self

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The Self, and No Self

Who am I?

Philosophers, religions, spiritualities and people all over the world have asked themselves this question. Lately, I too have been asking myself this – and looking into the meaning of the self, to see if there truly is a Self there to begin with.

The Materialists would say that there is no self at all – that there is no consciousness, that we are simply matter and energy and the result of material interactions.  Descartes stated “I think therefore I am”, to which the Materialists refuted Descartes dualism of a separate mind and body, ridiculing it as “ghost in the machine”.  Zen and Buddhism talks about a True Self that can only be realised by dropping all ideas of the self and achieving a pure state of being in the moment, a state of total selflessness in every sense of the word.

Nietzche stated that “We have never sought ourselves, how could it happen that we should ever find ourselves?”  Like the Materialists, he believed that we are a result of our experiences and actions, but that there still was a Self, a consciousness.  In order to be complete, Nietzche said that we must learn acceptance – to accept everything we have ever done.  I find this fascinating, because how many times have we done things our lives, stating that we were out of our minds, or did something “that was not me at all” – stepping outside of the core idea of what we are.  This acceptance, instead of avoidance, is key to the deeper understanding of the self, in my opinion.  Acceptance doesn’t mean liking everything that we may have done in the past, nor does it define us in the present moment, but what it does allow is a total non-judgemental overview of the self, and in doing so, a deep awareness that we might not achieve by avoidance of the subject.

Before Nietzche, Kierkegaard put forward the notion of choosing to be self-aware.  We are homo sapiens, after all – in fact, I believe the proper term for our species is homo sapiens sapiens – the beings that are aware that they are aware.  Kierkegaard stated that when we choose to be self-aware, we are both aware of our self and, at the same time, aware that we are aware of our self.  Observing the observer who is observing.  Yet, we choose not to observe, because we often don’t like what we see, or experience, either in the past, present or future.

This is all fascinating. And also requires some very deep thinking.  I’m currently exploring the theory of No Self from Zen Buddhism, which is a paradigm of course, as is much in Zen.  The No Self is also the True Self.  It states that our real self is in existence, always, and always has been.  It is pure, and shining free – we only distract ourselves from it to such an extent that we never see it.  Zen states that we are already complete, already whole, already perfect.

This is pretty simple to understand, and it makes sense.  The difficulties, the suffering in our lives detract us away from spending time in the pure moment, in which the True Self resides.  We suffer because we want things to be different, because we desire things, people, etc – and are not happy with the present moment as it is. If we are happy and accepting of the present moment as it is, without judgement of good or bad, or any attachment to it at all (see previous blog post on understanding, not judgement) then we can rediscover this True Self.  By letting go of all notions of the Self, we return to the core, essentially.

In Zen Buddhism, the term mu can mean a multitude of things – it essentially, and paradoxically, means “nothing”.  It can be termed as “no self”, “no ego”, “no holiness” and “impermanence”.  It is the transcending of all things, the enlightenment experience, the complete and utter letting go of affirmations and negations.  It is an answer to some Zen koans (questions asked to break apart the mind and let in a new way of understanding).  Zen master Keido Fukishima, like Kierkegaard, promotes the self-inquiry into our own being and mind, to be aware that we are being aware.  In Zen, this has the goalless goal of letting go – once we have found our mind, we lose it (not in an insane way, I might add) and in the losing, in the understanding of the impermanence of all things, including the mind and the self, we rediscover the True Self.  Keido Fukushima says, “Zen teaches us how to live by inquiring into and clarifying ourselves. This self-questioning is well suited to our contemporary ways of thinking. Rather than seeking salvation through an “other” or through grace, we achieve it on our own.”

Fukushima delves further into this idea, stating “The experience of mu may at first glance seem purely negative or passive,” he says, “but it is not so at all. Being mu, or empty of self, allows one to actively take in whatever comes. Our world today and all in it are separated into dualistic distinctions of good and evil, birth and death, gain and loss, self and other, and so on. By being mu, not only does one’s self-centeredness disappear, the conflicts that arise with others dissolve as well. Here is a simple example: When we look at a mountain, we tend to observe it as an object. But if we are mu, we no longer see the mountain as an object; we identify with it; we are the mountain itself. This transcendence of duality may sound like some psychic ability or spiritual power someone possesses. But that is not true. Rather, it is simply and naturally a case of being free, creative, and fresh. We become human beings full of boundless love and compassion.”

This rejects the dualists’, such as Descartes, theories and instead breaks down all barriers, which is both liberating and frightening at the same time.  There is no Us and Them, no Self and the Other – if we truly let go of all attachment we become one with everything.  Are we willing to do that, or do are we too attached to our sense of self to experience that? Can we truly dissolve into everything?

It comes in small flashes, in glimpses, for me so far.  The world, wrapped up in an apple, in a drop of rain, in the flight of a hawk.  Barriers have dropped, ego and self has fallen away, and we see the multitude of the universe (another paradox!).

This is passing through the Gateless Gate – I’ve also heard it called the groundless ground.  In realising the impermanence of everything, including the Self, we have a platform from which to jump off and into real living, where every moment counts and is never the same.  The Self changes from moment to moment.

This is hard, for we have spent our whole lives creating this sense of self, this timeless sense of self that we think defines us.  After seeing Taylor Swift’s new video, Trouble, in which she states “…I don’t know if you know who you are, until you lose who you are” really hit home.  I don’t think she meant this in a Zen sense, as she seems pretty attached to her past experiences (and boyfriends) but the statement really hit home.  She talks about losing her balance.  I really identified with this statement, having recently lost my balance in these last few months.  But what did I lose my balance from? Is the concept of balance just another distraction? I’m still working on it.

Starting with acceptance, and then moving on, letting go, without attachment, is crucial.  Maybe then the True Self will shine again, for longer and longer moments, ever shifting, ever changing, always truthful.

However, as Freud said, “It’s just a theory.”

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No Hope

It is so hard to live life as it is, to accept life as it is.  Our mind does everything it can to avoid it, for various reasons.  In Zen, we often see the mind often trying to avoid suffering in any way it can. This could be suffering in the conventional sense, but it also has a deeper meaning – dukkha, a Sanskrit word which in Buddhism means dissatisfaction, or a sense of unease, or even dis-ease.  We are all dissatisfied with some aspect of our lives, and it is so easy to live in the “if only” reality – the world of possibility instead of the world that is. Why? It’s nice in there.

Yet, to achieve enlightenment, one of the main ways to banish dukkha from your life is to simply live in the present moment, to accept it for what it is. Neither pessimistic, nor optimistic – just life as it is.  When judgements of good or bad are seen for the illusions that they are – things that make us attach to a situation – then they simply fall away and we can truly see clearly.

Surya Das emphasizes the matter-of-fact nature of dukkha:

Buddha Dharma does not teach that everything is suffering. What Buddhism does say is that life, by its nature, is difficult, flawed, and imperfect. […] That’s the nature of life, and that’s the First Noble Truth. From the Buddhist point of view, this is not a judgement of life’s joys and sorrows; this is a simple, down-to-earth, matter-of-fact description.

This was brought home to me over 10 years ago when, after visiting her dying sister in the hospital, my mother came home and told me something that really changed her viewpoint and mine on the situation.  She said to my aunt, “But why you?” to which my aunt simply replied – “Why not me?”

This simple acceptance of life as it is, instead of railing against it, led to a life of less suffering.  I still carry those words with me today, when I think that things or life is happening “to me”, instead of just happening.  Life isn’t good or bad, it simply is. Things aren’t happening to me, things are happening.  Good and bad are judgement calls that we make to avoid living in the present moment most of the time.

Charlotte Joko Beck wrote of No Hope in her book, Everyday Zen.  This wasn’t the same as hopelessness – it simply meant not wishing for things to be other than they are, for the moment we are doing that we lose the gift of the present moment. Now, while a prisoner of war might wish not to be tortured at this very moment, most of us aren’t living in that situation.  Even as my aunt was dying, she accepted the situation. It simply was. It was stepping outside of the mind trap of living in an alternate reality where our dukkha doesn’t exist and seeing that it is a part of life that we cannot “escape” from. All the wishing in the world cannot change the world.  Only actions taken in the present moment can change the world.

