Sandra Lee Dennis's Blog, page 4
June 20, 2014
The Mysteries of the Broken Heart
The heart broken in love opens like an archeological dig into the past. The velocity of the fracturing draws you down, down, down through layers of feelings, strategies and beliefs that have been protecting your heart from a primeval pain.
The grief and longing of betrayed love come not from this particular loss alone, but from events much further back—from infancy and childhood, from our lineage, from the collective experiences of humanity, and perhaps beyond, from lifetimes or dimensions we can hardly comprehend.
Sitting with my distress after my partner left me exposed this terrifying ancient injury, a wound recoiled quietly inside, stirred alive by the abandonment. I viscerally began to understand how our earliest relational traumas form the bedrock of our lives. How abandonment may be our deepest fear and earliest wound. And how touching into that wound can open the heart of compassion.
Facing the “Primal Agonies” with Heart
British psychoanalytic D.W. Winnicott called this early pain the “primal agonies” that underlie our surface personalities. Any time we come close to this underground angst, we naturally recoil, as if a raw nerve had been hit by a dentist’s drill without Novocain. Until we are shattered, or deeply loved, we are likely unaware of this underlying suffering. Our defenses grew to protect against it. All kinds of addictions, distractions, illnesses, and preoccupations normally keep us from these feelings.
Betrayed trust touches this infantile core like little else in life. In the regressed state betrayal trauma brings, we may feel like strangers to ourselves. Yet, if we are alert, we can recognize the panic we felt as an infant when mother inevitably was not there when we needed her.
Until something forces us to face this early pain, we barely comprehend the degree of sheer terror we experienced as a dependent infant when we had no capacity to grasp that a frustrated need does not necessarily threaten our existence. Nor, do we realize how much our lives are organized to not feel these unbearable feelings.
Grace Enters through the Brokenness
What is the point of feeling this suffering now—when it just feels wrong, and we want more than anything for the pain to end? As despairing as I felt, in the darkest times, I also sensed a tenderness for and communion with others who were suffering as I was. I was part of a community. I was crying the cry of all children who feel abandoned and alone.
As I touched into the grief, in response I sensed something extraordinary and deep moving through me. In that community of tears, I found a tiny seed of grace that opened onto an ocean of tenderness. In those moments, despite the heartache, with every breath, I felt exquisitely held and loved. The shock revealed not only the ancient pain that held me back from a richer life, but it awakened powerful forces of grace and compassion in my soul.
We need to bring kindness and patience to the despair of losing the one we loved and trusted—partner, mother, friend, or God. The holy mysteries of betrayed trust emerge from the center of the broken heart held in gentleness. Our very brokenness and vulnerability call forth the healing angels of the soul. Through the anguished cracks in the broken heart, from our earliest pains, entirely unexpectedly, they come.
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The Dark Gifts of the Broken Heart
The heart broken in love opens like an archeological dig into the past. The velocity of the fracturing draws you down, down, down through layers of feelings, strategies and beliefs that have been protecting your heart from a primeval pain.
The grief and longing of betrayed love come not from this particular loss alone, but from events much further back—from infancy and childhood, from our lineage, from the collective experiences of humanity, and perhaps beyond, from lifetimes or dimensions we can hardly comprehend.
Sitting with my distress after my partner left me exposed this terrifying ancient injury, a wound recoiled quietly inside, stirred alive by the abandonment. I viscerally began to understand how our earliest relational traumas form the bedrock of our lives. How abandonment may be our deepest fear and earliest wound. And how touching into that wound can open the heart of compassion.
The “Primal Agonies”
British psychoanalytic D.W. Winnicott called this early pain the “primal agonies” that underlie our surface personalities. Any time we come close to this underground angst, we naturally recoil, as if a raw nerve had been hit by a dentist’s drill without Novocain. Until we are shattered, or deeply loved, we are likely unaware of this underlying suffering. Our defenses grew to protect against it. All kinds of addictions, distractions, illnesses, and preoccupations normally keep us from these feelings.
Betrayed trust touches this infantile core like little else in life. In the regressed state betrayal trauma brings, we may feel like strangers to ourselves. Yet, if we are alert, we can recognize the panic we felt as an infant when mother inevitably was not there when we needed her.
