From Suffering to Peace

by Mark Coleman

  My favorite meditation with students is what I call “unmindfulness” meditation. The instruction is to try to not be aware, not be mindful, not pay attention, not notice anything. Experiment with this idea right now. Close your eyes and see if it is possible to not be aware for one minute. As you will discover, this is impossible. Awareness is always “on,” always present to something. Even in deep sleep, we can be aware of our dreams, and afterward, we can have some sense that we slept well or not. This practice is instructive for mindfulness meditation, in that it reveals how effortlessly we can be present to experience.

  After students try this meditation, I pose a question: “If awareness is always present, then what is it aware of? What does it attend to?” Most often, what occupies this valuable resource is our thoughts, usually to the detriment of our other senses and everything else. However, in recent years, in this era of what is sometimes referred to as the “attention economy,” companies vie for the precious commodity of our attention. Subsequently, awareness is now oriented in ever-increasing measure to the screens on our phones and computers.

  We utilize this same awareness in the practice of mindfulness. Without it, there is no cultivation of attention. Mindfulness is the conscious knowing of what we are present to. Take, for example, the sound of a bird singing in our garden. We may not be conscious of the birdsong if our attention is absorbed in something else. Although sound vibrates in our ears, we may not even recognize that a bird is singing. However, when we are mindful, we not only hear the song but consciously recognize that we are listening to a songbird.

  Another common example is driving. We must keep our eyes open while driving, or we risk crashing our car. But most of the time, we don’t pay much attention to what we are seeing. Our minds are elsewhere, and if someone asks us what we saw on our journey, we may have difficulty remembering. (We often can’t even recall which route we took to our destination!) We are present at a basic level to function and drive, but without mindful attention, our memories become a blur of impressions — nameless cars, buildings, trees, colors, shapes, and people. Mindfulness is the conscious knowing of experience as it happens, along with knowing that we are aware. That is what enables recollection, another function or outcome of mindfulness.

  None of this, however, necessarily explains what awareness is. A text called The Flight of the Garuda by Shabkar Tsogdruk Rangdrol, a renowned eighteenth-century Tibetan teacher and poet, tackles this difficulty directly. In this text, Shabkar asks his students to inquire deeply into the nature of awareness by posing many questions: Does awareness have a shape, a color, or a size? Does it have a location? Does it have a gender or an age? Does it have any history? Does it come and go? He then asks his students to look directly at their immediate experience of awareness to discover empirically the nature of awareness.

  In mindfulness meditation, we can turn the lens of our attention to become present to awareness itself. And what we discover is mysterious. As Shabkar teaches, there is no “thing” to find. Nothing with a location, shape, color, or form. Yet awareness is unmistakably present. In the Tibetan Dzogchen tradition, they say it is “empty.” Awareness is empty of any “thingness,” empty of any separate, substantive existence. Yet at the same time, it is understood to be luminous, brightly shining like a light, and cognizant, clearly knowing.

  Experiencing this directly can be transformative. One of my meditation students, Stinus, who is from Denmark, shared with me a story of when this happened to him on a mindfulness retreat I was leading. He wrote:

  We were thirty minutes into our group meditation, and my mind was calm. Now and then a thought came. They seemed distant, almost like an echo. It felt like awareness was watching them from afar. Minutes passed in this expansive space, simply observing. Now and then our teacher would ring a bell and instruct us to notice who or what was hearing the sound. Toward the end of the sitting, the teacher said: “Now turn awareness toward itself.” And then it happened. Awareness watching itself. A formless, nondualistic, nonchanging presence that I cannot describe. If I had to try, the best word would be sacred or divine. I noticed that I was silently crying. I felt humbled and in awe. The experience left me with a knowing of what is behind the physical world. When this body dies, it will only be my body that will disappear and not the formless. This was perhaps the most liberating thing I have ever done.

  Awareness is neither a thing nor not a thing. It is clearly present and is what illuminates our experience. It is what allows us to know ourselves, one another, and the world. Awareness helps reveal the laws that govern our experience, for example, understanding that to cling to the transient is to suffer. Such insights, which arise from the clarity of mindfulness, are indispensable for awakening and freeing us from suffering. Yet awareness is also what allows us to function in a simple day-to-day way, to walk down a busy street, to drive our car, and to behold the vistas on a hike.

  On a meditation retreat, I once received a beautiful teaching from Ajahn Sumedho, a senior monk from the Thai Forest meditation tradition. He said: “Be the knowing, not the conditions that are known.” He was pointing to an essential aspect of mindfulness practice where we train to abide in awareness and not get caught up in all the various things that we attend to. Like all practices, this is easier said than done. Yet through mindfulness practice we can learn to reside in this knowing presence, this awareness that knows experience, without being tossed around by the circumstances of life.

  As our practice of mindfulness grows, we strengthen and deepen this capacity of awareness. In the beginning of practice, moments of present-moment attention seem fleeting. Over time we come to establish ourselves in awareness, and that knowing quality of mind becomes our fundamental orientation. In doing so, it is moments of unmindfulness that become the infrequent visitor. Instead we come to abide in this ever-present awareness, which is the conduit for living with clarity, wisdom, and peace.

