by Ed Halliwell
And what if you suffered a brain injury, and (as can happen) your personality, beliefs and habits underwent a drastic change: would you still be you? If no, does that mean that you were in the part of the brain that was injured? If yes, what would you consider as the traits that define who you are? What if these were the ones lost or changed by an accident? Where is the essence that defines you then?
When we investigate closely, it becomes impossible to pin down something that we can categorically call the self – an independent, unchanging identity. It’s not that we don’t exist, it’s that we don’t exist in the way we habitually imagine ourselves – as a solid, fixed entity.
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Practice: Mindfulness of breath, body, sounds, thoughts, and choiceless awareness
In this practice, we spend time bringing awareness to different aspects of our moment-by-moment experience. Attending to these facets, we may notice how the phenomena that make up life are fluid rather than fixed, as we relate from a place of conscious abiding, experiencing fully without grasping or rejection.
Settle into an upright, open sitting posture. Practise mindfulness of breathing for a while.
Expand your attention to sensations, practising mindfulness of the body.
Now let sounds be experienced in the foreground of awareness (or if you prefer, another sense perception – seeing, tasting, smelling) and allow this to be the main object of mindfulness, coming back when you notice attention wandering.
Turn your attention now to thoughts, experiencing these on the main stage of the mind, with everything else dropping into the wings. Observe the coming and going of thoughts in the mindstream, a bit like you might watch clouds passing in the sky. Just as the weather is constantly changing, notice how thoughts arise, pass through and dissolve in the same way. Allow thoughts to be seen with interest, as best you can, neither identifying with them nor trying to stop them. Be curious about how this process of arising and dissolving occurs. Have you consciously chosen these thoughts, or are they appearing without your active involvement? Are these thoughts facts, always an accurate reflection of reality, or are they just opinions arising and falling away? Are they even your opinions, your thoughts? There’s no need to analyze this with more thinking, or try to find definite answers – simply let there be noting of what your experience shows.
Open awareness now to all aspects of experience, as best you can without preference. Let there be a gentle sensing of sound, sight, feeling, taste and smell, while noticing and accepting thoughts as they pass through the mind. Allow each of these aspects of consciousness be known in awareness, moment by moment, without holding on or pushing away. This practice is sometimes called ‘choiceless awareness’ or ‘open presence’ – a willingness to experience everything that’s happening with equanimity. Whatever is here right now, can you let it be here, without having to do anything with it? Can you experience the luxury of just being present? When the mind narrows into one aspect of what’s going on, or floats into unconsciousness, bring it back with kindness to this state of open awareness, continuing to rest here for as long as you like.
Before expanding into mindfulness of thoughts or choiceless awareness, it’s often good first to settle with mindfulness of breath, body and sounds. However, as you become more experienced, it’s fine to practise just one part of the meditation in any particular session.
Practising mindfulness of thoughts and choiceless awareness are quite different modes of relating to the ones most of us are used to, and so it’s important to approach this with compassion. We may find the mind wandering off more than usual. This isn’t a problem – we can just keep on noticing, and coming back to whatever aspect of the practice we’re working with at the moment.
We can return to mindfulness of breathing and/or body at any point, to help us ground and stabilize our experience, before shifting again into mindfulness of thoughts or choiceless awareness.
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A bundle of tendencies
It seems that what we call ‘I’ is a bundle of tendencies, continually in process, subtly shifting form all the time, according to causes and conditions. The ‘I’ that exists in the present moment is to a large extent the consequence of what has come before – influenced by the evolutionary history of our species, physiological inheritance from our parents (and their ancestors before them), and what we have learned from our families, friends, schools and wider society (what we might call our psychological inheritance).
The experience of self – our thoughts and sensations – is also influenced by current environment and circumstances – we might have a very different experience watching the waves of the sea on a summer holiday with loved ones, than when living alone in a cold one-room apartment at Christmas, in a city where we know no-one.
We may know all this intellectually, yet it’s hard for us to translate into the realization that there is no ‘me’ as the star of the show. Despite all the evidence, it can still seem counterintuitive, perhaps disconcerting. So we tend to hold tightly to an intuitive sense of there being a definite ‘I’ in the middle of things. We’re tenaciously self-centred.
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The science of interconnection.
How we think, feel and behave is deeply influenced by the world around us. We’re not separate minds and bodies – it seems that many aspects of our physical and mental being are in ongoing symbiotic relationship with other people and the environment.