Until something forces us to face this early pain, we barely comprehend the degree of sheer terror we experienced as a dependent infant when we had no capacity to grasp that a frustrated need does not necessarily threaten our existence. Nor, do we realize how much our lives are organized to not feel these unbearable feelings.
Grace Enters through the Brokenness
What is the point of feeling this suffering now—when it just feels wrong, and we want more than anything for the pain to end?
As despairing as I felt, in the darkest times, I also sensed a deep connection to others who were suffering as I was. The more I accepted and softened around the hurt, the less was I alone in my despair. I was part of a community of sufferers, crying the cry of all children feeling terrified, abandoned and alone. In my brokenness, the archetypal “orphan” we all carry as a part of our humanity had come vividly alive, her arms reaching for care and holding.
In response to her cry, I sensed something extraordinary and deep moving through me. In that communal river of pain, I found a tiny seed of grace that opened up into an ocean of tenderness. In those moments, with every breath, I felt exquisitely held, loved and precious. The shock revealed not only the ancient pain that held me back from a richer life, but it awakened these powerful forces of grace and compassion in my soul.
We need to try our very best to bring kindness and patience to the despair of losing the one we loved and trusted—partner, mother, friend, or God. The hidden gifts of betrayed trust lie in the heart of our pain. Our very brokenness and vulnerability call forth the loving, healing angels of our deepest nature. Through the cracks of the broken heart, from our earliest pains, entirely unexpectedly, they come.
The post The Dark Gifts of the Broken Heart appeared first on Sandra Lee Dennis.
The Gifts of a Broken Heart
The heart broken in love opens like an archeological dig into the past. The velocity of the fracturing draws you down, down, down through layers of feelings, strategies and beliefs that have been protecting your heart from a primeval pain.
The grief and longing of betrayed love come not from this particular loss alone, but from events much further back—from infancy and childhood, from our lineage, from the collective experiences of humanity, and perhaps beyond, from lifetimes or dimensions we can hardly comprehend.
Sitting with my distress after my partner left me exposed this terrifying ancient injury, a wound recoiled quietly inside, stirred alive by the abandonment.
I viscerally began to understand how our earliest relational traumas form the bedrock of our lives. How abandonment may be our deepest fear and earliest wound. And how touching into that wound can open the heart of compassion.
The “Primal Agonies”
British psychoanalytic D.W. Winnicott called this early pain the “primal agonies” that underlie our surface personalities. Any time we come close to this underground angst, we naturally recoil, as if a raw nerve had been hit by a dentist’s drill without Novocain.
Until we are shattered, or deeply loved, we are likely unaware of this underlying suffering. Our defenses grew to protect against it. All kinds of addictions, distractions, illnesses, and preoccupations normally keep us from these feelings.
Betrayed trust touches this infantile core like little else in life. In the regressed state betrayal trauma brings, we may feel like strangers to ourselves. Yet, if we are alert, we can recognize the panic we felt as an infant when mother inevitably was not there when we needed her.
Until something forces us to face this early pain, we barely comprehend the degree of sheer terror we experienced as a dependent infant when we had no capacity to grasp that a frustrated need does not necessarily threaten our existence. Nor, do we realize how much our lives are organized to not feel these unbearable feelings.
Grace Enters through the Brokenness
So, what is the point of feeling this suffering now!?—when it just feels wrong, and we want more than anything for the pain to end.
In my darkest times, as despairing as I felt, I also noticed something odd. I sensed a deep connection to other suffering people. The more I accepted and softened around the hurt, the less was it “me” alone that was in despair.
I was part of a community of sufferers, crying the cry of all children feeling terrified, abandoned and alone. In my brokenness, the archetypal “orphan” we all carry as a part of our humanity had come vividly alive in me. Her arms were reaching for care and holding.
In response to her cry, I sensed something extraordinary and deep moving through me. I found a tiny seed of grace that opened up into an ocean of tenderness—in these moments, with every breath, I felt exquisitely held, loved and precious. The shock of abandonment revealed not only the ancient pain that constricted and held me back from a richer life, but it awakened powerful forces of compassion in my soul.
Try your best to bring kindness and patience to the despair of losing the one you loved and counted on—partner, mother, friend, or God. The hidden gifts of betrayed trust lie in the heart of our pain. Our very brokenness and vulnerability contain the loving, healing denizens of our deepest nature. Through the cracks of the broken heart, from our earliest pains, surprisingly, they come.
