"Teach me your pain"

There's a Buddhist story that has long spoken to me about Milarepa, an 11^th century Tibetan teacher. One day Milarepa is meditating outside of his cave when the demons of anger, greed and fear come to visit. He invites them in for tea, and one by one, he offers them his 'clear regard' and his presence. And one by one, they dissolve.

But one remains. As my friend Peter Gill writes in his book, The Way of Curiosity, “The most terrifying of them all, it roared and howled, and rather than dissolving in Milarepa's presence, it grew larger and more foul. Regarding the demon with great humility, Milarepa stood and bowed, baring his neck and thrusting his head between the creature's fangs. As he breathed in the sulphurous stench of the demon's breath, Milarepa whispered, 'Teach me your pain.'”

This story leaves me stunned and surrendered. Teach me your pain.

This spring and summer, I found myself in the underworld again, the pain of depression speaking – a pain both familiar and frightening to me. It was not where I wanted to be. There were days when I felt so sensitive that I felt as if I'd burst into tears if you looked at me cross eyed.

During this time, I heard stories about my Slovakian great grandmother, who suffered from depression for many years, eventually receiving electroshock treatments. I began to wonder about her pain, and the pain in my family that has arisen as waves of depression, fear, and sorrow in the bodies of my mother, aunts, and cousins.

When depression arises in my life, in addition to the aching sadness and pain, I often feel guilty that I can't control it. It's a kindred suffering to the guilt I've felt that I couldn't control my eating disorders.

During my years of binge eating, I often felt ashamed and disgusted – or frantic and out of control, gobbling up nutrition and health books in a panic. I thought if I could just discover the 'right' or 'healthiest' way to eat – and if I could follow this 'right way,' diligently – I could control these terrifying binges that arose out of the depths.

There was so much frozen fear in this franticness, living low in my belly, living in my cells. And so much pressure that I 'should' be able to stop it.

Today I feel much compassion for that young mother and for her drive to fix herself. And I feel much compassion for the pain that she carried – what lived underneath this ferocious urge to binge.

It makes sense that we try to control what frightens us, or try to fix it and make it go away. Our suffering can overwhelm our nervous systems and our capacity to cope. But this beautiful invitation – 'teach me your pain' – is one way we can meet the frightened, hurting parts within us.

While I was experiencing my reawakening of depression this summer, I committed to spending 54 days with my heart’s desire – a yearning to forgive depression. Originally, this yearning arose as a desire to 'forgive my depression.' But then I began to hear this call differently – to forgive depression itself.

So I bowed my head to depression and asked: teach me your pain. What I found was so different than what I'd expected: a mercy that holds, surrounds and infuses the pain of depression with an ocean of love.

I sensed how many people have been touched by this suffering, and I could see: it's not personal to me. It's not my fault, and it's not their fault, either. It’s a part of the ecosystem of life, like trees and birds, tears and blood, night and day.

It helped that, during this time, I received some physical support in the form of more thyroid medication that eased some of the depression I was feeling in my body. I feel incredibly grateful for this. And there were other days when I wept and wept, and felt like I'd never get my head above the waves of sorrow.

And there were other days when I wondered – perhaps depression will be something I continue to experience regularly in my human body?

The truth is, I don't know. But asking depression to teach me its pain changed my relationship with depression, and changed my relationship to the depression of those I love. Is is no longer a monster I fear, barred at the gate. And this will help me the next time I feel the familiar heavy sadness in my body and bones, or in another’s.

Teach me what I don't understand, what I judge or don't know. Open my heart so I may see - so pain can be felt, known and released.

The image above is of a collage I made about my yearnings for healing. The hunched over figures in the middle melt my heart.