On Saying "No!" in order to Grow

Being a Southern Girl (not raised in the South, but of a Southern family, none-the-less), "No," has been instilled in me as difficult. In this case, "difficult" is a multifaceted concept: If one says "no", one is being difficult; If one says "no", one is causing difficulty for others; thus, "no" (particularly, "No!") becomes a difficult thing to say.

As I was doing my recreational scanning of the far too many blogs I have syndicated into my Google Reader, I came upon a post from Wild Moods (http://buddhaandthecouch.blogspot.com/) entitled Saying "No!" (and then, "No, thank you."): The skill of filtering experience by MC. This mini-lesson in the the art of saying "no", within the context of maintaining spiritual/mental health, hit close to home.

I have been, as I mentioned in an earlier post, doing my best to find my way back to a state of mindfulness. As part of this quest, I have endeavored to quiet my constantly chattering mind, particularly any self deprecating dialog. To this end, I had to sit back and examine what situations, people and behaviors triggered this destructive self-talk. What I found was hard to accept: Some of the most positive people in my life (those who made me laugh, got me out into the world, introduced me to connective and humane ideas and activities) were the very ones who triggered me to question my own worth. How was I to separate from the positive in order to avoid the negative? Should I? Wouldn't this hurt? Would more be lost than gained?

I came to the decision that, no matter how much pleasure I lost, the pain was too great to keep. And, since I had yet to gain the wisdom needed to control my own painful internal dialog, continuing to associate with anyone who triggered me to injure my own psyche was simply unproductive and harmful. If the relationships could survive my need for separation, a reunion might be possible, once I was more wise. But, for now, separation was the path I must choose.

So, I have separated myself. A couple of weeks ago, I made some painful communications that left me without the company of those people who made me question my worth.

(An aside: I am purposefully avoiding recounting the content of my self-deprecating dialog. I am healing; I just don't need to go there...)

Since the separation, I have felt better; the voice in my head has been kinder, if not quieter. However, I have questioned whether my path toward gaining this measure of comfort was right. I found solace in the post Saying "No!" (and then, "No, thank you."): The skill of filtering experience. The post recounts this Buddhist tale [quoted text]:

An old Brahman (of the priestly class in India) was feeling threatened by Buddha and his teachings, fearing that he would lose his congregation and income. He decided that the only thing to do was to go to Buddha's monastery split his skull. But knowing that Buddha was skilled at logic, the Brahman decided to not talk at all to Buddha, but just to go and commit his deed.

So the Brahman went to Buddha and approached him while he was alone in his interview hall. The Brahman came shouting and cursing, and Buddha said, "Old man, come sit, tell me your problem."

Here the Brahman steeled his will, wanting to not be swayed from his determination by Buddha's talk. He kept coming, cursing, and Buddha again said, calmly, "Come, sit, tell me what is upsetting." The compassion of the Buddha cleared the Brahman's mind for a moment, and he did indeed sit down with the Buddha.

Then the Buddha said, "Tell me old man, what do you do if someone comes to you home and brings you an unwanted gift?"

"Well, I would not accept the gift."

"Yes, and so it is that you have come to my house, and brought this unwanted gift of animosity--well, I refuse it. You get to keep it and take it away, since I do not accept it." At which point the cloud of ignorance lifted from the Brahman and he saw clearly. "How did you learn such a thing, Sir?" The Buddha smiled: "Sit, observe respiration, observe sensation, observe yourself [i.e., meditate]."

Another way of phrasing Buddha's lesson: learn to say no appropriately. The Buddha, because of his level of development, could easily say, "No, thank you," but being able to use some force and even some anger at the beginning stages is also good practice. Keep good company, think good thoughts, do not invite in those influences which bring you down.

The post also offers this nugget of wisdom:

The path to this simplicity is to learn clearly what actually is toxic to us, and that requires examining ourselves and actually seeing, as if we were scientists studying ourselves, what input connects to what result. You may have ideas about this, but all ideas need to be put to the test if they are to be truly useful.