The post The Gifts of a Broken Heart appeared first on Sandra Lee Dennis.
A Broken Heart Cracks Open the Past
The heart broken in love opens like an archeological dig into the past. The velocity of the fracturing draws you down, down, down through layers of feelings, strategies and beliefs that have been protecting your heart from a primeval pain.
The grief and longing of betrayed love come not from this particular loss alone, but from events much further back—from infancy and childhood, from our lineage, from the collective experiences of humanity, and perhaps beyond, from lifetimes or dimensions we can hardly comprehend.
Sitting with my distress after my partner left me exposed this terrifying ancient injury, a wound recoiled quietly inside, stirred alive by the abandonment. I viscerally began to understand how our earliest relational traumas form the bedrock of our lives. How abandonment may be our deepest fear and earliest wound.
Betrayed Trust Takes You Back to the “Primal Agonies”
Close interpersonal trauma disconnects the rational mind from the primitive brain. When the primitive brain takes charge we are seized by core impressions that were laid down as the foundation of our reality. We are still in an adult body, but have been set adrift in the world of a terrified infant.
In my regressed state, I recognized the panic I must have felt as an infant when mother was not there when I needed her. Until something forces us to face our early pain, we barely comprehend the degree of sheer terror we experienced as a dependent infant when we had no capacity to grasp that a frustrated need does not necessarily threaten our existence.
Before we are shattered, or deeply loved, our defenses protect us by banning what psychoanalytic theorist D.W. Winnicott called the “primal agonies”—unendurable feelings of panic, despair and isolation. Any time we do come close to this underground angst, the pain reverberates, like a raw nerve hit by a dentist’s drill without Novocain. Reflexively, we contract against the hurt.
This is one of the reasons betrayal falls on us as a catastrophic, irreversible loss. Betrayed trust uniquely touches this existential, infantile core we work hard to protect. I felt, and others have reported similarly—betrayal by a bonded partner feels like a threat to soul life, the amputation of a psychic limb.
As time goes on, you experience phantom pains that pass into intensified grieving and a pervasive sorrow that seems it will never end. Gradually, you slip into the dark shade of sorrow that can only be called despair.
A Broken Heart Brings Invisible Help
We need grace and support to stay with the long outpouring of unlived grief revealed by such a shocking attachment rupture. But if we find the strength to stay with the sadness of the loss of the loved and trusted other—whether that be partner, mother or God—we find ourselves cycling from longing to protest, to rage, to despair, and back again.
As I moved from protest to despair, in the outpourings of grief, I felt a complete stranger to myself. Yet oddly in my darkest times, something connected me to others. In these deep waters, I found it was not “me” crying, rather, I was part of a community of sufferers, crying the cry of all children abandoned and alone. The archetypal orphan we carry as a part of our humanity had come vividly alive in me—her arms reaching for care and holding. And she was answered.
I sensed something extraordinary and deep moving through me. The unmooring of the early terrors of no-mother-when-needed was revealing two distinct currents. It revealed the trauma and pain that held me back from a more soulful life. And at the same time, it stirred forces in my soul that carried me when I felt I could not go on.
My very brokenness and vulnerability beckoned help—the waiting angels of my deepest nature came to gather me up in their tender embrace and lead me home.
The post A Broken Heart Cracks Open the Past appeared first on Sandra Lee Dennis.
June 12, 2014
Rejection in Love: A Biochemical Storm
Betrayal inflicts a unique, unprecedented pain you can only comprehend once you have experienced it. The pain stuns you. It is mind-boggling to think people can survive such torment. If you are reeling from an intimate betrayal, you know.
Abandonment and betrayal change you. A veil lifts from your eyes, and you can never see the world in the same way again. Before this happened, you likely lived shielded from the indescribable hurt you feel now that the veil has lifted.
Having your trust shattered not only traumatizes you, it shreds your identity and upends your life. Mostly, it hurts. It feels like you have been run over by a bus, stabbed in the heart, and given a time-release poison, all at once.
Yet ,we are apt to question, doubt, and shame ourselves for these torments because the pain is “only emotional.” When asked, we might say that it feels “as if” the pain were physical. Otherwise, it seems we are exaggerating or being melodramatic.
Emotional and Physical Pain Intersect in the Brain
Neuroscience is finally proving, however, that these descriptions of the extreme stress of being deceived, abandoned or rejected by someone you love are not simply dramatizations. MRI studies have validated what many have long suspected: Heartache can cause the worst kind of suffering.
