Spiritual Death

It seems appropriate that I come to post this entry on Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. A day when, in the ‘dead’ of winter, we find ourselves cresting the brow of the season and looking forward to the new calendar year that promises spring, as the days gradually but steadily lengthen to bring new growth. Though to a Southern Briton, ‘dead’ of winter in Central India feels more like the ‘light snooze’ of winter, it is noticeable nevertheless and I’m looking forward to the longer hours of daylight.

Non Buddhists may not be familiar with the term ‘Spiritual Death’ and when I first encountered it, I certainly found it rather strange. Thankfully, we’re all about the potential for rebirth here, so it’s not quite as fatal as it sounds. Sangharakshita, founder of Triratna, presents a cycle of spiritual development to us in the stages of Integration, Positive Emotion, Spiritual Death, Spiritual Rebirth and then Spiritual Receptivity. (If you’d like to read more about these stages for yourself, I’m sure my friends in the Manchester Sangha won’t mind me sharing this document produced by Chandana, which gives you an overview of a course that they deliver on the subject). It should be recognised that we don’t necessarily travel through these stages in a progressive fashion, and also that we continue to pass through them again, and again, right throughout our spiritual lives. I guess it’s only upon achieving enlightenment that one ends this, and indeed every other cycle.

Winter Stars; We still see Orion and Sirius here but at a different angle!

Not a scene I'll experience any time soon!

The first stage, Integration, often starts with discussions around awareness and mindfulness of yourself. You begin to realise how you behave differently in different social groups, perhaps. Maybe you experience a tension between different versions of ‘you’. You at work. You with the kids. You on a night out with your mates. This wasn’t something I felt I had a particular problem with in itself, I’ve always perceived myself as being quite a ‘straight down the line’, ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of person, but it was still a useful model to contemplate and what I did notice about myself is that I often experienced a tugging between opposing factors of my personality within myself. My actions did not quite line up with my goals. I wanted to feel better rested but wasn’t motivated to go to bed until 1 am, for example. Or perhaps how I truly feel about a situation is a little too difficult to manage in a way I’m comfortable with so I persuade myself I feel differently. “I’m totally fine! I’m taking it all in my stride!” I may believe, as those around me begin to notice the cracks appearing. Anyway, that’s a bit of background, that’s how I engaged with it when I first encountered the teaching. For me now, I see ‘integration’ as being about gathering myself; finding and discovering all the scattered impressions and experiences that form my current self and making room for them to be on the surface of who I am. A bit like going into the garden to cut some flowers and then carefully placing them in a vase so they can each be seen and play their part in the overall arrangement. Of course, the flowers don’t last and the garden itself changes over the seasons, as my learning and experiences shift, so it makes sense that it’s often necessary to revisit this stage.

The stage of Positive Emotion is, to me, the point at which these factors are comfortably balanced within myself and I begin to have more energy for others again, I can become more outward and generous with myself when I know who that self really is. And then we come to the Spiritual Death. If I might couch this in language to make it accessible to the ‘digital native’ generation, I’d say I interpret this as being a bit like the ‘Big Boss’ at the end of a computer game level. You hop along through the game nicely, defeating all the little challenges that are set up for you along the way, steadily making progress. Then, just when you think you’re really getting somewhere, just when you’re nearly there, some big bad beastie comes out of the shadows and bops you off. You reload the level. You start again. Over time, you learn how it moves, where it has weak spots and which of the carefully selected weapons you’ve been given can be most effectively deployed, but still it defeats you. It’s impossible! Finally, just when you were about to eject the cartridge (I’m old school) in disgust and buy a new game, somehow, everything falls into place and you win. You’ve completed that stage! The next level suddenly opens up before you. Of course, that brings with it all its fresh new monsters and obstacles, but you’re a stage higher. You’re more skilled. You’ve upped your game. That’s how I see Spiritual Death; despite all the struggle to get through it, I don’t seem to really know it for what it is until I look back on it, until I realise I’ve finished the level.

From the space and peace of rural Bihali...

...To the push and shove of a bustling Nagpur city centre!

