“Are you a god?” they asked the Buddha.
“No,” the Buddha replied.
“Are you an angel?”
“No,” he replied again.
“Well, are you a saint?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am awake,” the Buddha replied.
—TRADITIONAL BUDDHIST TALE
Lisa was a twenty-eight-year-old graduate student who had been with her current therapist for two years. She’d just come back from a school break in the midst of a crisis, and her therapist had never seen her so depressed. Although Lisa wasn’t suicidal, she felt heavy and numb, her energy was very low, and she had lost virtually all interest and motivation. As a graduate student, she was particularly concerned about not being able to think clearly, which was causing her to fall behind in her schoolwork.
“Yes,” Lisa told me, her tone flat, almost bored. “This is how I usually feel when I’m depressed.” I could sense a deep sorrow, and a kind of distant anger buried within Lisa, but the face she presented to me was blank. “I usually shut down when things get overwhelming,” she went on, and I marveled at how someone could speak so articulately and yet so neutrally about her own emotional state.
“I can get pretty spacey, and then I just need to sleep a lot,” she explained. “I can’t follow my normal routines, and sometimes it seems that I can’t even think.” When Lisa was depressed, she withdrew from the people in her life as well. She had trouble making even the simplest decisions—it had been difficult even for her to settle on a time for our appointment. “Basically, my life just grinds to a halt,” she concluded.
As we’ve seen in previous chapters, we all have our favorite “false selves,” or the small selves into which we withdraw when we’re under stress. Denial types become confused, blank, numb and passive. It’s almost as though they are trying to sleep through their lives, for fear of what might happen to them—what they might feel, or be called upon to do—should they be fully awake.
In Western terms, Lisa’s pattern of symptoms is fairly typical of a classic form of depression previously known as melancholia or “involutional depression.” On a chemical level, it’s the result of insufficient norepinephrine and dopamine, the chemicals used to stimulate our brains. With depleted reserves of these crucial neurotransmitters, we find it difficult to remain awake, alert, and stimulated. As a result, we fall into the condition that fits the stereotyped view of depression: so tired and weighed down that it’s literally difficult to get out of bed.
The classic Buddhist psychological term for this response is “delusional” which in Western psychiatry suggests psychosis and other problems that have nothing to do with the Buddhist definition. What the Buddhists are trying to get at, though, is the sense that this type breaks contact—almost deliberately—with some essential aspect of reality. Because something about reality seems too painful or overwhelming to deal with, the Denial type simply chooses to ignore it, to purposely— though unconsciously—block it out.
Like all of the unwise strategies we’ve considered, denial—setting oneself adrift—is an attempt to protect the small self. If a man is unhappy in his marriage, for example, and unable to imagine the consequences of confronting his spouse or setting in motion the process of divorce, he may choose to protect that fearful self by numbing out, refusing to feel the anger and sorrow at the injured marriage and avoiding the need to take some kind of action to either end or repair it. Likewise, if a woman is overwhelmed with obligations that she feels unable to refuse, she may become a kind of automaton, forcing herself through the daily round of joyless activities making herself numb so that she won’t have to confront how burdened and resentful she feels. As with grasping and rejecting, setting oneself adrift comes at a tremendous cost, diminishing the self it was supposed to protect.
Thus, Lisa was paying a huge price for her depression, which was interfering not only with her ability to take pleasure in her life, but also sabotaging her graduate-school career. What was unusual, she told me, was how suddenly her depression had come on. Although she’d felt this low before— several times—she’d never gotten to such a miserable place so quickly.
I asked Lisa if anything had triggered this crisis, and she said that she wasn’t aware of anything. I wasn’t surprised. It’s typical of Denial types to be out of touch with their emotions just at the time when those emotions are most intense. Instead of recalling a painful incident with the anxiety, shame, or resentment that a Fear or Anger type might invoke, Lisa simply felt numb.
Since I was so certain that there had been a trigger, I probed further. Why, after two years of stability, had her depression returned? Was it seasonal? Menstrual? Had she changed her medication, her diet, her exercise habits, or her sleep cycles? Was she undergoing any relationship tensions—with a boyfriend, family member, or teacher?
