The Bad Mood

You woke up in a bad mood. Right off the pillow, the kind of bad mood where every little thing, even buttoning your shirt, is annoying. You’re thinking, though, back of mind, it’s kinda weird since you attended a day-long meditation yesterday, and halfway expected, as in the past, to have a nice, morning-after access to that wonderful clarity and ease of being that shows up after formal sitting. But no such thing. The dark cloud hung around all morning, and you began to wonder if it might be a recurrence of your old friend, depression.

By lunchtime, you had had enough. You put down your tools, found a quiet place to sit, and began to investigate the funk.

As you relaxed into not-knowing, the contraction around the mood began to lift, and some light appeared at the end of the tunnel. At some point, it became apparent that there was a sadness in there somewhere. There was sadness, but it was mixed with anger, and you remembered that, the previous evening, you had watched the video(s) of the murders of innocent people in Minnesota by government agents. It was sickening on so many levels, moral, social, political, and spiritual, and as your investigation of the bad mood deepened, you realized that you were grieving, not only for Renee Good and Alex Pretti, but for our country, for the world, for humanity, and the suffering of humanity.

The only reason I am describing this incident is to point out that, despite our expectations, meditation is not always a vehicle for love and happiness. I had been expecting some happy reward for my efforts, but what showed up was something quite different. What showed up needed to be revealed and recognized for what it was…not pushed aside or covered up with our distraction of choice; work, drugs, alcohol, internet, etc., which only multiplies and creates problems down the road, for oneself and others. When the darkness was met in the stillness of wonder, it lost its purchase in the self-narrative. Not that there isn’t still sadness/anger/grieving, but it no longer controls one’s behavior. On the contrary, it has assumed its natural place in the mosaic of personality and is honored for what it is: a natural, human response to traumatic loss.

The beauty and healing power of meditative inquiry is that it allows space for our sadness and anger to come to the surface and be met with what we are beyond the mind, and beyond the strictures of self-concern. This is called love in action.