The Pursuit of Happiness

I recently read Jane Gruber’s article “Four Ways Happiness Can Hurt You” in which she discusses the downside of being up. Now, while it’s great to maintain a positive attitude, I think that Gruber makes a valid point when she states that “Happiness is not suited to every situation.” Many of the proponents of positive thinking and affirmations would have us believe that it’s never ok to feel bad: that by doing so we are energetically drawing toward ourselves all that we actually seek to avoid.

Try telling that to someone who has recently experienced a significant loss or major life challenge.

If we define happiness as an emotion that we experience, then it seems unlikely that we’d be able to experience just one end of the emotional spectrum at all times. We might realistically have to concede a little time to unhappiness, too. But the thing about that is, by contrast, the good times will seem that much better.

Perhaps it’s also true that happiness can make us just a little bit too comfortable. If we feel happy, we’re less likely to strive for something more in our lives. A little contentment goes a long way. Too much of it can be a dangerous thing, at least in terms of ambition and personal drive.

Of course, in all of this discussion we are focused on happiness as a feeling that is generated by external circumstances and experiences.

The Buddhists would say that it is a mistake to rely on external circumstances to generate our happiness. That such an attitude will leave us grasping for something we’ll never be able to hold onto or sustain. And this will only serve to make us more unhappy. It will also take away from our experience of the present moment.

There is a joy inherent in being present in each moment as it arises, knowing that nothing lasts; indeed the only constant is change. Each experience is precious for precisely that reason.

One of the greatest gifts of yoga, meditation, and other spiritual practices is that they awaken our ability to Be Here Now. There is beauty in every moment, if we are awake enough to experience it.

The Space Between

One of my first yoga teachers used to say that the space between breaths was the space of possibility. She encouraged us to focus on that space: rather than focusing on inhaling and exhaling, to focus on pausing after exhaling and before inhaling.

While many yogic breathing techniques (pranayama) focus on inhaling, exhaling, or breath suspension following the inhale, far fewer focus on this space between – after the exhale and before the next inhale. When one breath is complete, and the next not yet begun. The space of emptiness.

Being in the gap is challenging. As soon as a space appears in our lives (metaphorical or physical) many of us look to fill it (the sooner the better, and with whatever – or whoever – is handy).

One way to reshape this is to consider that emptiness is a space for possibility. And an empty space is an opportunity. To acknowledge the completion of one phase, and the beginning of a new one.

In order for something new to enter our lives, we must first create a space for it. Then we imagine filling that space with something that feeds us, that fosters growth and upliftment. Through our intention and our attention we shape the various possibilities.

And then, from what manifests, we choose…

The Lone Wolf?

“An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. ‘A fight is going on inside me,’ he said to the boy.

‘It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.’ He continued, ‘The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.’

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf will win?’

The old Cherokee simply replied, ‘The one you feed.’” (Source: http://www.firstpeople.us)

It’s sometimes difficult for people to admit darker tendencies (either to others or to themselves). It’s not often acknowledged that we all have the potential for great kindness or great cruelty. Thus the true measure of a person is not any intrinsic goodness, but how s/he utilizes the power of choice in daily decision making and interactions with other people.

It might seem safer to be the mean wolf. Kindness, benevolence, and generosity might be easily taken advantage of. But anger, superiority, and other displays of power can inspire fear in others, and therefore serve to make us feel less vulnerable. While I don’t deny that suppressing our darker tendencies is less than helpful, at the same time, surely feeding them is equally unwise.

I don’t remember who it was that first told me that there is strength in gentle-ness. Or in essence that true strength involves being gentle, precisely because you have nothing to prove. It’s weakness and vulnerability that seeks to inspire fear in others for a kind of safety motivated by a need for self-preservation. On the other hand, there’s a quiet confidence that goes with being strong and centered and at home in oneself. It’s not showy, but it is enduring and easily recognized.

When it comes to exercising the power of choice and conscious decision making, meditation and other spiritual practices are an important tool in creating a gap between experience and reaction. They allow us to build an awareness and respond to situations in our lives according to our values, rather than reacting out of habit and conditioning.

