The Meditator's Dilemma

by Bill Morgan

  The Transitory Self versus the Glorified Self

  In Buddhist psychology, which is an elaboration of an Eastern worldview, the self—like thought—is seen as functional and important in negotiating the world, but if taken too seriously, it contributes to mental suffering. The self is not reified and therefore not glorified as it often is in the West. In meditation, as the sense of self is investigated, it is seen as transitory and continuously constructed moment to moment. It is to be held lightly. It is not a thing, but an ongoing process.

  This supposition can be threatening to the Western psyche, which views the self as sacrosanct. It is valued, encouraged, enhanced. Self-esteem and individuation are considered hallmarks of mental health. How can this attitude that the self is less important than we thought be beneficial? Why would we sign up for that? This is another inherent area of conflict for Western practitioners.

  The Patient Mind versus the Hurried Mind

  The Dalai Lama once said, “You Westerners are in such a hurry for transformation. Maybe a little change every decade is enough.” Eastern cultures appreciate the complexity of practicing meditation. Attunement to the inner landscape of the mind takes time and can’t be hurried. It is like learning a new language.

  Effective mindfulness involves cultivating and strengthening qualities of mind and heart, and, considering our long history of habit and conditioning, these must be developed gradually. I remember thinking how easy driving a car looked when I was a boy. Just get behind the wheel and step on the gas! I was unaware of the number of items that needed to be checked before getting into motion. As we shall see, mindfulness practice is similar. It is critical to understand the complexity of its workings before beginning to practice. Otherwise, we will never attain the alignment necessary for getting our meditative vehicle smoothly moving down the road.

  This is no different from the training involved in becoming an accomplished musician. No one expects to be a proficient violinist after attending a weekend music camp. We understand that learning to play an instrument well takes many baby steps, much practice and patience. However, we don’t recognize the analogous pace in meditation. Our expectations, woefully out of sync with reality, lead to frustration and failure when, after attending a short meditation retreat, we are not accomplished meditators, having not succeeded in leaving behind our troubles. Failing to attain the unrealistic goals we set for ourselves, we add insult to injury by sternly evaluating our performance.

  Balanced Energy versus Striving Energy

  Striving is pandemic in our culture. My doctoral research revealed that across the board—independent of gender, profession, or age—every subject I interviewed began meditation practice with a striving orientation. Each held a predominant expectation that with sufficient effort and willpower, certain thoughts, feelings, and unwanted aspects of personality would go away and stay away. This push to achieve affected me, too. I harshly criticized myself for failing to meet wildly unrealistic goals, vowed to do better next time, and became irritable and despondent. This misunderstanding and unconscious striving run deep in the West, but they are terribly counterproductive in meditation.

  Steady, balanced energy is foundational to meditation. Kalu Rinpoche, a famous Tibetan teacher of the last century, expressed this perspective, one which is so difficult for us to embody:

  We can never understand the nature of the mind through intense effort, but only by relaxing, just as breaking a wild horse requires that one approach it gently and treat it kindly rather than running after it and trying to use force. So do not try to catch hold of the nature of the mind, just leave it like it is.3

  Eventually, the subjects of my research study discovered that striving had to give way to acceptance. The transition from one to the other, however, was stressful. It was only after painstaking and often painful approaches to practice over many years that subjects were able to begrudgingly shift their way of meditating. Even then, this was done with a partial sense of resignation for most participants.

  Self-Acceptance versus Self-Doubt

  It seems that self-doubt and feelings of unworthiness represent greater obstacles for Western meditators than for those in the East. The Dalai Lama, representing the Tibetan tradition, and Mahasi Sayadaw, from Burma, expressed surprise at this Western pitfall, which they had not encountered in students in their cultures. Tara Brach, a psychologist and meditation teacher, called this predominant Western disposition “the trance of unworthiness.”4 As a psychotherapist I can attest to its prevalence. I can also speak to the obstacle it presents in meditation practice.

  On the one hand, we are an externally oriented society, valuing action rather than contemplation, attached to thinking as our primary way of meaning-making, invested in the enhancement of the self, wanting quick results to be accomplished through striving, with a miasma of unworthiness woven through the psyche. On the other, mindfulness instructions and teaching arose in a culture internally oriented, valuing contemplation over action, viewing mindfulness as more central than thinking, less invested in self-development, emphasizing gradual development in meditation, with a psychological underpinning of fundamental worthiness.

  TABLE 1: DIFFERENCES AT A GLANCE

  EAST

  WEST

  Inward Orientation

  Outward Orientation

  Faith in Contemplation

  Faith in Action

  Faith in Mindfulness

  Faith in Thinking

  Transitory Self

  Glorified Self

  Patient Mind

  Hurried Mind

  Balanced Energy

  Striving Energy

  Self-Acceptance

  Self-Doubt

  Is it any wonder that meditation is challenging for Westerners? For mindfulness practices to become more deeply rooted in Western society, the differences in inclination and disposition must be addressed early on in mindfulness teaching and in the instructions themselves.

