To the Mind that is Still, the Whole Universe Surrenders

“To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.”  – Lao Tzu

How much is too much when it comes to emotion?  Many people fear emotional implosion or explosion.  Some fear a complete disintegration of the ego – control is necessary to hide and tame one’s inner demons lest they tear you apart.  These are normally unfounded fears.

 Yet, I don’t think that “letting it all hang out” is necessarily a good thing either in a public forum.  My German cultural messages dictate that one must be polite and respectful of the privacy of your neighbor.  That fence in the yard is there for a reason!  But I do think that you need outlets for full expression, and there seem to be fewer and fewer despite our ever increasingly sensitive culture.  It was those damn “encounter groups” in the 60’s and 70’s that over did it… not to mention the music of James Taylor.  Ha.

 As a psychotherapist, it is my job and obligation to create space for strong emotion, while also simultaneously setting boundaries for containment of that emotion when needed.  A wise addictions counselor once told me that you shouldn’t open one’s Pandora’s Box of emotion (especially emotion historically tied to a past trauma) unless you have the time and energy to close it again.  I think it’s about facilitating the right setting on the spigot.

 With that in mind, let me use an example.  Recently I worked with a woman whose beloved spouse is dying of lung cancer.  On the day that they received results that his disease had spread to the stomach and bones, she lost it and I was called in to see her.  She was careful to do it away from him in one of the exam rooms.  She lamented in sobs how she “couldn’t take it,” and “it’s too much.”  Yet, she controlled it enough to hide it from her spouse.  While overwhelming in its climax following a quick crescendo, it didn’t overtake her – she could take it.  In addition to providing a phone for her to call relatives and inform them, I taught her a mindfulness breathing technique and led her in a guided imagery to a place of calm and stillness.  We practiced it and she re-sealed the box for the time being.  She could rejoin him and be strong for him.  She remarked the following day that she had started using it at times of greatest distress. 

 Meditation and mindfulness practices can be tricky things.  I heard a podcast recently about traumatized refugee Tibetan monks that have to change their meditation practice in therapy because their normal practice can be so dis-inhibiting that it brings the chaos of flashbacks versus the calm and pleasure of contemplation. [Gentle reader: Please take this statement as my disclaimer that some forms of meditation may be risky to engage in if you have a traumatic past or history of psychosis, and that there still isn’t a panacea for the suffering of life.]   My example with the patient’s wife is the use of concentration/attention technique that is now all the rage in therapeutic circles.  I wouldn’t teach it myself if I didn’t endorse its use.  In her case, it worked very well to calm and contain her inner cyclone.

 This brings me to the Whirling Dervish.  If you Wiki it, you will find that it is practiced in the Sufi Muslim tradition by the Mevlevi Order, founded in what is now present day Turkey.  The pictures of the spinning men in long robes are striking too.  They perform a dance (the Sema) which involves spinning in place off the right foot, thus “whirling.”  Dervish is the proper term for the initiate to the Sufi religious faith.   The whirling is accompanied by music, prayer, etc.  Its details and origins are more sophisticated than I would attempt to unveil in this space, but the founder of the sect had come to a revelation and spun in joy – the origin of the whirling.  I learned about it in a simplistic manner.  I was taught about it by a teacher in high school who probably listened to a lot of James Taylor in the 70’s and had attended an encounter group or two; likely had a healthy appetite for trail mix and granola as well.

 He taught that the practice includes spinning in a circle while looking at your outstretched hand so you don’t get dizzy.  Try it.  You really don’t get dizzy – the rapt gaze on your hand keeps you at equilibrium.  If you don’t keep that focused gaze, you’ll fall over like you just had too much tequila.  You find that all else fades into streaks of motion, except that hand.  You are completely focused on one thing – completely mindful in the present as your attention remains in that circle of your creation.  It is a still and calm place.  It can feel like the “universe is surrendering” as Lao Tzu said above in that strong emotion and the anxiety of life no longer touches you in the same way.  Your level of consciousness changes to a different order of engagement with yourself and the world around you.  I am clumsily talking about transcendence. 

 I think that nurturing a place of transcendence is something important to us as human beings, regardless of what one thinks of as spiritual to them.  Psychologically, it may be the place that we find our safest to deal with our strongest emotions, historical or otherwise.   When all else fails, look at your hand when you find yourself whirling.

 

(My thanks to Mr. Giombi for providing an introduction to meditation practices and leaving such an indelible mark on my memory as great teachers are apt to do.)

 Christopher David

August 5^th, 2009