“Usually, without being aware of it, we try to change something other than ourselves, we try to order things outside us.” – Shunryu Suzuki
Who is responsible for how I feel?
Is it the people I work with? My wife? My kids? The politicians committing crimes in foreign countries? Or in this country?
Is it me? Am I making myself feel awful by focusing on all of the above?
What happens in our mind is weather.
Feelings — and difficulties — arise in us like weather. They may appear to be “caused” by something external, and we may rush to blame that external factor for what’s happening inside us.
But nothing outside the mind is responsible for what happens inside it. And I am also not “to blame” for my feelings, anymore than I am to blame for the rain outside my windows this morning.
I just started reading Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind by Shunryu Suzuki, and it is already offering beautiful reminders that attempting to control or fight with our feelings is not the way.
Suzuki talks about “big mind,” the level of our consciousness that includes everything — our feelings and thoughts, our consciousness, universal awareness; the whole world is contained in big mind.
“Small mind,” on the other hand, is where our mental weather happens: uncomfortable thoughts, pain, even pleasure and excitement.
Behind and around small mind is big mind. The practice of zen seems to be learning how to sit and breathe and observe the weather as it arises. And to welcome it all.
Fighting with a storm cloud leaves you wet and exhausted and ashamed. And the storm cloud didn’t even hear you yelling.
It sometimes feels as if I spend my whole life being angry at weather. Upset with myself for something I did that was foolish, or something I didn’t do that was important. Upset with other people for treating me a certain way, or not noticing me at all.
I live in small mind most of the time. And to be clear, I don’t think the practice of zen (with which I am barely familiar at this point) is designed to prevent small mind from existing and introducing feelings and thoughts and mental weather.
Instead, it seems to be about learning to observe the weather. Pulling back to big mind, where you can see the whole picture. Not to fight the feelings that arise, or the discomfort, or the pleasure. But to see it for what it is.
This seems like a good thing to reach for because fighting weather is a losing fight, always.
When I attack myself for what I’m feeling, or attack other people for what they “made me” feel, I’m always exacerbating the problem, piling new storms on top of what’s there.
It’s a small, cramped, close feeling, like capturing a thunder cloud in a damp cardboard box and being unable to wrestle my way out as its lightning sparks increase in intensity and make me shake.
Big mind, smaller problems.
Big mind means stepping out of the box.
I’ve been meditating for years at this point, but without committing to a truly disciplined practice of the kind Suzuki describes in his book. At some moments, even my somewhat slapdash approach has given me a glimpse of that “big mind” state.
It is instantly calming. But it’s not blank or free of feeling. It’s more a “thereness.”
If you want to picture it, here’s an exercise from Tara Brach:
Imagine sitting on a park bench, feeling fearful and anxious.
Now, invite your fear to step out of your body and to sit beside you.
The fear, which was inhabiting your body and making your heart race and your jaw tighten is now beside you on the bench. The two of you can look at the sky together.
Your fear isn’t gone. It’s not dead or over. But it’s also not driving your actions or reactions.
It’s present, just as the bench is present, the grass and trees, and the wide sky above you.
That’s an image of big mind.
It’s always sunny (above the clouds).
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my finer feelings — my sensitivity to the beauty of each moment, to the incredible loveliness of other people and nature, to life itself.
That sensitivity and those feelings are buried under layers of anxiety and fear, which are bound up with wires made from daily habits.
But the feelings are not gone. They’re alive and well, and waiting to be uncovered.
If any of this resonates with you — if you feel as if you’ve lost touch with your connection to yourself and life — remember that “losing touch” doesn’t mean “losing.”
Attaining big mind. Living fully. These things can be regained. It takes some practice and effort, but we can get them back.
It begins by learning not to fight the weather anymore, and starting to enjoy a good soak in the rain.