Befriending our Experience: The Power of Saying Yes

by Tara Brach, Ph.D.

Jacob, almost seventy, was in the mid-stages of Alzheimer's disease. A clinical psychologist by profession and a meditator for more than twenty years, he was well aware that his faculties were deteriorating. On occasion his mind would go totally blank; he would have no access to words for several minutes and become completely disoriented. He often forgot what he was doing and usually needed assistance with basic tasks-cutting his food, putting on clothes, bathing, getting from place to place.

With his wife's help, Jacob attended a ten-day meditation retreat I was leading. A couple of days into the course, Jacob had his first interview with me. These meetings, which students have regularly with a teacher, are an opportunity to check in and receive personal guidance in the practice. During our time together, Jacob and I talked about how things were going both on retreat and at home. His attitude towards his disease was interested, sad, grateful, even good-humored. Intrigued by his resilience, I asked him what allowed him to be so accepting. He responded, "It doesn't feel like anything is wrong. I feel grief and some fear about it all going, but it feels like real life." Then he told me about an experience he'd had in an earlier stage of the disease.

Jacob had occasionally given talks about Buddhism to local groups and had accepted an invitation to address a gathering of over a hundred meditation students. He arrived at the event feeling alert and eager to share the teachings he loved. Taking his seat in front of the hall, Jacob looked out at the sea of expectant faces in front of him.and suddenly he didn't know what he was supposed to say or do. He didn't know where he was or why he was there. All he knew was that his heart was pounding furiously and his mind was spinning in confusion. Putting his palms together at his heart, Jacob started naming out loud what was happening: "Afraid, embarrassed, confused, feeling like I'm failing, powerless, shaking, sense of dying, sinking, lost." For several more minutes he sat, head slightly bowed, continuing to name his experience. As his body began to relax and his mind grew calmer, he also noted that aloud. At last Jacob lifted his head, looked slowly around at those gathered, and apologized.

Many of the students were in tears. As one put it, "No one has ever offered us teachings like this. Your presence has been the deepest dharma teaching." Rather than pushing away his experience and deepening his agitation, Jacob had the courage and training simply to name what he was aware of, and most significantly, to bow to his experience. In some fundamental way, he didn't create an adversary out of feelings of fear and confusion. He didn't make anything wrong.

We practice Radical Acceptance by pausing and then meeting whatever is happening inside us with this kind of unconditional friendliness. Instead of turning our jealous thoughts or angry feelings into the enemy, we pay attention in a way that enables us to recognize and touch any experience with care. Nothing is wrong-whatever is happening is just "real life." Such unconditional friendliness is the spirit of Radical Acceptance.

One of my favorite stories of the Buddha shows the power of a wakeful and friendly heart. While Mara (known as the evil one in Buddhist traditions) fled in disarray on the morning of the Buddha's enlightenment, it seems that he was only temporarily discouraged. Even after the Buddha had become deeply revered throughout India, Mara continued to make unexpected appearances. The Buddha's loyal attendant, Ananda, always on the lookout for any harm that might come to his teacher, would report with dismay that the Evil One had again returned. Instead of ignoring Mara or driving him away, the Buddha would calmly acknowledge his presence, saying, "I see you, Mara." He would then invite him for tea and serve him as an honored guest. Offering Mara a cushion so that he could sit comfortably, the Buddha would fill two earthen cups with tea, place them on the low table between them, and only then take his own seat. Mara would stay for a while and then go, but throughout the Buddha remained free and undisturbed.

When Mara visits us, in the form of troubling emotions or fearsome stories, we can say, "I see you, Mara," and clearly recognize the reality of craving and fear that lives in each human heart. By accepting these experiences with the warmth of compassion, we offer Mara tea rather than fearfully driving him away. Seeing what is true, we hold what is seen with kindness. This is the unconditional friendliness that Jacob bravely offered when he bowed to his confusion. We express such wakefulness of heart each time we recognize and embrace our hurts and fears.

Our habit of being a fairweather friend to ourselves- of pushing away or ignoring whatever darkness we can- is deeply entrenched. But just as a relationship with a good friend is marked by understanding and compassion, we can learn to bring these same qualities to our own inner lives. Pema Chodron, an American woman who is a highly-respected teacher of Tibetan Buddhism, says that through spiritual practice "We are learning to make friends with ourselves, our life, at the most profound level possible." We befriend ourselves when, rather than resisting our experience, we open our hearts and willingly invite Mara to tea.

Some years ago, in the middle of a weeklong vipassana retreat, I found myself swamped in negativity. I reacted with aversion to every facet of life around me. The teachers were talking too much; the cold, cloudy weather was disappointing; my fellow meditators were inconsiderately sneezing in my direction, and I already had an irritating sinus infection myself. Nothing was going right, especially me. Tired of the aversion, I decided that instead of resisting everything, I would agree to everything. I began to greet whatever arose in my awareness with a silently whispered "Yes." Yes to the pain in my leg, Yes to the blaming thoughts, Yes to the sneezes and the irritation and the gloomy gray sky.

