Meditations

MEDITATIONS

From Menletter July 2003

By Tim Baehr

I want to talk about two kinds of meditation that go beyond the simple sitting meditation or walking meditation. The two experiences I want to tell you about involve your imagination.

They may or may not be for you; I've found them beneficial.

1 Tonglen

One form of Buddhist meditation is called tonglen; it comes from a Tibetan word that means "giving and taking." Tonglen is a kind of healing meditation carried out on behalf of someone who is suffering. It involves awareness of the breath, as does almost all meditation, but it also involves the use of imagery - sometimes disturbing imagery.

It's hard to imagine how sitting in quiet meditation can help another person; in our traditional "western" minds, it seems like magic or wishful thinking. There is no deity who can intervene or perform miracles.

A useful concept might be that tonglen meditation is a way of dissolving the barrier, the separation, between us and the suffering of other people. It can benefit us by making us more compassionate. And that compassion can in turn benefit others.

Here's a brief how-to.

Sit comfortably and take a few deep breaths. As your breath returns to normal, be aware of it entering and exiting your nostrils. If random thoughts flood into your mind, don't fight them. Just let them pass through you like clouds.

When you have gotten to a fairly calm and easy state, imagine yourself as two beings: the one sitting in meditation and the "you" that suffers in the world. Identify some aspect of that suffering, or just the suffering in general and imagine it as a dark cloud. Breathe in this cloud on your next breath, and breathe out clear, golden light.

No, I don't have this backwards. In some kinds of meditation we are asked to breathe in light and breathe out our darkness. But what you're doing here is taking in the suffering and transforming it. The dark cloud of suffering can't harm your meditating self, no matter how good your imagination is! It is "poison" only in the sense that it can break down the shell around your heart - your sense of separation from yourself and others.

Now direct your attention to someone who is suffering. Breathe in that person's dark cloud of suffering. Breathe out clear, golden light. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

What should happen; what should you feel? I don't think there's any "should" about it. Whatever happens, happens. But you may feel some compassion, some growing sense of peace.

If you like, you can expand your focus to all of humankind and its suffering.

"Instant" tonglen

I've found that there are occasions when I'll do a kind of on-the-spot tonglen. Sometimes it's when I see an ambulance go by or a MediVac helicopter fly over. Or when I encounter a traffic accident. And sometimes it's just when someone cuts me off in traffic. It's easy to get mad or even enraged when that happens. And (has it happened to you?) that bad feeling can last all day. But one deep breath, dark cloud in and brightness out, and the matter is forgotten. The breath gives me a short pause to dissipate the adrenalin before it festers into anger. The dark cloud helps me be mindful of the alternate interpretations (other than the other driver is an asshole): preoccupied, inattentive, late for an appointment, grieving, and so on. Or merely selfish - but that's a burden, too.

Practice

I can't say that I do tonglen every day, or even once a week. But that may change. The potential benefits, of this giving and taking, to myself and to my fellow humans, are too good to pass up. I hope it will become a regular practice.

2 Guided Meditation

Last Sunday I led a guided meditation into the deep masculine, for sixteen men attending a drumming circle. Guided meditations, or visualizations, are a way to visit a different reality. They're journeys into the soul, perhaps, or into a usually-unseen place that's as close as the next breath.

Background

I came to this meditation because I had been struggling with the fate of men in this society. My life's not too bad; in fact it's quite good. But I had been thinking about the fact that, over the past twenty years or more, and after a half-dozen or so books on men's issues, things hadn't changed much. We still live in a society that makes being a man unrewarding, dangerous, and often lethal.

You all know the basic facts: We die seven years younger than women. Women want equal rights, but not the right to work in the death-and-danger jobs. Our prostate cancer rate, at one-in-six, is higher than the breast cancer rate, at one-in-nine (yet there's comparatively little money for research and education). Most prisoners are men. Most victims of violence are men. Most suicides are men. Just about the only socially acceptable "bashing" humor is against men. Men get much of the blame for their lot, but the same patriarchy that has been protecting women has failed to protect men (industrial safety inspectors are outnumbered by fish-and-game wardens six-to-one, for instance). And militant, influential feminists have been misusing and distorting facts about men and women for years.

