I've been putting this one off for a few days. I wanted to let it swirl around in my head a little bit more, but also honestly I just didn't want to think about this deeply enough to be able to write about it. Two key things were going on the other night: I was thinking a little bit about interconnectedness, and I was pissed off. This was a predictably dangerous combination.
I've been giving myself too much credit when it comes to accepting a lot of the concepts that have been coming my way lately. In theory they're fine. I can handle any and all of it on paper. It's the implications that fuck me here.
I'm cool with no one actually being separate from anyone else. I can even get down with not being separate from any of the inanimate shit I walk around all the time. In theory.
The question that was raised in my head was (and still is) this:
If we're all connected, if we're not just a part of this big huge thing, but collectively the big huge thing itself, where does anger come from? I mean, aside from ego. That's an easy one.
Can you ever really be angry at another person? Because the more that I think about this, the more I think that outward anger and hatred don't exist. I don't hate you, I hate the part of myself that you represent. I'm not angry at what you did, I'm angry at what I am capable of doing. Everyone in this whole entire world is capable of everything. I've said this before. Does someone else doing something wrong just illustrate that part of myself? Is that why we react so strongly?
Being connected, being one, means something. It would be wonderful if I could believe that all the good wonderful people in the world are connected on one great big happy love-circle, and all the bad people in the world have their own connected-ness going on. But really, my desire to think that comes from two decades of Catholic upbringing, and how ingrained into my head heaven and hell were as a child. I instinctively try to apply the things I was taught when I was younger to make a scary concept more palatable. That's not how this works.
It's easy to say you're mad because you've been fucked over. But being fucked over, in some way, forces you to recognize every time you've ever fucked someone else over. And we've all done it. There's a monk out in the mountains somewhere that stole another monks dinner roll, I guarantee it. We all have the same set of seeds in our head, but we all water different ones.
At the end of the day, I am an axe murderer. I am a terrorist. I am a rapist. (Dear Homeland Security: I promise I'm not, I'm just making a point. I swear). I don't get to take credit for being one and the same with Mother Fucking Theresa, and pretend I'm not also Osama Bin Laden. I don't get to go on fun little talks about how I am the Stop Sign, without also acknowledging all the negative things that connectedness entails.
Every breath in comes with a breath out. There is no shiny happy take on all of this that doesn't have another side to it. I guess this is just that other side to what I was talking about the other day. It's hard to still feel that anger, that rage, once you start thinking that the only person you are truly mad at is yourself. And if you don't actually exist as an entity all to yourself... You get the point.
It's very dismantling. Picking apart everything you've ever thought and felt for your entire life and seeing it for what it truly is sort of bites.
And at the very least it's exhausting. You know, in an invigorating sort of way.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
42
A week ago I moved from my parents house into my own apartment for the first time. As the excitement of being able to order Chinese food at 2am and dance around naked waned, the anxiety of being disconnected from the world began to set in.
Financially, I thought it would be a better idea to hold off on hooking my internet up. I can wait, right? No big deal. I build up in my head what a mature, responsible, and wholly adult decision this is. Prepare myself for it mentally. I’ve got enough books and movies to keep me busy.
The first few days weren’t that bad. As time starts to go on, I get into the routine of being pulled over on the information superhighway. I’m playing with my keyboard, putting new strings on my guitar, getting back into my music. I’m thinking about writing some more. Until...
Dear sweet lord my neighbor didn’t password protect their network!!!
The glee I felt in that moment remains unsurpassed by the most excitable child waking on Christmas morning. All my claims of not needing an internet connection go out the window, and are replaced by one great flood of relief.
Why?
The internet is the ultimate distraction from yourself. The limitless supply of mindless entertainment ensures that I never have to think about anything I don’t want to think about ever again. I don’t have to think of or for myself, nor do I have to remember anything, as any trivial fact I need can be Googled in a matter of seconds. Alone in my apartment without a connection means that I am left completely and totally to my own devices. I’m just here.... with me.