No, Lisa kept repeating. Everything was going well.
“What about your break?” I asked. “What did you do with your time off?”
Lisa told me that she had traveled to visit a friend out of state, her best friend from college. “We had a great time,” she insisted. “Margie just had a baby boy, and he was so cute. I love babies, and Margie let me feed him and bathe him and everything. She was so happy to be a mom—it was great to see the two of them together.”
Still, I pointed out, her depression had started on this trip. Had there been any other point when she noticed her symptoms getting worse?
Yes, Lisa admitted, her mood had dropped when she’d gone to see a play at a local theater just a few days after she’d gotten back from visiting Margie. The show featured a poignant scene in which the main character expressed her grief over the death of her baby.
Suddenly Lisa began to cry, her flat, neutral tone dissolving in a stream of tears. “I wasn’t really all that happy for Margie,” she confessed. “I wanted to be, but I wasn’t.”
Lisa went on to tell me that she herself had had an abortion when she was just sixteen years old. In fact, shortly after that she’d become suicidal and was hospitalized. “But it can’t be that,” she insisted, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “I went over all that in therapy years ago.”
Maybe she had talked about her abortion, I suggested. But her depression, and her tears, suggested that she had not fully grieved it. For over a decade now, Lisa had been carrying an extra burden of unresolved grief. Certainly, at age sixteen, Lisa wasn’t equipped to handle the grief that she felt. So she did what many of us would do in those circumstances—she shut down. First, she got depressed. Then she tried to “get on with her life,” “put all the pain behind her.” But because her grief had never been felt and then released, it had gone underground.
Thus Denial types seem to carry a double burden. Not only are they upset, but they have no idea that they are upset. Lisa knew she was depressed, of course, but she denied for quite a while that there was any “reason” for it, any sorrow or anger behind the sluggishness and mental confusion. Her strategies of shutting down and withdrawing seemed to protect her, but they also incapacitated her from taking action.
Moreover, Lisa’s behaviors were particularly painful for those who loved her—her roommate, her sister, and her boyfriend. They all had the sense that a part of Lisa was missing, that she was just going through the motions when they spent time together. I’ve had many clients whose mother or father was a Denial type, and they’ve spoken eloquently about how hard it is to have a parent who seems to be present but is in fact emotionally absent. Spouses, too, suffer from the absence of their partner, particularly when the partner continues to insist that nothing is wrong. As with all types of depression, the cost is paid not only by the people who shut down, but also by every person who cares about them.
Like the other unwise strategies, the shutting down and “stuffing away” of Denial types is ultimately caused by fear: fear of what is or of what might be. Like all of us, Denial types fear conflict, suffering, and making a choice that doesn’t turn out well. So when other strategies—wise or unwise—don’t seem to work or don’t come naturally to us, denial seems like an attractive alternative.
Although Denial types may use this tactic more readily than the rest of us, I don’t believe there’s a single human on earth who hasn’t employed this “small self” strategy. Even the Buddha himself, before he accepted his true nature, was guilty of denial, while the biblical accounts of Moses and Jesus include episodes in which each of these religious figures refused to recognize their true nature until God finally forced them to do so. Denial is the default mechanism, the one that’s always available even when others fail. It’s like a fog always waiting to descend whenever we feel the need to obscure the painful reality before us. Like a narcotic, denial temporarily dulls our pain, although it certainly doesn’t address our pain’s root causes or eliminate it permanently. When the denial wears off, our pain is still there, as Lisa was discovering to her sorrow.
Even when the Fear or Anger types are guilty of denial, they usually have abundant—if incorrect—theories about why they’re unhappy. They blame themselves, others, or life itself, but they insist that they know what’s wrong. The Self-Deluding type, by contrast, usually has no idea. “You tell me,” is one of their favorite phrases. “What do you think, doctor?” Lisa asked me, not once but several times. “What’s my problem? What do I need?” Like most Denial types, hers was not a “what-if” mind or a “judging mind” but rather a “confused mind,” a mind that was either unable or unwilling to face reality.
