Whatever it Takes

Day 220. I saw Deepak Chopra in Oklahoma City today. I have not read anything he's written, but evidently everyone else has. The Civic Center was almost full. Encouraging to see so many Oklahomans turn out for a talk on mind/body/spirit. Mr. Chopra spoke for just under an hour. The two things that stood out for me were: (1) He explained what a quadrillion is (remember the blog in which I puzzled over really large numbers?) A quadrillion is "a 10 followed by 15 zeroes." There you have it! (2) He also informed us that humans share 98% of our DNA with monkeys. That explains a lot. No wonder my head is always full of their prattle. I felt strangely relieved and validated upon hearing this bit of scientific data.

The talk centered around the growing body of accepted scientific proof regarding the interconnectedness of the universe. Buddhists had that figured out about 2,500 years ago, so it is nice to see that "modern" science is catching up. I enjoyed hearing a comprehensible explanation of how atoms and the protons, electrons, and neutrons that comprise them are connected to spirit and consciousness. My atoms light up like the state fair midway when I contemplate the intersection of what can be seen (with really high powered microscopes) and what cannot (no matter how sophisticated our technology). I passionately believe that grasping connectivity with our eyes, hearts, brains, and spirits is where compassion - and therefore the healing of the world - lies. Mr. Chopra talks and writes about the same idea; he just gets paid a whole lot to do so!

A clever segue from the Chopra talk to what I want to blog about has not presented itself, so I won't waste time waiting for one to wisp across my brain. In a session on Thursday, I was speaking with a client about the creative ways children attempt to stave off fear, helplessness, and overwhelming situations. I recounted a tender story shared with me by another client. This client was fathered by a scary, angry, volatile man. Her mother was chronically ill with a plethora of physical maladies. She recalled, in vivid detail, a ritual she had developed to help her cope with the dual ordeals of her father's temper tantrums and her mother's impending demise.

When frightened, this child would go into the guest bedroom and slither underneath the antique four-poster bed. The box springs rested on old fashioned wooden slats laying across the bed frame. My client would tuck her fingers and toes under the slats and hang, flush with the box springs, suspended above the bedroom floor so that she couldn't be seen under the bed. The longer she could hang there, she promised herself, the longer her mother would continue to live and the longer the time span between her father's outbursts.

Imagine the strength - and pain - of that little girl, with her toes pinched between wooden slats and a prickly mattress, her tummy taut, leg muscles stretched to capacity, heart hammering in her chest. Imagine the emotional trauma igniting her amygdala, ricocheting down her limbic system, necessitating such an elaborate ritual designed to ward off danger and incite miracles. As adults, it is almost impossible to remember the sheer helplessness and utter dependency inherent to childhood. We forget as soon as we can - especially the terrifying parts. We feel confused when snatches of early memory float to consciousness because we analyze them with our adult mind and superimpose alternative solutions and explanations that our child mind could never have offered.

I understand little girls suspended from wooden slats under the bed. I had several rituals of my own. To exit a swimming pool, I lingered by the ladder and required myself to go under water and hold my breath to a slow count of ten. I had to do the whole sequence ten times before I could leave the pool. To this day, I picture the puzzled expression of the local lifeguard as he watched this odd little girl repeatedly bobbing up and down at 10-second intervals. Then again, he probably never noticed, as long as I eventually popped back up to the surface. Little kids do all kinds of weird stuff in pools, though I'll admit only a precious few of us did it through bizarre, compulsive rituals.

My point is that coping is coping. We do whatever it takes to ward off assaults of our physical and emotional selves. We are all doing the best we can. When you put a little being who has not been on the planet for very long under enough duress, she will resiliently and ingeniously find a way to survive it. If that traumatized brain is graced with enough obsessive compulsive genes, the coping strategy will likely involve an elaborate and precise method of suffering. Better to initiate painful rites upon yourself than wait for injury to be randomly inflicted upon you by an out of control adult.

Surviving the tumult of childhood, with its chaos of triumph and tragedy, creates thick ropes of connection that tether us to one another. We all begin as vulnerable little ones endowed with a remarkable instinct for survival. Compassion is cultivated when we deepen our understanding of the creative acts of bravery required of us to make it to adulthood. Even when those acts appear to make no sense whatsoever. Look for the foundation underlying seemingly odd behavior - both in yourself and others. I bet you find a person trying to cope. With whatever it takes.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc