Walking the Walk
A Personal Reflection on Dharma Practice
Reading time: About 8 minutes
The first time I read a dharma book, I knew I was and had always been a Buddhist. As I read more dharma — and began listening to talks — this realisation was confirmed again and again. Buddhism did not give me anything new so much as it spoke to what I saw as true from my own experience in the world: everything is interconnected, what we do matters, unconditional love is transformative and limitless, and our relative experience of being human helps us to connect with these absolute truths.
I was introduced to the dharma by the psychologist I began seeing post-hospitalization for a full mental collapse. When she suggested I read Pema Chödrön, I chose ‘Start Where You Are’ as the title named what I knew I had to do. I couldn’t fathom getting to some other state before I could do the work of healing. I needed to heal right now, right here, with all my neurosis as they were, and the idea that this was possible intrigued me.
Like many people, I felt like I couldn’t work to improve things until things were somehow stable or better. As counter-intuitive as this is, it’s a common idea. We refuse to use the practices we are offered until we think we’re strong enough, instead of seeing how these practices help us to connect with the strength of our innate wisdom.
We have a sense that suffering is somehow a mistake, and that we must do away with suffering first, in order to be our fullest selves. But because the world is dynamic, suffering is inevitable. Suffering is simply part of living in a relational world. This is the first Noble Truth, and this message was not depressing for me to hear because it went against all the things that led to depression and anxiety in my life. Instead of claiming that painful or difficult experiences were some kind of punishment eked out by a cruel universe or theistic deity, I was being told that actually, my experience was normal and to be expected. It was not a punishment, nor did it make me special. There was nothing wrong with me at all. It’s just the way things are, for all of us. And there were numberless practices developed with this in mind that I could use— that anyone could use—which would also benefit all of us.
Armed with this assurance, I stopped resisting or trying to get rid of aspects of myself that I didn’t like, and all the suffering that went along with that. With Pema’s teachings for guidance, I began to look closer, to get curious, and to consider what it would feel like to be fully accepting of everything about who I am, just as I am, right here, right now. What would my life be like if I saw myself as enough, just as I am? What would it be like if I loved myself unconditionally? What would it be like if I could love all beings unconditionally, knowing we’re all in this together?
It was with this mindset that I first heard the teaching:
The Bodhisattva practices in the middle of the fire.
I was living in London at the time, and it was an overcast, cool day, probably in November or possibly January or February. I was walking along a path next to a small creek that ran through the area where I lived. There was a green ivy hedge along the other side of this path, and water dripped from the bright green leaves. I was depressed, as I often am in the winter, especially with London’s low, un-textured cloud cover for weeks on end, and listening to Pema on my iPod for comfort. When she shared this teaching, she was talking about the first time she heard it from one of her teachers, and how it lit her up. She was so intrigued to hear it and she instantly wanted to understand what it meant.
Her curiosity infused with my own, and since that day I have carried that teaching with me as one of the most influential ones I’ve ever heard. I contemplated it for months — in my job, in my relationships, in my own head, heart and body which were alternately dull with depression or overstimulated by anxiety.
That first time I heard it I had only the loosest understanding of a bodhisattva as someone who postpones their own enlightenment so they can help others to become enlightened first. Since then, having studied many different teachers and found countless descriptions of bodhisattvas, I now think of bodhisattvas as anyone who wishes to be of service, to show love and care and compassion for All Beings, regardless of who or what they are. A bodhisattva’s intention is grounded in the understanding that liberation is possible and a collective project of which we are capable. A lofty goal, for sure, and yet, difficult to argue with as a worthy aspiration for one to live their life by.
I began to cultivate the habit of reminding myself, when in the midst of an anxiety attack or during a one-on-one meeting with a manager who was a bully, that this was the fire. This was the spot in which I could choose to show up wholeheartedly to cultivate compassion for the whole messy situation, as much as it could be the place where I could stick my head in the sand or check-out or react badly. When my ex-wife ended our relationship and I was unable to move out for months, that was the middle of the fire. When I finally moved out and began working through the PTSD caused by the gaslighting and mental and emotional abuse of that relationship, that was the middle of the fire. When the Brexit vote happened and I could see clearly the rise of white nationalism in that vote, that was the middle of the fire. When the current occupant of the white house was elected and my wife and I clung to each other and cried, that was the middle of the fire.
I wasn’t (am not) always able to stay there, in the middle of the raging intensity of fear, anger, or shock. Part of the practice is knowing our limits, working with the edges just enough to soften and expand them, but not so much that we traumatize ourselves. Sometimes we need to retreat to our comfort zones, to numb out with comfort TV or movies, to pamper ourselves in the cocoon of a relaxation massage, to create pleasure with a joint as a way to take a break. Such acts of self-care are not ideal, as I strive to find the kind of self-care practices that help me stay in the inferno and find pleasure in the work, but I know, as long as I’m honest about checking out, I’m less likely to turn to ignorance out of habit. I set a clear boundary around my comfort zone retreats, while also remembering not to jump back into the flames too fast once I’m ready to reengage.
But when I am able to stay there, the experience is incredible. I look back over the years and see how strong and stable my foundation is because I started with all those personal fires, including the very first that put me on this path to begin with. I am kinder to myself and therefore, more capable of kindness towards others, even those I find difficult. I understand better that compassion is about boundaries and sometimes it’s sharp and edged with wrath and that it does not drain me like it does when I rely only on empathy. This teaching also helps me to respond more quickly when things fall apart, knowing that the falling apart is inevitable. I am more capable of looking forward, of allowing myself to imagine a worst case scenario without fear or apprehension but with curiosity and as part of contemplation.
This willingness to go where many of us would prefer not to is another way in which bodhisattvas are described. The bodhisattva opens themselves up to consider what the next fire might be. It’s not the same as ‘what if’, where we imagine terrible things and become paralysed with fear. It’s more of a thought experiment to help support us to be resilient and powerful in our vulnerability when the time comes. It’s about asking:
What would I need should this happen?
What do I already have that will help me?
What do I already know to be true that can guide me?
For myself, the strongest guide and truth is that I have done these things before. When my first marriage fell apart, I knew I would be okay because I’d been through a break-up before. I have done hard things and hard things are painful and challenging and uncomfortable, but they aren’t impossible. This is particularly poignant for someone with a history of suicidal ideation and attempts. I can feel that sense of hopelessness rising as a habit, honour it for what it’s communicating about a longing for a situation or feeling to end, but no longer fear it. I can counter it with how I’ve been through the gamut, and here I am still, wiser, more skillful, and ever willing to learn. In this way, to my mind, the Bodhisattva doesn’t just practice in the middle of the fire, so much as the middle of the fire births the Bodhisattva.
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This blog was originally published on Medium.
Visit www.KaitlynSCHatch.com to see more of my work in the world.
Thank you for reposting that piece.