At first my Yes was mechanical, grudging, and insincere, but even so, each time I said it, I could feel something relax in me. Before long, I started to play around with it. Reflecting that I, like the Buddha, was inviting Mara to tea, I intended not only to accept what I was feeling but to actively welcome it. I began to offer the Yes with a softer, more friendly tone. I even smiled from time to time-my whole drama started to seem silly. My body and mind grew steadily lighter and more open. Even the pressure in my sinuses began to ease up. The dark cloud of No was replaced by the expansive sky of a Yes that had endless room for grouchiness and irritation. Critical comments continued to arise, and with Yes they continued to pass. When my mind suggested that I was using a gimmick that wouldn't work for long, Yes to the story allowed the thought to dissolve. I wasn't resisting anything or holding onto anything. Moods and sensations and thoughts moved through the friendly skies of Radical Acceptance. I felt the inner freedom that comes from agreeing unconditionally to life. I was inviting Mara to tea.

We bring alive the spirit of Radical Acceptance when, instead of resisting emotional pain, we are able to say Yes to our experience. Pat Rodegast (representing the teachings of Emmanuel) writes, "So walk with your heaviness, saying yes. Yes to the sadness, yes to the whispered longing. Yes to the fear. Love means setting aside walls and fences, and unlocking doors, and saying yes.one can be in paradise by simply saying yes to this moment." The instant we agree to feel fear or vulnerability, greed or agitation, we are holding our lives with unconditionally friendly hearts.

When I introduce the practice of Yes to students, it often brings up objections or confusion. Isn't just another shallow version of "positive thinking," a way to gloss over the reality of how hard life can be? Certainly, they object, we can't say yes to everything we experience. What if we wanted to hurt somebody? Or what if we're experiencing deep depression? Wouldn't saying Yes feed those states?

Saying Yes does not mean approving of angry thoughts or sinking into any of our feelings. We are not saying Yes to acting on our harmful impulses. Nor are we saying Yes to external circumstances that can hurt us: If someone is treating us abusively, certainly we must strongly say No and create intelligent boundaries to protect ourselves in the future. Even in that instance, however, we can still say Yes to the experience of fear, anger or hurt that is arising inside us. Yes is an inner practice of acceptance in which we willingly allow our thoughts and feelings to naturally arise and pass away.

Because our habits of rejecting pain are so ingrained and we are so addicted to appearing in control, the practice of inviting Mara to tea may seem to be pretentious. Students sometimes ask, "If we are filled with thoughts of hatred towards ourselves, won't our attempts at friendly acceptance just cover over what we really feel?" It's a good question. As we know from relating to others, we can act friendly while actually harboring tremendous judgment and distaste. The challenge at these times is, can we bring a friendly attention to just how unfriendly we feel? Can we see clearly what we are experiencing, and say Yes to the huge force of No? And if we can't manage that, we can at least intend to be friendly.

It's also easy to mistakenly consider Yes as a technique to get rid of unpleasant feelings and make us feel better. Saying Yes is not a way of manipulating our experience, but rather an aid to opening to life as it is. While we might, as I experienced on retreat, say Yes and feel lighter and happier, this is not necessarily what happens. If we say Yes to a feeling of sadness, for instance, it might swell into full-blown grieving. Yet regardless of how our experience unfolds, by agreeing to what is here, we offer it the space to express and move through us.

I do caution my students, however, that it is not always wise to say Yes to inner experience. If we have been traumatized in the past, old feelings of terror may be triggered. We might not have the balance or resiliency in a particular moment to meet our experience with unconditional friendliness, and our attempts at Yes might actually end up flooding us with fear. It would be better instead to find a way to alleviate the fear, perhaps by seeking comfort with a friend, doing vigorous exercise, or taking prescribed medication. In such moments, saying No to what feels like too much, and Yes to what simply works to keep us balanced, is the most compassionate response we can offer ourselves.

There are many ways of sending the message of Yes to our inner lives. We can whisper, "It's okay" or even a welcoming "Hello"-silently or softly out loud-in response to a painful emotion. Yes might also be an image or gesture. A friend of mine mentally visualizes herself bringing her palms together and bowing to what has appeared. When she feels the grip of anxiety, anger or guilt, she imagines bowing to them with a sense of genuine respect. I sometimes lightly place my hand on my heart and send a message of acceptance and care to whatever is arising in me.

The compassionate Buddha is often seen in statues or pictures with a slight smile as he embraces the ten thousand joys and sorrows. This unconditional friendliness is the spirit of Radical Acceptance, the spaciousness and love that holds our life. When we are extending friendliness to fear or shame, we are not expecting to eliminate our pain, nor does our warmth and presence suggest that we like what is happening. In fact, we might vehemently dislike our experience. Yet when we invite Mara to tea with a Yes, a bow or a smile, we reconnect with the natural freedom of our unconditionally friendly hearts.

In his poem The Guest House, the sixteenth century Persian poet Rumi writes: "Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." In opening wide the door to our experience, rather than deciding we like some "guests" and not others, we can graciously acknowledge whatever is before us. Anything that comes provides an opportunity to experience once again the essential wakefulness of our hearts. When we invite Mara to tea, we bring the courageous spirit of Radical Acceptance to the vitality and mystery of our lives.

This article was adapted from Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha (© 2003, Bantam Books) by Tara Brach, Ph.D. Printed with permission. Dr. Brach is an author, clinical psychologist, and the founder and senior teacher of the Insight Meditation Community of Washington. She has been practicing meditation since 1975 and leads Buddhist meditation retreats at centers throughout North America. For further information, email Dr. Brach at meditate@imcw.org or visit www.imcw.org.

2/1/04