Fear types fit with the part of our culture that has often been called “the Age of Anxiety,” while Anger types play out the pervasive aggression that marks both U.S. society and the world as a whole. It remains to Denial types to exemplify what I’ve come to call “the Culture of Mindlessness.” While I’m not convinced that life is more stressful now than in times past, I am fairly certain that it is more hectic and distracted than at any other time in history. If you don’t want to see things clearly, you’ve got innumerable distractions at your disposal, starting with the 24/7 work habits that so many of us are encouraged to adopt. If your cell phone is always on for that all-important call, if you’re constantly checking your e-mail or working long hours from home, when do you have time to pause, reflect, and get in touch with your emotions? Even if you’re not overwhelmed with work, you’ve got plenty of inducement to cloud your mind with pleasure—TV, video and computer games, home entertainment systems, and numerous other isolating entertainments are available, not to mention “mindless” social distractions like movies, sports events, and the crowded, noisy bar culture.
Of course any of these activities can be meaningful, inspiring, or at least relaxing. But it seems to be far easier to stay continually busy than it is to make time for solitude, contemplation, and silence. If you are part of U.S. culture and you’d rather be awake than asleep, you’d better make a deliberate, conscious choice, or it isn’t likely to happen.
Slowing down is one way to stay awake. Breaking through denial is another. Of course it hurts to strip away the protective layers of denial and face the pain beneath. And beyond our individual denial of personal pain, we also suffer from a collective denial that allows problems to go on possibly to the point of no return. The major issues of our time—racism, poverty, hunger, war, environmental degradation, terrorism—are all prolonged by our collective unwillingness to see them clearly and our consequent inability to deal with them decisively. It seems to me that anyone who insists on bringing these “unacceptable” issues to our society’s attention often faces the rage and pain of the collective denial that tries to blur or block out the problem.
The fear that causes an individual to shut down does more than prolong that person’s pain—it also hurts the world at large. So long as the fog remains, it will prevent them from seeing things clearly, from finding his or her own voice, from responding to the reality that so urgently demands a response. Today, more than ever, we need people to live authentically, to find their voice and then speak loudly and clearly, to stand up for what is true and not be cowed by fear. We need people with courage. And courage begins where denial ends.
There is a classic book on Christian spirituality called The Cloud of Unknowing. Written hundreds of years ago by an anonymous Christian mystic, it describes with remarkable clarity the experience of being cut off from a relationship with the divine and the fullness of life. This cloud, wrote the medieval author, separates us from our selves and from the true experience of life that is really our birthright.
What creates this cloud? We do—by the way we perceive ourselves and the world. That deadness Lisa felt inside was the direct result of her own decision to turn off her attention. Just as Joe began to see lack everywhere and Rick started to resent everything, Lisa had become dead to all her experiences, all her perceptions blurred and obscured, as if she were barely able to open her sleepy eyes.
Certainly, I, too, have done my share of grasping, resenting, and “falling asleep.” But for Lisa to wake up, she needed to understand that her inner deadness was a choice—albeit an unconscious one—to avoid suffering.
Lisa agreed that it would be more useful to recall the painful time of her abortion rather than to increase her medication. Although she knew having the abortion had been the right decision for her, she’d never had the chance to grieve over what it had meant. At the time, she’d been entirely focused on the practical side of things. Her complex mix of anger, guilt, shame, and loss seemed too much to deal with, particularly since she saw no clear path through this experience, no ritual to guide her, no family and friends gathering around to support her. She saw her pregnancy as her mistake, and she viewed the abortion as her choice. What place did grief have in all that?
I asked Lisa if she had any idea what to do now with all of these feelings. She did not. I asked if she would like to consider a mindfulness exercise that I had devised. “It’s okay to feel the pain,” I told her as she prepared to begin. “Don’t be scared of it. Don’t shut down in response to it. Let it in, and let it cleanse you. If your feelings aren’t allowed to flow, they can reside in your body, where they stagnate and cause problems— physical, emotional, spiritual, or all three.”