Research has shown the emotional pain of lost love travels along the same pain-processing pathways as physical pain and registers in the brain as an equal threat to survival. This means that what we used to consider “merely” psychological pain feels subjectively just like physical pain.
As far as our brain is concerned, the pain we feel in loss, heartache and rejection is not different from a serious burn or a knife wound. The pain sounds the alarm: do something about this danger! Ironically, we are learning that invisible mental and emotional suffering can be far more painful and chronic than obvious physical pain.
We are hardwired to stay attached to survive. In a bonded relationship, the brain produces relaxing chemicals, such as oxytocin, that give us a sense of safety, comfort, and soothing, which we take for granted until they are withdrawn. Any time a relationship ends suddenly, the production of these hormones abruptly stops, and the effect on the body is similar to going cold turkey.
Rejection Activates Craving as well as Aversion
Rejection is in a class by itself. In another ironic twist, when a relationship ends with rejection, it reactivates the same brain center, the caudate nucleus, that fires when we first fall in love. The caudate nucleus releases the pleasure chemical dopamine, which drives goal-oriented motivational behavior. This is the same center that lights up when we experience cravings and addictive compulsions.
Thus, the normal withdrawal symptoms of attachment loss intensify enormously when we are rejected or betrayed, inflaming the desire for an abandoning partner to mythic proportions. The nervous system keeps sending out life-or-death signals to reconnect that amount to nothing less than the most intense cravings you have ever felt. Recovering from romantic rejection not only hurts, it emulates—not metaphorically, but viscerally—withdrawal from a nicotine or cocaine addiction.
After being deserted myself, I thought I was being tongue-in-cheek when I told my friends in Chicago, who I stayed with during my recovery, that their place was a rehab center, but I was speaking more truth than I realized.
With the pain and pleasure centers of the brain lighting up simultaneously, a rejected lover lives in a crossfire. You are desperate to reconnect with your executioner, but are also traumatized, angry, confused and terrified by how much s/he has hurt you. Your brain is pumping the accelerator and the brakes at the same time, throwing you into a neurochemical torture chamber, and all you want to do is find a way out.
And that brings us to the dark gift of betrayal. Betrayal drives us, with great urgency, to come to terms, not only with this loss, but with the dark underside of life we usually avoid with all our might. Now we have little choice but to delve into the mystery of pain and suffering itself and find our way out.
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June 6, 2014
Betrayal Trauma —A Wound to the Soul
The first order of business after an intimate betrayal is to recognize and treat the depths of the trauma you have undergone. We cannot treat ourselves properly without a correct diagnosis.
We live in a culture that is so blind to the psychological violence of betrayal that it never occurs to us in the midst of heartache that we may be slipping into post-traumatic shock.
After my long-time partner abruptly left me a few weeks before our wedding, His parting words saturated with contempt kept playing over and over in my mind—“I am dissatisfied with you,” . . . “I want a divorce,” . . . “you are bad for my health.” Images of his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and the slight smile on his face as he nonchalantly delivered the blow haunted me. No matter what I did, I could not stop this horror story from replaying endlessly.
Each replay threw my system into turmoil and pierced my heart, as if the shock was happening all over again. I could not figure out why, against my best efforts, these scenes unnerved me day and night. Along with these voices in my head, I was hyper-vigilant, anxious and disoriented, and felt an incessant, debilitating pain in my chest. I had no idea what was going on.
Human beings are delicate creatures
Later, I found out how the neurophysiology of shock contributes to intrusive replays, but for the longest time I simply felt possessed and kept asking myself, “Why can’t I shake this?” It was as if I had been struck down with a sudden debilitating disease of unknown origin. Caught in this cycle, we cannot help asking, “What is wrong with me?” when the more appropriate question is, “What happened to me?”
Everyone will agree being “dumped” is humiliating, disappointing, enraging and heartbreaking. But, we are expected to pick ourselves up after a few weeks, or months at the most, brush ourselves off, and get going again—no matter that your world was just blown apart.
Thankfully, with the help of neuroscience, we are beginning to crack through the denial of the devastation a major breach of trust can cause.Normally, we reserve the term “trauma” for what we believe are more severe, life-threatening experiences than betrayal and abandonment.