 

Living with Uncertainty

There are very few certainties in life. When I was a kid, my dad was fond of saying, “Nothing is certain but death and taxes.” I always thought this was incredibly funny at the time. Now, I realize he was right. (Though some people manage to avoid both for quite some time.)

Uncertainty, ambiguity, and change are a big part of life experience. And yet, many of us spend a great deal of time acting as if that is not the case. Working very hard to create a sense of permanence and security which is elusive, illusory, and transitory.

The most that we can really hope to do is to create the illusion of certainty, a false sense of permanence.

Creating the illusion of permanence is like building castles in the sand. It definitely will take up a lot of time and energy. And you might build something very impressive. But ultimately if you get too attached to everything staying like it is, you will be very disappointed.

One major symptom of this type of activity is fear. Lots and lots of fear. I’ve watched people I know create virtual fortresses in their lives, trying to protect themselves from change. What really happens is that their lives get smaller, and smaller, as they try to control each and every aspect.

I’ve seen myself do this too. I think the prescription for this is the realization that the true sense of safety resides inside of us, rather than outside of us, in our external circumstances.

Understanding that concept intellectually is one thing. But living that truth is a lifelong practice.

Photo by Virginia Olson © 2012

Forgiveness

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” – Mark Twain

As a follow up to the entry on freedom, I want to talk a little about forgiveness, because I think the two are closely related. Forgiveness is a tricky subject because for many people it’s closely connected to religion. But I think from a spiritual perspective forgiveness is less about religion and more about freedom. It’s less about doing than allowing: forgiveness is letting go.

Forgiveness allows you to free yourself.

When I first heard that I wasn’t sure how it was true. I thought forgiveness was freeing the other person. Letting him/her off the hook, so to speak. I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I thought of blame as a sort of punishment.

While I don’t doubt that we can direct a fair amount of energy (and therefore psychic violence) at others by holding on, I want to focus more here on the cost of such behavior to ourselves.

By pouring mental and emotional energy into our own stories (usually stories in which we are the hero and someone else the villain) we are energetically poisoning ourselves. And often, the target of our energies goes on about his or her life entirely unaware.

It’s easy to hold on to the idea of justice, of punishment and retribution. But here’s the thing about justice: it doesn’t bring back what was lost.

Establishing blame doesn’t facilitate healing or growth. It’s just a trap. Marinating in anger, bitterness, and unhappiness will change you, and not for the better.

Now, I’m not advocating martyrdom. I’m certainly not suggesting that through forgiveness we place ourselves in a position to be harmed repeatedly by the same person. Forgiveness doesn’t include amnesia. It doesn’t mean abandoning healthy boundaries.

But it does mean letting go of stories. Or rewriting them. I think it’s possible to be the hero of your own story without making someone else the villain. But maybe that means we need to re-define heroism.

It’s worth taking a few moments to consider this question: What are the qualities of a true hero? And, to take it one step further, how can you manifest those qualities to become the hero of your own story?

Freedom

Recently I attended a study retreat with Swami Bodhananda in which the topic of renunciation was discussed in some detail. Renunciation is choosing to give up things we are attached to. In giving up our attachments, we free ourselves. He said, “Renunciation is the secret of happiness.” True happiness (bliss) is outside of the pleasure/pain cycle, where pleasure is inevitably followed by pain.

Think about it. You desire something. You get a little of it. You feel pleasure. You want more. You don’t get it. You feel pain. And so it goes, on and on, with each desire. He compares it to drinking salt water. The more you drink, the thirstier you become. The solution? When in the world, take only what you need.

When I heard all this, I couldn’t help thinking of all of the “stuff” that most of us own. I’m surprised by how much stuff I have, every time I have to move it. (Which for me is kind of often.) Still, compared to most people, in this country at least, I don’t own much.

I used to have a lot more stuff. I thought I needed it all.

I didn’t.

