
And continue to observe this emotion, as if it is some fascinating sea creature. The big difference now is this creature has a name; you know what you are dealing with.
Breathe Into Your Emotion
Breathe slowly and deeply, and imagine your breath flowing into and around the emotion.
And as your breath does this, it’s as if in some way you expand — as if a space opens up inside you.
This is the space of awareness.
And just as the ocean has room for all its inhabitants, your own spacious awareness can easily contain all your emotions.
So breathe into the feeling and open around it.
Loosen up around it. Give it space.
Breathe into any resistance within your body: the tension, the knots, the contraction; and make space for all of that too.
Breathe into any resistance from your mind: the smoky haze of ‘No’ or ‘Bad’ or ‘Go away’.
And as you release the breath, also release your thoughts. Instead of holding on to them, let them come and go like leaves in the breeze.
Allow Your Emotion
There is no need to like, want or approve of this emotion. Just see if you can allow it.
Allow it to be where it is. It’s already there, so why fight it?
Make peace with it.
Let it have its space.
Give it room to move.
Give it permission to do what it’s already doing; to be as it already is.
Expand Your Presence
The marine biologist may concentrate her attention on the octopus, but she can also broaden her focus, to notice the water around it and the rocks beneath it.
And we can all widen our focus in a similar way. Thus, once you’ve made space for your feeling, the aim is to expand your awareness. Continue to notice your feeling and, at the same time, recognise it is only one aspect of the here and now.
Around this feeling is your body, and with that body you can see, hear, touch, taste and smell.
So take a step back and admire the view; do not only notice what you are feeling, but also what you are hearing, seeing and touching.
Think of your awareness as the beam of a powerful torch, revealing what lies hidden in the darkness. Shine it in all directions, to get a clear sense of where you are.
As you do this, do not try to distract yourself from this feeling. And do not try to ignore it. Keep it in your awareness, while at the same time, connecting with the world around you.
Allow the feeling to be there, along with everything else that is also present.
Notice what you are feeling and thinking.
Notice what you are doing and how you are breathing.
Notice it all. Take it all in.
Straddle two worlds with your awareness: the one within you and the one outside you. Illuminate both with your consciousness.
And engage fully in life as it is in this moment.
***
As with all mindfulness exercises, the one above can be practised at any time and in any place for any duration. For example, if you want to develop your ability at expansion, you could stretch it into a long exercise, taking a good ten to fifteen minutes. On the other hand, you can practise a ten-to fifteen-second version just about anywhere: simply notice and name the emotion, breathe into it, allow it to be there, and expand your awareness to connect with the world around you.
Now perhaps you may be wondering, ‘What’s next? After I expand my awareness and engage with the world around me, then what do I do?’ The answer is, if you’re doing something purposeful and life-enhancing, keep doing it and engage in it fully; focus all your attention on the task at hand and become thoroughly absorbed in it. And if you’re not doing something purposeful and life-enhancing, then stop what you’re doing and switch to an activity that is more meaningful. (And if you can’t think of any meaningful activities, don’t worry, we’ll get to that in Part 4: Take A Stand.)
At this point, I need to give you an important reminder: you don’t have to stop using all your control strategies (i.e. the things you do to try to control your emotions). Control strategies are only problematic when you use them excessively, or over-rely on them, or when they give you relief from pain in the short term but impair your quality of life in the long term. The point is to enlarge your toolkit so you have more options than just ‘control or be controlled’.
So I encourage you to make the effort, at least several times a day, to take a good curious look at your feelings. And if you find this difficult to do, then take baby steps. No one expects a fire fighter to tackle a towering inferno without any training. The trainee fire fighter practises on small, safe fires, lit under carefully controlled conditions within specially designed training grounds. And it is much the same when it comes to mindfulness of our emotions. If you’ve never tried this approach before, don’t begin with your most overwhelming emotions. Start with those smaller, less challenging feelings: the hundred different forms of impatience, frustration, disappointment and anxiety that arise as part of everyday living.
Watch your emotions closely and discover their habits. When do they appear? What brings them out? Which parts of your body do they like to occupy? And how does your body react to them? Where do you notice the resistance, the tension and the struggle?
When watching a documentary, we can be thrilled at the sight of a shark or a crocodile or a stingray. These deadly, vicious creatures can fill us with awe and appreciation. Our challenge is to view our emotions in much the same way. For, although our feelings may appear to be dangerous, they are actually unable to harm us in any way. Unlike a shark or a crocodile, they cannot eat us. Unlike a stingray, they cannot poison us. Watching our feelings mindfully is no more dangerous than watching a wildlife documentary. So take a curious look, whenever you can. It doesn’t have to be a long look, just a curious one.