Being With Speechlessness (Aphasia)

On Monday, my mother was singing to me her favorite tune La Java Bleue over the phone. On Tuesday, she had been robbed of her ability to speak by a stroke. Aphasia, the medical term to describe what happened to my mother, comes from the ancient Greek term for 'speechlessness'. It is associated with different types of neurological disorders, and comes in several forms. My mother suffers from expressive (non fluent) aphasia, meaning she knows what she wants to say, but is unable to get the words out. Such a sudden loss is traumatic and I have had to rely on both my practice and field knowledge to be as supportive as I could for my mother. I have also had to deal with my own grief of the mother I knew who sang and spoke to me. Yet another loss down the path of Alzheimer's and very old age . . . 

Most important is to acknowledge directly to the person, what has happened, and the likely emotions associated with the communication challenges that they are experiencing. When complicated with memory loss, the person may not understand what is happening to them, and may need to be reminded. With my mother, I have been telling her that she had a stroke, and is experiencing a temporary loss of speech. I want to keep her heart in a hopeful place, and there is indeed the possibility that she may respond to speech therapy.  I empathize with the extreme frustration she shows in her facial expressions whenever she is trying to talk, and I apologize for the times when I may not understand her. This is a step caregivers often forget in their communications with aphasic persons, particularly when the aphasia has been present for a long time. I also rely on the bank of previous spoken interactions with my mother, and all the topics I know she enjoyed then and is still likely to enjoy. Next time I visit, I may also try to see if I can encourage her to communicate through art, although that door may be closed given the state of her advanced dementia. For a person suffering from strict non fluent aphasia, and with limited to moderate or no dementia, writing and art making would be two logical outlets for self-expression. Last, is falling back on two most profound forms of communication, touch, and seeing. Gazing into my mother's eyes, I shared some of the most tender and loving moments we ever had together. It is quite something to realize that it took that much, for the two of us to get there. 

Many times during the past three weeks, I have rested on the foundation of my practice. Reading Ayya Khema, stopping often to connect with the breath, sitting every morning without fail, sharing in this blog with all my noble friends, and contemplating the teachings, particularly on suffering,  impermanence, not self, and the five remembrances. I have also been reflecting on my experiences of noble silence during retreats, and how such practice can help one prepare for the possibility of speechlessness both in oneself, and in others. 

The Joy of Rejoicing

Ever since I came back from the retreat, I have been delighting in the practice of mudita, or sympathetic joy. This is not an easy practice, for the mind's got strange ideas that can get in the way . . .

Leigh's talk was very helpful. Here are my notes.

First, is the common misunderstanding that one should only rejoice for others. This is overlooking the teaching of the Buddha, that says one should extend mudita on to all 'as on to oneself'. Hence, we start rejoicing for our good fortune whenever present. We need not be shy. We may say, 'May my good fortune continue and increase.'

Next, we also rejoice for others' good fortune, with all our heart. And we say, 'May your good fortune continue and increase.' We do so, guarding from envy, and the more subtle, near enemies of mudita, such as rejoicing through identification. Leigh gave the example of a mother who gladly rejoices for her son's success in school, but is unable to feel the same kind of joy for her neighbor's child's success.

I find mudita is really a mindfulness practice. 'Seeing' the mind's inclination to rein in the joy for oneself, for others, and seeing the suffering attached, the sometimes barely noticeable contraction that keeps the joy from freely flowing. 

How often do you rejoice?

The Necessity of Gladness

I went into the retreat wanting to learn the first levels of concentration practice, the jhanas as taught by Leigh, and Ayya Khema before him. At some point, it became clear that to persevere in that exploration would not be beneficial. I learned the hard way that the release of piti energy without enough pleasantness attached, simply does not work. Three sleepless nights, and a state of being on 24/7 demanded that all means be taken to return to my normal self. I walked, and I spent time in nature. I took long warm showers. I refrained from sitting too long and from counting my breath. I shifted away from pure meditation, and contemplated instead. It took me five days before I was able to feel like myself again. This is why jhana initiation should only be undertaken within the container of a long retreat and under the guidance of a teacher.

I followed Leigh's advice to cultivate joy, a missing ingredient in my overly busy life. Specifically, I was to do some metta (loving kindness) practice. The heart needed to be ready first before the mind could proceed any further. Besides practicing formal metta meditation, I needed to spend time contemplating the nature of heart. For that, I turned to Ayya Khema's illuminating talk on 'Metta'. Here are the salient points from Ayya Khema's talk:

1. See the difficult people as opportunity to practice unconditional love
2. Realize the faults we see in others are also our own
3. Love without expectations of anything back
4. Practice mindfulness
5. Don't blame the trigger
6. Let go of views and opinions about other people
7. Just love, don't discriminate and know the difference between the two
8. Practice self-compassion

The seventh point blew my mind:

