Yesterday, November 21,  was National Survivors of Suicide Day. If you’ve lost a loved one to suicide, then you are a suicide survivor.

The grief experienced by those affected by a suicide is especially complex and intense. In addition to the expected reactions of sorrow and feelings of loss, survivors of suicide can be filled with self-blame, intense anger, obsessive thoughts replaying the hours and days before the suicide, and even their own suicidal ideation.  Telling people you’ve lost someone to suicide can be daunting because many people don’t know how to respond to such horrible news, and so survivors can feel isolated and disconnected from their friends and family at a time when they need them most.

If you are a suicide survivor, there are some excellent resources available to give you support and help.

In the Seattle area, the Crisis Clinic  (www.crisisclinic.org) provides  a twice-monthly drop-in group as well as an eight-week facilitated support group and telephone support. For more information, call the 24-Hour Crisis Line at 206.461.3222 or toll free at 1.866.4CRISIS (866.427.4747).

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (www.afsp.org) has an extensive list of articles and educational materials, including an excellent resource and healing guide, which is available for free. The AFSP website also has information about support groups and online resources for survivors.

The shock and pain of losing a loved one to suicide can be intense, but the pain does ease over time. You are not alone; every year in the United States, 30,000 people commit suicide, each one leaving behind friends and family to cope with the loss.  There are millions of people who have lived through the heartbreak and devastation that suicide creates. Although it may not seem possible, healing can and does happen.

There’s a lot of talk these days about manifesting and drawing the good toward oneself, ideas that are based on the idea of positive thinking, most recently described in The Secret. I see some pitfalls with the idea that if you think positive thoughts and visualize what you want to have in life, it will come to you.

It implies that we can control physical reality with our thoughts, leading us to believe that we have power over things that are outside our control.   Even the idea that we can control our thoughts is misleading.  We can’t control the world around us, although we can have an impact on it. We can’t control what thoughts and feelings arise in our minds, but we can control how we respond to them.

It encourages us to suppress “negative” thoughts and feelings, which is a ticket to a shut-down existence.  Anytime we deny a thought or a feeling, we shove it  into the unconscious. In order to keep up a strategy like this, we have to narrow our perception to exclude the things we don’t want to see.  Imagine that emotions exist on a continuum, with pleasant emotions on one end and unpleasant on the other.  When we cut ourselves off from one end, the corresponding end gets shortened, too. It takes a lot of mental energy to keep up a strategy like this, and shortening the continuum can lead to depression.

It creates conditions that foster greed. In Buddhist psychology, greed, or craving, is one of the three roots of suffering, along with aversion and delusion. We can crave material things, or experience, or sense pleasures.  Holding onto the things we can’t or don’t have keeps us from appreciating and being grateful for all the things we do have.  It takes our attention away from what’s real and what’s here now.  While we’re thinking positive thoughts, we’re cultivating the conditions that increase our suffering.  It’s a losing proposition.

And here’s the most troublesome implication of the positive-thinking strategy: when we don’t get what we want, or when bad things happen, it must be because we drew bad things to ourselves by thinking negative thoughts. This self-blame is fertile ground for shame to arise. It’s toxic stuff.

Paradoxically, then, positive thinking can increase suffering and unhappiness. So, here’s a reframe that I believe avoids these pitfalls:

In any given moment, our senses present us with more information than our minds can take in, so we filter what comes into our conscious awareness. When we fixate on an idea, whether it’s pleasant or unpleasant, we narrow our focus to this idea, shoving other thoughts and feelings aside. The idea becomes a lens through which we see ourselves and the world, and we only see experiences that support that lens.  For example, if we believe that we’re unlovable, then every time someone is rude or dismissive, we’ll take that in as further evidence of our unloveable-ness.  And we won’t see (or we’ll reinterpret) every experience in which people are kind, generous, or thoughtful.  Presented with the mounting evidence that we’re unlovable, we sprial into a pit of  sorrow and worthlessness. It is in this way that our thoughts control our experience of reality.

