“So many people are struggling to create happiness while their brain is inundated by noise. If your brain is receiving too much information, it automatically thinks you’re under threat…” Shawn Achor
I wanted an oriental carpet for my new office. Easy enough, right? I headed to the little town of Farmville, happy as I drove through the greens and golds of the rolling Virginia hills. When I arrived, though, my ease collapsed, and I was quickly overcome. The Farmville “store” was actually several huge warehouses spread over many rambling acres; their signs proudly announced that they carried “over a million carpets.” I wandered aimlessly among Persian carpets, Pakistani carpets, Indian carpets, Afghan carpets, transitional carpets, hand-tufted, machine loomed, wool, cotton. There were mountains of carpets heaped on floors, on tables, on ledges, on couches. There were carpets hanging on walls; others dangled mysteriously from ceilings. Many were beautiful and interesting. I touched them and admired them; I wandered some more. Gobs of carpet-data quickly filled my mind with an overwhelm of waaaaay too much carpet information. I fled. Confused and carpet-less I made my way back home with my mind and entire nervous system newly agitated, discordant and defeated. That was dukkha, stress, unsatisfactoriness.
I’m reminded of it this morning as I encounter the overwhelm of today’s news. There is profound political chaos; politicians and commentators all accuse and point fingers. There are photos of desperate parents and starving children in the horror that is Gaza. Colossal fires are destroying old growth forests and swallowing whole towns. Gary sends me a video of a collapsing iceberg. Millions are trapped in the chaos and violence of Ukraine. In the US, immigrants are grabbed from their families. There is a shooting among rival gangs a tiny few miles from my comfortable home. My nervous system reels under the weight of trying to process it all. I can’t see what is mine to do. What can I do with all of this noise?
I remember the carpets and the gift of a little help from my wise friend.
Monica, a skilled interior designer, listened patiently to my agitation as she sat me down for a cup of tea. She quietly asked about my intentions and needs and wondered about my resources. She showed me pictures so she could get an understanding of the colors and designs that made my heart happy. Her kind presence helped to calm me; her curiosity was infectious. I relaxed and began, again, to breathe more deeply. I once again imagined a new carpet.
We made plans to return, together, to Farmville. As we entered the old brick warehouse, she guided me – and my attention – through the twists and turns of those cavernous rooms.
She invited me into skillful attention: “Don’t look at this;” “Don’t look at that;” “Don’t look
at those.” Together, we made our way deep into the bowels of the Farmville carpet universe. Finally, she stopped me at a rack of twenty carpets. Twenty. She asked me to choose three favorites. We laid them on the floor, then we took the finalists outside to see them in natural light. In just a few minutes, I had a winner. Together, we brought it back to my office and it has tickled my toes ever since.
Monica showed me the way on that summer day. She didn’t allow my own agitation to infect her. Indeed, with her calm presence, she “loaned” me her more settled nervous system. I then was able to reduce an overwhelming amount of data into an inquiry that was manageable and balanced. I was able to connect again with my own intentions, clarity and delight; I chose wisely and accomplished my goal.
These days, bombarded with the distractions of the near-infinite warehouses full of juicy-sounding “breaking news,” I see the many ways that so much information simply breeds agitation. As with my carpet-wandering mind, this quality of attention brings with it a certain initial level of sensory arousal and, even, a “pleasure” of sorts. But if my goal and intention is a deeper happiness and skill, I see that there is a need for a more focused intention and discipline. If I am not to be overcome by others’ cluttered mind states, I see that I need to bring Monica’s kind of presence to myself today in similar ways. The Buddha called it “yoniso manasikara,” “appropriate attention.”
So, this morning, I step away from the news in order to allow my nervous system a respite from turmoil. There is a kind and patient internal listening. I remember that a walk in nature will help; I head off for a visit with my beloved trees.
Coming home I find a renewed balance and stability, there is more energy to inquire. While I have no control over external dukkha, I note that I do have much choice over where to offer my own attention and, therefore, in how I breathe and think and speak and act. Repeated Indulgence in agitation, I see, will not help me (or anyone) to find greater freedom from suffering. There is a deeper compassion and patience for all overwhelm. There is a renewed listening for the music that only I can hear. What emerges is a new recognition of a simple bit of additional wise action that my own heart and body can offer to those who suffer. Rumi reminds me:
“Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”
It is enough.