Sandra Lee Dennis's Blog, page 5

“Depth Deprivation” (I)

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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Addicted to Love

The soul harbors a fierce passion for the Divine. When we mistake the mundane for the spiritual—which we all do in one way or the other—we court addiction to whomever or whatever we believe can satisfy this longing of the soul.The deepest desires of the heart then get attached to that person, project, experience or thing.

Since transcendent experiences of love, communion, peace and freedom come to us through the world of form, it is natural to confuse the source of the spiritual nourishment we crave with the medium through which it comes.

Whenever we attach our yearning for the Holy to anything, however, we make it into a false god or an “idol.” Unknowingly, we bind ourselves with chains of steel to whatever we have idolized.

In our romance obsessed culture, many of us misinterpret our yearning for union with the Divine as the futile search for “the one.” We spend our lives “addicted to love” searching outside ourselves for the idealized partner who will complete us and take away the hollowness inside.

Or we lament the relationship we have, disappointed that the other person hasn’t quite given us the love and security we hoped they would. In this mistaken longing for an idealized partnership, we hardly realize we have been forsaking our own souls.

“Withdrawal”Reveals the Misplaced Treasure of the Heart

This is one reason when we lose love, we may crave the other person like an addict craves a drug. The more experiences of bliss, connection and intimacy we have had with our partner, the more likely we are to have confused them with the Source. We have mixed them up with the divine love that entered us through heightened moments in the relationship.

The betrayal of intimate trust reveals how much we have misplaced the treasure of our own heart. It is no fun, but we have been thrown into a serious detox with a chance to recover big pieces of our soul that have been wrapped up in the things of this world.

When the idolized dream of love is shattered by abandonment or betrayal, many factors contribute to the terrible feelings of “withdrawal.”Physically, our bodily rhythms have been in sync with our mate, and go into disarray. Rejection also stimulates both the pain receptors and the drive-oriented “addiction” centers in the brain, setting up a neurophysiological storm. Emotionally, learning you have been living a lie threatens your identity, security and trust in your own perceptions. We are in a crisis of massive proportions.

Only a Greater Love Can Satisfy the Heart

We are like orphans left alone in a strange city and naturally seek out our former source of support to calm and soothe us in such a crisis. And we suffer their indifference and unavailability. Few things are as painful as the unfulfilled desire to be near to another you love. 

Yet, ultimately, beyond a quick fix, only a greater love can satisfy the deepest yearning of the heart. Until we know in our bones that the “other” (the person, the drugs, the ideology, the money, the power, the sex) cannot satisfy the heart’s deepest longing, we will keep looking in all the wrong places to quench this thirst for the Divine.

In the throes of betrayed love, we have all the ingredients to embody this difficult lesson. Our relation with another person—no matter how compatible they are, or how ethereal and profound the connection—while it can point the way to our spiritual home, can never fulfill the existential emptiness at the core of our being.

Betrayal causes so much suffering, we discover we can only endure the trials by keeping an eye on the mystery at work, the invisible reality, beyond our lost love. Mindfully enduring the cravings, the grief, the emptiness and hurt, the rage and the loneliness, we learn how pain itself can become a prayer.

Listening for the prayer in the suffering teaches the truth of what we want most, it realigns our values and leads us back to an ocean of tenderness—our true love and home.

 

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The Solace of Solitude

“Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly; let it cut more deep. Let it ferment and season you, as few human or even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender, my need of God absolutely clear.”—Hafiz

When betrayal breaks your heart, at first you feel a desperate impulse for company to escape the pain. The specter of loneliness comes inevitably with heartbreak.  If you are like me, it is likely you have never felt this alone before in your life.

We are like a wounded animal that retreats to a cave for healing.  There you can pull into a shell of self-protective solitude—to nurse the devastation, and to better listen to the messages coming from your broken heart.

Whether you choose it or not, betrayal has a way of forcing you into solitude.  Your previous social network is shorn away, either literally or psychically. You find yourself asking, “Where have all my friends gone?” at the same time avoiding social gatherings and turning down invitations.



