For decades, I've awoken with an aimless dread. Over the years I've learned, first, to not let my mind spin out looking for something that's actually wrong in the present, and second, to soften and let go of the dread through meditation. This morning I applied my new skills at inner child dialoging to investigate the dread. Amazing things arose:
Me: What are you afraid of?
Child: Something so dark that it's dangerous to even remember. Don't even bother trying. It's better to pretend that it never happened. It just happened last night. Everyone knows that I did it. But if we pretend that it didn't happen at all, others will also pretend. They will know in their hearts that I did it, and they will know that I'm disgusting. But they will pretend I didn't do it, and then I'll be safe.
(This came out over the course of 10-15 minutes of gentle attention to the sensations of dread, and repeated asking of the question.)
Me: What happened that's so dangerous to remember? Can I see?
Child: <Familiar feeling of craving in the mouth arises, a sucking/chewing motion. I am chewing really really hard on an adult finger on the right side of my mouth., and sucking on it. I feel deep craving.>
Me: Why are you letting me know?
Child: I know you won't tell anybody.
Me: The sensations that initially felt like fear now feel like mostly craving.
Child: I still want to do it. But I will never, never, never do it again.
This took about 20 minutes. I wanted to continue, but I wanted more to write it down. As I write it, though, it seems like something that will not slip away from my memory. It seems like something I could recall at any time, just by touching into this dread.
The voice didn't give me the impression of an infant voice. More like a 6 year old. But not even that. Like a caricature of a 6 year old.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
A letter to my psychotherapist, written today
Hi T____,
I'm trying this service called Mail A Letter. It lets me type a letter on the internet, then click "send" and it sends it via postal mail. I notice this seems to be a passive aggressive way of telling you that you don't care for me enough--by not accepting email, you are forcing me to write to you using this unusual service. At the same time, I want you to be delighted with me for discovering this service and making use of it.
Today I am more able than ever to listen to the voices of infant/toddler Terry: "I'm doing it wrong." "I don't have enough time." "I don't know what to do." "This is impossible." I am more able than ever to keep listening to these voices as I go about my day. And I am just beginning to really know that these voices are from a time long past, and don't have anything to do with what's going on in the present. These are the most wonderful things that could ever happen to me in my life.
One unsatisfying aspect to these wonderful occurrences is that I don't have vivid, detailed memories of most of them. So, when I reflect on the times in my life when such changes have occurred, the changes don't stand out--more what stands out are things like, "I went orienteering in Wyoming" or "I published a paper". I would like for the narrative of my life to include the things that are most important to me. This is why I try to write about my experiences of my inner work. I don't write about them nearly as much as I'd like to; much is lost.
Over the weekend I looked at two books by Sandra Maitri: "The Spiritual Dimension of the Enneagram: Nine Faces of the Soul" and "The Enneagram of Passions and Virtues: Finding the Way Home". She talks about how it requires great courage to face one's deepest fears. She emphasizes that the ego will be very devious and tenacious in trying to distract from this process. These reminders were helpful as I spent about five separate hour-long sessions attending to my fear and dialoging with the infant/toddler Terry. Often, I would feel ever so strongly that the process was hopeless, that I wasn't doing it right. Really strongly! Then I would remind myself: "the utmost courage is required." "the ego will be devious and tenacious." And I would continue. Encouragingly, at the end of each session I would feel quite content, not at all as though I'd done anything wrong.
Yesterday when I left your office I felt uneasy about having slept through most of the session. I listened to the voice of the uneasiness: "You've wasted this extra long session. You asked for something extra and you didn't even know how to make use of it. You are undeserving and this extra time should be taken away from you." I didn't have time to feel the feelings associated with this voice. Perhaps this evening.
Not sure if you will get this before we meet on Monday. I am guessing not. I am curious what city the letter will be mailed from.
Looking forward to our next session.
Terry
I'm trying this service called Mail A Letter. It lets me type a letter on the internet, then click "send" and it sends it via postal mail. I notice this seems to be a passive aggressive way of telling you that you don't care for me enough--by not accepting email, you are forcing me to write to you using this unusual service. At the same time, I want you to be delighted with me for discovering this service and making use of it.
Today I am more able than ever to listen to the voices of infant/toddler Terry: "I'm doing it wrong." "I don't have enough time." "I don't know what to do." "This is impossible." I am more able than ever to keep listening to these voices as I go about my day. And I am just beginning to really know that these voices are from a time long past, and don't have anything to do with what's going on in the present. These are the most wonderful things that could ever happen to me in my life.
