Dementia, Grief, Mindfulness, and Not-Self

Contacts with my mother have been sparse lately. It's been hard catching her on the phone during the rare times when she is awake. And the nine hour time difference does not help either. Yesterday, I was able to hear her breathe once as I whispered words of love to her. The aide confirmed that she had seen a response in her face.

Friends, coworkers have been asking about my mom. Each time, I have felt a twinge of annoyance. Grief shows itself in sometimes subtle ways . . .The truth is I have been a bit too adamant to claim closure with my mom. "I have said goodbye. I am at peace."  This last chapter is taking longer than I thought, and I feel as if lost in a twilight zone, with hardly anything to hang on to. No physical contact, no voice, just one breath in several weeks, that's all that's left. 

I have been haunted by the image of her lying in bed, pulling away from my touch, and holding on tight to her sheet instead. Breath coming and going, light as a feather. And no hindrance in the body, anymore. This struck me as remarkable, coming from my mother, who had been such a chronic worrier. She had let go finally, and I had to let go also. Carrying this last image of my mom has been most helpful now that I am thousands of miles away from her. It has also enabled me to understand more deeply the reason for practice. Mindfulness, particularly when focused on the breath, is the surest method for experiencing the relief from ordinary mind-made suffering.

From my mother, I have learned most during those last ten years when dementia stripped her brain bit by bit, of its ability to fabricate thoughts about past, future, and self. Being with her  forced upon me the direct experience of not-self, and for that I am incredibly grateful. 

Preventing Burnout With True Compassion

@mihaela_V on Twitter asked 'Any tips re: compassion w/o taking on others' suffering?' That's a great question, and one I can answer based on my limited experience as both a mental health professional, and a practitioner of mindfulness. 

Early on in my career, when I worked as a psychiatric social worker, I remember coming home every day from the hospital feeling drained and with little left to give to myself and my family members. The explanation was simple. I was taking on the suffering of those I was meant to help. And the remedy, as suggested by my supervisor, was clear. I needed to strengthen boundaries between me and the patients. Whenever faced with difficult material, I learned to summon images of door being shut, and fences going up. It helped some, but not really. 

The reason is, I did not know what true compassion was.

Fast forward thirty years, and my experience is so different now . . . Mindfulness has enabled me to   bring compassion first to myself, and second to others in my care. And in the process, I have discovered the joy of serving without feeling burdened by it.

UC Berkeley Center for Greater Good has one of the best definitions of compassion:

Compassion literally means “to suffer together.” Among emotion researchers, it is defined as the feeling that arises when you are confronted with another’s suffering and feel motivated to relieve that suffering.

To Leigh Brasington, I owe this clear articulation of what compassion is, and what it is not, and what happens when it is not practiced correctly. Here are my notes from last year retreat with Leigh:

The far enemy of compassion is cruelty. Its near enemy is pity. We risk burnout when we get attached to results, and we insist on relieving the other person's suffering.

Practically, this has meant approaching the other person's suffering like this:

I meet you and I sit with you. I allow myself to feel all of the suffering in this moment, yours and mine. I discern what is yours and what is mine, and what are my reactions to yours and my suffering. And I pay particular attention to any tightness in my mind or body, for it is always a sign unnecessary clinging, which we know is the real troublemaker. What am I wanting that is not possible? What am I pushing away that cannot be done away with? Sitting with her who is sharing her great mental suffering with me, can I let myself feel her anguish, her depression, her hopelessness? Can I stay with the extreme unpleasantness of it all? No need to do anything, other than 'seeing' the whole package, and finding the ebbs and flows of breath in between. Same way I would deal with my own suffering. In the joining and the shared acknowledgment of the suffering lies the possibility of healing. And without the rub from ego-induced clinging, the other's suffering does not stick but leaves instead joy in its trail. Joy from heart open fully, not defended. 

May this be helpful to you whose heart wants to open, and bring relief to the other who is hurting. 

Mindfulness, Right View, and Letting Go

When the mind is calm enough, and the heart opens, insight can arise. 

This morning, sitting, I could clearly 'see' that practice is very simple. To sit with the intention of putting  awareness on the breath. Then sitting back and watching what happens. First in the body. Where is the tightness that prevents the free flow of breath in and out? And what comes along with it? Getting in touch with the heart stirrings, the hindrances in the mind. This morning was sadness, and longing, laced with a bit of fear and tiredness. And thoughts, mostly about 'me' in different roles, past and future. 