Human beings are, however, delicate creatures. We become traumatized when we feel that our life is under threat—physically, psychologically, or both. An injury to our psychological integrity threatens us as much, if not more so, than damage to the physical body.
Any situation that violates our sense of safety and justice, any experience that we feel overcome by, that leaves us helpless and powerless to go on as before—in short, any experience that makes us unable to bear reality—qualifies as a trauma.
Trauma Alters the Quality of Your Life
Betrayal trauma can radically change the quality of your life, especially if the damage goes unrecognized. In many cases, an egregious betrayal is an emotionally violent act that threatens your most vulnerable core. The life of your soul, if not your body, is at risk.
Trauma turns on the body’s alarm systems to escape the threat, and constricts your consciousness to the pain at hand. If the pain is not treated, the alarms never really turn off and PTSD sets in. Being in a state of continual heightened alert changes your brain chemistry and shrinks your world to the size of a postage stamp. To never be able to relax, to live in constant arousal focused on this overwhelming event is a highly aversive, tormenting state. The temptation to shut down and channel the pain into depression or chronic illness, or to act out by turning to addictions—alcohol, drugs, food, sex—is enormous.
Realizing that you have been traumatized, no matter how long ago it happened, can help you better understand what is causing your distress and motivate you to get the personal and professional help you need. It takes a lot of support and courage to recognize what has happened and to recover yourself in a culture that downplays and dismisses these invisible wounds to the soul.
The post Betrayal Trauma —A Wound to the Soul appeared first on Sandra Lee Dennis.
May 1, 2014
“Depth Deprivation” — Happiness Obsession
Happiness has become an obsession, a fad. Last year, more than 1,000 new books were released on Amazon.com alone on the subject.
I know I caught the fever and was deep in the middle of my own “Happiness Project,” complete with hours of daily visualizations, gratitude practices and focusing on my lovely relationship — when my partner suddenly left me.
As long as things are going our way, it is easy enough to feel grateful and satisfied with life, when we are actually sleepwalking on the surface, wrapped up in cozy illusions. My happiness evaporated pretty quickly when my world shattered, and I was left struggling with what felt like a knife in my heart.
When something hurts like hell, when crisis and loss strike, it shakes you awake and takes you down into deep waters. These are places we have spent our lives trying to avoid. In the deep, it is “sink or swim” because suffering either opens or closes us up tighter than before.
Normally, we avoid the truth and mystery (and unlived pain) of our depths. We believe we should be able to find happiness without suffering and so we cling to the surface of life. But when circumstances plunge us into the depths, we need to go beyond our aversion. We need to learn to befriend suffering.
I knew that turning towards suffering can be medicine for soul sickness, a radical remedy for the fear of deep truths and love. I knew that pain taken rightly can bring lots of good things: self-acceptance, compassion and gratitude for what we have. The difficulty lay in knowing how exactly to take pain and suffering “rightly” — when every fiber in my being wanted instinctively to reject both.
Listening to the Messages in Pain
When I was finally able to suspend my opinion that suffering was wrong, or that there was something wrong with me for being in pain for so long, I made a discovery of great significance. I realized that, apart from my beliefs and opinions, I did not know the meaning or purpose of suffering.
Oddly this realization made me happy. When I finally stopped judging and resisting and simply said, “Yes, I do not know what this is,” the pain took me down and down and down. Stripped of my opinions, I found quaky strange movements, sensations and messages in heartache and humiliation,in grief and rage.
Pain forces you to ask what Einstein said is the most important question: Is this a benevolent universe? Does anyone care? When we take the time to listen to what the grief and pain are telling us, suffering not only stirs the deepest questions, it births the answers.
Touched with respect and curiosity, suffering reveals itself as a prayer — a prayer of the heart yearning for freedom, for warmth, for goodness and love, for a way back home. Through the cracks of prayer and longing and brokenness, a power arises that cures the isolation and hollow jitteriness of depth deprivation. It whispers, I do care.
That is the paradox I discovered of both happiness and pain. A warm, life-affirming mystery, a nourishing presence, pulses to be born in the depths of pain. It waits only to hear our yes to pour its sweet strength — our true happiness — into the soul.
The post “Depth Deprivation” — Happiness Obsession appeared first on .
Happiness Obsession (Depth Deprivation II)
Happiness has become an obsession, a fad. Last year, more than 1,000 new books were released on Amazon.com alone on the subject.