One unsatisfying aspect to these wonderful occurrences is that I don't have vivid, detailed memories of most of them. So, when I reflect on the times in my life when such changes have occurred, the changes don't stand out--more what stands out are things like, "I went orienteering in Wyoming" or "I published a paper". I would like for the narrative of my life to include the things that are most important to me. This is why I try to write about my experiences of my inner work. I don't write about them nearly as much as I'd like to; much is lost.
Over the weekend I looked at two books by Sandra Maitri: "The Spiritual Dimension of the Enneagram: Nine Faces of the Soul" and "The Enneagram of Passions and Virtues: Finding the Way Home". She talks about how it requires great courage to face one's deepest fears. She emphasizes that the ego will be very devious and tenacious in trying to distract from this process. These reminders were helpful as I spent about five separate hour-long sessions attending to my fear and dialoging with the infant/toddler Terry. Often, I would feel ever so strongly that the process was hopeless, that I wasn't doing it right. Really strongly! Then I would remind myself: "the utmost courage is required." "the ego will be devious and tenacious." And I would continue. Encouragingly, at the end of each session I would feel quite content, not at all as though I'd done anything wrong.
Yesterday when I left your office I felt uneasy about having slept through most of the session. I listened to the voice of the uneasiness: "You've wasted this extra long session. You asked for something extra and you didn't even know how to make use of it. You are undeserving and this extra time should be taken away from you." I didn't have time to feel the feelings associated with this voice. Perhaps this evening.
Not sure if you will get this before we meet on Monday. I am guessing not. I am curious what city the letter will be mailed from.
Looking forward to our next session.
Terry
A glimpse of an early loss
Did some trauma recovery work this morning while sitting in bed with Eric's arms around me. The main theme that presented itself was "I'm doing this wrong, I don't know what I'm doing, I should quit." So strong, so convincing! While allowing this, feeling into it, I re-experienced the desire for Mom's love, for the safety and comfort of her arms, and the utter confusion and despair of not being able to get that back. I re-experienced the feeling that Mom's love was a wonderful thing--a feeling that's been largely lost to me since at least adolescence.
Posture and concentration
I have always had better concentration (for mindfulness activities such as meditation and trauma recovery work) while sitting than while lying down.
This morning was illustrative. I was lying in bed next to my partner with my hand on his torso. I noticed great tension in my right chest--the kind of tension that, if I am seated, usually yields (these days) to gentle attention. Usually, if I am seated and undisturbed, I can ask the tension to speak and listen to its words ("I am terrified that if I move my hand, mother will be angry and leave"), and the tension will soften and eventually dissolve. This morning, while lying down, my mind felt foggy and lazy. Only with great effort could I apply the attention necessary for this process to happen, and even then the process was weak and slow, perhaps less than 10% as powerful as it would have been had I been seated. This weak process was unsatisfying and I soon quit.
It occurred to me to be deeply grateful for the concentration I do have while seated. Probably there are people whose seated concentration is similar to the concentration I have while lying down. This brings up some questions. How does my concentration ability now compare to what it was before I'd begun meditating 12 years ago? What improved my concentration? Has it gradually improved over the years, or did it make a gigantic leap with the specialized concentration training I received from Tina and Stephen, and with the 6 weeks of dedicated concentration practice I did at the Forest Refuge in 2011? Are there people who are struggling in their efforts to do psychotherapeutic practices, such as inner child work and trauma recovery work, due to lack of concentration--and would they do well to train in concentration? What ways are there to improve concentration besides the meditation practices that have worked for me? How can I train to have better concentration while lying down? Why is concentration generally weaker while lying down?
With gratitude for concentration and for the benefits that have come my way due to concentration.
This morning was illustrative. I was lying in bed next to my partner with my hand on his torso. I noticed great tension in my right chest--the kind of tension that, if I am seated, usually yields (these days) to gentle attention. Usually, if I am seated and undisturbed, I can ask the tension to speak and listen to its words ("I am terrified that if I move my hand, mother will be angry and leave"), and the tension will soften and eventually dissolve. This morning, while lying down, my mind felt foggy and lazy. Only with great effort could I apply the attention necessary for this process to happen, and even then the process was weak and slow, perhaps less than 10% as powerful as it would have been had I been seated. This weak process was unsatisfying and I soon quit.