That experience scares me off of zazen.
Zazen scares me in and of itself, that’s no secret. But is there anything more purely... me, than being left to sit with my own thoughts? With no distraction, no means of escape, nothing to take the focus off my here and now.
And if the thought of being left with me and my thoughts scares me, is it really zazen I find scary, or myself? Do I scare me? Zazen seems to be merely a tool. It’s a way, not even the way, just a way, to gain a deeper understanding of this thing I call me, and the world I think I’m living in.
Maybe I just don’t want my reality shattered. Maybe I don’t want to have to face the true nature of life and everything around me. In my day to day life, I walk around mostly oblivious. I don’t consciously ponder life, the universe, and everything while I’m going about my day. I tend to dip in and out of it though. While I walk around pretty blissfully ignorant, sometimes those thoughts creep in.
And they fuck me up.
The other night I was walking to my car after work and I paused to look at a stop sign. And I would have sworn on my life that I wasn’t looking at the stop sign. The stop sign was looking at me. And as I looked around I noticed that it wasn’t just the sign. The tree, the lightpost, the other cars, were all watching me.
I don’t mean this all in like a paranoid schizophrenic kind of way.
My point here is what separates me from a stop sign? The stop sign exists because all of it’s cells are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing. In the way that I exist because all of my cells are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing.
Maybe The Beatles were on to something here.
“I am the Walrus” has a much better ring to it than “I am the Stop Sign”
Financially, I thought it would be a better idea to hold off on hooking my internet up. I can wait, right? No big deal. I build up in my head what a mature, responsible, and wholly adult decision this is. Prepare myself for it mentally. I’ve got enough books and movies to keep me busy.
The first few days weren’t that bad. As time starts to go on, I get into the routine of being pulled over on the information superhighway. I’m playing with my keyboard, putting new strings on my guitar, getting back into my music. I’m thinking about writing some more. Until...
Dear sweet lord my neighbor didn’t password protect their network!!!
The glee I felt in that moment remains unsurpassed by the most excitable child waking on Christmas morning. All my claims of not needing an internet connection go out the window, and are replaced by one great flood of relief.
Why?
The internet is the ultimate distraction from yourself. The limitless supply of mindless entertainment ensures that I never have to think about anything I don’t want to think about ever again. I don’t have to think of or for myself, nor do I have to remember anything, as any trivial fact I need can be Googled in a matter of seconds. Alone in my apartment without a connection means that I am left completely and totally to my own devices. I’m just here.... with me.
That experience scares me off of zazen.
Zazen scares me in and of itself, that’s no secret. But is there anything more purely... me, than being left to sit with my own thoughts? With no distraction, no means of escape, nothing to take the focus off my here and now.
And if the thought of being left with me and my thoughts scares me, is it really zazen I find scary, or myself? Do I scare me? Zazen seems to be merely a tool. It’s a way, not even the way, just a way, to gain a deeper understanding of this thing I call me, and the world I think I’m living in.
Maybe I just don’t want my reality shattered. Maybe I don’t want to have to face the true nature of life and everything around me. In my day to day life, I walk around mostly oblivious. I don’t consciously ponder life, the universe, and everything while I’m going about my day. I tend to dip in and out of it though. While I walk around pretty blissfully ignorant, sometimes those thoughts creep in.
And they fuck me up.
The other night I was walking to my car after work and I paused to look at a stop sign. And I would have sworn on my life that I wasn’t looking at the stop sign. The stop sign was looking at me. And as I looked around I noticed that it wasn’t just the sign. The tree, the lightpost, the other cars, were all watching me.
I don’t mean this all in like a paranoid schizophrenic kind of way.
My point here is what separates me from a stop sign? The stop sign exists because all of it’s cells are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing. In the way that I exist because all of my cells are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing.
Maybe The Beatles were on to something here.
“I am the Walrus” has a much better ring to it than “I am the Stop Sign”
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Penny for Your Thoughts?