So it isn’t a passive response to the world – oh, there is nothing I can do, I should live without hope.  If we are in a harmful situation, then we take action in the present moment to change it if we can. If we are being abused, mistreated, see others being hurt, we take action in the present moment to change that. We have the ability to respond – responsibility.  Life is constant change. We can also work to sustain that change for future generations. But it requires us to live with the courage to be fully present in our lives as they are.  Step outside of your head for a moment, and take a look at the world around you, without judgement, seeing things clearly.  It could change your life.

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The Dying of the Light

Dylan Thomas’ poem, “Do not go gentle into that good night” is often in my thoughts at this time of year, when the winter solstice is approaching and the ever increasing night draws close, the cold winds howling outside.  Yet I do not agree with the poem’s repetitive line – “Rage, rage against the dying of the light“.  

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It would seem that the wise know dark is right, and yet their pride, hubris or egos get in the way of going gently into that good night, as their words “had no forked lighting” – they want to be remembered for their wise words, at least, is the suggestion. The true wise person has no need of such external gratification – wisdom is inherent, not granted externally. Written for his father, whom Dylan Thomas wanted to die raging instead of quietly, perhaps for his own selfish attachment or whatever reason, is still spoken of today when the nights are long and we seek illumination in every sense of the word. 

It’s all around us – gaudy, flashing lights – some set at incredible speed settings that I can only assume is to disorientate the viewer, often going up before the leaves have fallen from the trees and the ground not yet frozen.  Many, many people are raging against the dying of the light, putting up the Christmas or Yule lights, lighting the darkness and consuming considerable amounts of energy at this time of year in a display that is somewhat missing the point.  As pagans, we celebrate the return of the sun after the winter solstice, certainly – but we should also honour the darkness in the days leading up to the solstice with equal measure. 

Christmas or Yule lights can certainly be very pretty – if done tastefully, and using very low energy lights, turning off others that we would normally have on at this time of year to offset the energy.  But first we must come to grips with the darkness before we light the lights.  We must look into ourselves to see why and what it is that we fear, loathe, or deny in the darkness – why we are so hesitant to look into the abyss.  Is it because we, as Dylan Thomas did, equate darkness with death?

Yet it is the time of year when death is all around us.  One look at our gardens instantly confirms this – very few things are still alive above ground.  A cycle has ended, and the seeds of the next generation lie below ground to await the return of the light – but they know that this does not happen instantaneously on the winter solstice.  They respond to the growing light and warmth slowly, in the months after the solstice, in their own time, and hopefully not too soon, like some of my daffodils did last January…

Acceptance of death is key here.  We should not rage against it, but embrace it as part of the cycle.  Many people think that death is the opposite of life – yet death is a singular event, and as such its opposite would be birth.  Life has no opposite.  We do not rage against a birth – why should we rage against a death? 

Taking inspiration from the natural world around us, we follow its rhythms and cycles and turn inwards to nurture that which is most precious to us, to guard it for the coming year ahead. It is in that darkness where we can truly know ourselves, our thought patterns, our behavioural tendencies.  Looking inwards into our own darkness we can find that small spark of light that needs to be kept safe in the darkness until it is ready to come to light, and not be snuffed out like a candle in the winter wind. It is time to cease looking for a distraction from the darkness all around us, and instead focus on our own wellbeing, and nurturing that seed of inspiration within, as well as facing our own death and fear.  It is all too easy to lose that in the crowds doing late-night shopping amidst chintzy tinsel and bright lights, with tinny music being piped into the stores that are overheated because they leave the door open to attract more customers into the lure of consumerism.  If we must, we must, but then seek the darkness to recoup and recover. 

Honour the darkness for the wonderful rest that it brings.  Without it we would have no spring.  Celebrate the darkness – turn off all the lights and central heating during the evening of the winter solstice, if you can, and truly experience the time of year. At midnight, light the fire in the hearth or candles in the house to honour the change, slowly, very slowly, lest we become blinded by the artificial return of the light and stumble around unable to see.  Do not rage against the dying of the light – for all the rage in the world will not stop death or the darkening days leading up to the solstice. Embrace, embrace the dying of the light.

