Impermanence...Part II

While we know intellectually that our world is impermanent, our mental software leads us to believe in permanence. We see the stars above us as ever lasting even though we know that each one is burning up. We behave toward the earth as though it is permanent even though evidence is mounting that it is fragile.

How can we give up the illusion of permanence and more fully experience life as ever changing? Clearly we can use our minds to be in touch with change, noting perhaps, changing weather patterns or the growing height of our children. The trouble is that intellectual knowing does only a little to change our mental software.

Meditative skills do more. They teach us how to relax into life, and that, in itself, starts to reshape our minds. When a pain arises, we loosen our muscles rather than tighten them. When anger emerges we allow plenty of room for it to manifest, fade, and perhaps emerge again. When troublesome thoughts plague we stay aware and let them to do their dance.

Cherishing the moment we actually hear the sound of falling rain or see the beauty of a sunset. Along the way we might also gain insight into a poignant truth about our world – if it weren’t for impermanence neither you nor I would be here now.

Impermanence...Part I

We are mostly unaware of the reality of change in our everyday lives. There are times, for instance, when we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror and wonder, with surprise and even shock, what happened to the youngsters we once were. Where did the time go? While we know intellectually that change is constant, our mental software leads us to believe in permanence.

During meditation this software is redesigned. We become aware that everything that exists is ever changing including our emotions. A feeling of peace can quickly be followed by fear or any one of a number of emotions. And sadness can be followed by love. There is no permanence here. Such body-based awareness means that we are less likely, in our everyday lives, to get stuck in one or another feeling.

When we meditate on the flow of thought we notice that there are moments of rest. The flow isn't permanent. Meditating on physical sensations, be it the rhythm of the breath or the beating of the heart, once again we are aware of restful moments. Even pain doesn't last forever; studying it, we realize that it arises, manifests, and fades.

Not that insight into impermanence offers an easy ride. It teaches that change is both constant and unpredictable, which means that whether you are kind or ruthless sometimes life goes well and sometimes it goes badly.

Equanimity Part I

Sitting in meditation, it is possible to know the deep peace within which you can be in physical or emotional pain without great turmoil. A pain in the knee aches – but somehow it is not very important. The memory of a personal loss persists – but it is not earthshaking. This is equanimity.

Some of us confuse equanimity with the stifling of thoughts and feelings – while putting considerable energy into denying their existence these people appear to be calm. Others confuse equanimity with being so deeply immersed in their thoughts and feelings that they are one with them and cannot see them arise, manifest, and fade.

Apathy is the exact opposite of equanimity. Instead of being indifferent or cold, equanimous people have the capacity to stand in the midst of an experience with a strong sense of inner peacefulness, self-assurance – and vitality. They are present but not ensnared, with an internal energy that lends brightness and clarity to life.

Some say that equanimity is like a grandmother’s love. She clearly loves her grandchildren, but being one generation removed she is less likely to be caught in the drama of their lives.

Equanimity Part II

In part one, we approached equanimity by exploring what it is not. Recall, it is not the apparent calm that comes when we stifle thoughts or feelings. Nor does it come when you identify so fully with your thoughts and feelings that they totally envelop you.

Instead, equanimity arises when the self, with all its preoccupations, does not stand in the way of a direct experience. That is what happened to me when my granddaughter was born. It is true, I was identifying with my daughter-in-law, Ann. I even felt the muscles in my abdomen subtly contract in concert with her contractions. But I was also watching the scene, which included me, with a certain matter-of-fact calm. I felt no fear; I had no thoughts, no personal concerns. You might call this falling into equanimity.

It is possible to create the conditions that make equanimity more likely. Sitting in meditation with your spine straight brings you closer to equanimity. Quieting the mind by repeating a word of your choice – much like you would repeat a mantra – can also help. You can also make the body your object of awareness and label moment by moment, either out loud or silently, the body locations where your awareness lands. To further the conditions for equanimity, use a flat, matter-of-fact voice. It’s also possible to taste equanimity by adopting a no-self perspective. Try stepping back from your immediate concerns and focus on the expansiveness of time, perhaps in the comings and goings of glaciers, ecosystems, and human communities. Or look into the vastness of space and be aware of the hardly visible.