  This spacious awareness allows us to access a sense of freedom and peace amid the turbulence of change and adversity. It becomes a refuge when facing uncertainty and stress. And it is something we can trust like a true friend. Over time we come to see its value and treat it as a precious gift, not wishing to do anything that dulls or diminishes its illumination. Yet it remains one of the great mysteries of life, as transparent as air, as vast as the sky, and piercingly present in all moments.

  • PRACTICE •

  Mindfulness of Awareness Itself

  Begin this meditation by sitting in a comfortable, relaxed, but alert posture. Close your eyes and attune to the presence of sounds. Open awareness to expand to the farthest sound, and invite a quality of openness and receptivity in your attention. As you attend to sounds, notice how, when each noise occurs, it is known quite effortlessly by awareness. A sound appears and is known. Then ask yourself: “Known by what?”

  This inquiry invites a direct observation of awareness itself. What is it that knows, and how does the knowing happen? Avoiding a flurry of thinking and speculation, observe how hearing, and the knowing of it, happens all by itself, quite effortlessly. That still may fail to answer the question about what awareness is! So it is important to maintain this inquisitive observation.

  Similarly, notice how all experience is known in this way. Sensations of pain, pressure, or itchiness occur and pull the attention. Awareness automatically becomes cognizant of such experiences, often without any conscious directing of attention from us. When our eyes are closed, sensations appear in the seeming darkness of our interior landscape. They appear like touch points of sensation. In this way, the nuance of breath sensations are also known in awareness. When we see how effortlessly this happens, it begs the question of why it is so hard to maintain concentration in meditation, since awareness of experience occurs so naturally.

  Observe this same process of how awareness becomes present to thoughts, emotions, moods, ideas, and any other phenomena. They all seem to appear on the screen of awareness, as it were, cognized in the same way w
e feel the breeze on our face or taste mango on our tongue. When you sense how awareness knows experience so effortlessly, how does this impact your understanding of meditation?

  Now turn your attention to awareness itself. Follow Shabkar’s instructions and ask: Does awareness have a shape? A size? A color? A location? Does this knowing presence have a gender? An ethnicity? Is it the same age as you, or is it timeless? Does it come and go, or is it ever-present? Is it confined or unobstructed? Is it limited or boundless? Don’t look to your mind or the past for answers. Turn to your direct experience in this moment and look directly at awareness itself. The answers may not come readily, so treat this as an ongoing reflection on the nature of this wondrous aspect of human nature.

  Perhaps the most important question is whether you believe awareness is yours. Does it belong to you? Is it part of you? Is it under your control? How does your sense of awareness relate to the consciousness that resides within every other human being and other conscious life-forms? With these questions, don’t seek any definitive answer. Simply let the reflection percolate in your meditation. As you end the meditation, stay curious about how awareness reveals experience throughout your day. Return to this reflection frequently in and out of meditation. Such inquiry will help illuminate your understanding of both awareness itself and your mindfulness practice.

  This investigation into awareness raises profound questions, ones that have fascinated humankind for centuries. Thus far, our understanding of awareness remains elusive, and perhaps that will always be the case. Personally, I like that such things remain in the realm of mystery because that encourages us to inquire with earnestness into this important facet of reality, which is a key aspect of who and what we truly are.

  • • •

  • SECTION 3 •

  FINDING PEACE IN THE HEART

  Chapter 22

  Opening to Vulnerability with a Kind Heart

  Do not say that kindness and awareness are separate. One cannot arise without the other. Awareness is the foundation of kindness. Kindness is the expression of awareness.

  — ANONYMOUS

  A dear friend of mine was once living in Ibiza, Spain, with her beloved longtime partner. They were approaching their retirement years and almost finished building their dream home, where they longed to spend the rest of their days together. Then out of the blue my friend sensed something was not right with her body. After several rounds of tests, she was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer. She had to leave their island paradise to get immediate surgery in Madrid, followed by a year of intensive chemotherapy and radiation. Then, while taking a stroll in the city, her partner was tragically killed by a drunk driver.

  Within a year, my friend’s life was ripped apart. She was still fighting her cancer and receiving chemotherapy, and she had lost her husband and soul mate. Their dream of retiring and living a pleasant life in Ibiza had been snatched away. She did not know where to turn. She was in pain and disoriented and now had to face her difficulties alone. Even though she had an active spiritual practice, she needed tremendous courage to meet all of that heartache and loss with a kind heart. It took her a long time to pick up the pieces of her life again.

  To be human is to be innately vulnerable. There are thousands of illnesses in the world today, but we only have effective treatments for some of them. We are also subject to a host of environmental dangers, such as famine, drought, earthquakes, hurricanes, forest fires, and more. In the United States alone, more than sixteen million children go hungry each year. We also face societal challenges like unstable economies, civil unrest, warfare, and poverty, which affect billions of people worldwide. Every day, people lack or have limited access to basic necessities like healthy food, sanitation, and clean water. And people suffer from a range of social pain, from domestic violence to racism, incest, and homophobia, just to name a few.

