Peace among distress

More reflections from my Buddhist/Daoist meditation course

I have still been very stressed out by the actions of the Trump presidency. I don’t usually follow the news so closely, but I initially tried to keep up with the policy changes that Trump and his administration are enacting, checking to see how I and the people I know will be impacted. It was so overwhelming and scary, and I started to be quite unwell emotionally. My psychiatrist then instructed me to take a “news diet.” So now I’m a little less in the loop with everything going on, but probably this is best for my wellbeing.

Many have said something similar, but I like the phrasing attributed to filmmaker Akiro Kurosawa: “In a mad world, only the mad are sane.” To not be emotionally affected at all by the increasing authoritarianism in the U.S. federal government is either to be denial or perhaps to uphold values that, however good-intentioned, are murderous in practice.

The sanity of madness is the tears that make the ocean of the womb. It is the fire that burns in the heart when gunfire breaks out nearby or far. It is an excess of joy of dancing to your own drum, or a strong bitterness to your spirit like unsweetened dark chocolate. In Mandarin, the English word “queer” is translated by sound: “ku-ar” (酷儿). Literally, it means “the bitter one,” the one angered by oppressive and normative social demands. No, queerness isn’t madness, but mine is — bitter and mad.

For the meditation course that I am taking in my grad program, I need to meditate for at least 5 minutes every day. Usually I try for 15-20 minutes, but sometimes I get restless or emotionally overwhelmed and cut off the session. Frequently my meditations leave me in tears. This is not a problem. Humans cry. Even Buddhist monks and nuns cry. But as mentioned in my class, emotions last only 90 seconds before they start to dissipate. The only thing that elongates their presence is your clinging onto the emotion. If you just observe it and let it be, it goes away. It is not your essence. It has visited you, but it is not your essence.

It is such a hard time for me to try to establish a regular meditation routine, given just how destabilizing national and global events have been. I’ve not been in a distinct mood episode or crisis, but I do feel myself teetering on instability. As is frequently the case for me, I start entertaining suicidal ideation with various degrees of seriousness. But even those thoughts are not inherently threatening. I can meditate and let my death drives be my friend.

The interplay between the sanity of madness and the wellness of Buddha nature is nuanced, but I think they complement each other. Because meditation isn’t about draining yourself of thoughts and feelings. The purpose and activity of the human mind is to think and feel. To deny that is to succumb to delusion. Instead, meditation opens us up to the true intensity and variety of our inner lives and helps us to more clearly discern a way forward.

So far in my meditation practice, I have been able to achieve some degree of awareness of my inner experience and even some inner peace in the eye of the storm. I haven’t necessarily been feeling the positive effects continue after the meditation session concludes. But these things take time.

My psychiatrist has also adjusted — mostly increased — my medication dosages to help me avoid a crisis. I wish that I did not have to rely on medications, which have side effects and which can be hard to wean off of once you’ve taken them for a while (and one of my as-needed meds has particularly strong addictive potential, so I avoid using it unless I really need to). If I had been properly taught meditation as a child, and supported in practicing regularly, perhaps I would have strong enough skills to ground myself through the power of my own mind and not through pharmaceuticals.

But given my recent history of crisis and my only nascent skills in meditation (I began trying meditation as a teenager but never had a consistent practice), I think it makes sense to have multiple sources of support. The meds, hopefully, instate an upper bound for the amount of instability I experience. Meditation then reinforces for me that the instability that I do experience can become more tolerable and within my awareness as I practice. Yet being in touch with my madness, such as when I cuddle with my plushies while crying in despair, reminds me that I am human. I can feel the sorrow, or even the thrilling joy, and then let it go.

I can have peace even while I experience distress. My mad distress about the world must motivate my action, but peace is what gives me strength to act.