As I write, I'm sitting in a hotel room in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. My thirteen-year-old daughter has finished swimming and is getting ready for bed. My daughter and I have always been very close. It's always been difficult for me to discipline her and I feel that I tend to err on the side of being indulgent rather than being overly-strict. However, in the past year or two, as she's made the transition from lovingly-curious adolescent into hormonal, eyeball-rolling teenager, I find myself occasionally losing my cool with her. Sometimes I'm ashamed when I blow my lid and end up shouting or cursing at her. It doesn't happen often, but as she has approached and, recently surpassed the age of thirteen, my attitude doppler has seen a slight increase in colorful splotches.
I've especially noticed that I tend to resort to shouting like an idiot more often when my wife and daughter are picking at each other. I think they see their conflicts as minor squabbles when I see them as infuriating and disrespectful attacks on one another. I've been making a conscious effort to try to be as consistent as possible in dealing with my daughter, regardless of who else is in the room. I know is seems simple and fair, but I sometimes struggle with this issue of consistency.
Next Sunday is Father's Day. It will be the first Father's Day since the death of my father and I will be away from my family on a bicycling trip. I'm excited about the trip but I feel a little pang of guilt knowing that I'll be away. In an effort to help compensate for my impending absence and, because I suspect my thirteen-year-old daughter will soon not be interested in vacations with her dad, we're visiting Mammoth Cave together--just the two of us.
Ironically, one of the "Zen of the day" emails I got this morning was a very informative and inspirational piece from one of my favorite authors, Pema Chodron. In this lesson (below), she discusses the concept of "Shenpa" or "getting hooked." She describes that familiar feeling of "stickiness" when our reaction to conflict starts to turn into aggression. The minute I read her description, my mind slammed into recognition of that feeling. That feeling almost always happens a few moments before I completely pop my cork and then shout like a fool.
I'm going to use this trip into the depths of the earth in central Kentucky not only to spend some precious time with my daughter, but to also stay intensely mindful of the feeling of "shenpa." I'm training myself to recognize that "sticky feeling" and, when it comes, keep myself from acting upon it, to focus on the breath, curb my tongue, and remember my role of teacher and nurturer, rather than the hot-headed idiot that occasionally arises.
Here are Pema Chodron's words that inspired this post:
Getting Hooked
In Tibetan there is a word that points to the root cause of aggression, the root cause also of craving. It points to a familiar experience that is at the root of all conflict, all cruelty, oppression, and greed. This word is shenpa. The usual translation is “attachment,” but this doesn’t adequately express the full meaning. I think of shenpa as “getting hooked.” Another definition, used by Dzigar Kongtrul Rinpoche, is the “charge”—the charge behind our thoughts and words and actions, the charge behind “like” and “don’t like.” Here’s an everyday example: Someone criticizes you. She criticizes your work or your appearance or your child. In moments like that, what is it you feel? It has a familiar taste, a familiar smell. Once you begin to notice it, you feel like this experience has been happening forever. That sticky feeling is shenpa. And it comes along with a very seductive urge to do something. Somebody says a harsh word and immediately you can feel a shift. There’s a tightening that rapidly spirals into mentally blaming this person, or wanting revenge, or blaming yourself. Then you speak or act. The charge behind the tightening, behind the urge, behind the story line or action is shenpa.
- Pema Chödrön, "Don't Bite the Hook" (Summer 2009)
Friday, June 11, 2010
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How timely for me that you post this now. I'm reading Einstein's God and just last night I read a chapter about revenge and forgiveness. It discussed their value from a scientist's perspective--basically how brains (in human beings and animals) are wired for both in order to survive and how religion has exalted forgiveness over revenge but yet at the same time provided little mechanism for us to forgive ourselves for our feelings of revenge or for acting upon it (and also has not exalted or acknowledged or given us credit for the little, easy forgivenesses we engage in every day that we don't even think about). Aggression keeps us alive by annihilating things that hurt us. Forgiveness keeps us alive so that we do not annihilate the things that hurt or threaten us because we realize that many of these things also have some value to us. I think Forgiveness is sort of like politics creating strange bedfellows! It's all about survival in that perspective. Does Zen care about the fight to survive? I don't think it does, but I don't remember much of what I read about it back in law school when I was interested in it. So is being Zen about trying to stop the shenpa through breathing or is it about channeling it (with the help of breathing?) so that it serves its purpose without annihilating other living things, our environment, relationships, etc? Juli PS by the way, I don't have patience for setting up a profile and am doing all this anonymously. what's a quick easy way to not be anonymous?
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ReplyDeleteThanks for the comment. My take on the situation is that the Zen approach is to realize when that sticky feeling starts and just be with that feeling, exploring it, but not taking action--creating negative karma. Breathing is probably important through the process, otherwise you'll turn red and blue at the same time.
ReplyDeleteAs for posting without an account, just type up your comments and then select Name/URL in the drop down. You can just put your name and leave the URL blank.
Thanks again.
Wade
Oh. I just finished The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins and am currently working on The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel. If you're liking Einstein's God, you might try the Dawkins book. It's blatantly and evangelically atheist, but it'll get your brain moving in interesting directions.
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