Remembering the intention of mindfulness, and that breath is where the truth lies. Everything else, a product of disturbed mind. Sitting, I could feel the repeated pain from each automatic thought coming at the forefront. Each one a variation on clinging, and the product from deep seated illusion about the solidity of self. 

Each time sitting like this, the mind gets a bit wiser, a bit less attached to itself. There is no way around practice. One needs to put in the time. 

Be Mindful, Be Playful

This morning, sitting on my favorite chair, doing nothing, I found the mind playing catch with itself. Having fun with each new thought. First noticing, then seizing, then releasing the thought. Until the next one, and the next one, and the next one . . . Mind at ease with itself. Welcoming each manifestation with gentle curiosity.

Mingyur Rinpoche examplifies and talks best about playful mindfulness:

Playful mind. Not tense. Not lazy.

The mind can play with any object. Thoughts, yes, but also breath, body sensations, emotions, sounds . . . Because of the law of impermanence, one thing we can be assured of is that each moment is a new moment, entirely different from the previous one. Each moment, a complete surprise.

I am curious. Aren't you?

Loving Kindness Contemplation With iPhone

I had some time in between meetings, and decided to call friends I had not talked to in a while. Going down the contacts list on my iPhone, I noticed the mind passing judgment on each name.

The one at the top had fallen into the mere acquaintances category. Heart tightened a bit.

Next one, a resounding no. She had hurt me once, and I still remembered the sting. Stomach and throat closed tight. The person in question no longer deserved to be on the list, 'my' list. 

Oh, yes, that one. A good friend, and someone I am contemplating doing good work with. I felt heart open, and body relax.

Further down, someone who would always be part of my life. A complicated story, and some ambivalence, but mind was fair and could see things as they are.

And right below, the urge to call her, who is always there for me. Heart overcome with gladness, it felt good. 

At the letter D, heart ached from love not returned, and the craving for shared sweetness that could not be, at least not now. 

Each letter, surprises in store, some first names I was not even sure whom they belonged to, and why I had once deemed them important enough to become 'contact'. 

. . . 

Soon, it became clear, I had to keep going down the list, and use each name as a way to test the state of my heart. What I found was no big surprise, but a confirmation of what I already knew. It takes a lot of sustained mindfulness to dismantle the mind's habit of finding reasons to not love. Noticing the damage done first and foremost to oneself when unloving thoughts arise. And not kidding oneself about one's ability to love. 

Most helpful has been Ayya Khema's talk on metta, the most convincing teaching I have heard on love.

Ayya Khema reminds us to make loving kindness a part of our daily practice. Both mind and heart need to be re-trained. 

Mind Musings on Mind

In the midst of spinning, it struck me, the awesomeness of this body, and of the mind that animates it. Instructor asking us to sit. Body sits down. Stand. Body stands. Pedal fast. Legs pick up the tempo . . . Every moment, a miracle of connections made in the service of 'I', starting with the mind's perception of sensory input, followed by a cascade of linkages within the brain, resulting in just the right kind of action for this moment. 

Being with my mom after her stroke, made me realize how dependent we are on our full-functioning brain. Most of us are so spoiled. We take it for granted that, of course, we can walk. Of course, we can speak. Of course, we can swallow. Of course, we can remember. Of course, we can understand . . . Meanwhile not realizing, our attachment to this body, and to this mind as we know it. 

Typing this post, I stop to notice what happens when the mind thinks up a word, and seemingly instantly, the correct finger finds its way to the right key. The mind is a beautiful thing, in its purest state. Our challenge is to notice the taints that keep on clouding our consciousness, the hindrances that keep on rising in the forms of troublesome thoughts. 

A Lesson in Living, From the Dying

Back from visiting my mother, I have been met by a flurry of good news on the work front. Many seeds planted a while ago, are now sprouting all at once. Success is sweet, on the surface . . . Not far below, the pain of clinging has been tugging at my throat. For the overachiever that I am, it is hard not getting attached to accomplishments. 

Most effective antidote has been the remembrance of my last moments with my mom. Ever since I left her last week, I have been holding the image of her lying in her bed, almost floating, with only a touch of breath, here and there. A picture of complete letting go, and the opposite of what happens when the mind lets self-habits take over. 

Going about my day, I carry my mom in my heart. And I am grateful for the gift of her unwitting teaching.