I was running a group with some of the kids at my psych hospital, and they were talking about depression, suicide, dark stuff like that. They kept saying to each other, "It's ok, I've felt that too. I've had that same thought." As they say this over and over, it starts to dawn on me... Have I ever had a thought no one else has had before? Has anything ever crossed my mind that was completely original, or completely my own?
I don't think so.
Everything I have ever thought, someone has thought before.
We may have the same thoughts at different times, and they may result in different actions, but we are all cut from the same cloth. Every one of us has the potential to be the next great philanthropist or the next great serial killer. We all have the seeds of both. We've all thought to help someone who needed it, and we've all thought, "I could seriously just kill them." What makes the difference is which thoughts and impulses we act on.
In which areas do we exhibit self-control, and which do we let ourselves go in? When I get the urge to punch someone in the face, I exhibit self-control. When I get the urge to go eat McDonald's, I go right ahead. This is (a very abridged version of) my value system. In my mind, it's never ok to punch someone in the face, no matter how good it's going to feel (or how much they deserve it). Eating some crappy food however, that's fine, as long as it's not too much.
This is just me. I take the actions in life that I take because of the way I react to stimuli. Put me and 10 other people in the same situation. We'll probably have all the same thoughts and feelings, but those feelings will manifest differently in each of us and we will react in a different way.
I guess I'm hung up on this because thoughts are supposed to be as unique and personal as it gets. And if that's all a load of crap, what separates me from everyone else if even our thoughts are indistinguishable?
I'm not sure anything does.
I don't think so.
Everything I have ever thought, someone has thought before.
We may have the same thoughts at different times, and they may result in different actions, but we are all cut from the same cloth. Every one of us has the potential to be the next great philanthropist or the next great serial killer. We all have the seeds of both. We've all thought to help someone who needed it, and we've all thought, "I could seriously just kill them." What makes the difference is which thoughts and impulses we act on.
In which areas do we exhibit self-control, and which do we let ourselves go in? When I get the urge to punch someone in the face, I exhibit self-control. When I get the urge to go eat McDonald's, I go right ahead. This is (a very abridged version of) my value system. In my mind, it's never ok to punch someone in the face, no matter how good it's going to feel (or how much they deserve it). Eating some crappy food however, that's fine, as long as it's not too much.
This is just me. I take the actions in life that I take because of the way I react to stimuli. Put me and 10 other people in the same situation. We'll probably have all the same thoughts and feelings, but those feelings will manifest differently in each of us and we will react in a different way.
I guess I'm hung up on this because thoughts are supposed to be as unique and personal as it gets. And if that's all a load of crap, what separates me from everyone else if even our thoughts are indistinguishable?
I'm not sure anything does.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Philosophical Spice
"Without something, there is no nothing."
The words of Roger Moore emanate from my television's speakers. As his character, "The Chief," hangs up the phone, the movie continues, and so does my head (albeit in completely different directions). I'm left on my bed with my dog thinking those words over again. It's a simple concept, but not one that gets a lot of conscious thought. What is nothing, but the absence of things? If there weren't anything, than there couldn't be a nothing. Nothing seems to be a "thing" all by itself. It's definable. It exists. Does it?
If you ask someone what takes up the space in between things, they're probably going to either tell you "nothing," or "air." I'm inclined to count myself among the "air" people. If there is nothing all around me, then what am I breathing in? The air we breathe in takes up all the little spaces, all the little cracks. What is wind? Does "nothing" exist only as a concept? Is it just a word we use to describe the absence of things? As in, "I've had nothing to eat today." We don't really need a word for that. Wouldn't it be just as valid to say that you hadn't eaten?
The word stems, in the humble opinion of a 22 year-old child, from our need as a species to categorize beyond categorization. We need a word for everything so we know what neat little box to put things in. Life is big and scary. There are so many questions in this universe we have no way of answering, and that drives our arrogance crazy. How dare there be something we don't entire comprehend. "Nothing," then also becomes a term of dismissal. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."
