Then one day, I was listening to an audiobook, The Dive from Clausen’s Pier, by Ann Packer. At one point, a character said, “Lonely is a funny thing. It’s almost like another person. After a while it will keep you company if you let it.” And, just like that, in three short sentences, my heart and mind opened to being alone. From that day on, I’ve been better able to welcome isolation as a friend, and the pain of loneliness has been replaced with the good company of solitude.
Of course, I’m not always successful. Some days I rejoice in the glory of solitude. Other days I feel so lonely it brings me to tears. Some days I’m content to let the small-town life of Davis unfold without knowing, as I used to, all the details of what’s going on socially and politically. Other days I’m hungry for news from outside the house. Tony is well aware of this latter tendency. One day, he ran into an old friend. We knew she’d been through a painful divorce and had been having a difficult time for a few years. To Tony’s delight, she told him that she’d met a man and was happily in love. Tony told me that he said to her, “Okay, ask yourself everything that Toni would want to know about him and then tell me, so that I can tell her.”
When overcome with loneliness, I use the practices I’ve described in this book. Starting with the Buddha’s teaching in the first noble truth, I recognize that all living beings face difficulties and challenges in life. Even those who aren’t sick may experience the pain of loneliness. I think of Joko Beck’s teaching: This is just my life; there’s nothing wrong with it even if I’m lonely at the moment. Then I might move to weather practice, reminding myself that loneliness, like everything else, is impermanent. It blew in and will blow away, perhaps replaced with the serenity of solitude. Cultivating the sublime states soothes me during these blue periods; I might craft some self-compassion phrases, such as “It’s so hard to feel lonely, but it will pass and I’ll be okay.” Tonglen practice has been extremely helpful to me, too. I call to mind everyone who, like me, is feeling lonely. I breathe in their sadness and then I breathe out thoughts of kindness, compassion, and peace. This makes me feel a deep connection to others who are lonely, and that connection in itself makes me feel less lonely. Byron Katie’s inquiry gives me the tools to examine the validity of stressful thoughts that often accompany the feeling of loneliness, such as “Nobody cares about me” and “I’ll always be lonely.”
These Buddhist and Buddhist-inspired practices are always waiting in the wings to help transform that neutral fact of isolation from the despair of loneliness to the serenity of solitude.
It’s been hard adjusting to the loss of my spiritual community, to the loss of so many friends, and lastly, to being alone much of the time. I’ve largely come through that struggle, but it took time, it took effort, and it took help from a lot of people — the Buddha, his followers, a philosopher, a fiction writer, and ordinary people who have been generous enough to go online and share their experiences.
18
And in the End. . .
This very place is the Lotus Land;
This very body, the Buddha.
— HAKUIN
LIVING WELL with chronic illness is a work in progress for me. Some days I still cry out:
“I can’t stand this oppressive illness one more day!”
“I don’t care if stressful thinking makes my symptoms worse!”
“I don’t want to hear that laughter coming from the living room!”
“I don’t care if this is the Way Things Are; I don’t want to be sick and in pain!”
When this happens, I “put my head in the lap of the Buddha,” as the Dalai Lama suggests, and take refuge in one of the practices I’ve shared in this book. The Buddha’s teachings and the practices he inspired are always waiting in the wings to see me through. The Buddha continues to inspire me because he never claimed to be anything more than a human being. In fact, the Buddha found pain just as painful as you and I do, as the Buddhist texts take great care to make clear. Consider this passage from the Connected Discourses of the Buddha about an instance when the Buddha was cut by a stone splinter:
Severe pains assailed him — bodily feelings that were painful, wracking, sharp, piercing, harrowing, disagreeable. But the Buddha endured them, mindful and clearly comprehending, without becoming distressed.
I take this as a reminder that the equanimity and joy we see in the many images of him are within the reach of every one of us. I never stray far from the Buddha’s list from chapter 3 of the difficulties we all face at one time or another in life. I think here, too, of Joko Beck’s teaching that our life is always all right. There’s nothing wrong with it even if we have terrible problems. It’s just our life.
In the Buddha’s time, each of his monks carried a bowl when they went into the village to collect food from lay supporters. Each day, a monk ate only what was put in the bowl, whether it was filled to the top with scrumptious goodies or contained only a few morsels. Tony uses this as a metaphor for life. We have what is put in our bowls. Tony’s and my bowls contain my illness and my ongoing treatment for breast cancer. At times, this has been a great source of suffering for us. But even people whose bowls are usually filled with ambrosia have days when they are only given a few grains of rice. And although Tony’s and my bowls contain my health struggles, our children and grandchildren are in there, too, along with other blessings. This is what we’ve been given.
Some years ago I was listening to Terry Gross’s Fresh Air on NPR. She was interviewing country music singer and songwriter Rosanne Cash. Cash had been forced to put her career on hold for several years because she had to have brain surgery for a rare but benign condition. Gross asked her if she ever found herself asking, “Why me?”
Cash said no, that, in fact, she found herself saying, “Why not me?” since she had health insurance, no nine-to-five job that she might lose during her long recuperation, and a spouse who was a wonderful caregiver.