It occurred to me to be deeply grateful for the concentration I do have while seated. Probably there are people whose seated concentration is similar to the concentration I have while lying down. This brings up some questions. How does my concentration ability now compare to what it was before I'd begun meditating 12 years ago? What improved my concentration? Has it gradually improved over the years, or did it make a gigantic leap with the specialized concentration training I received from Tina and Stephen, and with the 6 weeks of dedicated concentration practice I did at the Forest Refuge in 2011? Are there people who are struggling in their efforts to do psychotherapeutic practices, such as inner child work and trauma recovery work, due to lack of concentration--and would they do well to train in concentration? What ways are there to improve concentration besides the meditation practices that have worked for me? How can I train to have better concentration while lying down? Why is concentration generally weaker while lying down?
With gratitude for concentration and for the benefits that have come my way due to concentration.
Monday, May 20, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Log 05/08/13
12:36 Have been revising a manuscript on protein inference terminology standards. The work is enjoyable, but feelings of terror have been ever present today. Very strong! As soon as I read a single sentence, I feel excitement, then fear in the next fraction of a second. I hope that this is progress. I have taken occasional breaks to pay close attention to these feelings, to try to have patience and "mercy" (to use T's word) for them, to try to have curiosity about them. It is really hard--I constantly battle the idea that it's useless, dangerous, folly to spend time in this way! I try to ground myself by noticing that everything is actually OK in the present, that I am safe. I try to notice parts of my body that do not have terror sensations: primarily my legs, and where my body meets the chair. I reflect on the one moment in recent memory when everything actually felt OK, the moment right after emerging from 2 months at the Forest Refuge where I thought, "There is nothing I have to do. And I can choose to do anything." Remarkably, none of these efforts has so far provided significant ease when I am facing the terror.
2:17 Just ate lunch. Also have consumed 2 chocolate truffles: chocolate generally eases my anxiety, and, indeed, I don't experience the sensations of anxiety as debilitating right now. Just pulsing, throbbing, sadness, pleasure, sleepiness.
2:21 Noticed that I was nearly done editing this manuscript. Panic arose.
3:56 Just hit "send" on the email that transmits my edited document to the co-authors. Intense feelings that I want to suppress: panic, fear, sadness, sleepiness, want to hide, want to disappear, want to rest and be safe, want to give up. Ashamed, embarrassed. Desperate to keep up, to be good enough. Tired, don't want to keep going. Someone is going to attack me from the right. Somebody is going to yell at me. It's hard to breathe. I should be over this by now. I have to keep going. Can't think about what I just did. It's certainly a piece of s___. It certainly doesn't count for a damned thing. Would like to just curl up with a good book and get lost. At the same time, I hope that the co-authors read it right away and are stunned by its brilliance. Is it the infant/toddler who is afraid, and the young girl (age 4-10) who hopes for praise? I keep thinking I should stop writing and just pay attention to the feelings, to dialog with them, to invite them to the party (as T says), to make space for them, to be curious about them. I will go down to the movement room to do just that.
4:53 I'm back. Just didn't feel up to attending to these feelings, so meditated instead. Some noting, and some inquiry: "Who thinks there's something wrong?" "Who dislikes?"
5:41 Researched homes for Mom past 45 minutes. Discouraging. Hundreds of possibilities, none looks perfect on paper (would like dementia care plus skilled nursing in same facility, but only one in San Mateo County -- in Portola Valley), agencies can't recommend but can only provide lists, looked up the two recommended by Clarence in yelp and both had truly horrible reviews. When I see a horrible review of a restaurant, I can easily dismiss it as the rantings of a crankosaurus, but a bad review of an eldercare home is more likely to reflect something truly bad.
