I missed this earlier post of yours. What surprises me about it is the fact that it was recommended that one should make tinnitus the actual object of meditation.
I have serious reservations about that. To me it seems masochistic (or tantric if you happen to be familiar with that strain of Buddhist philosophy).
Tara Brach, for example, doesn't advocate this.
What I think you are rightly drawing attention to is what I would call the 'mindfulness industry', a bandwagon that many have jumped on without necessarily knowing what they are doing.
What would interest me are the views of those who have utterly immersed themselves in the practice, who maybe have a decade or two of experience of daily practice. What might they be suggesting?
This is what one such author had to say about their own illness (this is from a book I read earlier this year). Make of it what you will.
'I am writing this some weeks after receiving an esophageal and stomach cancer diagnosis. The doctors are optimistic, but they won't know the real prognosis until they do surgery a few days from now. Like many twists and turns in life, this news came as quite a surprise to me. In general, I'm doing okay with it, but I am also afraid sometimes, as we humans often are when faced with our own mortality. I don't want to pretend that I that I am some kind of hero who is beyond all fear. I'm a complete Zen coward! I believe that some level of fear is hardwired into the deepest part of our brains, and it awakens when we ponder our own sickness and death.
But that's okay because it's not the end of the story.
Another part of me is beyond all fear. I mean that. Part of me is afraid but part of me is not afraid at all. It's the part of me that is wonderfully beyond 'me', beyond all fear of death – an aspect of my being that is fine with whatever happens. The part of me that knows there is no place to fall to and that does not believe in death in the usual way we think about it. I feel content, even though I am also worried about my upcoming surgery. There are serious risks, and the operation might not work. I want to get the cancer out, but the treatment is painful and without guarantees. I am afraid, and sometimes the fear makes me sweat from head to toe. I realize that I may not be here in a year or two, or even months from now. I may not be here tomorrow. What will become of my family? I miss my kids, my wife, the car. Who will teach my daughter to ride a bike, or show my son how to shave? Sometimes, the loneliness I feel makes me cry at night.
At the same time, I am beyond all fear, and there is not the least resistance to death in my heart. Through Zen practice, I stopped being concerned about death a long time ago. If death comes, let it come. Whatever happens, I'm willing to dive right in. thus, I am content to be here in this hospital room. All is as it should be and I overflow with joy. An amazing aspect of Zen, the essence of the wisdom and compassion at its very center, is that it allows all such to be true at once, each in its own way. Each perspective has its place, and there is not the least bit of conflict among ideas and emotions that at first appear to be contradictory.'
I would like to tell you where this strength comes from – it comes from zazen and Dogen's way of shikantaza. These are my source of courage today…
As Master Dogen describes it, shikantaza is very simple: we sit in total acceptance of what is, dropping judgments and resistance to all of life's happenings during the time of sitting. Equanimity is vital…Thus, I accept even those days of sitting, or life, when my heart is not so peaceful. I honor even those times when I am downright scared. I am at peace and content with not always needing to feel 'peaceful and content' all the time, like some days when sitting zazen in this cancer ward bed…During zazen, we drop all resistance and feeling of lack, letting the act of sitting be enough in itself. Such total allowance is how we ordinary beings can manifest some of the wisdom and peace of a Buddha in our hearts.'
I take this kind of perspective very seriously, though God knows how we are meant to relate it to something like severe tinnitus and hyperacusis.
In the final analysis I guess I am envious.
Member
I'm scared of seeing people I knew before this happened and them noticing something completely off with me.
