My friend arrived,as usual on the third day of the retreat.
Some friendships have a relationship built on ease. One would think that would be good. Sometimes it is. But sometimes, we grow complacent with ease, not taking the friendship seriously enough, not nurturing it, no calling. There is always tomorrow, we rationalize. But a string of tomorrows can grow long, too long to locate the beginning.
Some friendships have a relationship built on struggle. One would think that would be bad. Sometimes it is. But sometimes, if we consider the relationship important enough, we dig deep, struggle through it, engage in healing and find openings that we never knew existed before. Where there was darkness, the sun rises brilliantly.
My friend’s name is Pain. We have struggled before. Having Lyme Disease, he moved into my head, giving me migraine headaches everyday for 5 years. There were times I hated him. But when I took an honest look, I realized that I had lived in my head for so long, that it was really me who had invited him in. There were more times that I blamed him for ruining my life. Because of him, I couldn’t carry on my life anymore and had to give up my home, career, being close to family and friends, even giving up beloved pets. But in giving up what I had known and loved, I opened myself to new possibilities that took me on a healing journey unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It took me to the gateway of Wat Ram Poeng, The Northern Insight Mediation Center outside of Chiangmai, Thailand, where I was introduced to the path of Buddhist meditation that has so profoundly opened my heart and eyes.
In every retreat, Pain seems to arrive on the third day, lodging himself somewhere below my right shoulder blade. In previous retreats, oh how I cursed him. My teacher, Phra Ajahn Supahn tried to teach me about being an observer, taking a neutral attitude, recognizing that the pain wasn’t me, accepting it with equanimity. I had no idea what he was talking about at first, but one night, I opened my mind and Pain altered into something that was both unpleasurable and pleasurable, neither and both, but ultimately just a physical sensation. In my mind, I was able to rest with it in peace.
He returned again this time on the third day, back in the same old place, but right from the start, he just felt like an old familiar companion coming along for the ride. I didn’t struggle with him, and he came and went on his own schedule. It had very little to do with me.
For sitting meditation, I was determined to sit in a lotus position. At times my lower back ached, but I remained erect. My ankles and knees would sometimes ache, sometimes scream, but I remained in position. I could have chosen to sit in a chair, but like the first type of friendship, it would have been easy to fall into complacency. And besides, some other issue probably would have arisen that was just as difficult.
Most days, I was able to take a neutral stance, observing Pain without trying to distance my mind from it. Knowing it would arise and pass away, I could sit with it with relative ease. One sitting, I had trouble distancing from the pain. Then the thought occurred to me that pain was just a concept that I identified as negative. So taking a closer look, I saw past the pain into a pulsating energy. It wasn’t pleasant, but simply viewing it as a physical phenomenon, I could be curious rather than identify with disliking it.
On the second to last day, there was a sitting where my right leg was screaming. Staying in a neutral mind was not easy. So with my mind, I reached deep into my breath, and discovered the great joy that is inherent in each and every breath. The pain continued, but the joy deepened. It wasn’t a conflict – not a matter of one winning over the other, but rather a recognition that there was a balance between both suffering and joy. Each transformed the other, and ultimately, I wasn’t captured by either. When the gong sounded, I continued to sit for another minute without moving, acknowledging the capacity of the mind to live in balance.
Why do this? It’s not that I’m a masochist. And Buddhist practice doesn’t encourage looking for pain. There are enough struggles in life to come to terms with without dredging up more. The answer is simple. At 64 years of age, I know that a time will come when my body will cease to function well. There might be pain, illness, disability or weakness. I don’t know what will happen or when, but there will be physical challenges. How can it be otherwise? I can’t stop nature from taking its course. All I can do is train my mind to enter into this relationship with as much grace, strength and ease as possible. I figured that this retreat offered as good a training ground as I would ever receive.
I know that Pain, or some other physical issue… ‘will be coming around the mountain when he comes’. I can’t prevent that. But I can await his arrival with my other friend, Joy, and together greet him at the front door with dignity and respect. There is always another view of the mountain, if one takes the opportunity to look. I owe a lot of gratitude to my dear friends, Pain and Joy.
Buddhist Statue at Retreat Center at IMS
Photo by Lucy Frank