Rather than trying to get out of this pit by fixating on something more positive or happy, the remedy for this filtered, fixated way of being is to open your awareness and take in all of your experience, not just a slice of it.  When you get caught up in a spiral of thoughts, stop.  Take a breath. Expand your awareness of what’s happening by asking yourself questions such as “what else is happening right now?” or “is this thought true?”.  Or, even more simply, follow the basic mindfulness instruction to drop your attention into your body by noticing what it feels like to breathe. I like this approach because it creates conditions that bring us the following:

• Rather than a tight, closed mind, an open, fully engaged one.
• Rather than greed, acceptance.
• Rather than trying to control the world, we mindfully choose our responses to the way things really are.
• Rather than blaming ourselves for the pain and suffering in the world, we accept that it happens and find a way to meet it with an open heart and mind.

I’ll notice that I’m having an unpleasant feeling, and then I’ll see my mind pick a story to match that feeling. It’s as if it’s selecting a book from a shelf in my personal library.  What’s going on here?  Perhaps the story helps me believe this uncomfortable feeling isn’t my fault (after all, it was that rude driver who made me so angry!) or gives me a plan for making it go away (once I get this house cleaned up I can feel more relaxed). Maybe this story helps reinforce a sense of who I see myself to be (I am always calm under pressure; this stressed out feeling isn’t me!).

Whatever the reason, the stories actually make things worse, escalating the unpleasant feelings and increasing unhappiness.  The mind loves to cling to these stories and will play them over and over again, embellishing them and linking them to even more stories.  Pretty soon I’ve created a feature length movie in my head, starring me and my unhappiness! It doesn’t take too long to become completely miserable.

Storymaking is something we all do, and it’s human nature.  We have the marvelous ability to analyze and understand, to plan and create and predict, which serves us well in many contexts.  But when it comes to emotion, we really are better off letting the storymaking go. Over and over, my meditation teachers say, hold the stories lightly, let them go. It isn’t easy and takes lots of practice.   Sometimes I manage to loosen the vice grip I hold on these stories.  And the more I do this, the more at peace I feel.  The feelings, and the stories I attach to them, are freer to rise and pass away.

But don’t we need to know why we’re feeling what we’re feeling? Certainly it’s good to have insights about our experience.  Paradoxically, though, these insights don’t come through hanging on to memories of the past or beliefs about ourselves. Insight comes through returning to the present moment experience, over and over. Doing this helps us see things, and ourselves, more clearly.

We don’t need to push our stories away or try not to have such thoughts; this is a trap that that takes us away from our experience and blinds us to the truth of who we are.

Have the thought, appreciate it, and then let it go. Kind of a catchy mantra, don’t you think?

With the election just days away and daily news reports of economic woes, many (if not most) of us are feeling concerned and perhaps even anxious about the state of the world.  We wait on pins and needles for the stock market to find its bottom and our country to choose the candidate we feel is best equipped to lead us out of this mess.  This waiting is difficult, to be sure. And it’s normal to feel fearful and anxious under circumstances such as these. But anxiety can take on a life of its own, throwing us into a state of high alert and making it difficult to get through our days.

The problem with anxiety isn’t anxiety itself, but our reaction to it.  We are naturally predisposed to react to anxiety by trying to make it go away; it doesn’t feel good, and we don’t like it. But in trying to make it stop, we only make it worse. We become anxious about being anxious, and the spiral begins.

Our minds have this amazing ability to plan, predict, and respond to threats.  We know how to take control and make things better, and it’s skills like these that make civilization possible!  But when it comes to anxiety, these skills can lead us to spin out of control.

