The Koan of My Life

I may have just realized the koan of my life - at least, my life just now:

Can you be depressed without blaming yourself? 

I know, this is not the major conundrum of the average life, though severe depression can hit anyone.  But it is for those of us who are bipolar or chronically depressed, or subject to the lows of illness, such as migraines or chronic pain- so as I think about it, a lot of us have this problem.

There could be other approaches for me, such as really thinking about the classic koan, "What was your original face before your mother and father were born?"  That points me to the highly hereditary nature of the kind of brain I have, which is called an illness or disorder.  Dis-order seems to fit pretty well.

If you start thinking how your parents were made by their culture and the events of their lives, you get insight into how they made you.  If I really sink into all that, and understand that this is how I was made before I had anything to say about it, that can solve the riddle above.  It is not my fault that I experience long periodic depressions.  I don't choose to feel like that.

And actually, that kind of penetration into the issue suggests to me that my habit of self-blame was also conditioned into me.  Therefore -

It doesn't make sense to blame yourself for your self-blame. 

But it is perfectly logical that you do that.  Of course you do.  You were conditioned to blame yourself.  So don't blame yourself for blaming yourself.  But obviously you have to blame yourself, because it is perfectly logical that, given your heredity and conditioning, you will do that. 

You have to love it.

There is something profound here that I won't attempt to explain any further.  But on a lighter note, it reminds me of the value of lightening up.  Though I don't know if you can do that by force of will . . . 

[image: tree peonies as van Gogh might have seen them in his worst mood]

Your life koan

What do you do when you don't feel like doing what you think you ought to do? 

Do you do like my father, and push yourself?  To him, the alternative was "being lazy."  As I see it, that turned out sadly for him.  In particular, when he came back from the big war and went to Youngstown College on the GI bill, he found he liked his American Literature class, especially poetry.  One of my fond memories is of him reading aloud at the kitchen table "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," a rhythmic poem, rhymed, absorbing to a child.

But poetry was for sissies - or softies - how did he think of it?  He told me it was an easy A.  So he majored in engineering, pushed himself, almost quit, but pushed himself more.  He went on to a lifetime white-collar job as a defense engineer (designing weapons) with Firestone, where he ascended beyond his abilities, and ultimately felt cheated of what he thought he deserved. 

After he died, I found on his desk a poetry anthology.  The bookmarked page was the poem, "Crossing the Bar," Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem about death.  His last years had been difficult and discouraging, and I think he was quietly, by himself, thinking about death.  It was poetry he turned to.

What if he had followed his inclinations in college, and majored in English, studied literature and poetry?  he would have been a good candidate for grad school, very bright and well-spoken.  He would have liked being a professor, holding forth.  What if he had relaxed into what he liked, and not done what he thought was the smart thing, the right thing?  Maybe he would not have been so mean, so driven and unhappy.  I don't know.

But looking back on my own life, I know that whenever I had to push myself to do something, I would have been well-advised to go on a retreat, maybe a long one, and ask whether that was the thing to do after all.