Adaptation II

Thanks for the feedback on my first 'Adaptation' piece. Apparently it was unfinished, as life has given me more on the subject since then.  I'm sure it is still unfinished, but here are some new thoughts...

One of the primary principles of Buddhism is that there is not a ‘self.’ This is sometimes explained by comparing a candle flame to the process of life.  While the components of the flame are the same, the flame flickers, strengthening and weakening, and never takes the same form.  Similarly, from the time we are born, we are constantly in a state of change: skin cells are dying and regenerating, the body’s fluids and organs are undergoing processes, and the mind is constantly absorbing new experiences that affect us.  Thus, we do not have a solid self; we are merely the aggregation of conditions at any one time.

In his book, “Your Brain at Work” David Rock explains that the brain operates in a paradigm of threats and rewards, attempting to gain rewards and avoid threats.  These threats, while they include physical violence, are more often social-based, such as status in comparison to others, how much certainty or uncertainty there is in a situation, how much autonomy one has to control life and make decisions, relatedness, or connections, with others, and perceived fairness. (Rock calls this the SCARF model).

In Africa, I never quite knew what was happening.  I was raised in America, a culture with a high level of certainty. Signs were posted everywhere giving directions, prices and instructions; businesses and organizations were clear and efficient; and I was aware of the more subtle cultural norms.  In contrast, in Africa I encountered very few signs; I didn’t understand how businesses and organizations functioned, and I was often clueless about social behaviors.

Because of cultural differences I was unable to relate to most people.  Moreover, it was impossible to feel like anything but an outsider, with men, women and kids constantly reminding me that I was different and I did not belong.

When my parents visited Cameroon, on a four hundred kilometer stretch of highway, we were stopped three times by gendarmes asking for bribes.  In Tanzania, in one day, my friends and I were stopped the same amount of times by police, and twice they tried to make false accusations of traffic violations. Corruption was everywhere in Africa, pervasive in all institutions - from law enforcement to the local hospitals.

Rock explains that because we are biologically programmed for survival, the human mind reacts longer, and more strongly and deeply to threats than rewards.

In Africa, if one out of five vendors overcharged me, this was the transaction I remembered.  If one out fifty men harassed me, this was the interaction I remembered. If one out of ten of my neighbors asked me for money, this was the request I remembered.

These contacts accumulated in my mind and my brain was operating at a nearly constant level of threat.  Logically, I realized the numbers were in favor of the goodness of humanity, but my negativity defied the stats.

My biology and values were in conflict.

I wanted to be kind, caring and open to new experiences and people, but I found myself failing repeatedly. Moreover, I blamed myself when I was too aggressive, too guarded, and too uncompassionate. Not only was I dealing with a harsh environment, I was making it personal, and believing that my reactions were who I was.

In the beginning of February I attended a ten-day silent meditation retreat at a Buddhist monastery in the forest of southern Thailand.  The retreat began with about one hundred twenty participants and ended with about eighty. We slept on concrete beds with wooden pillows, ate two meals a day, took communal bucket baths in sarongs, and woke up each day at four a.m. – all done in silence. We did sitting and walking meditations throughout the day until 9:00 p.m.

When I entered into the retreat, I was holding onto a lot of negativity.  During the first couple of days I struggled with mean-spirited thoughts and impatience with the other participants.  The monks and nuns spoke about loving-kindness but a part of me believed that I had no compassion; it had evaporated in the semi-desert of West Africa.  But another part of me was determined to find whatever small seed of kind-heartedness I still kept.

In the days that followed, I watched as my thoughts grew less and less critical.  I began to feel light-hearted, at ease, and safe as I moved silently among the others. Slowly, I started to see the goodness in me, whether it was a smile of encouragement to another participant, stopping to pet a cat, or rushing to do the worst chores before my more elderly assistant arrived.  I began to remember how as a child I had been so loving toward my dolls that I would sometimes cry when I closed them into the toy bag because I imagined they felt pain. 

I realized that I still had much of that caring inside me, but I had shut it away for fear of going crazy.  How else could I have looked in the faces of starving children, beaten dogs, and defeated wives in Africa without falling to my knees?

Before the retreat was even finished, I began to grieve its ending.  For the first time in a long time, I liked who I was and I didn’t want to give that up.  I was afraid that when I was confronted with the outside world, my claws and fangs would come out again.

On the last evening of the retreat, one of the monks reminded us to “protect our good qualities.”  Suddenly, I saw how in Africa I had fought so hard to protect my money, my principles of fairness, and my demand for respect that I had lost sight of how to protect my best characteristics. 

Rock explains that when you understand how the brain is functioning – in Buddhist terms, mindfulness - you can minimize the threat responses in order to make more insightful choices.

For me, this knowledge helped me to see how I became what I was.  And I appreciate more deeply the Buddhist teaching of non-self. 

We are a set of conditions, influenced by our environment.  Anyone can see how fragile and sensitive human beings are, so that even a tiny mosquito, a billionth of our size, can drive us to mania, to thrashing at the air and clapping at our ears.

If we are not mindful, we can internalize outside conditions, becoming our experiences.  In contrast, with attention to the brain’s processes, we can choose who to be at any one moment.

I now see that the angry person in Africa was never who I was.  But I must also remember that neither was the person I saw during the retreat.  I can be aggressive, and I can be kind.

 I shouldn’t mistake either for who I am.

In this realization, I have found freedom.  I am letting go of attachment to ideas about myself, and becoming more conscious of the limitlessness of my existence - full of contradictions, changes, and potential. 

Likewise, acceptance and non-judgment are much easier, since whether I like it or not, I know the experiences of ‘me’ or ‘you’ will soon pass.

Thus, once again, I continue the process to forgive myself and humanity.