Then I talked Lisa through the following exercise. If you are trying to wake up from your denial or come to terms with a painful experience or simply see beneath the surface of your depression, you might try it, too.
Letting Your Feelings Flow
• Find a time in the next few days when your energy is fairly good and you won’t be interrupted for an hour or so. Then sit quietly and direct your awareness to the heart center, or wherever else in the body that your attention feels drawn.
• Next, invite images to arise about the painful experiences. Know that you can handle these feelings, and that you may experience healing within a brief time, even in that moment. Let the memories be as vivid as possible, inviting feelings to arise.
• Notice any physical sensations. Where in your body do they reside? What is the emotion connected with that physical experience? Become aware of it, let it grow, and allow yourself to become very clear about it and what is behind it. Be curious and unafraid. As you observe it, does it move? Is it associated with pain or discomfort?
• If the experience is a painful one, just continue to observe, holding your awareness lightly on the pain. Try not to interrupt or close down in response to an unpleasant feeling. Just sit with it and experience it for as long as you can, as long as it feels alive and draws your attention.
• When you are ready, open your eyes and begin writing about the experience. Pour out everything there is to say at that moment, onto the paper. Think of yourself as drawing the experience out of your body and mind, and storing it on the page. Be conscious of your intention to let go of the buried feeling.
• Close with a ritual that symbolizes your releasing this long-held emotion. For example, you might begin the exercise by lighting a candle and end by blowing the candle out. Or you might wash your hands, slowly and lovingly, feeling yourself wash away the emotion you’ve released. You might engage in a few minutes of conscious breathing, feeling yourself release the emotion with every breath you exhale. Find a “releasing ritual” that feels right for you.
Lisa returned two weeks later and talked about doing the exercise, which she found difficult but helpful. While she wasn’t depression-free, the intensity of her suffering had eased. “The edge is gone,” she told me, sounding a bit more lively. Although she knew she could always increase her medication if she needed to, she thought she was all right for now.
We both knew that Lisa had more work to do with these feelings and that her depression could always come back. Yet both Lisa and I could sense that she had somehow changed—subtly, but unmistakably. As I saw it, her eyes had been opened. Lisa now had some clarity about what was going on inside her, and how her current state had been influenced by events both current and remote. She also had begun to face the consequences of her early choices, and she’d seen that as she did so, the fog began to lift. While she did not yet feel happy, Lisa was beginning to feel alive. Although I wished her joy, I knew this was not yet her time for that. This was her time for tenderness.
Sometimes, we’re simply brought to our knees—by depression, illness, a terrible loss, or some other circumstance that simply feels bigger than we are. The only way we can respond is to look up and look within. We all feel helpless at times—and sometimes accepting our helplessness is actually a way of being drawn toward our “salvation”— toward the healing insight or experience that literally “salves,” nurtures, heals, creates. Think of Kisa Gotami, the woman who lost her child— and found a whole new approach to life. Or think of great works of art, literature, and spirituality. Many are born out of a brush with despair.
I once knew a real-life Kisa Gotami, a man who lost a child who was very dear to him. I marveled at the wisdom he seemed to find as he came awake to his own life in a whole new way—torn almost violently awake by the grief and loss he had suffered. When I commented on this one day, he smiled ruefully and said, “Yeah, if I had the choice, I’d be stupid, and have my daughter back. But since I had no choice, I accepted the wisdom.”
Lisa, too, might have wished for the choice to rewrite her life without the painful event that had set her on the path to depression. But as she slowly awakened, she made the best of the choice she actually had. She began to find a way to transform her greatest sorrow into her greatest joy, not by erasing the sorrow, but by making room for the joy alongside it. The pain that led her to “put herself to sleep” became the painful, joyous occasion of her new awakening.
Mindfulness is our primary tool for staying awake. It sounds so simple. All you have to do is remain aware. Well, it may not be easy, but it is simple. You only have to be present in every moment. But there are so many things that do take us out of the moment, and the force of their pull is strong. The next chapter will offer you some specific strategies for becoming mindful, for waking up your mind, heart, and soul. Here, I’ll share with you the major qualities you’ll need to feed in order to become truly mindful.