Being alone does not equal loneliness, of course.  I found I actually began to prefer time alone. I could no longer relate to family and friends about what mattered most to me. In company, I couldn’t find the right words.  They would not understand, I would burden them with my grief, confusion and pain.

The excuses mounted, as I began to realize that loneliness actually struck me more often in the distractions of company. I would yearn to leave, to get back home and tend to my shattered inner world. When I forced myself to go out, I felt as if I had abandoned a sick child crying for my care and attention.

Hungry for Spirit

And it is true, betrayal cracks open the earliest infantile and existential wounds. With this much pain, we are hungry for spirit to help, even though we may not realize it. Instead we are tempted to rush to fill the empty space with new relationships, activities, addictions and other distractions.

I tried, but, all that activity did not work for me. Being alone was the only way, it seemed, to step into the raw, exposed, vulnerability of my torn heart and crushed dreams.  I had to pass through the trial of facing the loneliness, and the wounds of abandonment and rejection alone.  Only I could discern the voice of my own spirit calling.

If I stayed too long away from the solace of solitude, I started to feel like a fish out of water.  In company, I would begin to feel vaguely disturbed.  I would glance around in alarm, as if my oxygen supply was dwindling, and dash out at the first opportunity to return to my cave.

Don’t get me wrong, we need the support of others to recover from such a blow. Betrayal is an underrated trauma that gets glossed over in this culture that can destroy your faith and sicken your soul. Recovery requires the best friends and healers we can find, as well as plenty of solitary healing time.

The forced aloneness we feel with traumatic loss can be a tenuous, but wondrous time. Tending to the brokenness with care, you begin to discern the compassionate heart amidst murmurings of the betrayed mind. A small voice within, like a hauntingly familiar, distant music calls and warms the soul. The pain of loneliness turns, as if by magic, to the glory of solitude.

After being abandoned or betrayed, being even more alone may seem like strange medicine for our soul sickness.  Yet that is the paradox of this mysterious call of Spirit—we must pass through acute loneliness to the graces of solitude to learn that we are not alone.

 

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Betrayal Forces Solitude: Where have my friends gone?

When betrayal breaks your heart, at first you feel a desperate impulse for company to escape the pain. The specter of loneliness comes inevitably with heartbreak.  If you are like me, it is likely you have never felt this alone before in your life.

Eventually you see that you are like a wounded animal that retreats to a cave for healing.  And you pull into a shell of self-protective solitude—to nurse the devastation, and to better listen to the messages coming from your tender heart.

Whether we choose it or not, betrayal has a way of forcing us into solitude.  Our previous social network is shorn away, either literally or psychically. We find ourselves asking, “Where have all my friends gone?” at the same time as we avoid social gatherings and turn down invitations to go out.



Being alone does not equal loneliness, of course.  I found I actually began to prefer time alone. I could no longer relate to family and friends about what mattered most to me. In company, I couldn’t find the right words.  They would not understand, I would burden them with my grief, confusion and pain. The excuses mounted, as I began to realize that loneliness actually struck me more often in the distractions of company. I would yearn to leave, to get back home and tend to my shattered inner world. When I forced myself to go out, I felt as if I had abandoned a sick child crying for my care and attention.

The Spiritual Solace of Solitude

And it is true, betrayal cracks open the earliest infantile and existential wounds. The very hurts we spend our lives trying to avoid.   With this much pain, we are hungry for spirit, even though we don’t realize it. Instead we rush to fill the empty space with new relationships, activities, addictions and other distractions.  I tried, but, activity did not work for me at this late date in my life.

Being alone was the only way, it seemed, to step into the raw, exposed, vulnerability of my torn heart and crushed dreams.  I had to pass through the trial of facing the wounds of abandonment and rejection alone.  Only I could discern the voice of my own spirit calling.  If I stayed too long away from the solace of solitude, I started to feel like a fish out of water.  In company, I would begin to feel vaguely disturbed.  I would glance around in alarm, as if my oxygen supply was dwindling, and dash out at the first opportunity to return to my cave.