Rosanne Cash’s words had a profound effect on me. Now, on a day when I start to sink into that “Why me?” mood, I think of the Buddha’s list and am reminded that illness is a natural part of the human life cycle. That enables me to say, “Why not me?” On top of that, like Rosanne Cash, I am blessed to have health insurance and a wonderful caregiver. So why not me?
I have a personal Facebook page with “friends,” some of whom I don’t know personally because they’re friends of my children. In 2009, Davis was the starting point for Lance Armstrong’s first race in the United States after coming out of retirement (this was before his accomplishments were discredited). In a town as small as ours, this was a major community event. Despite it being a rainy day, our local newspaper expected big crowds to gather downtown for the noontime start of the race. People would be there whom I hadn’t seen for years. Feeling frustrated, cranky, and lonely because I couldn’t be part of this social gathering, but also not wanting to whine online, I posted this on my Facebook page: “Lying in bed, watching the rain.” My daughter’s friend Stephanie, who doesn’t think of me as sick because we’ve never met, added this lovely comment to my post: “That sounds perfect!”
I momentarily thought, “Yeah, perfect for you,” but then I smiled, realizing that my life is indeed perfect. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s what I’ve been given. It’s just my life.
In sickness or in health, my heartfelt wish is that you be peaceful, have ease of well-being, reach the end of suffering, and be free.
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A Guide to Using the Practices to Help with Specific Challenges
SOME PRACTICES IN THE BOOK may resonate with you, others may not. I encourage you to try them all and stick with the ones you find helpful. And don’t forget to keep a Try (and Forgiving) Mind!
Suffering due to the relentlessness of physical symptoms or from the addition of new med
ical problems
Take solace in the fact that you are not alone; difficult and unpleasant experiences are present in the lives of all beings. Having been born, we are subject to change, disease, and ultimately death. It happens differently for each person. This is one of the ways it’s happening to you. Recall Joko Beck’s teaching: your life is always all right; there’s nothing wrong with it, even if you’re suffering. It’s just your life. The good news from the Buddha is that no matter how much you are suffering physically, there are practices that can help alleviate your mental suffering. (See chapter 3.)
Breathe in the suffering of all those who share the symptoms you’re experiencing. Breathe out whatever kindness, compassion, and peace you have to give. Because you share this particular kind of suffering with them, the thoughts you breathe out will also be directed at yourself. (See chapter 11.)
Repeat the metta phrases you’ve settled on, directing kindness at yourself, perhaps stroking your body as you do so. (See chapter 7.)
Craft phrases that directly address your suffering. Find words that are specific to the particular difficulty you’re experiencing and repeat them compassionately to yourself: “It’s so hard to wake up with a headache every morning”; “It feels overwhelming to have this injury on top of my illness.” Recall Thich Nhat Hanh’s description of one hand naturally reaching out to the other in pain. Cultivate patient endurance by trying to maintain a calm state of mind while also not giving up on your search for relief from your symptoms. Open your heart to your suffering. (See chapter 8.)
Try Ajahn Chah’s letting go, even just a little — taking baby steps toward peace and equanimity each time you repeat his phrases. Work on giving in to what’s happening instead of giving up. (See chapter 9.)
As you experience the unpleasant physical sensations, instead of reacting with aversion, consciously move your mind toward the sublime state of kindness, compassion, or equanimity — directing the sublime state at yourself. You can also try moving your mind to empathetic joy — feeling happy for those who are in good health. (See chapter 10.)
Try weather practice. Recognize that these physical symptoms are as unpredictable as the weather and could change at any moment. The wind blew the discomfort in and it may blow it out at any moment. If a new medical problem develops, such as an injury, recall that no forecast of the future could have been certain no matter how many precautions you took. (See chapter 4.)
Try to keep a Don’t-Know Mind, reminding yourself that you don’t know how long any particular discomfort will last. It won’t last indefinitely, and you might even feel better soon. Recall the Zen practice of shocking the mind and how the power of pain could provide such focused attention that the mind is shocked into a moment of awakening. Turn to the poetry of Zen to soothe the body and to feed it the medicine of laughter. (See chapter 15.)
Use Byron Katie’s inquiry to question the validity of stressful thoughts, such as “This physical discomfort will never go away” or “I can’t stand this symptom one more minute.” (See chapter 12.)
When a thought persists about the past or future regarding the relentlessness of symptoms (“I caused them because of what I did yesterday . . . Will they ever subside?”), acknowledge the thought and then . . . drop it, bringing awareness to the present moment. Try three-breath practice to help you come out of your stories and calmly ground you in your body. Take a break from discursive thinking so that one simple thought doesn’t turn into a barrage of stressful ones. Try Byron Katie’s practice of stating what you’re doing physically right now: “Woman lying on bed, resting”; this will take you out of your repeating round of stressful thoughts and into the present moment. (See chapter 13.)
Be sure you don’t engage in unwise action — actions that could exacerbate symptoms (such as doing too much housework). For relief, try doing nothing. Work on pacing. (See chapter 14.)