What plays with my head even more is noticing where all these thoughts are coming from. In 1997, Roger Moore had a very small part in a movie that I put on because I had a bad night and needed something to cheer me up. That movie?
Spice World.
It made me realize not to discount anything as trivial or pointless. If a campy movie about an over-hyped pop group can spark that kind of thought in you, anything can. Things are only as pointless as we deem them to be, and that's our own fault and no one else's. It's so easy to become pretentious, especially in intellectual and religious types. If I don't see the deeper point behind something, then there isn't one.
The real job here lies in creating a deeper point for yourself. It's all there, you just have to make the decision to see it. I'm not even saying that everything has to have some deep, life-altering meaning in it. But if you want it, it's there.
It's like so many other things. We like to blame others for the things we miss out on. If I don't get something deep and meaningful out of a song/movie/book/experience, it's their fault for not having one. If I'm not happy, it's someone else's fault for keeping me down. If I wake up one morning mad because I'm 60 and I'm not happy with what I've done with my life, it's your fault for marrying me and keeping me down.
If you're miserable, you're choosing to be. I've met too many people in absolutely horrible conditions and states in their life, and the capacity to be happy is still there. Is it easier to be miserable? Not long term, but it definitely takes less work in the moment. If I get to blame external factors for my misery, I am refusing to see that I have any control over it.
It's like the prisoner who resents the world for the fact that he's being held captive, but doesn't know the door (though closed) is unlocked. All he has to do is get up off the floor and push, and the door will open and he's free. But then what will he do?
Once we know we can choose to live our lives the way we want; once we accept that we ultimately control the things we do (and the way we feel doing them), there is an inherent responsibility to take action. For the most part, we don't want to take action. We want to stay stuck where people can tell us what to do and how to live our lives so that when things go wrong we don't have to look at ourselves.
Sorry kids, it's not that easy.
The words of Roger Moore emanate from my television's speakers. As his character, "The Chief," hangs up the phone, the movie continues, and so does my head (albeit in completely different directions). I'm left on my bed with my dog thinking those words over again. It's a simple concept, but not one that gets a lot of conscious thought. What is nothing, but the absence of things? If there weren't anything, than there couldn't be a nothing. Nothing seems to be a "thing" all by itself. It's definable. It exists. Does it?
If you ask someone what takes up the space in between things, they're probably going to either tell you "nothing," or "air." I'm inclined to count myself among the "air" people. If there is nothing all around me, then what am I breathing in? The air we breathe in takes up all the little spaces, all the little cracks. What is wind? Does "nothing" exist only as a concept? Is it just a word we use to describe the absence of things? As in, "I've had nothing to eat today." We don't really need a word for that. Wouldn't it be just as valid to say that you hadn't eaten?
The word stems, in the humble opinion of a 22 year-old child, from our need as a species to categorize beyond categorization. We need a word for everything so we know what neat little box to put things in. Life is big and scary. There are so many questions in this universe we have no way of answering, and that drives our arrogance crazy. How dare there be something we don't entire comprehend. "Nothing," then also becomes a term of dismissal. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."
What plays with my head even more is noticing where all these thoughts are coming from. In 1997, Roger Moore had a very small part in a movie that I put on because I had a bad night and needed something to cheer me up. That movie?
Spice World.
It made me realize not to discount anything as trivial or pointless. If a campy movie about an over-hyped pop group can spark that kind of thought in you, anything can. Things are only as pointless as we deem them to be, and that's our own fault and no one else's. It's so easy to become pretentious, especially in intellectual and religious types. If I don't see the deeper point behind something, then there isn't one.
The real job here lies in creating a deeper point for yourself. It's all there, you just have to make the decision to see it. I'm not even saying that everything has to have some deep, life-altering meaning in it. But if you want it, it's there.
It's like so many other things. We like to blame others for the things we miss out on. If I don't get something deep and meaningful out of a song/movie/book/experience, it's their fault for not having one. If I'm not happy, it's someone else's fault for keeping me down. If I wake up one morning mad because I'm 60 and I'm not happy with what I've done with my life, it's your fault for marrying me and keeping me down.