 

 

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Dreaming it all up again

The winter solstice is coming up – a time for many across the world to celebrate, whatever their spirituality, if they are religious or not.  For many pagans, and many Druids, the winter solstice is an especially important time of the year, marked in the public eye by the historic landmarks such as Newgrange or Stonehenge.

But it’s the more private celebrations that call to me at this time of year.  Tired after a long year of hard work (with over 30 performances from our dance company, as well as workshops, classes, and filming dvds, on top of writing the next book, Zen Druidry, and oh – yes, my marketing job for a music company…) I am really, really, really looking forward to a couple of week’s rest at the end of December.

This is a time of year when I really connect with my European ancestors and gods – Frigge, the lady of the hearth and home, stands by my shoulder as I spend the evenings baking for my friends and my husband.  I think of my mother’s beautiful hands, remembering them when she was cooking, or stroking the cat – how graceful they are, how unhurried and loving no matter what it was she was doing.  I think of my grandmothers, with their laughter and love, as I drink a toast to them with a little snort of advocaat.  Freya smiles as I snuggle into the warmth of the bed with my husband and cats.

The house is often bathed in the glow of candlelight, with pine scented loveliness drifting through, or the smell of woodsmoke as the fire crackles in the hearth.  Though it is often dark and cold out, the home takes on special importance at this time of year.  A big cleaning is undertaken in readiness for the months where more time is spent indoors, and everything is made just so, for comfort, ease and security.  That feeling of preparedness still hits me late November, early December – make sure everything is good for the next couple of months, for when we will be spiritually, if not physically, snowed in.

For at this time of year, it is the best time to look inwards, to discover your self once again.  Taking the time during the long dark months is perfect – a little meditation instead of the television, for instance, in front of that altar glowing with candles and the smoke of incense drifting through the room.  The nights are so long – what will you do with them? Please, please please – do not watch more television.  Go out with friends. Meditate. Bake. Make love. Walk in the frosty night. But whatever you do, make sure that you take time for yourself.

For me this is the dreaming period, an incubation of sorts.  Time to dream it all up again.  Think on the coming year, and make some plans – holding to them lightly.  Protecting the seeds of your dreams in the darkness of winter, to slowly unfurl when the light returns in the spring.  I absolutely adore it.  There is nothing better than sitting indoors with a cup of hot chocolate, watching the snow fall, if you are so lucky, and simply being in the moment – or walking out with the snow and evening falling silently all around, the smell of winter thick in the cold, swirling air.  Taking inspiration from it all and dreaming, dreaming deep – so deep that when you awaken you are refreshed, and ready for anything.

Take a step back from the manic lights and piped music in restaurants, pubs and shops, and step into your home, touching the frame of the doorway with a soft prayer to the household spirits for their sanctuary.  Let yourself slip into the darkness, lit only by soft candlelight, and let the mind and soul rest for a while.  And may you truly enjoy the holiday season.

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Compassion for the Self

It’s easy to have compassion for others, for the most part.  In doing so, we feel we are making the world a better place.  What we fail to realise is that compassion must first start with our self – that is where the change in the world begins.

A lot of people don’t take the time out of their lives to look at their own self, at least not without using some form of judgement.  And even if they do so, often they can feel guilty about it – they should be helping the kids with the homework or working at the local animal shelter instead of perhaps meditating on the nature of compassion.  What I would suggest is that perhaps this taking time out for yourself is the very best thing you can do, for yourself and for the world.

Compassion for others is often seen as noble – when all it really is, is simply compassion.  There is nothing noble about it at all – it is merely a way of viewing the world not merely as an exercise in inter-relatedness, but of a deep knowing that everything is connected to each other.  The iron in our blood comes from star-stuff, the computer I write upon is made of plastic and metal, which in turn is made up of a myriad things that can relate back to sunlight, water, human and other animals.  Compassion is seeing this in everything, and in doing so letting the barriers of the self and the other fall away so that we can see clearly, and in doing so, empathise and act accordingly with the world around us.