How does this happen?  Our bodies are wired to run  from threats, from the tiger that wants to catch us and make us its dinner.  When we feel threatened, adrenaline is released, and this causes several things to happen: our heart rate increases, digestion shuts down, our thinking processes become more reactive and jittery (and less reasoned and introspective). Blood is diverted into our limbs so we can run and physically fight off whatever it is that’s attacking us. Fueled by adrenaline, the mind kicks into high gear, assessing the source of the threat, and predicting what’s going to happen if we don’t deal with it.  For example, Jane feels anxious about the economy. Her mind conjures up scenarios of losing her home, her job, her health.  She pictures poverty, sickness, and ruin.  These thoughts and images just increase her anxiety, and the cycle repeats, with the images becoming even more dire and more threatening.  Pretty soon she’s on the verge of a panic attack. Her instincts are telling her to run, but how can she run away from her own thoughts?  She wants to get rid of the thing that’s threatening her, but how can she do that when the threat is a scary future she’s created in her imagination? And, most importantly, how can she make reasoned choices about her finances or job or who to vote for when her mind is operating in fight-or-flight mode?

We may not be able to single-handedly get the election or the economy under control.  But we can respond more skillfully to whatever amount of fear or anxiety we’re experiencing, and in the process feel better as we wait for things to settle. And feeling better can help us find effective ways to respond to the what’s happening in the world.

There are a couple of strategies that can be helpful.  First of all, pay attention to experiences that are increasing your anxiety.  if the news is getting you all fired up, turn it off. With 24-hour news reports available on hundreds of cable channels and thousands of websites, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Providing an already anxious mind with more data just adds fuel to the fire.  Take a break; the world will wait for you!

The second strategy that can be helpful is to use some simple mindfulness techniques to break the spiral of thoughts that increase our anxiety. Doing so helps us tolerate the experience of anxiety, which allows it to pass and helps us get back to a state in which we can make rational choices rather than operate under the sway of fear and a false sense of urgency.  It’s like being in the ocean when a big wave comes.  If you’ve been to the beach, you probably know that the way to deal with a big, scary wave is to dive under it and let it break over you.  By using mindfulness and dropping your attention into the body, you allow the wave of anxiety to break and move along. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with mindfulness, I’ve listed some basic instructions at the end of this post.)

Mindfulness practice won’t make the anxiety go away, but it can help prevent the anxiety from getting any worse than it already is, and in the process, help it dissipate. Mindfulness helps us tolerate the experience of anxiety so that we don’t exacerbate it by trying to push it away.

Please note: If your anxiety feels like more than you can handle or if you’re becoming unable to function in your daily life, then it’s time to seek help from a therapist, counselor, or medical professional. Mindfulness practice and self-care can help, but sometimes they aren’t enough.  If you need help, get it.

Basic Mindfulness Instructions

Start by placing your attention in the body. The breath is often used because it’s always there and it can be calming to focus on the breath.  Breathe naturally and notice what it feels like to breathe by paying attention to the sensations in the nostrils, chest, or belly.  If it isn’t calming and comfortable to focus on the breath, you can choose another object to focus on, such as the hands or feet, feeling them as if from the inside. You can close your eyes, if that feels comfortable.  But if closing your eyes increases your anxiety, keep them open and focus your attention on the floor or another object. If you’re feeling especially anxious, it can be soothing and calming to look out a window or up at the sky.

As you focus on your breath or other sensation, your mind will wander off.  That’s fine, that’s just what minds do.  When you notice that it’s wandered, just label it “thinking”  (say to yourself, “thinking”) and return to the breath or whatever object you’re focusing on. Continue to do this for a few minutes or even longer, anytime you notice your fear or other uncomfortable emotions arising. Remember, this isn’t about making your anxiety or discomfort go away, and it isn’t about emptying your mind of thoughts. It’s about finding some solid ground on which to stand as you wait for the anxiety to pass.

You can also schedule a “breath break”, taking 5 minutes out of your day to practice some mindfulness, or tie your mindfulness practice to an activity such as waiting for a meeting, at the beginning of your lunch break, or everytime you walk down the hall.

