Loneliness

The U.S. Surgeon General recently said that loneliness is the root factor in mental health issues. His office recently released an 85-page advisory identifying loneliness as a public health epidemic in America, afflicting one of every two adults. We will explore loneliness as it relates to our meditation practice in this first track of two.

Transcript

So the US Surgeon General was at the Aspen Ideas Festival on Saturday and he was talking about loneliness.

He said that loneliness is actually the root factor in mental health issues and his office recently released an 85 page advisory identifying loneliness as a public health epidemic in America afflicting one of every two adults.

Amazing.

That does sound like an epidemic.

So I'd like to revisit this topic in practice.

We've talked about this before but I'd like to revisit it with you this week.

So we're all born alone unless you're a twin and we all die alone generally and in between it's our connectedness with others that kind of takes the edge off of our basic aloneness.

Like even within an intimate and healthy long lasting relationship there will always still be this gap between ourselves and another.

And this path that we walk together it's not always an easy one.

You know it requires discipline and honesty and honest self examination.

You know at some point we may have to reorder our life a little bit.

I remember early in my meditation practice experiencing how I could sort of hide in the practice but even in a Zen monastery there is a tension between community and solitude.

You know we may feel our practice shields us from trouble but no matter who we are or how we practice we can't avoid difficulty and we can't avoid ourselves.

And at times all of us may feel fundamentally alone and until we face this loneliness directly we'll fear it.

It's interesting that one of life's most vital lessons is sometimes it's like something that we don't even that's not taught like how to be at home with ourselves.

Like how to be at home with ourselves.

The philosopher Pascal said that much of people's misery derives from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone.

And most people will do almost anything to avoid the fear of loneliness.

You know we distract ourselves.

We get very busy.

We look for escapes.

We can even use our relationship to run away from feeling this fear of loneliness.

But ultimately the willingness to come to terms with our loneliness is essential for aging with balance,

With equanimity.

You know some of us here may find ourselves alone after a death or a divorce.

There are those here who might have a tendency to isolate.

And if you're one of those it's important to be aware if you are building walls to protect yourself from possible pain.

Like unless we drop the walls of protection we'll continue to experience the unhappiness of feeling separate and alone.

Part of the wisdom as we get older is finding people and activities that fulfill our need for contact with other people.

And what's important about this is that we're not just resorting.

We don't want to find activities and people that are sort of superficial.

We don't want to resort to a superficial attempt to fill our time.

Notice if you're doing that.

Our relationships and our social activities have to feel genuine if they're going to be satisfying.

When I was a volunteer at a Zen hospice project my job was to sit with patients or sometimes their loved ones in the patient's last months of their life.

And it was interesting for me to witness how the basic aloneness was softened by the ability to be truly present with this person as they came to the end.

As the end of their life came closer.

To experience the sense of connection that comes through the presence of another is part of the wisdom that may be revealed as we near our own death,

Our own end.

It's that paradox again,

To understand that although we are basically alone,

We are at the same time truly connected.

And when we're no longer covering our loneliness with busyness and with our roles,

What sometimes happens is that the deepest existential question comes.

What is my life really about?

What is my life really about?

You know,

Our stories for many years,

Our stories have defined who we are and what we value.

And without our story,

We will undoubtedly feel anxiety.

But one of the greatest benefits of aging is that we can get more in touch with what's truly important.

What transcends our story.

We begin to question our life's direction rather than choosing old patterns.

We're choosing from intention.

The second path factor of this eightfold path that we follow.

First is seeing.

And then the second is making that turn,

That intention.

I want to close with the story that really,

Really touched me when I heard it.

Sitting on a piece of cardboard on a New York City street corner is an old blind man.

His weathered face wrinkled like that of an old elephant.

He could be 46,

62,

Or 75.

It's hard to know with those for whom life is never easy.

The old man sits with his legs outstretched,

A battered hat by his side,

And a crudely written handwritten sign that reads,

A little charity,

Please.