If you're miserable, you're choosing to be. I've met too many people in absolutely horrible conditions and states in their life, and the capacity to be happy is still there. Is it easier to be miserable? Not long term, but it definitely takes less work in the moment. If I get to blame external factors for my misery, I am refusing to see that I have any control over it.
It's like the prisoner who resents the world for the fact that he's being held captive, but doesn't know the door (though closed) is unlocked. All he has to do is get up off the floor and push, and the door will open and he's free. But then what will he do?
Once we know we can choose to live our lives the way we want; once we accept that we ultimately control the things we do (and the way we feel doing them), there is an inherent responsibility to take action. For the most part, we don't want to take action. We want to stay stuck where people can tell us what to do and how to live our lives so that when things go wrong we don't have to look at ourselves.
Sorry kids, it's not that easy.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Schrödinger's Lily
Thinking about the permanence (or non-permanence) of things has been screwing with me for the past couple days. I don't mean the permanence of things as in everything, I mean the permanence of things, specifically. My cell phone, the pen on my desk, the bench outside, the empty water bottles I haven't bothered to recycle yet, my pillow... You get the idea here.
My reality is perceived. Things exist because I think they do. That's not to get all solipsistic on everyone here, but think about it. When I look at something, the cells in my eyes send a message to the cells in my brain, and I see. When I reach out to something, the cells in my fingertips send another message to my brain, and I experience touch. Pain happens because some other cells tell my brain to make me hurt. Without those organs and parts of my body, without my brain, what exists? The world doesn't exist to someone in a coma. Are they alive? Yes. But they don't know that.
When I go to sleep, my reality disappears and is replaced by a new one in the form of my dreams. Note here I'm saying my reality, because that's all I claim it to be.
Working at a psychiatric hospital, I see a lot of this. I mostly just do detox and rehab for addicts and alcoholics, but the other day I was on one of the more acute psych units. Someone with acute psychosis is experiencing a completely different reality than I am. I call their reality a "hallucination" just because I don't see it too.
What gets us by day to day without going crazy is our faith in the permanence of objects. I know where my apartment is. I can leave it for days at a time and I know it's not only still going to exist, but be right where I left it.
How do I know that it's all still there when I'm not? How do I know that the lily I'm looking at exists at all when I'm not there looking at it? We feel as though our senses provide "proof" of things, but how valid is it? If I'm not here, in this room, looking at this lily, it's equally probable that it's there and not there (enter Schrödinger reference for my nerds). It's only when I look at it that I know for sure.
Reality is fluid. Memories are impermanent and horribly unreliable. So what do we have?
My reality is perceived. Things exist because I think they do. That's not to get all solipsistic on everyone here, but think about it. When I look at something, the cells in my eyes send a message to the cells in my brain, and I see. When I reach out to something, the cells in my fingertips send another message to my brain, and I experience touch. Pain happens because some other cells tell my brain to make me hurt. Without those organs and parts of my body, without my brain, what exists? The world doesn't exist to someone in a coma. Are they alive? Yes. But they don't know that.
When I go to sleep, my reality disappears and is replaced by a new one in the form of my dreams. Note here I'm saying my reality, because that's all I claim it to be.
Working at a psychiatric hospital, I see a lot of this. I mostly just do detox and rehab for addicts and alcoholics, but the other day I was on one of the more acute psych units. Someone with acute psychosis is experiencing a completely different reality than I am. I call their reality a "hallucination" just because I don't see it too.
What gets us by day to day without going crazy is our faith in the permanence of objects. I know where my apartment is. I can leave it for days at a time and I know it's not only still going to exist, but be right where I left it.
How do I know that it's all still there when I'm not? How do I know that the lily I'm looking at exists at all when I'm not there looking at it? We feel as though our senses provide "proof" of things, but how valid is it? If I'm not here, in this room, looking at this lily, it's equally probable that it's there and not there (enter Schrödinger reference for my nerds). It's only when I look at it that I know for sure.