Studies have shown that if a close friend of ours is happy, we’re 15 per cent more likely to be happy ourselves. If a close contact of that friend is happy (e.g. their partner), we’re 10 per cent more likely to be happy. If a friend of a friend of our friend is happy, our chances of happiness are increased by 6 per cent. Each happy person that we have in our life increases our own likelihood of wellbeing by 9 per cent.1
Unhappiness is also contagious, and the influence extends to other kinds of feelings and behaviours too – if your friends are overweight, you are more likely to be overweight, and if your friends don’t smoke, it’ll be easier for you to give up smoking. Having a network of family and friends giving strong social support is known to be associated with increased immunity to infection, lower risk of illnesses such as heart disease, and reduced rates of depression.2
One study examined 103 pairs of college roommates who had been randomly allocated to share together at the start of their university life. All the students were assessed on their thinking style, and how it might make them more or less vulnerable to depression.
Over the following six months, it was found that the roommates’ thinking styles had converged – those who roomed with someone prone to depression themselves became more vulnerable, whereas those who shared with less vulnerable students became less at risk. This translated directly into depressive symptoms – the students who had higher levels of vulnerability three months into the term were more likely to feel depressed after six months.3
In a study to evaluate the power of environment on how we behave, a group of students were asked to take a test of attention. Half were invited to take it while wearing a scientist’s white coat, while the other half wore their own clothes. Those students who wore the lab coats made half as many errors as the other group.4 Another study found that amateur golfers’ performance improved when they played with a putter said to belong to a professional.5
Influence is also passed down the generations. We might know that our risk of certain illnesses is affected by genetic inheritance, but the new science of epigenetics is suggesting our risk may be affected by the behaviour of our parents and grandparents too.
It has been shown – perhaps not surprisingly – that pregnant rats given nicotine are more likely to give birth to asthmatic pups. However, when they reached maturity those pups were also more likely to give birth to asthmatic rats, even though the third generation had not actually been exposed to nicotine – the nicotine consumption of their grandparents seemed to influence their vulnerability.6 If the results were
replicated in humans, this would mean that a child’s risk of asthma could be influenced by their grandmother smoking, even though they might never meet.
Whether in wellbeing, behaviour, or physiology, interconnection runs deep. Knowing this can help us relax into acceptance of our inevitably limited control over current events. At the same time, it can give us confidence that whatever we do and however we are in our lives affects (and potentially benefits) others and ourselves.
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The consequences of ‘selfing’
If these were merely philosophical questions, then perhaps it wouldn’t matter very much. But the assumption of solid selfhood has consequences. It creates a mismatch between our ideas and reality. Things change, and when we aren’t prepared for this, it hurts. When resisting the flow of life – railing against getting older, attempting to stop people moving in and out of our lives, or attaching to what we see as the ideal job, house, car, or friendship – we’re fighting against nature.
Assuming a single, separate self artificially disconnects us from the world. Although we continue to be part of an interwoven dynamic, we think and feel ourselves more as isolated entities, prone to aloneness, defensiveness, perhaps even aggression. As we try to protect ourselves, we may harden and withdraw rather than open and connect.
In this state, our world can feel small and claustrophobic. There’s little space, which means there’s not much room for awareness to happen. Because it flies in the face of reality, this hardening, isolating and closing takes considerable energy to sustain. It requires ongoing activation of the fight or flight mechanisms, which are primed to react to change as a threat.
When we deny how things mutually influence one another, we take on a heavy burden of responsibility. If everything that arises in our experience is ‘me’, then it’s a short leap to judging and blaming ourselves for everything that happens to us. It can come to seem entirely ‘my fault’ that unpleasant thoughts and sensations arise, or that we get sick, or that we’ve developed unskilful habits of behaviour, instead of being the result of many causes and conditions, some of which we could do little about.
When difficult circumstances happen, we can become super-hard on ourselves – demanding that we sort things out without help. We might embark on all sorts of harsh self-improvement plans, which actually involve firing quivers of second arrows in our own direction. We can get obsessed with ourselves, stuck on what’s wrong with us, which may actually increase our unhappiness: it’s been shown that people who use the words ‘I’ or ‘me’ more often in therapy sessions are more likely to be depressed.3
And while we frantically try to change ourselves, an assumption of permanence, of self as solid identity, would seem to preclude the possibility of that change. If current thoughts, sensations, diagnoses or behaviours represent who we are in essence, then surely there’s little or no hope of a shift – we’re stuck. If this is the case, why even bother working for transformation? It’s a pretty bleak scenario.
So it may seem disconcerting that there’s no ‘me’ at the core of our being, but actually it’s very good news. As the Taoist philosopher Wu Wei Wu said: ‘Why are you unhappy? Because 99.9 per cent of everything you think, and of everything you do, is for yourself – and there isn’t one.’4 We aren’t isolated individuals, irretrievably set in our ways, and realizing this can come as a huge relief.
What happens when ‘I’ let go of ‘me’?
If we can accept that things are continually changing, and that we’re not single, independent, fixed selves, what are the implications? First of all, it means that we aren’t in total control – no matter how hard we try, we can’t command our bodies not to age or get sick, and we can’t just decide to be happy in any circumstances, or prevent unbidden thoughts or sensations.