  We are also vulnerable to mental and mood disorders, addiction, and the cognitive decline that comes with aging. If that weren’t enough, we inflict more pain on ourselves through self-judgment and self-hatred. Up to 10 percent of the U.S. population is on some kind of mental health medication, but this fails to solve the dilemma. Suicide rates, an expression of many people’s inner struggles, are also increasing; suicide is now the tenth leading cause of death in the United States.

  However, perhaps the most vulnerable place for human beings is our heart. We are social creatures. We have strong needs to be loved and cared for. As infants, healthy bonds of attachment to caregivers are essential for our survival. As adults, healthy social connections and friendships are important for our mental health. Such meaningful contact is even more vital for our well-being as we grow older. Yet how easily can others harm us emotionally. We can quickly be hurt, rejected, ridiculed, shamed, or shunned. Further, our social connections are ultimately transient; they are all subject to the winds of change and loss.

  How do we find peace in our heart given all these challenges and the inherent vulnerability of the human condition? When we meet painful experience, it is crucial that we do so with kind attention and self-compassion. This is the potential of mindfulness practice when imbued with kindness. It supports us as we meet each person, each vulnerable moment, including ourselves, with a sensitive presence. Nothing will help us on this journey more than the combination of love and awareness.

  This is the key question: Can we bring a kind presence to the ways we feel vulnerable — physically, emotionally, and socially? Mindfulness invites us to be radically honest with how we meet experience. How kindly do you meet your deficiency, loneliness, or free-floating anxiety? What do you do when parenting feels overwhelming or you are struggling with insecurity? When these things happen, how do you relate to that pain? What would it be like to give yourself caring attention rather than to blame yourself or to compare yourself to others?

  The more we can bring tenderness to our own struggles, the more likely we can do that when we confront pain in others and in the world. In that spirit, mindful awareness can encourage a kind-hearted embrace of whatever we meet: whether it is a fledgling bird fallen out of the nest or a homeless veteran shivering on cold winter streets. Whether a friend is confessing to troubles in their marriage or a child is getting teased and bullied at school. As the quote in the epigraph says, “Kindness is the expression of awareness.” When kind awareness is fully integrated in our day-to-day life, we can say our practice of mindfulness has truly matured. This maturation is what allows us to meet the inevitable vicissitudes of life with openness and love. Then we can go anywhere, meet any hard or painful experience, and hold it with a caring presence.

  This is not so far away as we might imagine. Examples of tenderhearted presence are everywhere we look. I think of the countless nurses who bathe and feed sick patients. Or the people from church missions and homeless shelters who help vulnerable people living on the streets. Or the schoolteachers who bring kindness to the challenges their students are facing. We can see it in our own lives when we are with someone who is struggling, whose life has been shattered by pain, who is struggling in a relationship or feeling the grief of loss, and we help them, in ways large and small, to tenderly pick up the pieces and gather strength and faith.

  We can also learn to meet ourselves with a similar kind presence. I remember my own dark night of the soul when I developed chronic fatigue. I was so weak sometimes that I could barely get out of bed to eat or bathe. It was hard for me to be present with a body so depleted and a mind so weary and depressed. It was obvious, though, in the light of awareness, that whenever I resisted, struggled, or hated the illness or blamed and judged myself for being so weak, I felt infinitely worse.

  The fatigue became my Zen master. It was a hard but beautiful lesson in surrender. The fruition of my years of practice gave me the ability to listen intimately and sensitively to the needs, wishes, and most of all limitations of my body. This kind presence became the healing path forward. When I was able to access that fusion of awareness and love
, then everything was bearable. I met my own vulnerability with self-compassion and tenderness, and this became the foundation for genuine self-healing and a full recovery. The seeds this experience sowed have helped me meet the pain of others with that same kind presence, which has been invaluable in my work, whether that be in therapy, coaching, or teaching.

  • PRACTICE •

  Attuning to Vulnerability

  Find a comfortable posture where you can sit in meditation for fifteen to twenty minutes. Take some minutes to settle your awareness into the sensations of sitting and breathing. Allow yourself to fully arrive in your body.

  Now turn your attention to all the ways you may feel physically vulnerable as a human being. Perhaps you feel acutely aware of aging, as the body becomes less strong, more prone to injury, and less energetic. Reflect on your everyday aches and pains, on your vulnerability to colds, injury, and fatigue. Contemplate how this body, however young, healthy, or beautiful, will decline over time and ultimately be no more. What arises when you reflect in this way? Can you bring tenderness and kind attention to this reality? If they are not available, notice what else is present.

  Now turn to the vulnerability of the heart. Think of the difficult emotions you experience, like fear, loss, grief, anxiety, and shame. Reflect on any psychological challenges you encounter, such as depression, self-doubt, loneliness, or confusion. How burdensome do these feel? Are you able to hold all that arises with an openhearted presence, or is there reaction or judgment?