Berwyn Watson, Rev. Master

Everyone has been deeply affected by the CV-19 outbreak. One of most difficult aspects of the situation has been that our natural wish to help others has been thwarted by the need for ‘social isolation’. For example one concerned person said to the BBC: “We’re all reaching that critical point now where we have to take stock, seeing that “if I go to my parents I could be carrying something that could kill them. That’s the reality of it.”

I regularly visit one of the monks in a care home, and in early March got a call to say they were closing for all but essential visits. I haven’t been able to visit since. Normally we have an illusion of being in control; that we can plan things, but reality isn’t always like that: sometimes stuff just happens or has already happened. And we need to sit with the gut-wrenching that comes with that.

There’s a tension between our natural wish to help – which is part of the bodhicitta – the wish to help all beings that is innate for us; and the fact that, we can’t physically be there for people. It’s impressive that many have found creative ways to support more vulnerable people; for example by ringing them and arranging to drop off essential supplies, or just keeping in touch via the various apps that allow video calls. But even when we are able to do something, one of the most difficult things to deal with is the ongoing uncertainty, and the anxiety and fear that can lead to. I find that if I’m not careful thoughts can go around in a loop considering the options, trying to get more information. Initially I ended up listening too much to the news, or checking it all the time on the web. In some ways it just made things worse. Eventually I had to question my impulse to keep checking for updates on the news: will it really help? Am I feeding a kind of excitement? What information do I need? Surely a couple of times a day is enough?

We do live in a time where almost infinite information is available from many sources, and the CV-19 outbreak has perhaps highlighted both the benefits and the pitfalls of this. I was reminded of the poet T S Eliot’s phrase from the The Four Quartets when he says modern people were becoming “distracted from distraction by distraction.” This phrase takes some unpicking, but it points to a state where we become so distracted, we don’t even notice were using distraction as an avoidance technique. As long as we keep whirling around we won’t have to stop and see the painful and difficult stuff. At some point we have to face these deeper underlying fears; the fear of loss of control, the fear of the deaths of loved ones, the fear of our own death.

Often fear itself is our worst enemy. We can even become fearful of the fact that we may not be able to face our fear! Distraction can be an attempt to avoid looking, but maybe it is the very avoidance that generates fear. We often imagine there is some ‘thing’ to be afraid of, but often fear is just nebulous: imagining there must be some ‘unlookable-at-thing’ lurking there that is impossible to face. But we haven’t stopped and taken time to ask “what am I afraid of?” and to see “is there anything there to be afraid of?”

These are the very times when we should “cease from erudition, look within and reflect upon yourself”, as Great Master Dōgen puts it in Rules for Meditation. The translation says ‘erudition’ but it could also be translated as ‘speculating with words and ideas’, so we need to cease from generating that whirl of thoughts that relies on seeing words and concepts as the only reality.

There is something deeper – but how do we find it? We can ‘reflect within’ as Dōgen puts it, which in practice means making the effort to put aside some time to be quiet. Then to ground ourselves by feeling our place of sitting, our feet on ground, our natural breathing. At first anxious thoughts and worries may seem to increase, but this is just us becoming more aware of what was actually going on (sometimes, there is so much noise in our heads, we don’t even realise it’s noisy).

So don’t give up if worries seem to increase, but sit patiently, not holding onto them, not pushing them away: we don’t need to judge our own thoughts and feelings: we don’t ‘consider right or wrong’ when sitting.

If we don’t hold on or try to push away these thoughts and feelings, they will settle and we’ll become aware of something deeper: something ‘underneath’ that just keeps sitting. The sense of anxiety can become more like a physical sensation at this point: this is not a problem but just means we are becoming more aware of how we are ‘holding’ the tension in our body and then it is clearer what to do. The sense of worry in our guts can be allowed to relax as we become aware of it.

What arises for a person as they go deeper, is just what is needed at that moment: there are no ‘rights and wrongs’ – so we don’t need to ‘aim’ for a state of mind.

When I make this effort, over time I seem to become aware that the worry or concern is part of a deeper connection with other beings and existence. Although I feel unable to help, the very wish to help is what connects us.

Although the wish to help is at heart pure, it can get distorted by anxiety and a wish to control things too much. When this happens I find I often underestimate the spiritual resources others have. But if I keep up my own practice there is a deepening trust, that what I find within myself – the deeper ‘self’ that just keeps sitting – is not a personal thing, but shared with all beings. The Truth is ‘with’ me in an intimate way, and somehow we know that Truth is also ‘with’ other beings – in fact it is so close that we are often not aware of it.

This is the beginning of a trust that this refuge is available to each individual and responds to their needs, and recognising this starts to take away that sense of over-responsibility, that driven sense that ‘I must always be doing something to help’. We cannot control whether loved ones live or die, but we can have a deeper trust that they have their own intimate access to the truth. If we show this trust when we are with other people they can learn to trust it for themselves. In trusting that we know the Truth, we can trust that the Truth is ‘there’ for other beings.

This article is available only as part of the Summer 2020 Journal of the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives.  

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