Reality is fluid. Memories are impermanent and horribly unreliable. So what do we have?
Friday, October 8, 2010
To Sit, Or Not To Sit
That seems to be the question for me lately.
I've really been intending to try to sit zazen soon. I mean it, I promise. I just still have a few hang-ups that I'm letting stop me from diving in lotus-first.
Is it really just as simple as sitting down? It can't be. And how badly do I need a teacher to show me the ropes? Is it ok if my mind wanders? Doesn't it just make it worse to try to not think of anything? Why the hell can't I close my eyes? Can I scratch my butt if it itches? Does everyone overthink this part of it or is it just me?
I am fully aware of just how much I am building this up in my head, and how counterproductive that is. This is like in Pulp Fiction when Mia doesn't want to tell Vincent her stupid ketchup joke because now there's all sorts of pressure on it. Just like that (sort of).
I get that by putting all this emphasis on doing it "right" I'm taking away from the practice itself. I have to build it up in my head though, or else it will seem pointless. I don't see how I'm going to really learn that much about myself and the world, gradually or otherwise, by staring at a wall. If it's a "being in the present moment" thing, can't I do that while I'm doing other stuff? How about hiking meditation? I'm going to start a craze.
I feel like I should stop worrying about "getting it." The harder you look for anything, the more impossible it becomes to attain.
Want proof? Do you find Waldo faster when you just open the book and let your eyes wander, or when you're really looking? The more pissed off and frustrated you are at this stupid fucking game, the harder you look, and the longer it takes to find him because everything you're feeling clouds your ability to see. The frustration, and anger, the desperation to find this stupid little man in his stupid little hat. It's cyclical.
It's like that with a lot of things though. Happiness, relationships... How many people do you know that are so cranky and mean because they can't find a partner, that they can't find a partner because they're so cranky and mean?
And happiness... Fuck that. If I'm trying to be happy, it's because I feel like I'm not happy to begin with. However, that yearning for happiness is going to prevent it from ever happening because you can't recognize it when it's right in front of you - you're too busy striving for it. Asshole, open your eyes, it's here and now and you're missing it!
Back to the whole zazen thing... Reading this over, I think I just made the case for it all by myself.
I've really been intending to try to sit zazen soon. I mean it, I promise. I just still have a few hang-ups that I'm letting stop me from diving in lotus-first.
Is it really just as simple as sitting down? It can't be. And how badly do I need a teacher to show me the ropes? Is it ok if my mind wanders? Doesn't it just make it worse to try to not think of anything? Why the hell can't I close my eyes? Can I scratch my butt if it itches? Does everyone overthink this part of it or is it just me?
I am fully aware of just how much I am building this up in my head, and how counterproductive that is. This is like in Pulp Fiction when Mia doesn't want to tell Vincent her stupid ketchup joke because now there's all sorts of pressure on it. Just like that (sort of).
I get that by putting all this emphasis on doing it "right" I'm taking away from the practice itself. I have to build it up in my head though, or else it will seem pointless. I don't see how I'm going to really learn that much about myself and the world, gradually or otherwise, by staring at a wall. If it's a "being in the present moment" thing, can't I do that while I'm doing other stuff? How about hiking meditation? I'm going to start a craze.
I feel like I should stop worrying about "getting it." The harder you look for anything, the more impossible it becomes to attain.
Want proof? Do you find Waldo faster when you just open the book and let your eyes wander, or when you're really looking? The more pissed off and frustrated you are at this stupid fucking game, the harder you look, and the longer it takes to find him because everything you're feeling clouds your ability to see. The frustration, and anger, the desperation to find this stupid little man in his stupid little hat. It's cyclical.
It's like that with a lot of things though. Happiness, relationships... How many people do you know that are so cranky and mean because they can't find a partner, that they can't find a partner because they're so cranky and mean?