I know I caught the fever and was deep in the middle of my own “Happiness Project,” complete with hours of daily visualizations, gratitude practices and focusing on my lovely relationship — when my partner suddenly left me.
As long as things are going our way, it is easy enough to feel grateful and satisfied with life, when we are actually sleepwalking on the surface, wrapped up in cozy illusions. My happiness evaporated pretty quickly when my world shattered, and I was left struggling with what felt like a knife in my heart.
When something hurts like hell, when crisis and loss strike, it shakes you awake and takes you down into deep waters. These are places we have spent our lives trying to avoid. In the deep, it is “sink or swim” because suffering either opens or closes us up tighter than before.
Normally, we avoid the truth and mystery (and unlived pain) of our depths. We believe we should be able to find happiness without suffering and so we cling to the surface of life. But when circumstances plunge us into the depths, we need to go beyond our aversion. We need to learn to befriend suffering.
I knew that turning towards suffering can be medicine for soul sickness, a radical remedy for the fear of deep truths and love. I knew that pain taken rightly can bring lots of good things: self-acceptance, compassion and gratitude for what we have. The difficulty lay in knowing how exactly to take pain and suffering “rightly” — when every fiber in my being wanted instinctively to reject both.
Listening to the Messages in Pain
When I was finally able to suspend my opinion that suffering was wrong, or that there was something wrong with me for being in pain for so long, I made a discovery of great significance. I realized that, apart from my beliefs and opinions, I did not know the meaning or purpose of suffering.
Oddly this realization made me happy. When I finally stopped judging and resisting and simply said, “Yes, I do not know what this is,” the pain took me down and down and down. Stripped of my opinions, I found quaky strange movements, sensations and messages in heartache and humiliation,in grief and rage.
Pain forces you to ask what Einstein said is the most important question: Is this a benevolent universe? Does anyone care? When we take the time to listen to what the grief and pain are telling us, suffering not only stirs the deepest questions, it births the answers.
Touched with respect and curiosity, suffering reveals itself as a prayer — a prayer of the heart yearning for freedom, for warmth, for goodness and love, for a way back home. Through the cracks of prayer and longing and brokenness, a power arises that cures the isolation and hollow jitteriness of depth deprivation. It whispers, I do care.
That is the paradox I discovered of both happiness and pain. A warm, life-affirming mystery, a nourishing presence, pulses to be born in the depths of pain. It waits only to hear our yes to pour its sweet strength — our true happiness — into the soul.
The post Happiness Obsession (Depth Deprivation II) appeared first on Sandra Lee Dennis.
April 16, 2014
“Depth Deprivation”—Why Embrace Suffering?
Ordinarily we tend to cruise along the surface of life. Skimming by on the surface, we are less apt to feel the pain that goes along with being human. But we also miss the mystery, beauty and sacredness that come from our depths. Most of us have so accustomed ourselves to a comfort zone on the surface of things that we suffer from chronic “depth deprivation.”
Depth both attracts and frightens us. The agonies as well as the ecstasies of life emerge from deep within. One way we can lean into a fuller life and practice deepening is by sustaining awareness.
Attending is a first step in opening the heart and learning to love. Attention reveals the essence of whatever we focus on — our breath, our lover or child, music, a rose . . . or suffering. With attention we enter another dimension, a qualitatively more interior aspect of people and things. We sense a beauty and meaning we miss on the surface.
At the edges of our comfort zone, however, we can only stand so much beauty and love. Love scares us and can activate our defenses tenfold. Because love flushes whatever stands in its way into awareness, deep diving reveals our underlying pain and suffering.
Much of our habitual depth aversion is simply an avoidance of the pain we have carried from childhood and beyond. When we feel the grief of buried pain, it frightens us and drives us back to the “safe” surface.
But how safe are we, really in our everyday state of mind?
Even in times of complacency and well-being, if we open to the inner world, we sense low-grade anxiety, compulsiveness, and restlessness under our usual busyness and distractions. Our chronic fear and avoidance of depth lead to a nagging sense of dissatisfaction and emptiness, to addictions, or to the pursuit of one distraction after another.
Crisis and Loss Take Us Down
Another way we deepen is through shock, crisis and loss. When suffering strikes, it washes away our habitual defenses. The shattering of defenses that follows trauma, betrayal, loss or other heartbreak mixes the devastation with a dark blessing. It temporarily relieves our depth deprivation.