My insights into what feeds my negative internal dialog are certainly being "put to the test" right now. And, reading this post from Wild Moods gives me confidence that I am doing the right thing to heal and grow. The trouble is...I miss the good stuff about the people I have had to let go...and I'm a little lonely. I am also learning something that is at odds with my choice to separate: When love is real, it does not stop. I very much love and wish I could engage, actively in loving one particular soul from whom I have had to separate. I can only hold the hope that my wisdom grows quickly, and that he will allow me to re-embrace him into my world when I am free of thoughts that trigger pain. Yes, I do feel lonely missing him (his voice, his good stuff). Lonely, but learning...definitely learning.

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Image: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Speaking_with_guest.jpg

Mindfulness & Writing from "Deliberate Inattentiveness"

My kismetic discoveries in the blogosphere continue.

I have been on a personal quest to reconnect with what Buddhists call a state of mindfulness. The short definition might be: Living in the here and now. However, there is much more to it. I am sure I'll soon be visited by words to explain my life-long relationship with mindfulness and they will serve as a post here--more ramblings on my own state of being. For now, I will just say that mindfulness is the human state into which I was born. But, by adulthood, the mindfulness had been ridiculed and punished out of me. Western, at least American, social institutions (schools, families, employers) tend to reject the placidity of mindful people. The mindful ones just don't take things seriously enough; they are not worried enough about the future; they don't show enough fear.

Anyway, today I came across the Guardian Unlimited Poetry Workshop. This site sponsors a monthly opportunity to have one's poetry critiqued by a published author; it is described this way:

Want to have your work reviewed by a published poet?

Every month, our poetry workshop is hosted by a different poet who sets an exercise, chooses the most interesting responses and offers an appraisal of them. That's the hard part taken care of - all you need to do is start writing ...

January 2008 offers a workshop challenge from author Jean Sprackland, rooted in action/motion and mindful observation. This is what Sprackland suggests:

[Sprackland] A few years ago I spent some time at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig in Ireland, with a diverse group of artists, writers, musicians and dancers. I struck up a friendship with an artist called Joanna Kidney, who was making a series of exquisitely beautiful prints based on her observations of the natural world. Joanna described how she would start work every day by walking with a small sketchbook in her hand. She felt that the very act of carrying the sketchbook made her more observant. Whenever she noticed something, she would stop and sketch roughly for a minute or two without even looking at the page, keeping her gaze fixed on the sky, leaf, water or whatever it was. Then she would turn the page and move on.

I decided to try deliberate inattentiveness as a way of starting poems. Almost all the writing we do in our lives is so careful - and nothing demands greater carefulness than the drafting and crafting of a poem. But that comes later: at the beginning what's required is the chaotic, subversive, irrational yet often brilliantly lucid potential of the subconscious, and to get to that you have first to trick the conscious brain into relaxing its control-freak tendencies.

There's a practical side to this, too. If I'm not writing, and can't write, no amount of time spent sitting at my desk will help, but walking can often break the deadlock. When the poem won't come to me, I must go to the poem.

So after the excesses of Christmas, here's a simple way to cleanse the palate and get writing again:

Take a walk. It doesn't matter where: somewhere new or familiar, urban or rural. Go out for at least half an hour, to give yourself time to relax into it and stop thinking of it as a writing exercise. Have a small sketchbook in your hand, and a pencil.

Whenever you notice something, pause. Look, listen, experience it. Then open the sketchbook and write, carelessly and quickly, for a minute or so. You probably won't be able to write without looking at the page, but do not read back as you write, and neither think nor reflect. Keep focused on the thing itself, and try to let the writing be something that happens, rather than something you're doing.

As soon as the writing stops, flip the page and walk on. Find the next place to stop and write again. Aim to write something on five or six pages before you go home.

Leave the scraps of writing - your sketches - shut firmly in the book for at least 24 hours. Then you can read them (if they're legible!) and start to work with them. They are the raw material for some poetry experiments. You are not obliged to use all of it, and you are allowed to add, change and take any liberties you wish. The important thing at this stage is to move away from the original experience - the walk - and begin to transform the material in some way, however small or subtle.

The challenge continues on, providing instructions for submissions, etc.
Read the complete details for the Guardian Unlimited January 2008 Workshop here: http://books.guardian.co.uk/poetryworkshop/story/0,,2240640,00.html

I am not sure that I will be submitting anything. But, I am sure that what Sprackland suggests is worthy, wise. We could all use to step outside of our incessant minds and travel a path of "deliberate inattentiveness", giving our subconscious wisdom a chance to be our guide.

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Image: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Trees-sky.jpg