We’re not in complete charge of our environment either: from unpleasant weather to people we find difficult, there are aspects of our world, internal and external, that we’re not empowered to alter. This is a chance to practise co-operation: by accepting this, we can stop some of our struggle with the inevitable parts of life that we don’t much like. We can stop taking them so personally.
It’s also an opportunity for compassion: we can recognize that we aren’t solely responsible for our thoughts, feelings and behaviour, which are each the result of many and myriad causes and conditions in our bodies, brains, minds, and environment. We can let ourselves off the hook, recognizing that the situations of our life haven’t always been freely and fully chosen. We can soften to ourselves, and, seeing that the same is true for others, we can soften to them too, even when they do things we don’t like or agree with.
At the same time, we can recognize that we’re not completely stuck. If we’re a range of changing processes rather than a single, solid entity, then just because things are tough doesn’t mean we’re fundamentally broken. No matter what our problems, there’s room for manoeuvre. Our brains can change, our bodies can change, our minds can change, and our lives can change. No matter what’s going on right now, pleasant or unpleasant, we can be sure it’s on its way to becoming something else.
Accepting that situations aren’t as simple or as stuck as we imagine can make them feel more workable, even in the midst of great challenge. By appreciating there are many aspects to any circumstance, we can start to see where the wiggle-room lies – where we have some agency to effect skilful changes. We can also see more easily where it’s best to let things lie.
By knowing and accepting present moment realities, we’re choosing a skilful relationship with things as they are. We may not have complete control over our lives, but by tapping into awareness – recognizing where the choice points lie – we can use our energy effectively, and helpfully influence events.
As for what we can’t control, we might open up to a sense of wonder, realizing how we’re only a very small part of a gigantic, interconnected universe (perhaps universes) that we actually know very little about. We could allow some amazement that we’re here at all – able to consciously experience our lives, the pleasant along with the unpleasant. Retuning ourselves to this perspective can help us view and experience life differently. We’re in a better position to respond flexibly.
This approach of non-clinging, far from meaning that we stop caring about people, actually frees us to truly love them, as our love isn’t conditional on their being who we want them to be. We don’t have to give up our aspirations: we can move towards them without being hampered by preconceived ideas or by needing things to happen ‘our’ way. Far from having to reject the world of things or people, we can really enjoy them, really love them, without grasping so hard, scared of what we might lose. As William Blake said: ‘He who binds to himself a joy/Does the winged life destroy/He who kisses the joy as it flies/Lives in eternity’s sunrise.’
Bringing awareness to the process
This is, of course, easy to say, and even perhaps to believe as an idea, but it’s sometimes hard to connect with in our hearts. Not only are we used to seeing ourselves as ‘our selves’, but we continue to feel like a unified ‘me’.
How can we tune in to this bigger view? First, we can bring awareness to it. In your brain right now, there are billions of cells communicating with one another, while oxygen is being passed through your body, helping every part of your physical form (made up of billions and billions more cells) keep you alive and functioning.
All of this is happening without your conscious choice, and yet all of it is happening as a vital part of the ever-changing experience of being ‘you’. So many events, so many aspects, so much change: all of it ‘you’ and yet so much of it happening without ‘you’. When we realize this, does the concept ‘you’ make much sense? We can see that we’re not our body parts or sensations, we’re not our thoughts, we’re not our memories, our life stories, our names or nationalities, and we’re not our depression, our anxiety, our anger or our pain. While each and every aspect of experience forms a part of the ever-changing proces
s we like to call ‘me’, none of them need define who we are.
We can notice how easily we revert to making fixed, possessive, black-and-white statements such as ‘I’m always in pain’ or ‘I’m a terribly anxious person,’ and ask ourselves, ‘Is this really the way things are?’ Wouldn’t it be more true to say: ‘There are painful sensations right now’ or ‘There’s a tendency for churning in the stomach when perceived threats appear.’
We can notice how the very fact of observing these experiences shows they’re not the whole of us. We can see that the observer of stress or pain is not stressed or in pain – even when difficulties occur, there is space in our experience that isn’t consumed by these problems, as long as we look from a place of awareness.
When we experience difficulties without resistance, then we might not be so upset by them. Pain becomes more workable, manageable; it’s not a barrier to happiness, even while it might be unpleasant. Our wellbeing is no longer dependent on the content of our circumstances. This is true liberation.
We don’t have to stop calling ourselves ‘me’, or taking care of the things around us, but we can realize that personhood and possessions are conventions to be observed and experienced, and that this observing and experiencing frees us to enjoy who we are and what we have. This, perhaps, is the real potential for being human.
Solidifying our moment-by-moment experience into ‘selfhood’ is a habit. Formal mindfulness practice is one of the best antidotes to this – when we meditate, we notice how thoughts, sensations and events are in flux, and how life is made up of many changing aspects.