I’ve had about three Spiritual Deaths since I arrived in India I think, as each time I shed a layer of preconceived self and opened up to engage more fully with the challenges presented by my new cultural landscape, or to put it more simply, as I ‘settled in’. It’s fair to say; however, that my recent experiences on retreat in Bihali were certainly the most challenging yet, on multiple levels. I think I was always going to find it difficult coming back from that retreat. Having spent two months in Nagpur city centre, the spacious peace provided by the Indian countryside would inevitably be tough to give up. Equally, I would be in unknown territory personally as I entered my third month away from home, the longest I’ve ever been away from the UK. These things would in and of themselves have flung me into a bit of a funk, I think. Post ‘holiday’ blues and mild homesickness, quite enough to be getting on with. Chuck an intensive week of spiritual self-analysis and the need to recover from sexual assault and robbery into the mix and you’ve got a heady cocktail of reasons to be operating in a severely altered state. Such it was, and having maintained to myself and others that I felt absolutely normal in the aftermath of the event itself, as the next week opened up in front of me I found I did not feel normal at all. Thankfully, my colleagues noticed and respected, (perhaps even expected) my subdued nature and kindly cooperated to give me a few days off teaching.

I wouldn’t have felt comfortable to ask for this, I even found it hard at first to accept, but I realised I needed it and I’m very glad I had it. A few days to reboot myself. Recover physically, sort things out practically (simple things like getting a new mobile are pretty complicated in India!) and just have a bit of space to integrate my recent experiences. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that was the main reason why I suddenly felt I had no motivation or confidence, no energy. It was all being used up on integrating. ‘This Life is Currently Under Repair. We Apologise for any Inconvenience Caused.’ So, I guess I had a Spiritual Death experience coming back from Bihali. A big bump back into what passes for reality. Returning to an increasingly familiar set of circumstances but with a  very new set of unfamiliar experiences to reintegrate into them, which is what I then spent the following week doing. So what about the Spiritual Rebirth? Well, you may remember I said they don’t have to go in sequential order!

I didn’t have the motivation to drag myself in to the gym for a few days after getting home. A dull old treadmill in a small, smelly, sweaty gym that lacks air conditioning isn’t exactly attractive after a few runs in the countryside (even if one of them was to get away from an attacker!) I still felt a little physically battered anyway and didn’t want to attract questions on the cause of the bruising. I was apprehensive about my first run but managed to drag myself in on Thursday, expecting it to be tough but determined to get through it. Much to my delight it was far from tough and I experienced what I consider to be an ‘ideal’ run, where I really got into ‘the zone’ and felt my body functioning as it naturally should, arms and legs hanging comfortably from my frame, working together to power my body forward in a very natural movement that really felt like what it was made for. All my component parts unified in their intent to carry out this activity, my mind, my body, performing harmoniously like a well-conditioned machine. I was using my new mobile as a music player (I love running without music when I’m outside but I find I need a boost on a treadmill!) and so I had also updated my running playlist. You know that feeling when you find a fiver you’d forgotten about in the pocket of something you’ve not worn for a while? That’s how I felt when a Guns ‘n’ Roses track I’d not listened to for a long, long time came up on shuffle. As the vibrations in my ears sent electrical impulses to my brain and through my nervous system, I felt a focus. I felt a determination. I felt a power not just in my body, running as it was with strength and momentum, but in my mind. In my self. In my being.

I realised then that a part of me had been dormant for a long while, eighteen months perhaps, or longer. Not repressed, simply not seeking active expression. My experience of leaving professional teaching had been a painful one and I’d found myself feeling very under confident, very worn down. Moving then into a brand new living and work environment had further encouraged me to take a ‘back seat’ within myself as I scouted out the strange and unfamiliar, as I worked out what was what. I think that’s very common when we encounter the novel. We step back to assess both the threats and opportunities, to define and establish a new routine. We take a little time out personally to discover what kind of ‘us’ we’re expected to be by our new social groups and colleagues and decide to what degree we will respond to this. As well as this temporary dilution of myself as a consequence of moving 200 miles and taking a complete career swerve, the Buddhist teachings I was newly following seemed to encourage this fresh mildness, this lack of assertion and perhaps that’s not a bad thing for a time. Learning to really question why I have a feeling before I express it. Deciding how helpful it really is to those around me to express it in the first place. Being careful and mindful, gentle and observant.