• Acceptance. The Jesuit teacher and scholar Anthony De Mello wrote something in his book Awareness that I’ve never forgotten. He said that one of the most important messages in every religious tradition was the simple statement “All is well.”
If we can fully embrace the truth of that statement—if we can accept that on the deepest possible level, everything is as it should be— then we truly have nothing to fear. It is safe to open our eyes and hearts. It is safe to come out and play. It is safe to wake up to our lives.
Acceptance does not mean seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. That would be just another form of denial. Rather, acceptance means seeing things as clearly as we can, no matter what then seems to be required of us. If denial leads to passive resignation—the numb acquiescence of a bad marriage, the fearful agreement to an unfair boss— acceptance means a wholehearted understanding of the truth of our lives, our feelings, and our world. If this understanding then requires us to act against injustice or to confront a painful situation, so be it. Leaving an abusive spouse, challenging an alcoholic coworker, giving voice to our political frustrations, stepping in to halt an environmental debacle—these are only some of the responses we may feel compelled to make once we have become fully aware and accepting of the reality within which we live.
• Courage. If awareness and acceptance are required of the mind, then courage is what is required of the heart. Fearless awareness allows us to face whatever is before us, both a prerequisite and a result of living with our eyes wide open. We need a bit of courage—or at least faith—to open our eyes in the first place. But each time we see things as they really are and then take the action we believe is required, we reinforce and expand our store of courage.
Most people are committed to staying in illusion, a comfortable dream state that permits them to remain passive. It’s what they know— it’s what everyone seems to know, and so it seems right and normal. It takes tremendous courage, faith, and persistence to insist that the emperor has no clothes, to refuse to follow false gods, to speak and act from a place of truth and clarity.
Like every positive quality of the heart, courage can be cultivated. First, it is planted with the seeds of intention. Then it is watered with mindful acceptance. It is cultivated by practices of the heart. And finally, it is harvested. If you would like to “grow” your courage, approach Chapter 15 with this intention. And never make the mistake of believing that you don’t have the courage you need for an act you believe is right. If you don’t have the courage, you can find it or create it. Courage, like all other qualities, is a process, not a fixed commodity. By invoking it, you bring it to life.
• Presence. What are the fruits of that harvest of courage? How can we see and know the person who is awake?
When a person is awake, he is truly present in the moment. She is full of vitality, responsive and alive.
An awake person is fully embodied. That is, he resides completely in his body. He is not estranged from it; he doesn’t ignore it. He has learned to listen to his body, to honor it. He accepts his body as it is, knowing that it needn’t be perfect in order for him to befriend it. He is attuned to his body, knowing what it needs and seeking to provide it.
An awake person is also aware. Her mind is quiet yet alert, ready to go to work when called upon but willing to stay in the background when the thinking mind is not required. She observes herself and all that is before her, unafraid, not needing to cling to any part of reality nor to push it away, simply allowing it to be as it is. She can then decide whether to take action and choose the action that seems most effective.
An awake person has a heart that is open and engaged. He no longer feels a need to close his heart or shrink away to protect himself. When a feeling arises, he is aware of it and welcomes it. He neither suppresses his negative emotions nor fans them, for he knows that both reactions only keep such feelings alive. Instead, he allows every negative emotion to rise within him, have its life, and then pass away.
An awake person has tended to her mind and heart, and has consciously chosen the path of wisdom. She has created within herself the capacities for generosity, compassion, forgiveness, courage, love.
Engaged, yet detached. Active, yet calm. Moving, yet still. This is how it is to be awake in the world. Your goal is to be awake. The world is very good at hypnosis, at dulling your consciousness. But you want to be more alive, more fully embodied in this life.
Seeing all that is, you recognize that life is full of good things. Think of them now, think of them often. Fill your heart with gratitude and you will be both happy and awake. If you are awake to the blessings that life offers, you are truly awake.