this way. Here's how I want to feel.” And then the weenies are cooked in peace. (Which is what eventually happened.)
You don't have to “feel this way,” because these are your feelings. One quick, honest look at them is occasionally all that's needed to remind you of that place where you can gently lay your conflicts and concerns. Usually a great deal more is needed—hence this book. We have gotten so caught up in our feelings of righteousness, put-upon-ness, irritation, cynicism, and the like that we have forgotten we can even feel another way. As a people we have come very close to entirely losing our belief in love that lasts, commitment that doesn't waver, and peace that cannot be disrupted.
At first, letting go can appear to be a daunting if not hopeless task. Our life and world are littered with endless problems, all of which we think we would dearly love to let go of, yet seldom is even one difficulty released completely. Everyone, it seems, moves from one problem to the next with no real season of rest. Even in the course of a single day, “it's just one thing after another.”
So central are difficulties to the meaning of people's lives that we usually define the individuals around us by their problems. Notice this the next time you hear someone who isn't present being discussed. Whether positively or negatively, their problems are being highlighted. This is true of our own self-definition as well. We tend to think of our identity, and even the overall meaning of our life, in terms of the difficulties we encounter.
We also believe we can gauge how severe other people's problems truly are, yet what might be a minor problem to one person can preoccupy another. There are two neighborhood cats, born and raised in the wild, who have adopted us. They love us so much that they bring us a portion of every bird, rat, and lizard they kill. Cleaning up these gifts is not a problem for me, but when I am out of town, it's a problem for the rest of my family. On the other hand, I would have to concentrate very hard to exchange e-mail with certain people in peace. Yet Gayle handles this task in stride.
It isn't that some people have a truly difficult life while others get off scot-free. We have all seen individuals go through shocking tragedies in relative peace, and we have seen ourselves and others eaten up by the daily grind. Enough happens in the course of a normal day—that is, there is enough raw material for the mind to work on—for any of us to justify being unhappy.
Problems assault us to the degree they preoccupy us. The key to release, rest, and inner freedom is not the elimination of all external difficulties. It is letting go of our pattern of reactions to those difficulties.
During the past twenty-five years of family counseling, Gayle and I have found ourselves continuously in awe of the basic happiness of most small children who live in abusive homes. It usually takes years of physical or emotional trauma before this fundamental state is finally destroyed. Live television reports from war zones, refugee camps, and areas of famine often capture the capacity of children to play and be happy in circumstances of unthinkable horror. However, to see the difference between how adults and children approach life, it isn't necessary to look further than a party.
Lisa
In the late 1970s, shortly after Gayle and I met Jerry Jampolsky—the child psychiatrist who founded the Center for Attitudinal Healing—he invited us to attend the Center's first Christmas party. It wasn't possible for Gayle to make the trip to Tiburon at that time, so I was alone when I entered the long room where all the children were gathered.
I was shocked by what I saw. Before me were kids in wheelchairs and on crutches, kids with muscular dystrophy and Hodgkin's disease, kids with amputated or paralyzed limbs, and kids bald from chemotherapy. As I looked around this room of horrors, I sensed that something was out of place. Although there were children of all ages present, most of them were 'tweens and teens, and as you might see at any party, they were gathering in groups of twos and threes, talking to each other. There was no entertainment as yet and the food had not been served, but as my eyes went from one child to the next, I realized that just as I would expect “healthy” children to be, these afflicted kids were happy. The “something” out of place was their attitude. The room was filled with their giggling and laughter.
Soon I found myself talking to a teenage girl named Lisa, who had worked very hard the last few years to perfect her skills as a model. Now half her body, including her face, was paralyzed from a car accident, and she was standing by means of aluminum crutches that clamped above her elbows. As two other adults and I talked to her, she suddenly lost her balance and fell straight backward, hitting the floor like a tree. When we got her to her feet, there were tears in her eyes from the pain. But Lisa smiled a crooked smile and said, “At least I'm finally getting a hard butt.”
“Getting a hard butt” is not spiritual language. But what could be more spiritual than this girl's reaction? I have no idea what Lisa's religious beliefs were. Nor do I know if any child in that room believed in God. But the light, the laughter, and the joy of the Divine poured from them all. They needed no belief for that to happen, but they did need to be in the present, as children so often are. What was especially instructive to me was that their healed minds were more real and important to them than the wreckage of their bodies.
To replicate a childlike approach to happiness is not to behave as children behave, but to see as they see. It is letting go of narrow perceptions and habitual responses. It is relaxing and restfully acknowledging that the people around us are the way they are and that we are here with them. To “become like a little child” is merely to relinquish our need to judge all things, change all things, and be right on all occasions. This removes the blocks we put on our capacity to enjoy, or at least to be still and at peace.
There are only three things you need to let go of: judging, controlling, and being right. Release these three and you will have the whole mind and twinkly heart of a child.
If nothing else, little children are direct. They feel what they feel; they know what they want. Clearly, they are connected to their cores, their basic natures. But children are not perfect and invulnerable. Actually they are more vulnerable than most parents seem to realize. They take on both the positive and negative lessons that their parents and early life experiences teach. They especially pick up the strong unspoken fears and urges of the adults around them.
You may look back now and remember that as a small child you could see that a certain approach to life on the part of one or both of your parents was a mistake. You may even remember thinking that you were not going to make that mistake when you were grown. Yet, as an adult, perhaps you have found yourself saying the very words or acting the same way you were determined to avoid. You took on a pattern even though you were aware it was a mistake! That's how vulnerable we are as children. As adults, we can become more conscious of the taking on and letting go process and thus take charge of the peace and well being of our minds.
Perhaps you know a child who has become judgmental and controlling at much too young an age. I'm not speaking of “the terrible twos,” because a close look at this stage shows that although it's filled with lots of “No”s and “I won't”s, there is really no bitterness or deep grievance behind any of this. The child is simply trying out “taking the wheel”—a good and necessary stage.
Yet there are children who learn judgment, even hatred, at a surprisingly young age. The need to control always comes along with censure and self-righteousness. You don't like what you see out there and you want to change it. In fact, you believe it's your moral duty to change it.
If you have seen this happen to children, you know that they also lose contact with their basic happiness and certainty. They have been taught to doubt others and they can't help but apply that lesson to themselves. Once they begin doubting themselves, they think they must control themselves. They are not reliable, and, naturally, no one else is either.
