Task #4: Integration

Instead they talk about politics, sports, world affairs, their vacation, their plans for places to go or things to do. They don’t talk about the elephant that you’re dragging along with you everywhere you go. You’re impatient. “Don’t they get it” or “what does this have to do with anything,” is all you can think.

Inside you’re screaming or choking back the things you want to say but have been taught you shouldn’t. Your waiting for the next thing to happen. You’re distracted and your mind leaves long before they do.

Does any of this sound familiar? Inside, you are feeling that this unpleasantness will go on forever, which is unbearable. But forever is limited. Forever is a measurement of the span of time between a beginning and an ending. Forever is temporary. It is impermanent. Even suffering and the anguish of loss are impermanent.

Have you ever played tug-of-war with a puppy? The more you try to get the rag away the tighter and more energetically the puppy holds on. When you let go of the rag, the puppy loses interest.

I once had a psychotic cat. Really. He would follow me like a dog. I could be driving fence posts in the pasture. Basal would follow me into the field and lay in the grass while a drove the post into the ground. Then, when I went to the next post, Basal would get up and follow, post-to-post. Occasionally, I would stop, squat down and pet Basal. He would drool all over my hands, unembarrassed. Then a point would come when he would suddenly dig his claws in the my hands with a ferociousness that at first surprised me. When I struggled to free myself, or to push Basal away, he would dig deeper into my flesh. But in time I learned that when I stopped and relaxed, he would too. He would let go, and I was freed, unharmed — and so was he.

Well, it’s sort of like that when you’re trying to get away from what you don’t want. The harder you try to shake yourself free from it the longer it seems to hold on to you. “How do you stop and let go?” Actually, it’s easier than you may think.

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Some years ago my wife, step-daughter and I were at Cedar Point, the renowned roller-coaster amusement park in Sandusky, Ohio. At that time there were 13 roller-coasters at the park, one of which was the worlds tallest and fastest. My step-daughter, who was 11, wanted to ride every roller-coaster.

After a few rides, she returned complaining of neck and shoulder pain.

After massaging her neck and shoulders, I asked her to describe the ride; was she waving her arms in the air and yelling, or was she gripping the bar in front of her trying to control the ride? She acknowledged she had been gripping the bar. The idea of waving her arms and yelling seemed bizarre to her. I pointed out that she couldn’t control the ride, the roller coaster was on its track and it was going to go where the track went. I suggested she let go of the bar, relax, throw her arms up in the air, and enjoy the ride.

“How do I do that?” she asked.

I suggested that when she got on the roller coaster she make-believe she was getting in bed, and that she surrender, letting her body be relaxed.

She returned to the same roller coaster, riding it over and over again. This time she had her arms in the air.

Finally, she came running across the promenade with a big smile. “IT WORKS!” she yelled.

We stayed until the park closed. Exhausted and happy, I carried her on my shoulders back to the parking lot.

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Letting go of what is scary or painful can seem like an invitation for things to get worse than they already are. The paradox is that sometimes things get worse when you try to control their natural course. There is a beautiful poem by the mystic Jelaluddin Rumi that reads in part:

God’s presence is there in front of me, a fire on the left,

a lovely stream on the right.

One group walks toward the fire, into the fire, another

toward the sweet flowing water.

No one knows which are blessed and which not.

Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly in the stream.

A head goes under on the water surface, that head

pokes out of the fire.

Most people guard against going into the fire,

and so end up in it.

Those who love the water of pleasure and make it their devotion

are cheated with this reversal.

…The voice of the fire tells the truth, saying I am not fire,

I am fountainhead. Come into me and don’t mind the sparks.

If you are a friend of God, fire is your water.

…Fire is what of God is world-consuming.

Water, world-protecting.

Somehow each gives the appearance of the other. To these eyes you have now

what looks like water burns. What looks like

fire is a great relief to be inside.

…One molecule-mote-second thinking of God’s reversal of comfort and pain

is better than any attending ritual. That splinter

of intelligence is substance.

The fire and water themselves…

… just an illusion.