Don’t get me wrong, we need the support of others to recover from such a blow. Betrayal is an underrated trauma that gets glossed over in this culture.  It can destroy your faith and sicken your soul. Recovery requires the best friends and healers you can find, as well as plenty of solitary healing time.

The forced solitude can be a tenuous, but wondrous time. Tending to the brokenness with care, you begin to discern the compassionate heart amidst the shouts and murmurs of the betrayed mind.  A still, small voice within, like a hauntingly familiar, distant music calls and warms the soul.

After being abandoned or betrayed, being even more alone may seem like strange medicine for your soul sickness.  Yet that is the paradox of this mysterious call of spirit—we must pass through acute loneliness to a solitude to learn that we are not alone.

“Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly; let it cut more deep. Let it ferment and season you, as few human or even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender, my need of God absolutely clear.”—Hafiz

 

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Surrender & the Battle for the Heart

Is trying to be a consistently loving person doomed to failure?  Did you ever notice the more open-hearted and loving you feel one day, the more likely you are to be sullen and irritable the next?  I have seen these frustrating swings in myself for years.  Just when I am beginning to feel like the loveable, kind, person I always wanted to be, I turn into Cruella de Vil, ready to pounce on anyone unfortunate enough to cross my path.

Recently, I read an explanation for these swings in a book on Sufism. It has helped me be more kind to myself on the inevitable Cruella de Vil days.  The mystic Sufis envision the heart as a treasure fought over by both our ego and our spirit.  Ego and spirit have been given equal power in human nature, and they are engaged in a never-ending battle to commandeer the prize of the heart. In their ongoing struggle, sometimes one prevails and sometimes the other.

When the heart listens to the ego, we are prevented from hearing the call of spirit and pursue our fear-based, security-driven interests without much regard for the world around us. That can make us like the bull in the china cabinet disregarding other people’s feelings and our own deeper needs. Wrapped in the cocoon of our little ‘me’ world, we go obliviously along.  Until a glint of failure, remorse, tragedy; or beauty, nature or someone else’s kindness turns our heart again toward the voice of spirit.

When the heart listens to spirit, our defenses melt, and we fill with tenderness, gratitude, love, and compassion.  But soon enough, terrified of the dissolving force of love, the ego becomes threatened and mounts an all out campaign to re-gain control.  It activates powerful defenses—anger, hurt, despair, fear, superiority, power trips—to establish its ground. To our continuing dismay, it seems we have no control over which part takes command of our hearts.  And it is true, most of the control we imagine we have is delusional.

The Sufis explain that the ego and the spirit have been given equal power in the human soul not to continually frustrate us; but so our free will can realize its profound need for the assistance of God, of a higher power.  After enough time trying in vain to ‘do it ourselves,’ we finally give up. In desperation—usually after we hit bottom and are cracked open—we learn to surrender. Through admitting our powerlessness, like the 12-step programs advise, we are surprised at what we discover.

In the midst of our most helpless moments, we discover a tiny point of true power. By acknowledging our inability to control our lives, we have begun to let in the hand of the Divine. Not with our conceptual mind, that admission comes easily.  We must go by the difficult path of finding ourselves broken, out of control, and on our knees asking for help. Then and there, spirit begins to fill our hearts and to prevail in our nature.

We can’t legislate surrender, but can be on the lookout for it and welcome it when it comes.  Out of the muck and mud of our lives, surrender surprisingly blossoms from our brokenness.  Instead of feeling like total failures when we hit bottom, we can sigh a sigh of relief as we begin to realize the truth of our fragile place in the scheme of things, and our absolute dependence on an Intelligence greater than our own.

Surrender flowers not in a once-and-for-all moment, but grows slowly as a way of life once we get the hang of it.  In finally recognizing defeat, the ego does not disappear or go all pathetic and weak on us as we might have feared.  The defeated ego softens, stepping back from control central, transforming into its rightful place as an instrument of Spirit.  Each time we surrender, we find ourselves going more easily with the flow of the day, relying less and less on our plans and agendas to direct us, and more on a tenderized heart to guide our way.

 

 

 

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