Being in the Moment- a reality check

Being in the Moment- a reality check

I started writing something about being in the moment a week or so ago and circumstances made sure I never finished the article. I was trying to explore how I feel about the people I call Bright-siders (from Barbara Ehrenreich’s book “Bright-sided”, “Smile or die” in the UK ) who always seem to find a good side to everything. Ms Ehrenreich was herself suitably appalled, not by solely by her breast cancer, but also by the movement that seems to exist that declares that far from being a catastrophe, breast cancer might just be the very best thing that has ever happened to you. 

I’ve heard this sort of thing before and it’s never ceased to amaze me how people can do this. Forgive my cynicism but hold on one moment…Cancer is good? While I am willing to accept and understand that after a serious event in one’s own life, it is possible to see collateral benefits of that devastating illness, that heartache, that bereavement, that job loss or that destructive divorce, I must stress that this can surely only be afterwards and only apply to your own acceptance of the outcome.  

The other train of thought that has been thundering through my mind lately has been that I simply do not understand how those who speak of the Bright-side also speak about being in the moment. Now being in the moment is a buzz word, an “IN” concept. I have heard of it first via Zen Buddhist practices and subsequently in almost every self help manual I’ve ever come across. Basically the practise consists of seeking to maintain the mind(and therefore the self) entirely in the present moment, without looking either ahead at the future or back at the past. Forgive me if I have oversimplified or misunderstood this but this is how I have understood it. In self help manuals it then stresses that doing this somehow magically transforms everything. I’ve read and heard comments to the effect that when a person started to live more in the moment, their life was transformed. I don’t understand this. I understand that a detachment from either the future or the past can be very liberating but it is the same people who preach this who also tend to be Brightsiders. The two are incompatible.  

Imagine the scenario. Life is going very badly for whatever reason. To try and improve it one tries to seek the good within the bad. This automatically pulls you out of the present moment and into the future, of seeing where this experience will benefit you or where it may take you. 

Pain is probably the most effective teacher of being in the moment. Serious chronic pain, or sudden acute pain catapult you into the moment by moment endurance of life. I don’t recommend either form of pain. Grief too, is another effective teacher of being in the moment, though most of us seek any sort of comfort we can to escape the unendurable agony of losing someone. In both these cases, this is where the Brightsiders have the most difficulty in coping. Pain and grief make you exist moment by moment and it’s then for me, the futility of trying to find a good in bad becomes most evident. What’s good in the death of someone I love? Nothing. That they were loved and that they are beyond pain now is besides the point. Those are tattered rags of comfort that flutter in the roaring gale of pain.

 Later, perhaps, comes philosophy and acceptance. Later comes the realisation that the void their loss brought has been filled by something else that could never have come before. But these are things one can see(truly see, not imagine in an orgy of denial) later. At the time, these are not just irrelevant but inconceivable to someone who has truly lived through the moment by moment, inch by inch of pain and grief. 

There are times when people offer words of comfort that seem to proceed from a need to relieve our pain. These words, sincerely meant, can be poorly received. A parent who has lost a baby does not want to hear their baby is safe in the arms of Jesus; she wants that baby in her arms.

 I have no answers. I walked to work today, fighting tears. I wanted to escape into my mental landscape where the sorrow I face does not exist. I did not; I found I could not. I realised also that joy is the dark sister of sorrow. No, I make no mistake here. Joy is what balances the sorrows of our life, but joy makes us complacent. Joy makes us believe we are beloved and chosen by God for special care and favours. So when sorrow comes, we believe ourselves to be cursed, or abandoned or that the joy we once felt was an illusion because how can something be that bright and that beautiful and that fleeting? Sorrow is as much a gift from God as joy is. For every birth there is a death, for every day, a night. You cannot have one without the other and while we crave the light, we demonise the dark. Dark and light are two sides of the same thing, just as joy and sorrow are twins joined at the heart. Ever noticed that the place we are said to feel both emotions is the heart? 

I do not wish to be in the moment now but I seem to have little choice but to take one day, one hour, one moment at a time and live as the day takes me. And my God, it hurts.

Secrets of The Universe (1)

I’ve sometimes got ideas, (often my best ideas) for stories from dreams. The dream world is the door to the unconscious and also to other levels of consciousness too. So since many people including myself  believe that they receive guidance and help from beyond human consciousness through dreams, it’s not surprising that so many breakthroughs and insights come through dreams. Inventions(the sewing machine, the light bulb), discoveries(the double helix nature of the DNA strand) inspirations (poetry, prose, even entire novels, such as Dr Jeykll and Mr Hyde) religious enlightenment and even the location of treasure(the Swaffham peddlar) came through dreams.

Some years ago, the father of an acquaintance of mine started to have very powerful dreams where he felt he was being given important information for humanity. The problem was that as soon as he woke up, he simply couldn’t remember what he had been told in the dreams. Night after night, he dreamed such dreams and in the morning they were gone. He retained nothing beyond the impression that he had been told something of vital importance.

Frustrated and beginning to be distressed about this, he asked for advice and a close family friend told him that he ought to keep a notebook and pen by the bed and try to wake himself up out of these powerful dreams and immediately write down whatever he had understood.

Easier said than done. He sorted out notebook and pen, but waking himself up was so hard. Eventually he hit on the idea of having big glass of water before going to sleep so that the inevitable effects of that would cause his sleep to become lighter and then to wake.

Bingo!

The first night he woke but nothing had been dreamed.

Ditto the second night.

But on the third night, he woke after a marvellous dream, scribbled it down, staggered to the bathroom and back, plunging immediately into sleep again.

The next morning, it was time for the golden revelation. He’d shut the notebook up so he couldn’t glance at it and he brought it down to read out to his wife and son.

Long silence.

“What’s it say then, Dad?” asked the son.

Wordlessly, in fact speechless, the father handed his son the fateful notebook and hid his face in awe as the immortal words were read out:

THE UNIVERSE IS SUFFUSED WITH THE FRAGRANCE OF TURPENTINE.   

So now you know.