Things are seldom what you think they are. Accepting conditions as they are and stepping into the metaphorical fire is an act of faith. It can also be a source of relief.

Mindfulness of Change

By working with Mindfulness and the First Task of the Grief Process you will have learned how to stay present with the experience of the body, and to bring a calm to whatever that experience might be. In the Second Task you learned how to pay attention to the feelings that arise and how to calm your feelings and clarify your perceptions. In the Third Task, you learn how to pay attention to the activity of the mind and to be free from those thoughts that disrupt your peace of mind.

Working with Mindfulness and the Fourth Task, you will learn how to live in balance with uncertainty, and to integrate whatever arises in such a way that the experience and memories are neither lost nor are they in control of your life.

Begin as you did with the first practice. Find a quiet place where you can be alone and uninterrupted for the period you’ve set aside for practice. Preferably 15 to 20 minutes or more. Sitting in a comfortable position, bring your attention to the breath, calming the mind and body.

The instructions for working with this fourth task are that you train yourself in this way:

To realize something, you bring it into consciousness. One definition of realization is to become fully aware. Some teachers may use the words “focus” or “contemplate” when teaching this meditation practice. I chose the word “realize” because it implies a level of understanding that goes beyond thought or intellectualizing to the level of direct experience. In this meditation, realization also implies “envisioning impermanence, separation, closure and relinquishment.”

When you realize impermanence, you have a visceral or intuitive understanding of the nature of change. Consider the experience of the breath. The inhalation is impermanent. The exhalation is impermanent. The space between the in-breath and the out-breath is impermanent. It is a continuous cycle. This is the closest and most immediate realization of the experience of impermanence. The breath is an exquisite example of the nature of impermanence in every aspect of life. From this awareness, you are able to recognize the natural rhythm and cycle of all things; the arising, the presence, and the absence of whatever comes into your consciousness, whether person, place, or thing.

With the realization of separation you open up to the awareness that it’s not possible for you to hold what has been taken from you. You realize that your are left, you are here, present in the moment. Drawing from the previous Mindfulness practices, you discover that you may hold the anxiety of separation without being overwhelmed; that the feelings you have can be allowed and even welcomed. You discover that the restlessness and agitation that accompanies separation are impermanent. You can acknowledge the grief you experience over the loss of your own role and the need to take on new responsibilities. Essentially, you discover that you can no longer define yourself as who you were.

As you realize closure you adjust to the inner and outer environments in which what is missing is absent. You no longer need to preserve what has been transformed, and you are able to realistically envision a future. You have no unfinished business; what has happened in the past no longer has it’s role in the present. You can set down the emotional luggage you’ve carried, unpack it, and look at what is to be kept and what is to be left.

Finally, you may associate the word “relinquishment” with renunciation, or struggling to keep something you reluctantly surrender. Certainly, not something you would voluntarily chose to do. However, the word as translated in Mindfulness meditation conveys the meaning of “relaxing,” and of a “generous gift.” Through the practice of Mindfulness meditation you can learn to relax and, from the generosity of your own heart, grant yourself the gift of letting go of the assumptions, expectations, fantasies and old behaviors attached to what you can no longer hold. Relinquishment is the freedom of living your life fully in the presence of loss.

To learn about Mindfulness and the Task of Grief,

please click the links below.

or

Grief As Spiritual Practice

Task #4: Integration

(Impermanence & Spiritual Emergence)

Friends come to “cheer you up.” They talk about how much they understand what you’re going through. They pity you, comfort you, and reassure you. They talk about what their experiences have been like. Their experiences don’t seem at all like yours. An hour seems like two, the time drags on, and you wish they’d leave. You could change the sheets or carry out the garbage between the tick and the toc of the clock. You pray for a phone call that doesn’t come. You invent things you need to do. They offer to help. You don’t want help. You just want to be left alone. The time still drags on, and you can feel the energy draining away.

Another friend wants to get you out of the house, wants to take your mind off “things.” So they don’t talk about “it.”

“Setting Sun Over the Pacific”

Sonoma County Beach, California