Summer in Seattle, when it finally gets around to happening, is glorious. The days are long, the clouds have lifted (for the most part), and it’s difficult to stay indoors. I wake up with the sun shining through my window, to the sound of birds. In Seattle in the summer, the sky is a beautiful shade of blue. The lawns turn brown, but the evergreens glow in the summer sunlight.

All this is to say that right now, it’s difficult for me to think deep thoughts. Where did my brain go? It went outside. Like a big outbreath, my attention turns to the natural world, and this is as it should be, I think.

Our natural habitat isn’t this climate-controlled, carpeted world we live in. It’s the dirt and trees and sky. Being outside, especially on a warm summer day, can feel like a soothing balm. Attuning to the natural world, I feel a reassurance and resonance that I haven’t been able to find any other way.

I encourage you to go outside. Even if it’s just your backyard or local park, spend some time outside. Just sit there, if you can, or take a walk, and do this without a lot of conversation. Leave your iPod and cell phone at home. Look up at the sky. Let your body and mind align to the natural world, to your natural habitat. The time to turn inward will return, just as surely as the inbreath follows the outbreath.

Last month, I went on a silent meditation retreat. Going on retreat is a gift I give myself twice a year; it deepens my meditation practice and helps me access parts of myself that stay hidden in the activity and distraction of daily life.

Often, these inner explorations take me into difficult, uncomfortable territory and I spend my retreats sitting with anxiety, fear, loneliness and heartache. On retreat, this stuff becomes front and center, and there’s nowhere to go but inward. Old wounds come to the surface, and I re-experience them as if they’re happening all over again. It’s a painful experience, of course, but reconnecting with the pain and meeting it with acceptance and kindness is the balm these wounds need to heal. And in this process of healing, I connect with a deep, resonant joy and sweetness that can only be found by meeting myself with an open heart.

The first time I went on retreat, I wondered how it would be to not speak or make eye contact. I discovered that it’s a wonderful relief to set aside the choreography of daily social interaction. And while it’s true that on retreat I’m alone in my silence, I’m actually not alone because I’m sitting with other retreatants, people who are going through their own realms of suffering and joy. We have the guidance and wisdom of an experienced teacher, who not only gives daily talks and instruction, but is available to help when we feel stuck in our practice. In the safety of retreat community, I find fortitude and courage to face what’s within. And while it may not always be an enjoyable experience, it’s always worth the effort.

For an extensive list of retreat centers and other meditation resources, please visit the Insight Meditation Society’s resource page at www.dharma.org/ims/mr_links.html.

Thinking about the ways we talk to ourselves, I realize that there’s a potential trap with positive self-talk and affirmations. When we try to use these techniques to make our pain go away, we actually perpetuate it. But when we speak to ourselves from our hearts, with unconditional acceptance of our pain, then we can invite healing into the wounded places within our psyches.

The intention of self-talk and affirmations is to respond in a helpful, healing way to difficult emotional experiences such as fear or shame. Shame is an especially painful emotion; it’s a feeling of being flawed, broken, or not good enough. The world isn’t bad; it’s me who’s bad. We learn this stance as children in order to survive intolerable situations and trauma. (”If’ it’s my fault, there’s a possibility I can fix it.”)

Often, we use affirmations to make emotional pain go away, as if we are taking a sledgehammer to it. Attempting to destroy it, we debate with it, deny it, or try to prove it wrong. For example, responding to shaming messages by repeating a phrase such as “I am a good person” negates the messages our wounds are sending us. It’s as if we are responding to a child who’s been hurt by saying, “No, you’re not hurt, you’re fine. Stop crying.” By denying these shaming messages, we try to make them go away, but we’re actually shoving them deep down inside, below the level of awareness. We tell ourselves the pain and shame is gone, but it’s not. You can’t talk these things away.