Recall Munindra-ji’s words and recite, “There is sickness here, but I am not sick.” Contemplate “Who am I?” to help shed the fixed identity of “sick person.” Try sky-gazing. If you’re in bed, try virtual sky-gazing by closing your eyes and shifting your focus from the unpleasant physical symptoms to a more spacious and open experience of body and mind as part of the energy flow of the universe. (See chapter 5.)
Blaming yourself for being sick
Remember that we’d never speak as harshly to others as we do to ourselves, as Mary Grace Orr discovered. Disidentify from your inner critic. (See chapter 8.)
Breathe in the suffering of all those who blame themselves for being sick. Breathe out whatever kindness, compassion, and peace you have to give. Because you share this particular kind of suffering with them, the thoughts that you breathe out will also be directed at yourself. (See chapter 11.)
Repeat the metta phrases you’ve settled on, directing kindness at yourself, perhaps stroking your body as you do so. (See chapter 7.)
When you think, “It’s my fault for being sick,” acknowledge the thought and then . . . drop it, bringing awareness to the present moment. Try three-breath practice to help you come out of your stories and calmly ground you in your body. Take a break from discursive thinking so that one simple thought doesn’t turn into a barrage of stressful ones. Try Byron Katie’s practice of stating what you’re doing physically right now: “Man sitting in chair, reading a book”; this will take you out of your repeating round of stressful thoughts and into the present moment. (See chapter 13.)
As you experience the unpleasant mental state of blame, instead of reacting with aversion and self-hatred, consciously move your mind toward the sublime state of kindness, compassion, or equanimity — directing the sublime state at yourself. (See chapter 10.)
Recall that anything can happen at any time. This includes chronic illness. It can strike anyone at any moment despite the best of precautions; it’s nobody’s fault. Try weather practice: Recognize that blame is a mental state as unpredictable as the weather. The wind blew this painful mood in and it may blow it out at any moment. (See chapter 4.)
Use Byron Katie’s inquiry to question the validity of stressful thoughts, such as “It’s my fault that I got sick” or “It’s my fault that I don’t get better.” (See chapter 12.)
Recall Munindra-ji’s words and recite, “There is sickness here, but I am not sick.” Contemplate “Who am I?” to help shed the fixed identity of “sick person.” (See chapter 5.)
Receiving cursory or dismissive treatment from a doctor or other medical professional
Ask yourself, “Am I sure?” before deciding that the medical professional didn’t want to help you. Maybe the person you saw was overwhelmed with work that day or was experiencing personal problems. If you have a follow-up appointment, try to keep a Don’t-Know Mind until then. (See chapter 15.)
Use Byron Katie’s inquiry to question the validity of stressful thoughts, such as “This doctor didn’t want to treat me” or “This medical person thinks I’m not really sick.” (See chapter 12.)
If you decide that this doctor or other medical professional did unfairly dismiss you
Recall Ajahn Chah’s sayings, “If no one is there to receive it, the letter is sent back” and “Don’t stand up in the line of fire.” Practically, this means accepting that this is the way he or she relates to you and/or your illness and it’s time to move on to another doctor. Then try letting go, even just a little — taking baby steps toward peace and equanimity each time you repeat Ajahn Chah’s phrases. Work on giving in instead of giving up by continuing to look for good medical care. (See chapter 9.)
Breathe in the suffering of all those who have been treated poorly by a doctor or other medical professional. Breathe out whatever kindness, compassion, and peace you have to give. Because you share this particular kind of suffering with them, the thoughts you breathe out will also be directed at yourself. (See chapter 11.)
Try directing your metta phrases at the people who treated you poorly (they come under the category of those who are a source of stress in you
r life). It can be liberating to wish others well — to befriend them in your thoughts — even though they are being insensitive to you. The odds are high that this medical person has been of help to many others. Be glad for those people. (See chapter 7.)
Craft phrases that directly address your suffering. Find words specific to the particular difficulty you’re experiencing and repeat them compassionately to yourself: “It hurts so much to be treated dismissively by a doctor.” Cultivate patient endurance by trying to maintain a calm state of mind while also asserting yourself with the aspiration that better treatment will result. Open your heart to your suffering. (See chapter 8.)
As you experience the unpleasant mental sensations of being treated in a dismissive manner by this medical person, instead of reacting with aversion, consciously move your mind toward the sublime state of kindness, compassion, or equanimity — directing the sublime state at yourself. (See chapter 10.)
If a painful thought persists about the experience, acknowledge the thought and then . . . drop it, bringing awareness to the present moment. Try three-breath practice to help you come out of your stories and calmly ground you in your body. Take a break from discursive thinking so that one simple thought doesn’t turn into a barrage of stressful ones. Try Byron Katie’s practice of stating what you’re doing physically right now: “Woman sitting in car after a doctor’s appointment”; this will take you out of your repeating round of stressful thoughts and into the present moment. (See chapter 13.)
Suffering due to the inability to visit with people or participate in family gatherings and other social events
Cultivate joy for those who are able to have an active social life and attend special gatherings. This helps alleviate any envy that might arise. By cultivating joy in the joy of your family or friends who are at a particular event, you may find that you can enjoy the event through those who are there. (See chapter 6.)
How to Be Sick Page 16