Not too terribly hard to grasp, that.  But what of compassion for our selves? We are taught, at least in the Western world, to judge anything and everything.  I’ve heard it said that this is what makes us human, different from the rest of the animal kingdom. It’s an interesting thought.  We can judge others fairly, harshly, unfairly or with loving kindness.  However, it is still a judgement.  We cannot have a judgement without having a sense of self – and yet how many of us have looked in the mirror at some point in their lives and said “Who is that?”.

There are many theories as to what makes up the sense of the self – from a mere collection of thoughts that we have repeated over and over until we believe them, the loudest pushing forwards, to an eternal and changeless core of existence that we try to return to again and again.  I can offer no ideas – I’m still searching. What I do know is that this sense of self, however we view it, can get in the way of compassion.

Believing in a self, means that we believe in a separate entity to all other things.  That’s not so bad – but it’s also where a helluva lot of conflict, judgement, and bad-behaviour can arise.  I can judge something because it is not me – or in a lot of cases, because something reminds me of what I don’t want to be, I shall judge it, and judge it either wisely or harshly depending on my mood.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully drop the sense of self, but what I can and am trying to do is to drop the judgement that comes from the sense of self.  In an earlier blog, I wrote about ceasing to expect things from other people – and how this can only be a good thing.  This leads on to a life without judgement as well. I’m getting better at it when it comes to other people. But when it comes to myself?  I am my own worst critic. How many of us have said those exact words? How many of us judge ourselves more harshly than we could ever judge others, or even worse, project these judgements of ourselves unconsciously onto others in order to feel better about ourselves or to outpace our own demons?

The key lies in finding compassion for your self.  To sit with your self, to see your self in all reality, in the “good” and the “bad” – whatever those may be.  In acknowledging all that you have done, and realising that, as in a Taylor Swift song, that “who you are is not where you’ve been” or “who you are is not what you did”.  Pretty deep stuff from a 19 year old in her song, Innocent.  I also really like the lyric “Lost your balance on a tightrope, it’s never too late to get it back”.  We have all made mistakes – we can stop judging ourselves and simply get on with living life to the fullest with all compassion, for ourselves and for others (which is really one and the same).

This last month has been a deep, introspective month for me, of looking deep into my soul and seeing the good, the bad and the ugly.  Coming to terms with all of this, with all past mistakes and glourious achievements, and realising that these are not what constitute my being – they are simply my past – has led to a mini-breakthough in the way I view the world.

I have compassion for my Self.

Getting to know your Self, in understanding, not in judging, is the key to compassion.  If we all simply tried to understand everything and everyone, instead of judging – as Sam Cooke sang, “what a wonderful world this would be”.  See your faults, see your errors, see your successes and your triumphs. And let them go. Return to the Self of the present moment, instead of living in the past, and letting the past define you.

Equally – stop living in the future. Stop judging your Self for not being where you want to be. Stop being so harsh for having dreams, even.  Let the future go, much as the past.  Sure, it’s okay to plan, but hold onto those plans lightly, for everything in this world changes. It’s the one constant, paradoxically.

Get on with life now – by having compassion for your Self.  It’s the best thing you can do, for yourself and for the world.  If we can let go, we can truly live in a world of love and peace.  End the judgement, and begin the understanding, both of your Self and the world around you. Have some compassion – for your Self.

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Fascist Compassion

A recent problem with someone I know led me to explore the nature of compassion more fully, with an eye to not being a doormat – ie. where does compassion end and walking all over someone begin? Can we keep that line intact, or should we constantly give of ourselves – is there a line at all?  No one wants to be hurt, though some people do seem to enjoy their suffering.  And so, it led me to an article from the Dalai Lama entitled “Compassion and the Individual”. (http://www.fpmt.org/teachers/hhdl/teachings/713-compassion-and-the-individual.html)

We are a people that can become obsessed with retribution – like for like, an eye for an eye.  But this compulsion for retaliation is entirely based on a selfish desire, more often than not to “save face”.  We are protecting our image of our Self, and yet, just who are we? Who is this Self that we are protecting? Is it an unchanging, immutable force or does it flow like a river around rocks and bends?

