So as a spiritual practitioner, we sometimes have a hidden fantasy of what spiritual practice or mindfulness is supposed to look like.
Sometimes we tend to imagine that once we practice long enough, we will become a kind of peaceful being who cannot be shaken.
We think that if someone hurts us, we will simply “breathe”, smile, do the necessary analysis
and from there choose the right response, and move on.
But this week reality shook me up a bit and reminded me how far this fantasy is from the truth. Still.
I experienced a very difficult and painful interaction with a significant figure in my life.
Things were said that hurt my softest stomach and the values that are most important to me.
At that moment, all the “zen” and peaceful mindset evaporated. My nervous system detected danger, and my body was flooded with adrenaline.
There was no compassion there. I felt sharp pain, burning anger, and a strong need to protect myself and repel the hurt.
And from this wounded and defensive place – I responded. Not only inside myself, but also outwardly.
In mindfulness, we talk a lot about “the space between stimulus and response” – that space where our freedom to choose how to act lies.
As a practitioner and teacher, I had some kind of hidden expectation of myself that in the moment of truth, even in the midst of a crisis, I would know how to stay in this space and respond with wisdom and balance.
But what actually happened was completely different. My biggest surprise was not from what I was told, but from the intensity of my own reaction. I was not prepared for it. I did not imagine that my system would react in such an intense and turbulent way, and that in that split second the space would simply close completely and I would act out of pure survival instinct.
At the same time, I did not feel self-deprecating or guilty about how I responded. Instead, I found myself analyzing the situation with amazement and surprise: here I was, with all the years of practice, and still – when the wound was deep enough, biology and emotional conditioning were running the show.
So after the storm subsided, when I realized I had lost the “space between stimulus and response,” I sat down to practice.
But I didn’t try to create an enlightened state of mind or fix what had happened. I brought with me to the pillow the fatigue, the surprise at my own intensity, and the imperfect vulnerability.
I gave things enormous space. I realized that sometimes the spiritual act is not to always be in the perfect space, but to know how to observe ourselves when that space collapses – without judging the collapse.
Of course, by the very nature of emotions, they are impermanent and fleeting. Every emotion, if we don’t hold on to it, will pass.
And of course I decided not to hold on.
And yet,
Another opportunity was created here to set a clearer boundary in this relationship of mine.
Not out of anger or resentment, but out of the understanding that I myself was not completely honest with myself, and that in fact there was something in me that was still sensitive to that figure.
And then I went on retreat..
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