In contrast, self-talk that arises from the heart has a different quality. This form of self-talk accepts our shame and wounds and brings them close to us, fully into our awareness, speaking to them from the kindest, most loving parts of ourselves. Like a parent comforting a child, we say to this pain, “I see that you’re hurting and I know that you’re scared. But you’re safe now, and I’m here for you. You did the best you could, and I love you, no matter what you do.” When we talk to ourselves this way, we aren’t demanding that the pain stop or go away. Instead, we offer it unconditional acceptance and love. This is a healing stance that integrates the psyche rather than breaking it into pieces.

On a silent meditation retreat a couple of years ago, my mind decided to sing the same song over and over to me for fifteen hours. It wasn’t even a whole song; it was the chorus of Joni Mitchell’s song, A Case of You (”I could drink a case of you…. and I would still be on my feet….”) I became so agitated by this that I couldn’t sit still, and in desperation decided to take a walk in the woods. As I set off for my walk, I was practically running down the road, and I suddenly realized that I was literally trying to run away from myself. And with this realization, my heart broke open and I understood that my mind wasn’t singing this song to annoy me, it was singing because it was terrified. So I said to my mind, “I see that you’re singing because you’re scared, and it’s okay that you’re scared. You just keep singing as long as you need to and I’ll be here for you.” At that point, the singing stopped. Completely. And I was filled with compassion for myself, and for all who feel afraid of the dark places within.

Thinking some more about this idea that the only thing we know for certain is what we’re experiencing in this moment, I think about what it means, then, to know another person.

There are people in my life I’ve known for a very long time, people who have characteristics that are consistent and that I’ve come to depend on. I know, for example, that the people in my household will most likely respond to me in a certain way when I walk through the door at the end of the day. This thought gives me great comfort and happiness, and I look forward to this homecoming ritual.

But if I cling too tightly to this ritual, it leaves little room for my loved ones to have a bad day or be somehow unavailable to me when I walk through the door. If they change the ritual, it can feel personal, as if they’re doing it to me.

Our fear of the people in our lives changing can lead us to stifle and suffocate them. We can get caught up in thoughts such as “If he goes back to school and broadens his horizons, will he still find me interesting?” or “If she goes into therapy, will she leave me to go find herself and hook up with somebody who’s more spiritual?”, or “I need you to laugh at my jokes so I can feel okay about myself”.

Therapist and author John Welwood (www.johnwelwood.com) writes eloquently about the paradox between meeting our own needs and being open to change in ourselves and in the other:

The Buddha likened meditative awareness to tuning a musical instrument—the strings must be neither too tight nor too loose. If we hold on too tight or let go too much, we lose our balance. This kind of balancing act is crucial in relationships. While it is important to respect our own needs (the earth principle), we must also be able to let go of being too identified with them (the heaven principle). While we must be able to meet another with engagement and commitment (form), we must also be able to let go of the relationship, drop all our agendas and ideas about it, and give the connection room to ebb and flow as it may (emptiness). And though we must loosen our boundaries to unite with another person, if we simply merge with the other, we may lose ourselves in the relationship—which usually spells disaster. Relationship is full of these contradictions.

—Toward a Psychology of Awakening, pp. 242-243

When we meditate, we work on the relationship we have with ourselves and with our true nature. We cultivate the ability to stay present with whatever presents itself to us, no matter how upsetting or disturbing it may be. Meditation gives us a way to welcome these aspects of ourselves with compassion and wisdom and acceptance. We learn to hold both sides of the relationship paradox within ourselves – our need to feel we know ourselves and can count on our sense of who we are to nagivate in this world as well as our need to be open to discovering the unknown within ourselves, to seeing and experiencing what our heart is calling us to do. It’s a difficult dance, one we spend the remainder of our lives learning.

And as we learn this dance, it affects our relationships with the people in our lives. We can enjoy and appreciate all they have to offer us, and even come to depend on them in various ways. But we can learn to release the vice-grip we have on our sense of who they are, and instead hold it lightly, which opens us to fresher, newer ways of seeing and knowing them.