  Of course, there have been some radical changes in the approach to teaching meditation over the past thirty years. Students are rarely hit with sticks when they slouch or fall asleep. Teachers, having encountered the prevalence of unworthiness in students’ experiences, are beginning to make adjustments. Compassion practices, which were offered as an afterthought in teaching retreats in the seventies and eighties, are now introduced more frequently. However, the strong allegiance to traditional forms ensures that change happens slowly. Meditation teachers are still learning how to make meditation practices more accessible to the Western mind-set.

  In the following chapters, I offer a variety of techniques that helped transform my own meditation practice and that of my clients and students. Early in the sixties, the side of cereal boxes offered “serving suggestions,” accompanied by a picture of a smiling housewife. A typical suggestion might be “Try adding one quarter cup of blueberries and one half cup of milk!” This was followed by the disappointing realization that blueberries and milk were of course not included in the box.

  The “serving suggestions” for meditation practice in the following chapters do include the enriching ingredients. Try adding them to your meditation practice. See how each feels. To come truly alive, meditation must not only make sense, but feel enlivening.

  QUESTIONS FOR CONSIDERATION

  Can you say more about the usefulness of the cultural comparisons you’ve offered in this chapter?

  It is important not to idealize here or overly polarize “East versus West.” Identifying general trends, however, may contribute to an understanding of why meditation might be more challenging for many of us in our present cultural context. I felt more compassion for my own struggles when I explored these differences, and it is my hope that you will feel similarly validated after reading this chapter.

  You mention that the underpinning of faith in contemplation is weaker in the West. Is faith really that important? I thought the Buddha emphasized using one’s own experience as a guide.

  By faith I
mean a deep-seated conviction that these practices are worth cultivating, that something important can be revealed thereby, something deeply meaningful. Without that backdrop, which was culturally infused during the time of the Buddha and had been valued for many generations before, meditation will simply be a curiosity. If it is only a curiosity, it will not take root.

  3

  THE INNER HOLDING ENVIRONMENT

  ONE OF THE ELEMENTS that ensures successful psychotherapy—a relational activity—turns out to be essential to the internal, more solitary process of meditation. And the absence of that element in meditation explains much of the struggle Westerners have when they try to meditate.

  I discovered this crucial ingredient as I was reading the work of the twentieth-century psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott. In analyzing what made therapy successful, he found that to be truly healing, the therapeutic relationship had to include the quality of attentive caring that a responsive adult has for her child. Winnicott used the phrase “holding environment” to capture this necessary, nurturing element of therapy. Today the holding environment is considered by most therapists to be essential to productive therapy.

  As I worked with struggling meditators, the parallel of the holding environment to meditation became clear to me. Like therapy, meditation is inner, relational work. And while there is no therapist involved, meditators need a nurturing, attentive relationship with themselves. I now use the phrase “holding environment” in my teaching to refer to the nurturing, inner environment that is essential to meditation.

  Most people can relate to this concept. Many of us have been blessed by being “held,” at least to some extent, early on in life. As adults, when we feel embraced—by nature, a comforting environment, a supportive community, the loving gaze of another, the positive regard of a dear friend or mentor or psychotherapist—we feel secure, relaxed, and open. Goodness flows from this place. The heart sings when it feels not isolated but connected, not judged but deeply accepted.

  Twenty years ago, a large research study was conducted to determine (at that time) which type of psychotherapy was most effective.1 To the chagrin of many, the study revealed that the most important factor in successful outcome, across all schools of psychotherapy, was the degree of empathic attunement of the psychotherapist. The data suggested that therapists who were perceived as warm, accepting, and understanding were most effective. To use Winnicott’s metaphor, positive outcome in psychotherapy strongly correlated with the creation of a nurturing holding environment.

  I want to be clear that we do not always need another person to experience being held. In fact, much of this book describes the many ways we can create an internal holding environment that has the same relaxing and nurturing qualities as when we are physically held by another human being.

  It is difficult to imagine being happy separate from the presence of an internal or external holding environment. When we are out of sorts or mildly depressed or anxious, it is often because we do not feel sufficiently held or nurtured. If you stop to think about it, negative feelings quickly dissipate when we do feel held, whether it be physically by another person, when near a beloved pet, or in the comfort that familiar recollections and uplifting thoughts provide. I am convinced that much mental distress is related to a relative lack of holding environments in one’s life.

  In the same way, effective meditation is almost impossible without the presence of an internal holding environment. When our meditation is unfocused, discouragingly locked in a compulsive stream of thought, it is because we do not feel held. Persistent negative feelings can only begin to dissipate when we are able to establish a meaningful and nurturing context for our practice. Ongoing struggles in meditation, the difficulty many have in meditating regularly, and the high dropout rate among meditators are surely related to the inability to create and sustain an inner holding environment for practice.

