How To Cope With a Broken Brain Pt. 1

The Meditation Practice of Tonglen

Mindfulness has been a self-experiment that I have been conducting for nearly 25 years now. My interest in religion, philosophy, and esoteric practices has been lifelong, as I was raised at the intersection of Catholicism and Brujería. I began teaching myself yoga in middle school and eventually found free classes I could take in the East Village while I was in high school. I found it suited my body and aligned with my interests extremely well.

But without fail, every time the class would wind down as we collectively eased into corpse pose, I found myself buzzing with frantic energy. My mind and heart would race. No matter my efforts, I could not rest in stillness.

I felt a tremendous amount of shame around this. It didn’t make sense that I could feel such a strong desire to discover my spiritual self and yet the simple practice of quieting my mind would send me into a downward spiral of panic.

This continued on for years: the harder I searched to find calmness within, the louder my body would scream at me in response. Eventually, I learned that survivors of abuse living with CPTSD like myself are often triggered by rest and relaxation because it is not a safe state to feel connected to. My earliest attempts at somatic techniques in therapy were a disaster. My limbs would dissociate, my breathing would go shallow, I would have to stop altogether.

With time and more understanding of how my nervous system has been hardwired to behave, I began the slow process of remediating my relationship to meditation and mindfulness.

In the weeks before my first grand mal seizure I happened upon the practice of tonglen, while reading the book That Places That Scare You by Pema Chödrön for the first session of the spiritual book club I host. Tonglen is a Tibetan Buddhist meditation technique that intentionally works by inviting in feelings of discomfort with the intention of sending back out loving-kindness: unconditional kindness, care, and compassion for oneself and all beings.

In a simple exchange, you mindfully embrace a challenging thought, feeling, or experience and call it into your being. Here, you soften your body and heart to it. You allow it to fill the recesses of your existence, to expand into you. You make space for the very thing you’d normally want to reject from your body.

As the waves of hurt, anger, sorrow, anxiety, or grief flood you, it can begin its metamorphosis. You begin to see–very clearly–that you are not alone with these feelings or thoughts. And just as you invited it in, you can release back out, transformed and less sticky. As a tree converts carbon dioxide into oxygen for us to breathe in, you can convert the “negative” emotions into a beneficial energy for someone–anyone else.

I was immediately drawn to tonglen particularly because it was the exact opposite of a visualization technique I had developed for myself in recent years.

In an effort to connect with breathwork in a creative way, I began a process of imagining myself absorbing the sparkly, effervescent goodness, love, and wisdom of the universe with each breath in and expelling all of the toxic sludge inherent to me on the breath out.

• Breathe in: anything better than me

• Breathe out: my bullshit

Tonglen made me wonder if I was inadvertently causing a greenhouse effect on myself by pushing out all the parts of myself that I considered to be bad. I wasn’t transmuting my shadowy bits into anything: they were just trapped. I saw it as an opportunity to reframe my perspective on my complicated reality. Perhaps seeing myself as explicitly no-good wasn’t doing much for my spiritual (or psychological) advancement.

Tonglen can be as simple or as complex as you need it to be.

When I first started experimenting with it, I used it for relatively lighthearted moments wherein I felt frustrated or annoyed. My son was giving me attitude, I made a mistake at work, or it was simply a day when I needed a reminder that everyone is struggling with something and we’re all just trying our best.

(Like many, I have to actively remind myself that so very little is actually personal)

Pema herself even suggests trying it when you’re stuck at a red light and running late. The mundane is a great place to begin integrating tonglen into your daily practice. Your converted energy can be sent to anyone: such as the person in the car next to yours, someone you love, and even someone you don’t love. Near or far, strangers or kin.

But really, it was when I found myself shoved inside an MRI machine–which was about to discover the abnormal brain mass I had no idea was there–that I tapped into the alchemical gold that is tonglen.

Almost one month after the seizure that sent me to the ER, something was wrong but no doctor could say what or why. Trying not move inside the claustrophobic tube, I took a long, deep breath inward through my nose. That breath contained within it all of my anxiety that I would never again be healthy.

My fear of dying. My sorrow, fury, and confusion. I held it there as the machine clanked and hissed at me. I lingered with how awful those thoughts and worries felt not only inside my head, but inside my entire being. Gripping me harder, pulling me down deeper into darkness.

And when I could bear it no more, I envisioned all the cells within me shifting colors softly in preparation for my out-breath. Each tiny cell that had sponged up my fears and worries began to glow one by one, signaling to the next in line to begin its shift. And to myself I silently prayed: for anyone who has ever been sick and not known why, for anyone who has ever been scared inside this very machine. Through my mouth I slowly exhaled, and completed the energetic exchange. And then I did it again.

