Going deeper

Over the weekend, had a good look at two books by Sandra Maitry on the Enneagram. This reading gave me deeper insight into my personality structure, and motivated me to spend about five sessions, each about an hour long, being gently present with my experience. Very much an extension of what I've been calling inner child work or trauma recovery work. I sat cross-legged on a bed in the attic, put a gigantic pillow on my lap (thanks to Kay Miller Browne for this perfect pillow), and rested my torso on the pillow. Then I put a normal size pillow, folded, on my right shoulder, and allowed my head to rest there. This allows my body to be perfectly at ease.

I then tune into my experience of the moment. Often, what's predominant is anxiety--a sense that I should be doing something else, or that this is the wrong thing to do, or that I am quite alone and all is gloom. Or, it might be the physical pulsing in my right chest. I then hold an attitude of curiosity, patience, and gentleness regarding what I experience. Sometimes that's not possible--then, I step outward and look at the sense that it's not possible to be curious, patient, and gentle. Always, as I examine my experience, it gradually shifts to something else. A layer dissolves.

More and more, as I do this work, impressions from early childhood arise. This is most remarkable! My ears will tune into very subtle, remote sounds that seem to relate to early childhood memories: traffic on the street, airplanes and helicopters. I imagine this was largely what I heard during the many hours I was lying alone as an infant. Vague memories of being held and comforted, or, more often, of desperately yearning to be held and comforted, arise. The sense of utter frustration and ineffectuality from wanting and trying to get, and not being able to get. The desperate searching for some authority, some guidelines, to tell me what to do--since trying to get what I want isn't cutting it. The sense that I'd better figure out what I'm supposed to do, and then do it quickly, before I am severely punished.

Now, as I write, I am anxious. There is a tension in my right chest. Then sadness, sleepiness. Then, hearing the air conditioning. Pulsing. If I had the leisure, I'd go more deeply into this. From these hour-long (or longer) sessions, I know that there are great depths available. There is no soft bottom to rest on after just 2 or 3 minutes--which is all I can take during my mindfulness breaks at work.

In her books, Maitry advises the seeker that great courage is needed for this exploration. Her eloquent reminder allowed me to go more deeply than I otherwise would have. I noticed unfamiliar mindstates that I would otherwise have quickly pushed aside, before even knowing they were there. I noticed them and allowed them. Those that are most unfamiliar are also the scariest. It's remarkable how reflexively one pushes aside the deeply unfamiliar. As I proceeded, I gained confidence in myself, in my own knowing. For the first time, I occasionally noted "courage" in addition to "fear". "Confidence" in addition to "doubt".

Although I often resisted sitting down to do this work, I always really loved it after only a few minutes. When I experienced enormous doubt, terror, and frustration, I would often think, "Is this crazy? Is this a ridiculous way to spend my time?" But then I would remind myself, "Great courage is needed. The ego will be devious in its attempts to get you to quit."

Maitry wrote that fear forms a ring around a pool of spaciousness (or something like that). She wrote that when that fear is seen and accepted, it releases into the spaciousness. That this might feel frightening, but that one immediately sees that one is held within that spaciousness. It seemed I may have had some experience of this. It was less dramatic and clear-cut than I'd imagined it would be, so I'm not sure.

At the end of each session, as I let my attention shift to thoughts about what to do next, I usually felt quite at peace. I sometimes resisted arising from my seat. Arising and standing upright seemed to involve a habitual and painful inner constriction. I tried applying patience and curiosity here as well, but didn't get very far.