Resistance to practice
Maybe you've been thinking there's more to life -- and to you -- than the routine demands of daily living. Maybe you've been looking for some way to get through the tough times, to have some sense of peace and wellbeing, or to find your purpose and what it all means. Those are all common reasons that people turn to religion or spiritual practice. If you've begun to experience some interest in Buddhism and Zen, it might be that you too have questions like these, and you may be excited and encouraged to find that there are normal folks in North America engaged in this kind of practice. You don't have to give up everything and move to Asia to learn more about Zen and establish your practice after all!
However, once you begin, you might find yourself dismayed by various teachings or uncomfortable with particular forms or activities. Even though you thought you really wanted to dive into Zen practice and that it would solve all of your problems, instead you're overwhelmed by resistance, some feeling that you need to defend yourself against this practice that you anticipated enjoying so much. Disillusionment sets in as you recite to yourself all the reasons why this thing really isn't for you, because you're just not that sort of person and you need something else.
This is what happens when we begin to challenge our very deeply held ideas about the nature of the self and the nature of suffering. In its way, Zen practice, like much of religious practice in general, is a radical departure from the values and expectations of the rest of society. It usually never occurs to us that there is any other way of living and of understanding the world than the one we've created for ourselves out of our assumptions and opinions and then sworn to defend. When presented with the expectation that we will be on a zafu in the zendo in the very early hours of the morning, that we will sit silent and unmoving for 50 minutes at a time, that we will give up clinging doggedly to the idea that owning more and more things will ease our suffering, or that we will practice for the benefit of all beings and not just for ourselves, we dig in our heels. Oh, well, I can't do that. That stuff is all right for you, maybe, but I'm not that kind of person. I have [fill in your favorite excuse], I really need [fill in your favorite attachment]. I'm special.
Aha. I'm special -- the heart of all resistance to the practice. We can't bear to think that we're just like all other beginners who ever were curious about Zen, and that our circumstances and excuses aren't particularly unusual or compelling. Most of the time, it's not that we think we're special in a good way: I'm especially spiritual, or learned, or mature. What comes up in our minds and out of our mouths is how especially ill suited we are to practice. I'm a beginner, a scientist, a free spirit, a loner, a party girl. I have anxiety, children, a big personality clients, insomnia, ambition, bad knees, an artistic temperament. Maybe it's OK for some, but I think it's crazy, all this silence, minimalism, compliance, egolessness. I could never do it. It's just not me.
If you're honest with yourself, it's likely that there's no real reason why you can't engage in Zen practice. You aren't especially anything that's a real obstacle to practice, as much as you'd like to think so. The problem is that practice will require change, and change is uncomfortable. In order to be in the zendo on time in the morning, you will need to get to sleep on time the night before. In order to participate in the sangha, you will need to consider the effect your actions have on others. In order to let go of suffering, you will need to let go of some deeply held convictions about who you are and what your relationship is with all the other beings in the universe. Those are big changes, though perfectly achievable if you're really sincere in your aspiration.
Although you may have come to practice looking for something to add to your life that would give you peace and wellbeing, what practice actually does is remind you of the things you can't avoid. Peace is not the absence of suffering. It's being able to deal with the inevitability of suffering without being knocked over and doing something unskillful. We can't avoid illness, old age or death. We can't avoid the impermanence of things, or the reality that we are affected by the world around us and the beings in it. We can't avoid our own pasts or presents and all the stories that go with them. When the practice container removes the distractions and toys and keeps putting these painful things in front of us so that we can't look away, that's when we want to cut and run in defense of our egos. Those teachings about craving and aversion being the basis of suffering can't possibly be true. I was raised to work hard and make money and achieve goals, not sit around all day doing nothing. If that really isn't the path to happiness, then what have I been doing with my life? Who does that make me? No, no, of course I'm doing the right thing. Those Zen people are unrealistic dreamers -- not like me. I'm out of here.
There are many ways in which we may find ourselves resisting or defending ourselves against the practice. We might feel the need to fend off the boredom of sesshin or rebel against the constraints of being in a practice community. At the heart of much of this resistance is a reluctance to fully enter into what's happening, to sincerely consider a new framework of values, or to completely experience difficult emotions. These things can be scary, and our impulse is to push them away, but rather than admit to fear we're really good at coming up with logical reasons why they're irrelevant, meaningless or impossible for us and our special circumstances. Resistance takes an enormous amount of effort and energy, which would be better directed into the practice itself by accepting the potential for discomfort, knowing that the zendo is a safe place to experience that fear and that everyone else in the room is engaged in the same challenges. It can seem counterintuitive to allow ourselves to be exposed to discomfort when we've spent all our lives shoring up and protecting our egos, but the reality is that only when we stop fighting against the practice can our true wisdom and compassion manifest. The project of practice is not comforting our egos. It's letting go of our egos altogether.