The pain rivets your attention and takes you down. At least that is how it was for me coping with a traumatic betrayal. These are the times when the reality that “all is suffering,” the first noble truth of Buddhism, seeps into your bones. In our happiness-obsessed culture, feeling the extent of our underlying suffering is bad news indeed. Yet, this deep truth compels attention.
The most basic, existential questions rack your brain: “Could this possibly be a benevolent universe?” “Why am I here?” Crisis hands us the chance to confront our depth avoidance. But forces are strong when we are in pain that make us want to cling—like a drowning person to a life raft—more ferociously than ever, to the familiar surface.
Whether it is forty straight hours of “Gray’s Anatomy” reruns, getting to sleep every night with a bottle of wine or a quart of chocolate ice cream, falling in love with the first person you meet, going on a binge of intellectual analysis, or the more straightforward panic, rage and obsessing — the surface life beckons.
We need courage plus a major attitude adjustment if we want to mine our depths. Never more than when we face suffering. If we want the benefits of mystery, truth and compassion that depth can bring to our lives, we need to come to terms with the grief and pain we have spent our lives avoiding. The well-known spiritual prescription to embrace our suffering is easier said than done.
To be continued next time . . .
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“Depth Deprivation” — Embracing Suffering
Ordinarily we tend to cruise along the surface of life. Skimming by on the surface, we are less apt to feel the pain that goes along with being human. But we also miss the mystery, beauty and sacredness that come from our depths. Most of us have so accustomed ourselves to a comfort zone on the surface of things that we suffer from chronic “depth deprivation.”
Depth both attracts and frightens us. The agonies as well as the ecstasies of life emerge from deep within. One way we can lean into a fuller life and practice deepening is by sustaining awareness.
Attending is a first step in opening the heart and learning to love. Attention reveals the essence of whatever we focus on — our breath, our lover or child, music, a rose . . . or suffering. With attention we enter another dimension, a qualitatively more interior aspect of people and things. We sense a beauty and meaning we miss on the surface.
At the edges of our comfort zone, however, we can only stand so much beauty and love. Love scares us and can activate our defenses tenfold. Because love flushes whatever stands in its way into awareness, deep diving reveals our underlying pain and suffering.
Much of our habitual depth aversion is simply an avoidance of the pain we have carried from childhood and beyond. When we feel the grief of buried pain, it frightens us and drives us back to the “safe” surface.
But how safe are we, really in our everyday state of mind?
Even in times of complacency and well-being, if we open to the inner world, we sense low-grade anxiety, compulsiveness, and restlessness under our usual busyness and distractions. Our chronic fear and avoidance of depth lead to a nagging sense of dissatisfaction and emptiness, to addictions, or to the pursuit of one distraction after another.
Crisis and Loss Take Us Down
Another way we deepen is through shock, crisis and loss. When suffering strikes, it washes away our habitual defenses. The shattering of defenses that follows trauma, betrayal, loss or other heartbreak mixes the devastation with a dark blessing. It temporarily relieves our depth deprivation.
The pain rivets your attention and takes you down. At least that is how it was for me coping with a traumatic betrayal. These are the times when the reality that “all is suffering,” the first noble truth of Buddhism, seeps into your bones. In our happiness-obsessed culture, feeling the extent of our underlying suffering is bad news indeed. Yet, this deep truth compels attention.
The most basic, existential questions rack your brain: “Could this possibly be a benevolent universe?” “Why am I here?” Crisis hands us the chance to confront our depth avoidance. But forces are strong when we are in pain that make us want to cling—like a drowning person to a life raft—more ferociously than ever, to the familiar surface.
Whether it is forty straight hours of “Gray’s Anatomy” reruns, getting to sleep every night with a bottle of wine or a quart of chocolate ice cream, falling in love with the first person you meet, going on a binge of intellectual analysis, or the more straightforward panic, rage and obsessing — the surface life beckons.
We need courage plus a major attitude adjustment if we want to mine our depths. Never more than when we face suffering. If we want the benefits of mystery, truth and compassion that depth can bring to our lives, we need to come to terms with the grief and pain we have spent our lives avoiding. The well-known spiritual prescription to embrace our suffering is easier said than done.
To be continued next time . . .
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