But it took me a long time to realize that. It wasn’t easy to give up a lot of that stuff. I didn’t think of it in terms of renunciation. It was more of a cost/benefit analysis. If I hadn’t moved so much, maybe I wouldn’t have given it up.

Ultimately, I felt like my stuff started owning me, instead of the other way around.

When I realized that, letting go didn’t seem so difficult. After I did it, I felt much lighter.

I felt…free.

Love in Disguise?

“People should worry about each other. Because worry is just love in its worst form. But it’s still love.” – Simon Gray

As a follow up to my previous entry on worry, I found this quote, which I read in a magazine years ago. I remember reading it over and over, thinking about it for a long time. I couldn’t decide whether I agreed with him or not. I think worry is something misguided people do to show their love. But does that mean worry is love?

Someone told me recently, “Cruelty is the closest thing to love.” I was truly stunned. My first inclination was to disagree vehemently. But I had to consider it further. Maybe it’s true that some things are close to love, but not love exactly. I have an easier time believing that worry is close to love. But cruelty?

I think the difficulty in determining whether or not worry and cruelty are at all equivalent to love is related to the difficulty people have in defining love. (See The Power of Love for more on this topic, and for a discussion of David Hawkins’ scale of consciousness.)

If love is an energy (or an action that carries an energy), is the energy of worry (or cruelty, for that matter) on the same level as that of love? Hawkins would answer with a resounding no on both counts. Worry calibrates close to fear, and cruelty would be close to anger. Both are well below the love vibration.

So if love is an energy, then the energy of love is much different from the energy of worry. A Course in Miracles says the opposite of love is fear. On the other hand, if love is an action, does cruelty in some way demonstrate love? It takes energy to be cruel (just as it takes energy to worry). To be cruel means to be calculating. Maybe by that token the opposite of love is not fear, or even hatred, but rather indifference.

It’s only if love is a “feeling” that we can say that worry or cruelty might be a little bit close to love. If love is a feeling that we get caught up in, a feeling that we’re powerless to control, then we might behave in ways that are cruel.

For the sake of argument, let’s say that love is a feeling. Are we powerless in the face of our feelings? Simply under their control? If so, we’re little better than a two year old throwing a temper tantrum.

One of the benefits of meditation (and spiritual practice in general) is that it tends to move people from a state of reaction to a state of contemplation. In other words, it allows us to live in the gap. In the gap, we can make choices about who we want to be in the world. This means that it’s possible to choose words and actions that reflect our true values and priorities. It also means that we can choose how to direct our energy.

If we choose to direct our energy and intent toward being love in action then worry and cruelty will have no home in the same neighborhood as love.

On Worry

“When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.” – Winston Churchill

Most of the things I worry about never happen, which leads me to believe that worry is merely a habit, or maybe an addiction. It can be extremely harmful because it takes focus and attention away from the present moment.

The thing is, worries always seem to be legitimate at the time. But we’re really not warding off anything by worrying. In fact, the opposite is true. By worrying we’re feeling into possibilities we don’t want to have happen, which actually have not yet happened, and may not ever happen at all.

One way out of worry is by creating new habits: essentially re-training the mind. The way to begin training the mind is by watching your thoughts, noticing the stories your mind creates. The key though is that the exercise is just watching, not judging. There are no good thoughts or bad thoughts. Just stories, projections on a movie screen. They aren’t real. They can’t hurt you. They are not who you are. And, you don’t have to try to stop them (thankfully), or do anything with them at all.

Thought-watching is a foundational aspect of meditation. It’s become clear to me over the years that many people think of meditation as something that only a few really special people can do. It’s simply not the case. But meditation requires discipline. It isn’t easy or fun. Nobody pats you on the back for doing it. Nobody, in fact, will even know that you’re doing it, unless you tell them.

Will meditation change your life? Probably not in the way that you expect. (And no, it won’t happen overnight.) Meditation is self-discovery and self-recovery. You don’t know what you’ll find along the way, but that’s part of the adventure.

Inquire within.