Seasonal, Defective and Disordered

As the days draw in and the sky seems to hang perpetually dull and opaque, the glowering shadow of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) begins to flicker in my peripheral vision.

The falling leaves, the failing light, all signs that the death throes of another year are upon us, needling an incipient anxiety that life is slipping past too quickly. But this year, at least, I have discovered a means of lifting (if only momentarily) the veil of this the gloom-laden smog. I turn to meditation.

Its aim is not an empty mind or a state of utter detachment (or at least, not for rookies like me) and, only occasionally, I am fortunate to conjure bliss from this practice. It’s not a quick fix, or a distraction. It is rather more the means to allow my mind to fix my mind.

I only know one person who claims to find it easy. For most, there are always barriers, either to doing it at all, or to doing it satisfactorily. These obstacles can be external – the pleasant distractions of losing yourself to an evening of TV, or reading a story, doing a puzzle or playing a game; or internal – the ever-churning thoughts, plans and worries that plow through our minds like hurricanes.

In Triratna Buddhism, the two primary meditation practises are mindfulness of breathing and metta bhavana (cultivation of loving kindness).  The first, simply by the nature of our biological need to breathe, is readily accessible and can be key to learning how to pay attention to the state we are in.  Yet, the onslaught of life can be so immense, our detachment from our essential self so great, that the simple question, “How are you?” seems almost impossible to interpret, let alone answer.

But, once you are able to begin resisting the force of your storming brain, or the drip-drip of anxiety, to recognise just when and how far you are being pushed from the pathway of contemplating the in-and-out of your breath, then you can begin to regard a thought as just that – a thought- and not any more real or compelling than the process of gas exchange within your body. Let the thought go on its way, and bring yourself back to the breath.

But how does someone, surrounded by demanding humans, dazzled by dozens of competing obligations, find the opportunity to meditate?

Sara Burns, in her wonderfully down-to-earth and honest book, A Path for Parents (What Buddhism Can Offer), describes how she became mindful of the briefest moments when she could centre herself with a mini-meditation. She writes: “ …try it while watching your children play, or anywhere you have a few spare minutes not talking to someone else…” Easier said than done, you might argue, but it’s a far more realistic goal than meditating for hours on end in an incense scented prayer room, as nice as that would be!

An elderly lady, who attends the same meditation meetings as I do, claims she could never manage meditation when she was around her children. Eventually she decided that she would schedule particular times in her week to ensure she kept it up. Like playing an instrument, the longer you leave it, the more difficult it is to re-engage with the practice.  

Of course, when you begin to still your mind, things begin to float to the surface. They are not always pleasant. Sadly, some people who have suffered loss or tragedy and would benefit most from the chance to heal themselves, find the clarity it brings hard to bear. It’s easier to leave those unwelcome emotions to sink back into the mud, particularly in a world where we are expected to ‘get on with it’. Others can lose patience with our need to deal with our pain – they are probably afraid of facing their own long buried suffering – but we can be hurried through bereavement or topped up with drugs for depression, neglecting the long healing journey we really need to take. But the need to be productive rather than contemplative is the ethos which keeps the behemoth of our global economy lumbering along like a Frankenstein’s monster. 

Halloween is barely over, but snow-flake festooned seasonal food is on the shelves, the TV spews out advertisements of all the things we should buy to attain a perfect Christmas, and city streets begin to heave with stressed-out shoppers with too much to do. I can feel my chest tighten at the thought of what’s to come, the heightened expectations, the diminishing bank balance, the seductive shiny things, the compelling myths of Happy Christmas that blind me to the grasping, hungry beast that I continue to sustain at my own cost.

And … breathe …