It's surprisingly warm today. 4C, instead of -40C like last week. The weather changed, the temperature changed. Snow is melting, the ground is wet and slippery. Perhaps snow will fall again, and no doubt the mercury will drop to far below freezing. But for now, the temperature, the climate is as such.
When I told the monk in the mountains about the the big swing in the temperature, he reminded me that I've just given him a dhamma lesson. Doesn't everything change? Isn't depression and withdrawal but a part of a process before we warm up to the world and before we start to thaw our hearts and open up again? Everything is a process, everything is part of the practice.
I called him because I felt again so desperately alone last night, despite having gone to the movies. I really didn't know who to talk to, and the prospect of crying myself to sleep again was too tiring, too frightening.
I told him troubles and depression I've been experiencing, explained how I feel I cannot talk to any of my friends. Because what do they understand? Last I talked to someone, he seemed irritated and impatient to listen to me. Yes, we all have issues, we all have problems... And we all perhaps tend to aggrandise our own lives in relation to other people's. But can tensions and people politics at work compare to being on the brink of despair after losing the people dearest to my life? Why would anyone think about what it means to lose your parents when they are still around and can be reached at any time? Am I being overdramatic? Am I blowing things out of proportions?
I guess this is part of the loneliness: not being able to find someone who can fully relate. People can say things like "It'll be alright...", "You will be strong again..." but people will only ever really know and understand when they reach that point of desperation, when they lose everything they hold dear to your hearts. Then they will realise why it hurts more and adds salt to wound to be told "Just get on with things! Why are you dwelling in the past?"
To my surprise, when I described the sense of loneliness I felt inside, the monk told me to go out, go meet new people. Go meet like-minded people who you can connect with and with whom you can enjoy intimate moments and be comfortable with. Funny, because I had suspected he would tell me to watch my feelings, to meditate on the impermenance of feelings like loneliness and emotions (and I've been terrible in my practice...). Instead, he advised me that meditation is just a means to see the world and experience life with greater calm and clarity. When you feel lonely, what do you still need to in the conventional world? You still need to try to meet people, you still need to let people into your life and you still need to love (and if you do not know how to love yet, learn to love!) It is in loving others that you love yourself.
"It's like what you just said about living in the -40C climate. You still need to go out, you still need to go and shop, you still need to live..." Yes, even down and depressed, you still need to somehow go on with life and find a way out.
"For as long as I've know you, I feel you have very little confidence..." He reminded me that everything people ever said about me is full of praise, full of the positive. He reminded me that there is so much going for me, but I somehow do not (or refuse to?) see any of it. Instead, I push myself too hard, am too hard on myself, and yet am so kind and compassionate toward others. Look at all I've done for my mother, my father, for people in my life, for friends who are in need. Tell me that is not the actions of a kind and compassionate soul who gives his everything to help someone smile and make someone happy. So why is it that I am so heavy and critical of myself? Why am I thinking so ill of myself?
We laughed, joked, I teared, he cheered me up, reminded me of all the positive things in my life despite all the dear ones I have lost. It's not easy, not easy for anyone to deal with loss and death. But we need to learn from the experience, we need to see that we are still healthy, still functioning even though our minds and feelings tell us otherwise. Look at the people in wheelchairs, look at how they still go about their everyday business without much complaint. Have I forgotten those people in the hospitals who struggle to cling onto life? Have I forgotten what it feels like to tend to a loved one who is ill and dying? Remind myself of that... remind myself of what I have gone through, and everything else pales in comparison, do they not...?
When I told the monk in the mountains about the the big swing in the temperature, he reminded me that I've just given him a dhamma lesson. Doesn't everything change? Isn't depression and withdrawal but a part of a process before we warm up to the world and before we start to thaw our hearts and open up again? Everything is a process, everything is part of the practice.
I called him because I felt again so desperately alone last night, despite having gone to the movies. I really didn't know who to talk to, and the prospect of crying myself to sleep again was too tiring, too frightening.
I told him troubles and depression I've been experiencing, explained how I feel I cannot talk to any of my friends. Because what do they understand? Last I talked to someone, he seemed irritated and impatient to listen to me. Yes, we all have issues, we all have problems... And we all perhaps tend to aggrandise our own lives in relation to other people's. But can tensions and people politics at work compare to being on the brink of despair after losing the people dearest to my life? Why would anyone think about what it means to lose your parents when they are still around and can be reached at any time? Am I being overdramatic? Am I blowing things out of proportions?
I guess this is part of the loneliness: not being able to find someone who can fully relate. People can say things like "It'll be alright...", "You will be strong again..." but people will only ever really know and understand when they reach that point of desperation, when they lose everything they hold dear to your hearts. Then they will realise why it hurts more and adds salt to wound to be told "Just get on with things! Why are you dwelling in the past?"
To my surprise, when I described the sense of loneliness I felt inside, the monk told me to go out, go meet new people. Go meet like-minded people who you can connect with and with whom you can enjoy intimate moments and be comfortable with. Funny, because I had suspected he would tell me to watch my feelings, to meditate on the impermenance of feelings like loneliness and emotions (and I've been terrible in my practice...). Instead, he advised me that meditation is just a means to see the world and experience life with greater calm and clarity. When you feel lonely, what do you still need to in the conventional world? You still need to try to meet people, you still need to let people into your life and you still need to love (and if you do not know how to love yet, learn to love!) It is in loving others that you love yourself.
"It's like what you just said about living in the -40C climate. You still need to go out, you still need to go and shop, you still need to live..." Yes, even down and depressed, you still need to somehow go on with life and find a way out.
"For as long as I've know you, I feel you have very little confidence..." He reminded me that everything people ever said about me is full of praise, full of the positive. He reminded me that there is so much going for me, but I somehow do not (or refuse to?) see any of it. Instead, I push myself too hard, am too hard on myself, and yet am so kind and compassionate toward others. Look at all I've done for my mother, my father, for people in my life, for friends who are in need. Tell me that is not the actions of a kind and compassionate soul who gives his everything to help someone smile and make someone happy. So why is it that I am so heavy and critical of myself? Why am I thinking so ill of myself?
We laughed, joked, I teared, he cheered me up, reminded me of all the positive things in my life despite all the dear ones I have lost. It's not easy, not easy for anyone to deal with loss and death. But we need to learn from the experience, we need to see that we are still healthy, still functioning even though our minds and feelings tell us otherwise. Look at the people in wheelchairs, look at how they still go about their everyday business without much complaint. Have I forgotten those people in the hospitals who struggle to cling onto life? Have I forgotten what it feels like to tend to a loved one who is ill and dying? Remind myself of that... remind myself of what I have gone through, and everything else pales in comparison, do they not...?
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