My sangha is reading Shaila Catherine's Focused and Fearless. At the moment, we are reading a chapter on equanimity. While I knew I had work to do with this practice, until we read this chapter and discussed it, I had no idea how much work I had to do with equanimity. So for that reason, I titled this Equanimity Part I, as I'm sure there will be more on the topic.
A little over a week ago, I made the difficult decision to put my dog down. It was difficult for the obvious reason: no one wants to say goodbye to a beloved pet. But on top of that, I felt in some way that I had betrayed him by taking him to his death. Logically, I know I did the right thing by him. Emotionally, I feel like Brutus. There is more to the story, but I'll spare you all the details that will surely mean more to me than to you.
While some people have monkey mind, the mind that jumps from thought to thought, for about a week I had monkey life. I made feeble attempts at resisting my grief and guilt. For three days, I spun my wheels until they almost feel off, dreading the quiet that did not fail to bring me to my knees. I did not meditate for a week, knowing that a quiet moment alone with my thoughts would involve lots of crying. I panicked and pushed myself to fatigue.
And here's where the equanimity, or lack thereof, comes into play. When the sangha talked about equanimity last week, it became clear to me that I had not handled his death with any kind of equanimity.
This kind of surprised me. A few months ago, my dad warned me about my dog's health and how I would have to make that hard decision sooner than later. I shrugged, assured him I was aware of that fact, and moved on. I almost felt guilty that the thought didn't make me feel sad. I knew my dog had lived a long life of sixteen years, and although I do not know what his first seven were like, I do know that the last nine have been pretty kosh.
So when the grief of saying goodbye to my dog doubled me over and sent me into a whirlwind of frantic attempts at escaping emotion coupled with bouts of sobbing, I was a little taken aback.
Equanimous, foschwamanous. I was, quite simply, a mess.
Monday night, we talked about equanimity, and I realized how much I clearly lacked. I left feeling disappointed in myself and moped. Then the next morning it occurred to me that maybe the best place to start with equanimity is in the realization that I lack it. Maybe seeing it for what it was rather than engaging in self-degrading talk would be a good start for establishing some equanimity in my life. So here's my start: I see that I will benefit from working on equanimity. It is what it is.
A little over a week ago, I made the difficult decision to put my dog down. It was difficult for the obvious reason: no one wants to say goodbye to a beloved pet. But on top of that, I felt in some way that I had betrayed him by taking him to his death. Logically, I know I did the right thing by him. Emotionally, I feel like Brutus. There is more to the story, but I'll spare you all the details that will surely mean more to me than to you.
While some people have monkey mind, the mind that jumps from thought to thought, for about a week I had monkey life. I made feeble attempts at resisting my grief and guilt. For three days, I spun my wheels until they almost feel off, dreading the quiet that did not fail to bring me to my knees. I did not meditate for a week, knowing that a quiet moment alone with my thoughts would involve lots of crying. I panicked and pushed myself to fatigue.
And here's where the equanimity, or lack thereof, comes into play. When the sangha talked about equanimity last week, it became clear to me that I had not handled his death with any kind of equanimity.
This kind of surprised me. A few months ago, my dad warned me about my dog's health and how I would have to make that hard decision sooner than later. I shrugged, assured him I was aware of that fact, and moved on. I almost felt guilty that the thought didn't make me feel sad. I knew my dog had lived a long life of sixteen years, and although I do not know what his first seven were like, I do know that the last nine have been pretty kosh.
So when the grief of saying goodbye to my dog doubled me over and sent me into a whirlwind of frantic attempts at escaping emotion coupled with bouts of sobbing, I was a little taken aback.
Equanimous, foschwamanous. I was, quite simply, a mess.
Monday night, we talked about equanimity, and I realized how much I clearly lacked. I left feeling disappointed in myself and moped. Then the next morning it occurred to me that maybe the best place to start with equanimity is in the realization that I lack it. Maybe seeing it for what it was rather than engaging in self-degrading talk would be a good start for establishing some equanimity in my life. So here's my start: I see that I will benefit from working on equanimity. It is what it is.