As I ran, I had a mental image of a younger (yet somehow older), more vibrant, more assertive ‘me’ calmly putting her hand up; she’d been observing carefully, critically but kindly, from the back of a busy room. She slowly began to move her way through the crowd to the front of the stage that is the arena of my self-awareness, moving back towards the set where the act of ‘me’ takes place publically. ‘Excuse me?’ She said, projecting her voice over Axl Rose and Slash’s best efforts. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something. You’ve forgotten to kick ass. You’ve forgotten that you do know what you’re doing. You’ve forgotten that you’re skilled and talented and effective and able. You’ve forgotten your opinions count and not only deserve to be aired but should be aired so that others can benefit from them too. That’s enough, Mouse. Time to remember the Glitter.’

After that run, after that realisation, I experienced a gradual surge of energy and confidence. Mark had mentioned feeling a bit ill and run down. We’d planned to teach together the next day but I told him to take Friday off. I knew I could cover it, and I knew I only had that energy back because he’d been covering me. Then I thought about Shakyajata, who had not only covered me during that week, but had been entirely on her own with the teaching all the week before, when Mark and I had both been on the retreat itself. She’d been hoping to get a break too but arrangements had fallen through. Suddenly, I had an idea that even if she couldn’t get out of Nagpur, she could take a break. She could have a week off. I could cover. No apprehension. No fear. No worries that I might not be ‘very good’ at delivering the content, no lack of confidence that I’d not only cope, but be able to do a good job in her absence. I even went so far as to suggest that I could lead the morning puja. I had thought about offering this before, I knew I’d enjoy it and it would give her a hand, also mixing up the sessions a bit and giving the community girls some variety. I was worried however, that my offer might be misinterpreted as arrogance, or disrespect of her experience. Suddenly however, I had the confidence to speak my truth and share the idea without fear of being misunderstood. I knew I had the confidence and ability to lead the puja, finally I also had the confidence that I could communicate this fact skilfully. I wasn’t even afraid I’d regret the offer. I’ve found in recent weeks that energy levels can be very unpredictable; vibrant and high one moment, tired and drained the next, which has made me reluctant to commit to things, yet somehow I just knew I had the capacity to see all I was offering through. I wasn’t afraid to be generous anymore because I knew I had the resources to give. I’ve no idea where that knowledge, that self-belief came from but I’m certainly not going to question it. Mark enjoyed Friday off. Shakyajata accepted and is currently taking a break in Odisha. I’m enjoying leading puja and meditation, I’ve enjoyed my teaching and I’ve even had spare energy for creative acts like writing poems.

There she is...

It's been a while.

That looks like her...

Yep. There she is.

I hadn’t written a single poem since I left the UK, but suddenly with my energies opened up and the Dharma flowing freely again, three dropped out of my head without me even much trying. I’ve had energy to volunteer some time to help proofread the Triratna Arts and Culture Catalogue. On Monday night, I had the energy to go out for dinner; on a school night! I’ve not even been hitting the snooze button and hiding in another hour of oblivion. I’ve been getting up and enjoying my day, and what’s more is that I’ve sustained this positivity for almost a week; the longest period of my Indian adventure so far. Is this starting to sound a little like Positive Emotion?

Since this discovery, I’ve further mused that the problem with making spiritual progress (or any other kind, for that matter) is that we often feel like things have got harder without realising that this in itself is a symbol of progress, not of regression. If things get easy, we plateau. Imagine you’d never run before but then started to do ten minutes on a treadmill everyday with no control over the fixed speed. It would feel hard at first but then eventually get easier. Then, imagine that one day the engineer came before you started and recalibrated the machine so it now ran half a mile an hour faster. You wouldn’t know, you’d just think ’gosh, this feels hard today’ but actually, you’d have moved your game up a stage, it would be harder because you were making progress and getting fitter.

I mentioned earlier that I have experienced real peaks and troughs in mood and energy since arriving in India. I’ve felt healthy and happy one day, but then struggled with emotional or physical wellness the next. Since this re-emergence of a part of myself though, since that Spiritual Rebirth

on the treadmill, since I remembered to kick ass, I’ve found a whole new kind of balance. I feel (so far; no room for complacency here!) as if I’ve stabilised. I think I’ve settled in to another layer of being here. I think I’ve levelled up. I think I’m kicking ass and I think this mouse might finally be once again beginning to glitter.