Playing the victim card ourselves won't work. Even the use of the term "men's issues" has been known to get feminists snorting with derision and walking out of the room. Starting a "movement" is an interesting alternative, but the early notoriety of the "men's movement" in the late '80s and early '90s damn near killed it as the media co-opted it and held it up to ridicule. Besides, I think almost any revolution begins to corrupt itself and die the minute it begins to succeed.

So, what is there to hope for?

I had already concluded, in the very first of this series of newsletters, that we may be in a slow, evolutionary process that could take generations. But I was frustrated. My friend John Dore, when he heard of my struggle, said yes, it may take a long time. And what we can do is reach one man at a time.

Then I started realizing that men aren't under attack by society so much as masculinity is. And we've been taught in the past two decades to devalue our masculinity and become "soft" (or even feminized) men or to engage in backlash and parade our masculinity as a kind of grotesque self-parody. But the masculinity we're born with - the deep stuff - is still there no matter what.

So I started composing a meditation to tap into this deep masculine. I mentioned it to Ron Kearns, at whose house we do a drumming circle, and he reminded me that Allan Chinen, in "Beyond the Hero," had explored the deep masculine.

Chinen says that the deep masculine is most readily available to older men, who are ready for a second initiation from warrior into an elderhood that is marked by the Trickster/Shaman archetype. But I think we can see the deep masculine also in young boys before they've been tamed by mothers and a mostly female-oriented educational system. They're sort of junior wild men, tiny Iron Johns, tricksters in diapers.

So a meditation can, possibly, get a man of any age into contact with the deep masculine. And maybe carrying this awareness can be useful as we meet today's challenges.

This is a bit of an experiment: I don't know how a guided meditation translates into print. I suggest you read it through slowly, giving yourself time to let the images form. Later on, you can do this meditation in your mind, without a script, changing any details that didn't work for you.

The meditation

Here's the meditation, not exactly word for word (I did it from rough notes, and I've modified it a bit based on feedback from the men). It's my attempt to reach one man at a time.

Get into a comfortable position. Take a few deep breaths. Now I invite you to become aware of your body by breathing, first, into your feet.... Now into your legs.... With each breath, we will breathe into a different part of the body, and relax it.

Breathe into your groin. Feel how your sex organs are settled into your pants. Breathe into your waist; feel the tightness of your belt. Breathe into your stomach...your chest...your shoulders. Notice if you're tensing your shoulders into a shrug.... Let your shoulders drop. Breathe into your arms...and down into your hands. Breathe into your neck, relaxing your tongue if you find it glued to the roof of your mouth. Breathe into your face, feeling the mask you wear softening, relaxing.

Now breathe back down into your groin. Think about what makes you a man. That's where the energy is for this meditation.

Imagine that you are leaving the building you're in, and taking any of the several paths away from it. Then imagine that this path leads into the woods, and as soon as you're in the woods you are no longer in this time or this place. You are a boy or a young man, and you are where you are meant to be - outdoors, feeling the breeze on your face, smelling the trees, hearing the birds.

You walk along for a while like this, enjoying yourself. Up ahead there's a curve in the path, and as you round the curve you see a beautiful castle of white stone. There's even a moat around it.

As you get closer to the castle, you notice that the drawbridge is down over the moat, and you can go inside.

You cross over the moat and find yourself in a great hall. It is dim inside, but you can make out rich paneling lining the walls.

Off to one side is a doorway with a sign over it: "Only Men." You go inside. In this side room is a picture gallery of men who are usually considered heroes: soldiers, cops, firefighters. But you notice that there are also some anonymous-looking men in dungarees or overalls and hard hats: sewer workers, lumbermen, janitors, window washers, farmers, and other men with dirty faces and dirty hands. And you notice also some fallen heroes: Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and others.

Why this strange mix of characters? You go outside and look at the sign: "Only Men." Does it mean "Only men can do these things?" or "These are expendable - disposable - because they are only men"?