Now we deliberately start every lovingkindness meditation with ourselves. Many people find it difficult to love themselves -- sometimes because they know themselves too well. [laughter] Which means that they're judging. We don't have to judge ourselves, we can just love ourselves. Judging ourselves and loving ourselves do not have to be in the same breath. We can first love this manifestation of universal existence which we call "Me." And then, if we really want to make some changes, we can find out what needs to be changed, but we don't have to mix up those two, we don't have to mix up our bad qualities with our love for ourselves. They don't have anything to do with each other. But because we do mix those two things together in ourselves, we do that with everybody else, too. They're quite nice, but... they've got all these other qualities which aren't that nice. Or we can see that they're ok, but only if they are just doing something that we're also doing, going along with our ideas. This is totally unnecessary. This is a totally different track -- the mind's track, that's where the mind comes into its own. That's when we are discriminating between that which we find useful and helpful, and that which we don't. But the heart has nothing to do with that. The heart just has to love; it doesn't have to discriminate. And when we can see the difference between the usual judgments and just loving -- not discriminating -- we have taken a very important step.

Being in a retreat environment, I had plenty of opportunities to figure this out. 

It did not take long for the mind to start developing ideas about other folks in the retreat, deciding which one 'I' liked, which ones 'I' didn't like, all without any word exchanged. Indications of partially closed heart, that let only as much love as allowed by long held limiting habits from the mind. Of course, the hope lied in the difference made by the mindful experiencing of the pain of a closed heart. During the retreat, I had the time, and presence of mind to really 'see' the heart up close. On the second before last day of the retreat, an insight arose that filled me with great joy, and that I sealed with those words:

'It is the mind that closes the heart. The love, all of it is in the heart, all along. It is up to me to notice whenever the mind starts closing the door of the heart. The same mind that closed the door can also open it. It is up to me to intervene and keep the door open, giving myself the sweetness of fully open heart. '

A radical shift had taken place, from believing that boundless love was out of reach, to feeling it right there in the heart, always accessible.

Noble Silence

Silence gives one the space 

to notice one's own thoughts. 

Silence puts one in touch 

with the reality of the heart, 

whatever it might be. 

Silence makes it easier 

to watch one's actions. 

Silence protects one 

from oneself. 

Silence of the human kind 

allows other living things 

to have a voice again 

- the birds, the air, the insects . . . 

even silence itself.

Re-entering the World

Upon returning from Cloud Mountain, my daughter had this cartoon from the New Yorker waiting for me:

:)

Returning to the 'real' world after two weeks of noble silence has been, let's just say, weird . . . Our teacher had warned us. 

This morning, I woke up determined to keep the momentum from the retreat. Heeding Leigh's advice, I sat for forty five minutes, and I intend to continue every day. According to Leigh, it takes thirty minutes for the mind to settle, and the real benefit of the sitting only starts to kick in after that time. 

There is much I want to share about the retreat. I will parse it out over the next few weeks. 

Off to Cloud Mountain

(This and the following posts for the next two weeks will be pre-scheduled blogs to keep some kind of life, here on Mind Deep, while I am away and retreating with Leigh Brasington at Cloud Mountain. Two weeks of noble silence, practice insight and concentration. A gift in the midst of what is a very busy work phase . . .

In honor of Ayya Khema, Leigh's primary teacher, I will feature some of  my  favorite videos of her.)

A Million Reasons To Not Go On Retreat

A year ago exactly, I was getting ready for a one week retreat with Jon Kabat-Zinn. I came home so jazzed up, I promised myself it would not be long before I would go again. Ruth Denison's Spring Retreat was only a few months away, and I called to save a spot. Then came a new work assignment that was simply too good to ignore, and the retreat with Ruth had to go. Same thing happened in the Fall with Gil Fronsdal's retreat. All my good intentions vanished with yet more work that could not wait. That's it, I swore, no more letting other worldly concerns get in the way. 

Next opportunity was the end-of-year retreat with Ruth. I had planned to go after our family Christmas. As time came near, a string of emails from Ruth's sangha sisters made it clear that the conditions for the retreat would not be optimal. Plus, I had not gone away with my husband for more than a year, and we were overdue for a trip, just the two of us. Off, I went with him to Hawaii. 

A whole year has passed, without any retreat. A few weeks ago, I took the bold step of signing up for a 13-day retreat with Leigh Brasington at Cloud Mountain. To solidify my commitment, I even paid the whole nine hundred some dollars. This time, there is no way, I am going to cancel! 

It is good that I am so determined. My resolution has already been tested twice. My husband is making some noise and wondering, why do you need to go on such a long retreat, and in Oregon? The kids will be all home at that time . . . Then there is the new work opportunity that just came up, that would require me to miss the first day of the retreat.  Such an exciting project!

The point is, there will never be a good time for a retreat. And yet, I also know the opportunity to dedicate an extended period of time to intensive mindfulness practice is one of life's most precious gifts, not just to oneself, but also the world around us.

How do you make the time for retreats? What are some of the challenges? Please share.