5:51 OK, biting the bullet, checking out these feelings (have been doing so for 5 minutes already). Fear ... melting into sadness and sleepiness ... same old same old this is never going to end! (welcome, despair!) ... Sadness so deep, afraid to feel it all ... (welcome, fear of sadness!) Nausea, gagging, quivering, pleasure all at the same time in the right throat ... wanting to push away with both arms ... pursing my lips, grimacing ... noticing that I'm in a public place (my desk at work), wondering whether to move to the quiet room ... but I want to be in a public place, even as I'm worried I'll be noticed. The tension in the right abdomen softens ... there is tingling in the genitals ... still grimacing and pushing away ... rocking gently to massage the tense place in the abdomen ... brings pleasure ... but pleasure seems like bad news! ... <interlude to write a few emails> ... continuing to rock, feet now kicking back and forth, lips pursed, arms pushing against arms of chair ... continue to feel comforted that there are people around even though I continue to feel a bit anxious I'll be discovered ... fear only 10% what it was ... all tensions softened ... this is the real deal, anxieties about present circumstances are 90% reflections of this core beingness! 6:23 relaxation, ease, contentment ... encounter with janitorial staff, wondered if my current state of being would make the interaction less awkward, would magically melt the barrier between middle class and working class. It didn't seem to. ... Fear is still 10% of what it was. Why is it gone? ... 6:41 still rocking, kicking, pushing ... now feeling craving in the mouth, lips, right throat ... and a desperation ... 6:53 desire in the right jaw, the right belly, desperate yearning ...
You know, I've noticed during the past several months that whether I'm doing this kind of work solo, or with Eric ... or whether I'm doing formal noting meditation ... it seems to take about 45 minutes for the fear to ease. I wonder how this relates to the nanas (stages of insight) -- one is supposed to cycle through the nanas throughout one's day after attaining stream entry. Possibly my base state is now somewhere in the dark night (Beth mentioned "desire for deliverance" in my meeting with her last week) and it takes 45 minutes to reach equanimity. Would like to mention this to Kenneth and others on my life retreat.
2:17 Just ate lunch. Also have consumed 2 chocolate truffles: chocolate generally eases my anxiety, and, indeed, I don't experience the sensations of anxiety as debilitating right now. Just pulsing, throbbing, sadness, pleasure, sleepiness.
2:21 Noticed that I was nearly done editing this manuscript. Panic arose.
3:56 Just hit "send" on the email that transmits my edited document to the co-authors. Intense feelings that I want to suppress: panic, fear, sadness, sleepiness, want to hide, want to disappear, want to rest and be safe, want to give up. Ashamed, embarrassed. Desperate to keep up, to be good enough. Tired, don't want to keep going. Someone is going to attack me from the right. Somebody is going to yell at me. It's hard to breathe. I should be over this by now. I have to keep going. Can't think about what I just did. It's certainly a piece of s___. It certainly doesn't count for a damned thing. Would like to just curl up with a good book and get lost. At the same time, I hope that the co-authors read it right away and are stunned by its brilliance. Is it the infant/toddler who is afraid, and the young girl (age 4-10) who hopes for praise? I keep thinking I should stop writing and just pay attention to the feelings, to dialog with them, to invite them to the party (as T says), to make space for them, to be curious about them. I will go down to the movement room to do just that.
4:53 I'm back. Just didn't feel up to attending to these feelings, so meditated instead. Some noting, and some inquiry: "Who thinks there's something wrong?" "Who dislikes?"
5:41 Researched homes for Mom past 45 minutes. Discouraging. Hundreds of possibilities, none looks perfect on paper (would like dementia care plus skilled nursing in same facility, but only one in San Mateo County -- in Portola Valley), agencies can't recommend but can only provide lists, looked up the two recommended by Clarence in yelp and both had truly horrible reviews. When I see a horrible review of a restaurant, I can easily dismiss it as the rantings of a crankosaurus, but a bad review of an eldercare home is more likely to reflect something truly bad.
5:51 OK, biting the bullet, checking out these feelings (have been doing so for 5 minutes already). Fear ... melting into sadness and sleepiness ... same old same old this is never going to end! (welcome, despair!) ... Sadness so deep, afraid to feel it all ... (welcome, fear of sadness!) Nausea, gagging, quivering, pleasure all at the same time in the right throat ... wanting to push away with both arms ... pursing my lips, grimacing ... noticing that I'm in a public place (my desk at work), wondering whether to move to the quiet room ... but I want to be in a public place, even as I'm worried I'll be noticed. The tension in the right abdomen softens ... there is tingling in the genitals ... still grimacing and pushing away ... rocking gently to massage the tense place in the abdomen ... brings pleasure ... but pleasure seems like bad news! ... <interlude to write a few emails> ... continuing to rock, feet now kicking back and forth, lips pursed, arms pushing against arms of chair ... continue to feel comforted that there are people around even though I continue to feel a bit anxious I'll be discovered ... fear only 10% what it was ... all tensions softened ... this is the real deal, anxieties about present circumstances are 90% reflections of this core beingness! 6:23 relaxation, ease, contentment ... encounter with janitorial staff, wondered if my current state of being would make the interaction less awkward, would magically melt the barrier between middle class and working class. It didn't seem to. ... Fear is still 10% of what it was. Why is it gone? ... 6:41 still rocking, kicking, pushing ... now feeling craving in the mouth, lips, right throat ... and a desperation ... 6:53 desire in the right jaw, the right belly, desperate yearning ...