However, once you begin, you might find yourself dismayed by various teachings or uncomfortable with particular forms or activities. Even though you thought you really wanted to dive into Zen practice and that it would solve all of your problems, instead you're overwhelmed by resistance, some feeling that you need to defend yourself against this practice that you anticipated enjoying so much. Disillusionment sets in as you recite to yourself all the reasons why this thing really isn't for you, because you're just not that sort of person and you need something else.
This is what happens when we begin to challenge our very deeply held ideas about the nature of the self and the nature of suffering. In its way, Zen practice, like much of religious practice in general, is a radical departure from the values and expectations of the rest of society. It usually never occurs to us that there is any other way of living and of understanding the world than the one we've created for ourselves out of our assumptions and opinions and then sworn to defend. When presented with the expectation that we will be on a zafu in the zendo in the very early hours of the morning, that we will sit silent and unmoving for 50 minutes at a time, that we will give up clinging doggedly to the idea that owning more and more things will ease our suffering, or that we will practice for the benefit of all beings and not just for ourselves, we dig in our heels. Oh, well, I can't do that. That stuff is all right for you, maybe, but I'm not that kind of person. I have [fill in your favorite excuse], I really need [fill in your favorite attachment]. I'm special.
Aha. I'm special -- the heart of all resistance to the practice. We can't bear to think that we're just like all other beginners who ever were curious about Zen, and that our circumstances and excuses aren't particularly unusual or compelling. Most of the time, it's not that we think we're special in a good way: I'm especially spiritual, or learned, or mature. What comes up in our minds and out of our mouths is how especially ill suited we are to practice. I'm a beginner, a scientist, a free spirit, a loner, a party girl. I have anxiety, children, a big personality clients, insomnia, ambition, bad knees, an artistic temperament. Maybe it's OK for some, but I think it's crazy, all this silence, minimalism, compliance, egolessness. I could never do it. It's just not me.
If you're honest with yourself, it's likely that there's no real reason why you can't engage in Zen practice. You aren't especially anything that's a real obstacle to practice, as much as you'd like to think so. The problem is that practice will require change, and change is uncomfortable. In order to be in the zendo on time in the morning, you will need to get to sleep on time the night before. In order to participate in the sangha, you will need to consider the effect your actions have on others. In order to let go of suffering, you will need to let go of some deeply held convictions about who you are and what your relationship is with all the other beings in the universe. Those are big changes, though perfectly achievable if you're really sincere in your aspiration.
Although you may have come to practice looking for something to add to your life that would give you peace and wellbeing, what practice actually does is remind you of the things you can't avoid. Peace is not the absence of suffering. It's being able to deal with the inevitability of suffering without being knocked over and doing something unskillful. We can't avoid illness, old age or death. We can't avoid the impermanence of things, or the reality that we are affected by the world around us and the beings in it. We can't avoid our own pasts or presents and all the stories that go with them. When the practice container removes the distractions and toys and keeps putting these painful things in front of us so that we can't look away, that's when we want to cut and run in defense of our egos. Those teachings about craving and aversion being the basis of suffering can't possibly be true. I was raised to work hard and make money and achieve goals, not sit around all day doing nothing. If that really isn't the path to happiness, then what have I been doing with my life? Who does that make me? No, no, of course I'm doing the right thing. Those Zen people are unrealistic dreamers -- not like me. I'm out of here.
There are many ways in which we may find ourselves resisting or defending ourselves against the practice. We might feel the need to fend off the boredom of sesshin or rebel against the constraints of being in a practice community. At the heart of much of this resistance is a reluctance to fully enter into what's happening, to sincerely consider a new framework of values, or to completely experience difficult emotions. These things can be scary, and our impulse is to push them away, but rather than admit to fear we're really good at coming up with logical reasons why they're irrelevant, meaningless or impossible for us and our special circumstances. Resistance takes an enormous amount of effort and energy, which would be better directed into the practice itself by accepting the potential for discomfort, knowing that the zendo is a safe place to experience that fear and that everyone else in the room is engaged in the same challenges. It can seem counterintuitive to allow ourselves to be exposed to discomfort when we've spent all our lives shoring up and protecting our egos, but the reality is that only when we stop fighting against the practice can our true wisdom and compassion manifest. The project of practice is not comforting our egos. It's letting go of our egos altogether.