  Every subject in my doctoral study reported that the early years of their meditation practice were characterized by striving to control the mind. Each believed that this approach would lead to some life-changing insight; instead, it led to struggle and frustration with meditation. One subject, a middle-aged, seasoned meditator, spoke about his struggle with making intense effort in meditation:

  “So you kept pushing in the hope that you would have a transformative experience?”

  “Right, I hoped I would break free from my neurotic tendencies and be catapulted into a place free of self-judgment and stress, maybe even get enlightened.”

  “How did that work out for you?”

  “Well, it’s so obvious now, but of course that approach was a setup. I was being really harsh and pressured—just like in the rest of my life—so the whole thing finally imploded.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meditation was beginning to make me more miserable, not less. One day I got enraged because my cat crawled into my lap when I was meditating. That’s when I had my epiphany.”

  “What was that?”

  “I’m doing a practice that is supposed to lead to less suffering, and I’m suffering more! Either I have to stop meditating, or I have to consider changing my way of practicing.”

  “And did you change your approach?”

  “Well, it took a while because I’m stubborn and I didn’t want to deviate from the instructions. However, I gradually started to lighten up and relax a little during meditation. I started to be more accepting, which was a major shift.”

  “How long did it take to make that shift in attitude steady?”

  “I pushed really hard for five or six years. I almost gave up at that point, but I stumbled into this different way of practicing. I wish meditation teachers were clearer about the importance of this more accepting perspective. Then maybe I could have seen this sooner.”

  Zen teacher David Schneider (who is now a teacher in the Shambhala tradition) once noted the ongoing prevalence of this pattern of early striving and frustration among Western meditators:

  There is the feeling, known to all who try it, that one does not meditate very well. The actual experience of it does not compare well to one’s imagination of what meditation is supposed to be, nor to descriptions—meant to be supportive—that one might read in a book. One feels a failure at it, and who needs more failure? 2

  Most meditators will smile with recognition when they read this quote. But the question remains, why is it so common among Western meditators to strive and fail? When we learn to play an instrument, for example, which is also challenging, we don’t think as much in terms of striving and failing. Why is this dynamic so prominent for meditators?

  Effective psychotherapy and parenting rest on a foundation of security and trust. Meditation is no different. A mother creates a trusting holding environment, and it is from this foundation that her child gains confidence and strength and gradually internalizes those qualities and begins to feel safe exploring the environment. A therapist, through creating a similar environment of empathic attunement, helps the client to feel secure enough to make difficult changes and to become more deeply self-accepting and comfortable with intimacy.

  The same is true of meditation. Beginning practitioners need to be held by meditation teachers, not only through trusted words, but also through their holding presence. While some teachers hold space in this way, many others, while seeing themselves as agents of inspiration who offer support and instruction, seem to be only partially aware of the importance of their physical presence in the meditation hall during a retreat. This might have been enough for faithful practitioners elsewhere or at another time, but most of us in the West, in this matter of interior cultivation, benefit from a more consistent holding environment. Just as clients borrow strength from the presence of the therapist and children from the nurturing parent, so too, the meditator, in the comforting presence of the teacher, finds courage to navigate difficult mind states as they arise in meditation.

  Consistency is a core attribute of the holding environment. The compelling researc
h findings on early-childhood isolation are related to this. Children who do not get early and consistent nurturing later struggle both with intimacy and self-esteem. This need for holding is obvious. Therapists do not leave during a session while the client reflects on his or her emotional struggles. This approach would not be sufficient to create the holding environment in which safety and confidence flourish. Yet this understanding of the significance of the holding environment and how it is created has not yet been widely appreciated by the meditation culture in the West.

  My own experience as a meditator is unequivocal in this regard. When a teacher is composed and present in the meditation hall, my practice is steadier than when he or she is not present. The more a teacher is available, communicating confidence and security through holding the space and fully participating in the retreat, the more consistency and acceptance—and therefore depth—show up in my meditation.

  However, the holding environment created by the teacher, as helpful as it is, is not sufficient to deal with striving and frustration. The meditator, who most of the time will practice away from a teacher, needs to learn how to create an inner nurturing landscape.

  Without previous experience and clear guidance, Westerners frequently resort to strategies similar to those reported by another subject in my study: “I tried to figure it out, control the mind, eliminate distractions and unwanted thoughts, and suppress my feelings. It was unforgiving and forced.”

  Most failed experiences with meditation stem from the absence of a comfortable, safe, and engaging inner holding environment for the heart and mind. Think about your own experience with meditation. When it’s not flowing, isn’t it because the process does not feel enlivening or nurturing? Isn’t that why it’s a struggle to practice meditation on a regular basis?