You know, I've noticed during the past several months that whether I'm doing this kind of work solo, or with Eric ... or whether I'm doing formal noting meditation ... it seems to take about 45 minutes for the fear to ease. I wonder how this relates to the nanas (stages of insight) -- one is supposed to cycle through the nanas throughout one's day after attaining stream entry. Possibly my base state is now somewhere in the dark night (Beth mentioned "desire for deliverance" in my meeting with her last week) and it takes 45 minutes to reach equanimity. Would like to mention this to Kenneth and others on my life retreat.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Comparing meditation with inner child / trauma recovery work
In recent months I've been spending more time doing what I call inner child work (also trauma recovery work) than meditating. This work is similar to mediation, yet I'm not clear on the differences.
This week I began an 8 week "life retreat" with my teachers Kenneth Folk and Beth Resnick-Folk. I hesitated to join the retreat because I'm not a standard hardcore meditator at the moment -- I'm doing this recovery work. But I joined anyway. When, during our first group meeting on Google Hangout, Kenneth asked each of us to say what was juicy in our practice, I said that this work was juicy. And, for the first time, I tried to articulate a comparison between this work and meditation: "Both practices fundamentally involve directing my attention to my present moment experience. In meditation I try to objectify the self; in this work, I try to relate to the self." Kenneth encouraged me to explore this.
Since then I've tried a little to go back and forth between the two practices, comparing them more. During inner child work, I feel into and follow the sensations of emotion. If I feel sad, I feel into and follow the sadness. One might say that I luxuriate in it, the way one typically luxuriates in the sensations of a pleasurable massage. I try to "give it space" (to use a phrase of my psychotherapist). In contrast, during meditation, if I feel sad, I note "sad", then immediately shift back to a wider scope of attention such that the next thing I note is likely to be something other than sadness.
During inner child work, I dialog, using words, with what I perceive to be the inner child -- a set of strong, dynamic sensations in the right side of my body. I direct my attention to the sensations. Words come to mind: "this is a waste of time." I ask myself, "Why does it seem to be a waste of time?" "I am going to get hurt!" "Who is going to hurt you?" "Dad's going to beat me over the head with his fist!" And so forth. During meditation, if words (thought) arise, I immediately let go of the words, ignoring their content.
This week I began an 8 week "life retreat" with my teachers Kenneth Folk and Beth Resnick-Folk. I hesitated to join the retreat because I'm not a standard hardcore meditator at the moment -- I'm doing this recovery work. But I joined anyway. When, during our first group meeting on Google Hangout, Kenneth asked each of us to say what was juicy in our practice, I said that this work was juicy. And, for the first time, I tried to articulate a comparison between this work and meditation: "Both practices fundamentally involve directing my attention to my present moment experience. In meditation I try to objectify the self; in this work, I try to relate to the self." Kenneth encouraged me to explore this.
Since then I've tried a little to go back and forth between the two practices, comparing them more. During inner child work, I feel into and follow the sensations of emotion. If I feel sad, I feel into and follow the sadness. One might say that I luxuriate in it, the way one typically luxuriates in the sensations of a pleasurable massage. I try to "give it space" (to use a phrase of my psychotherapist). In contrast, during meditation, if I feel sad, I note "sad", then immediately shift back to a wider scope of attention such that the next thing I note is likely to be something other than sadness.
During inner child work, I dialog, using words, with what I perceive to be the inner child -- a set of strong, dynamic sensations in the right side of my body. I direct my attention to the sensations. Words come to mind: "this is a waste of time." I ask myself, "Why does it seem to be a waste of time?" "I am going to get hurt!" "Who is going to hurt you?" "Dad's going to beat me over the head with his fist!" And so forth. During meditation, if words (thought) arise, I immediately let go of the words, ignoring their content.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)