• Breathe in: what if they find something?

• Breathe out: for anyone who has been diagnosed with a life-altering disease

I continued this practice, subbing in feelings, words, and experiences, until they ended the imaging and told me I could go home. It has gotten me through every MRI since. In the days recovering from brain surgery, tonglen offered me respite from my physical pain and circular thinking.

Unfortunately I still don’t know for sure if I have brain cancer. I most likely do, but it may take many more months of tests and surgeries to know for certain.

Tonglen is just one tool in my kit as I prepare for my extended stay into the unknown.

Tonglen is not exactly easy. Most of us cope by turning away from our ickiest thoughts. Deny, suppress, avoid. Tonglen asks us to turn toward ourselves–all of ourselves. Especially the parts of us that keep us stuck. Tonglen invites us to radically discover ourselves, and by proxy, we discover the sufferings of others.

You may find that actually, you feel very comfortable with calling in discomfort. Your in-breath feels full and expansive. For those of us on Team Trauma, our demons are so familiar to us that they scarcely even register some days. Our window of tolerance for hardship and pain can be quite high. Maybe the alchemical pause feels sticky. You feel unsure how to transform something so dark into light. Perhaps instead, you stumble over the out-breath, struggling to believe in loving-kindness. Unsure of whom (if anyone) deserves to be sent it.

It can feel impossible to believe that we can radiate love and compassion.

Tonglen will not stop you from feeling overwhelmed or sad. It also doesn’t eradicate fear or anger. It simply allows us to understand the ways in which we suffer. And as we give space for our own discomforts and sorrows, so too we carve out a little more space for the sufferings of others.

I have found that tonglen allows me to move more freely through my worst of thoughts. They are there, like stormy weather they come and go. But I remain constant.

And so can you.

---

The Meditation

I would love to walk you through how I experience and practice tonglen, but I encourage you to experiment and research to find a method or guide that suits your needs best. For some, guided audios are incredibly helpful. For others, silence is more appropriate.

I offer a few modifications that I have personally used, it may be helpful to read through the steps a few times and decide if it feels right for you.

Be gentle with yourself. Breathing consciously can be challenging for many. Intentionally working with stressful memories or feelings can be triggering. Stop if your body is telling you it’s not ready.

Stage 1: The Discomfort

Begin with wherever you are. Since this practice calls in feelings of discomfort, I find it works best in the moment as I am actively experiencing challenging feelings or thoughts. Standing, sitting, laying down, out in public… just engage with your body mindfully and prepare to center yourself. If you would like to play around with tonglen while feeling calm and secure, I encourage you to get comfortable in whatever way feels safest.

However you arrive, I like to place a hand on my heart or rest both hands softly on my thighs. From here, close your eyes. As you take a deep, full breath in through the nose, focus on what is upsetting you at this moment. You may also consider a recent stressor or negative experience. Perhaps it's anxiety, maybe it’s sadness, anger, or physical pain.

Invite it in. Fill your lungs, belly, and whole body with it.

Stage 2: The Alchemy

For as long as it feels comfortable and sustainable for you, pause here. Without straining to hold your breath, I like to visualize the distress transforming within me. This may look anyway that feels most intuitive to you: darkness turning into light, raging waters returning to stillness. For me, it looks like colors shifting softly.

Perhaps for you, no visualization is necessary, or you may not feel comfortable with pausing. Do what feels intuitive. Note that overtime what you feel during the alchemical stage may evolve. There is no right or wrong way.

Some people simply breathe in the discomfort and breathe out the loving-kindness.

Stage 3: The Loving-kindness

When you feel ready, it’s time to release your breath. As you breathe out through your mouth slowly and steadily, send your transformed breath to someone in need of loving-kindness. I prefer to envision warm, expansive light leaving my body.

As you first begin this practice, it may feel most appropriate to send it right back to yourself. There is no judgment if you are your own recipient.

Perhaps you can send it to someone you know that feels like a safe person to you. Maybe a stranger, maybe you can reach anyone suffering from the same thing you are suffering from.

Pause to scan your body, heart, and mind. You may notice places in your body where the discomfort felt the stickiest, or where the release was most potent. My hope is that you feel more nourished and less burdened. Repeat another round if it feels accessible and needed. Call upon this practice as often as feels supportive.

As you continue practicing tonglen, set an intention to widen your circle a little more each time, so that your loving-kindness stretches farther and to more people.

You may notice you begin to feel more receptive and considerate of others (and yourself) as you move throughout your day.