Lifting Heavy Weights

Someone once said that we sit on the (meditation) cushion, lifting light weights, so that when we are off of the cushion, in our regular lives, we will be strong enough to lift the heavy weights that life throws at us.

When I first heard that I liked it a lot. But I felt that it wasn’t quite right. I have decided that in fact it is sort of backwards. I say that when we sit on the cushion, we practice putting down light weights, so that when we are off the cushion, we know how to put down life's heavy weights.

In our lives we are handed heavy weights. These weights cause suffering. We hold onto these weights and carry them around. Often these weights are so heavy that we cannot bear them, and yet, we still don’t know how, or aren't willing, to put them down, to let them go.

In the quest for an end to suffering, we need to know how to set these weights down. On the cushion, we let go of the thoughts endlessly assaulting our minds. We are learning to put down light weights over and over again.

We need this practice because off the cushion, when we set heavy weights down, we often discover that we are somehow still holding them. We set them down over and over again, but they magically leap back into our hands, onto our shoulders, and onto our backs. Or, we don’t set them down at all. Though we can't bear to carry them, it can turn out to be harder still to let these things go, set them down, and walk away.

With practice setting down the light weights of the mind, we know how to recognize the heavy weights that we carry, and how to put them down, and put them down, and put them down again.

About a year ago I was carry a heavy weight of my own creation. This is when I began thinking about the role of meditation in letting go of the hardships that we seem to hold onto for dear life. At the time, this is what I wrote:

I'm holding a weight. It’s a very heavy weight. It's a very heavy weight, but I can’t get myself to let it go. It hurts. This weight hurts. If I just set it down, it won’t hurt so much. If I just set it down it will go away all on its own. The Buddha tells us that all things are impermanent, and this weight is impermanent, and it will go away all on its own. It will go away if I hold onto it, and it will go away if I set it down. But if I set it down, while it is going away, it won’t hurt. Or, at least, it won’t hurt so much.

I don’t have to throw it away, which is good because I’m not that strong. I'm not strong enough to throw this heavy weight, but I can put it down. I can put it down, and it will still be there; I can still look at it; I can see it and understand it and be with it; I won’t have abandoned it; but it won’t hurt as much.

I've lifted weights like this before. It was a long time ago, and the conditions and circumstances were different, and I was someone different. When I lifted this weight before, I hugged it to my chest. I hugged it to my chest, and I rocked back and forth, and it hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt so much that I couldn’t be in the world anymore. I had to leave the world for a while. I hugged that weight to my chest and I fed it. I fed it, and it bit into me, and it lasted, and it lasted, and it lasted as I protected it, as I held it in my arms, as I fed it. Ultimately it too was impermanent, as all things are impermanent. It went away, but if I had just set it down, it would have gone away much more quickly, and while it was going away it wouldn’t have hurt. It would have just been. It would have been a heavy weight that I had put down.

I am holding this heavy weight. I set it down. Now my arms are free to do other things. But then I pick it up again. I pick it up again, and it bites into me, and I hurt all over again. It’s not that I can’t stop picking it up, it’s that I don’t stop picking it up. I’m not aware of picking it up, but I find myself holding it again.

Over the years I have held many heavy weights. When my dog died, when my father died, when my mother died. These were heavy weights that I held. These were heavy weights that hurt. But I learned to put them down. Not to throw them away. Not to hate them. Not to fear them. Just to set them down and let them be. Over time they went away, because they were impermanent.

So now I know how to set down a heavy weight. I put it down, and the relief is palpable, but then, hours or days later, I pick it up again.

I'm holding a weight. It’s a very heavy weight. It's a very heavy weight, but I can’t get myself to let it go.

And then I set it down.

On Suffering, Anger, and Anxiety

When asked what he teaches, the Buddha said, “I teach suffering and an end to suffering.” I have been learning for several years about the Buddhist conception of suffering (dukkha) and that it is caused by grasping and clinging. In Buddhist philosophy we seek an end to suffering through non-clinging.

A couple of years ago I started to feel that this didn’t quite match my view of suffering. I felt like there was a simpler way of looking at my lived experience. I concluded that, for me, suffering was caused by wanting things to be other than the way they are. Just that. Grasping is wanting that job, that spouse, that money, a child, a home, what that other person has, and so on. Clinging is wanting this person not to get sick and die, wanting not to get old and sick and die myself, wanting to keep this relationship, this job, this money, these things. But these are all, ultimately, just wanting things to be other than the way they are. That is all. This way of stating the idea works better for me.

Recently I had been faced with grasping and clinging in my life, causing suffering. I had also been experiencing a lot of anger. I took a trip to a place to relax. Upon arriving, I was faced with a series of annoyances. There was no mystery to this - I was primed to be annoyed and ready to be bothered by the slightest thing. I found myself so upset and angry that I wanted to just grab my bags, turn around, and leave. On the grounds there was a peaceful grove with a labyrinth. Instead of leaving, I went there and used the labyrinth for a walking meditation.

I had an extraordinary insight. I realized that suffering, and its shadow, sadness, are inward focused manifestations of wanting things to be other than the way they are. Anger is the outward focused manifestation of wanting things to be other than the way they are. This stopped me in my tracks. It was that simple. Suffering and anger are the same thing, it is only the direction in which they are focused that changes the experience. I stood there for some time, then continued my walk.

Later I was pulled up short by a third realization: anxiety is the fear that things will cease to be the way they are now (clinging), or that things will not become the way that I want them to be (grasping.) Suffering and anxiety are the same thing. They differ only in their time frame. Suffering is wanting things to be different than the way they are right now, while anxiety is the fear that things will be different than the way I want them to be in the future.

Suffering, anger, and anxiety are the same thing.

I have a friend who is dying. I am suffering now because I want her to not be old, sick, in pain, and in the process of dying. I am angry because I cannot change this. I am experiencing anxiety because I want her to not be dead in the future.

It is said that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Now I see that it is also true that hurt is inevitable, but anger is optional, and that fear is inevitable, but anxiety is optional.

Suffering is the inward focused manifestation of wanting things to be other than the way they are.

Anger is the outward focused manifestation of wanting things to be other than the way they are.

Anxiety is the fear that things will not be the way that I want them to be.

Suffering, anger, and anxiety are the same thing.