You turn away from the doorway - you don't want to go back inside - and notice that the great hall has filled with people, mostly women.

There are different groups. Some are mothers. Some are teachers. Some are feminists. Some are wives. Some look like your counterparts in the working world. Each one has something to say.

The mothers say, "You're dirty and messy and loud; all little boys are like that." And you feel anger and shame.

The teachers say, "Stop squirming! Sit down! Be quiet! Why can't you behave like the girls?" And you feel anger and shame.

The co-workers say, "Don't even think about being friendly with me, or I'll get you fired for harassment. You men are all alike." And you feel anger and shame.

The feminists have even more to say: "All men are rapists. Husbands are just marital rapists. Men who have 'issues' are wusses. The patriarchy power elite includes all men. Down with the patriarchy! 'Men's studies?' That's just the male-dominated history of the world!" On and on they rant. And you feel anger at the lies and shame that you have nothing to say.

The wives say a lot of different things. You may hear mostly loving things, or you may hear some things like "I do all the work around the house; you do nothing for the family." "Give me the baby; you have no idea what you're doing." "Not tonight. I have a headache." "You men are all alike - beer and sports on TV." "Where's your paycheck?" "Look what I bought." "You never express your feelings." "I'm taking the kids - and the house." "Take out the garbage." "Climb this ladder." "Why are you always working late?" "Do I have to do everything around here?" You feel inadequate; you feel shame.

Off in a corner is a bunch of women talking and laughing among themselves. As you approach the group, they stop talking and look at you. As you walk away, you can hear them continue with their man-bashing jokes. And you feel anger and shame.

You return to the center of the hall and look around you. This is the hall of shame.

Deep in the shadows you can make out some men, mostly wearing expensive suits or military uniforms. Without approaching them, you know: these are advertising executives, CEOs, military brass. Their job is to profit from serving women's interests - their spending power and their traditional need to be protected. They have no shame; you are ashamed for them.

You're beginning to get dizzy with despair. Is there no escape from this hall of shame?

Suddenly you sense someone at your elbow. You begin to whirl about angrily when you notice that it's a man in a clown suit and a jester's hat with bells on it. He smiles and points to the far wall. Over there you can just barely make out in the rich paneling the thinnest possible crack of daylight.

The jester takes you by the arm and guides you to the far wall. He touches the paneling in a secret place, and it opens.

You blink. Out this back door of the castle is a meadow, bright in the afternoon sun. And the meadow is filled with men!

Some are building things, in small and large crews. Some are playing sports, laughing and joking. Some sit quietly and talk. The jester introduces you to a couple of the men. And you see it in their eyes: total acceptance. Of themselves as men. Of you as a man. And suddenly you know: the masculinity you were born with is intact. And strong. And honored.

You look around some more. At the edge of the meadow, hidden by the trees, are some other people, mostly women. The women are the some of the same ones you saw in the hall of shame. But everyone at the edge of the meadow has a look of love on their faces. These are the women who can see and honor your masculinity.

One of the men smiles and touches you on the chest. Deep inside your chest, where you didn't know it was there, you can feel a huge scar begin to soften and dissolve. He reaches behind him and pulls out two gifts for you.

The first is a disguise. Some disguise! It looks just like you! You put it on and realize that the disguise is your public, social man-face, hiding and protecting your deep masculinity.

The second gift has no physical form or substance. It is compassion. You turn your mind's eye to this gift, exploring it a little. The compassion extends outward to the men in the meadow. This feels natural. But you notice that it also extends back to the castle and the hall of shame.

The only way home is to go back through the castle. But now you have three protections: the jester, the disguise, and your compassion. As you pass through the hall of shame, you don't interact with the women there, but you know you'll meet them in your everyday world. And through your compassion, you can see that many of them were not speaking with their own voices.

Now you're on the drawbridge. Your jester bids you good-bye; he has other men to guide. But you notice that your disguise and your compassion are really aspects of the jester.

You return along the path to where you started. You find yourself sitting quietly, slowly returning to the ordinary world you left.