What are we really losing when we let go of anger and hate? This is the question that kind of turned things around for me. Yes, I could be angry that this person who hurt me several times, no matter what I did. Or, I could adopt the Zen attitude and get on with it. Throw a little Buddhist compassion in there and learn something from it as well.

In his essay, the Dalai Lama wrote:-

“You should realize that even though your opponents appear to be harming you, in the end, their destructive activity will damage only themselves. In order to check your own selfish impulse to retaliate, you should recall your desire to practice compassion and assume responsibility for helping prevent the other person from suffering the consequences of his or her acts. Thus, because the measures you employ have been calmly chosen, they will be more effective, more accurate and more forceful. Retaliation based on the blind energy of anger seldom hits the target.”

We do not have any control over external influences on our lives, heck, we have little control over ourselves most of the time. But what we can control, to the best of our abilities, is our reactions to certain events.  When we release anger and hate we also release the energy that they give us, which can be tremendous, but which seldom, if ever, does any good. What the Dalai Lama explained was that the energy that comes from compassion is much more controlled, and thus can benefit the world at large.

But what about being taken advantage of, I thought? I certainly didn’t want to be a doormat again, hurt once again by this person.  To this point, in the essay he states:

“It is possible, however, to develop an equally forceful but far more controlled energy with which to handle difficult situations. This controlled energy comes not only from a compassionate attitude, but also from reason and patience. These are the most powerful antidotes to anger. Unfortunately, many people misjudge these qualities as signs of weakness. I believe the opposite to be true: that they are the true signs of inner strength. Compassion is by nature gentle, peaceful and soft, but it is also very powerful. It is those who easily lose their patience who are insecure and unstable. Thus, to me, the arousal of anger is a direct sign of weakness.”

Now, it had never occurred to me to think of anger and hatred as a sign of weakness, for they are the showy emotions, the ones that scare and provoke, that snap people to attention much more quickly than a mild-mannered, compassionate soul.  But look a little deeper and what he is saying makes sense.  To just be able to maintain one’s self-control is an enormous task – the red-rager inside us is all too easily willing to come out (see Brian Froud’s Good Faeries, Bad Faeries book for the Red Rager).

So how do we not become doormats? The Dalai Lama says:-

“[w]hen a problem first arises, try to remain humble and maintain a sincere attitude and be concerned that the outcome is fair. Of course, others may try to take advantage of you, and if your remaining detached only encourages unjust aggression, adopt a strong stand. This, however, should be done with compassion, and if it is necessary to express your views and take strong countermeasures, do so without anger or ill-intent.”

The key to not being a doormat is to adopt a kind of fascist compassion.  We should also be grateful for those who challenge us in our lives, so that we can become better people.  While I am still having trouble with this one, I can see the sense in it.  When we realise that anger and hatred are the real enemies, and not the people challenging us day in and day out, the perspective shifts.

The most challenging part of this essay is this:- “Ultimately, humanity is one and this small planet is our only home. If we are to protect this home of ours, each of us needs to experience a vivid sense of universal altruism. It is only this feeling that can remove the self-centered motives that cause people to deceive and misuse one another. If you have a sincere and open heart, you naturally feel self-worth and confidence, and there is no need to be fearful of others.”

I’ve yet to meet an altruistic human being, or any other altruistic being for that matter (I’m sure some, like the Dalai Lama, Buddha or Mother Theresa come close). Our own need for survival may, indeed, counter any altruistic tendencies that we may aspire to. That doesn’t mean that we can’t try, however.  It is a good thing to remove self-centred motives, for sure. Having a sincere and open heart is most difficult though – for we’ve been hurt, again and again, seeing the cycle being repeated in a future that doesn’t even exist, or reflected in a past that we can no longer reach. Can we honestly say that we will never be fearful of others?

Perhaps, one day. Until then, I will take my compassion one day at a time, as well as a strong stance against those who have hurt me to ensure that it won’t happen again. These two things are not at odds with each other, as I once thought.  Fascist Compassion. I like it.