And happiness... Fuck that. If I'm trying to be happy, it's because I feel like I'm not happy to begin with. However, that yearning for happiness is going to prevent it from ever happening because you can't recognize it when it's right in front of you - you're too busy striving for it. Asshole, open your eyes, it's here and now and you're missing it!
Back to the whole zazen thing... Reading this over, I think I just made the case for it all by myself.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Mindfulness is a Bitch
"I am angry."
There are no thoughts in the world more ridiculous than that when you actually are angry. Supposedly, by acknowledging my anger and the root cause of it, it will be disabled, and it's hold on me will be loosened. Ok, that sounds alright in theory.
The tricky part comes in here because I want to be angry. Anger inherently means that I am right and someone else is wrong. I don't have to examine my part or role, I just get to be pissed. Sweet, I can do that. Anger seems like muscle memory. I'm good at being angry. Even if it's more draining ultimately to feel that anger and hold on to it than it is to let it go, it's also by far more enjoyable.
The balance here is what I am having a hard time with. It seems like anger is never ok, never justified, never an acceptable thing to be feeling. I teach my patients all the time that anger is a secondary emotion. We feel anger because we feel something else (primarily hurt or fear), and anger is an easier alternative.
But isn't it justified sometimes? How do you walk that line between being all zen and calm and shit, and still being able to set healthy boundaries for yourself and those around you? Anger can be toxic, but it can also be a useful motivating factor. If I'm never really mad about anything, why would I bother to tell people if something isn't alright?
I'm pretty sure I'm being too black and white about this. It seems less like the point is to never be angry - it's a natural human thing that we really can't do much about. It seems like the point is closer to what you do about your anger. If something you did caused the cells in my brain to react in such a way that I feel compelled to curse you out, do I feed into the illusion that you made me feel a certain way?
Ego plays a huge role here. My ego tells me that there is a me. That my me is different than your me (if you're still following me here). That I am a unique individual, separate from the universe and definitely separate from you (as evidenced by my middle finger). Is there any greater ego-shot than the concept of there not being a me at all? If we're all the same, I can't be mad at you. Your cells did something, my cells did something in reaction, and I call it anger because it makes me feel better about myself.
Dear lord this is exhausting.
There are no thoughts in the world more ridiculous than that when you actually are angry. Supposedly, by acknowledging my anger and the root cause of it, it will be disabled, and it's hold on me will be loosened. Ok, that sounds alright in theory.
The tricky part comes in here because I want to be angry. Anger inherently means that I am right and someone else is wrong. I don't have to examine my part or role, I just get to be pissed. Sweet, I can do that. Anger seems like muscle memory. I'm good at being angry. Even if it's more draining ultimately to feel that anger and hold on to it than it is to let it go, it's also by far more enjoyable.
The balance here is what I am having a hard time with. It seems like anger is never ok, never justified, never an acceptable thing to be feeling. I teach my patients all the time that anger is a secondary emotion. We feel anger because we feel something else (primarily hurt or fear), and anger is an easier alternative.
But isn't it justified sometimes? How do you walk that line between being all zen and calm and shit, and still being able to set healthy boundaries for yourself and those around you? Anger can be toxic, but it can also be a useful motivating factor. If I'm never really mad about anything, why would I bother to tell people if something isn't alright?
I'm pretty sure I'm being too black and white about this. It seems less like the point is to never be angry - it's a natural human thing that we really can't do much about. It seems like the point is closer to what you do about your anger. If something you did caused the cells in my brain to react in such a way that I feel compelled to curse you out, do I feed into the illusion that you made me feel a certain way?
Ego plays a huge role here. My ego tells me that there is a me. That my me is different than your me (if you're still following me here). That I am a unique individual, separate from the universe and definitely separate from you (as evidenced by my middle finger). Is there any greater ego-shot than the concept of there not being a me at all? If we're all the same, I can't be mad at you. Your cells did something, my cells did something in reaction, and I call it anger because it makes me feel better about myself.
Dear lord this is exhausting.
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