Every day he sits against that building,

His head to the sky,

As if he's listening intently to a voice that rest,

The rest of us can't hear.

He sits in the early morning chill,

And when the sunlight has cleared the buildings on the other side of the square,

He opens a red,

Beat up parasol that looks even older than he does.

When it rains,

He hobbles over to one of the cafes and squats under the awning.

And if one of the waiters is feeling kind and charitable,

He'll call the man in and give him a cup of milky coffee.

But most days he's alone with his thoughts and the sound of the coins that drop now and then into the hat,

Too few to count for anything.

Dozens of people hurry past,

Young women from the ad agency nearby,

Middle-aged bankers leaving trails of cigar smoke in their wake,

A man pushing a stroller.

Not one of them ever stops or even slows down their pace.

They've seen the man,

They've seen him,

And seeing nothing of note,

They hurry past,

Maybe now and then fishing a coin out of their pocket,

Mostly to assuage their own guilt.

One day,

Shortly after lunch,

A young man with the kind of face that pulls smiles walks by the old man.

He is smartly dressed in a suit and freshly polished shoes,

Newly done by the shoeshine,

A few doors past the cafe on the corner.

He carries a briefcase in his hand that he swings jauntily,

And when he sees the old blind man,

He stops.

Pulling up his trousers,

He squats on the ground,

His briefcase planted between his knees and his face level with the old man's.

How's it going?

He asks.

The old man can hear the smile.

Slow day,

He replies in the voice of someone who,

Like his money,

Is neither counting nor being counted.

As usual,

Eh?

The old man nods gravely.

You know what you need,

The young man says,

Not waiting for an answer.

A better sign.

He picks up the piece of cardboard,

Appraises it,

And then he takes a marker out of his briefcase and quickly writes something on the back.

There,

He says,

Propping up the sign next to the hat,

Which for some reason looks a little bit less lonely.

I have to get back to work,

He adds,

Squeezing the old man's shoulder,

But you have a good day,

Okay?

Okay,

Says the man quietly,

As if forgetting what okay means.

A few minutes later,

A woman in high heels is rushing past when she suddenly stops and throws in a few coins into the old man's hat before rushing away.

A child walking with his mother tugs at her sleeve and points.

The mother takes out a bill and gives it to the child,

Who puts it carefully in the hat.

Then a couple,

Out for a stroll,

A middle-aged woman who's gone shopping,

And a young student on their way to classes,

They all stop and leave money.

Some of them even say a word or two of greeting to the old man and ask him how his day is.

At first he can't reply,

He's so out of practice,

But after a couple of hours he's chatting as if this is what he has always done,

His gap-toothed smile a sunrise.

Hour after hour,

Money keeps dropping into the hat,

And after a while it's so full that bills and coins are littered on the ground,

And the man reaches for them with trembling hands,

Sticks them in his pockets,

And quickly wipes the tears streaming down his face.

How's it going?

A voice says towards the end of the day,

And the old man tilts his head up,

His eyes unseeing,

Huge.

You!

What did you do?

What did you write on my sign?

The young man bends down,

Picks up the sign,

And reads aloud,

His voice smooth like wet stones.

Today is a beautiful day,

And I cannot see it.

So we,

As a community,

We turn toward a spiritual path.

You know,

As we make this decision,

It's to decide that we're no longer content to face life with blindness.

It's a choice to see what we couldn't see because we were moving too fast.

It's realizing that there's nothing and no one who doesn't deserve to be counted.

Thank you for your kind attention this morning.

Reviews

🙏 💝

Great insights

Thank you Lisa for your beautifully mindful work ❤️⭐️

Beautiful!

Thank you so much for this lesson.
I needed it so badly.
Peace ✌️ be with you.

Such insighds . Beautifully delivered . Thank you , Lisa 🙏

Thank you

Lovely guidance, and a moving story at the end.
Thank you.

Thank you, this was truly beautiful 😊

What an amazing story of the blind man. Thank you, dear Lisa.
Walter

Wisely delivered. Deeply received. Thank you .

Thank you for this beautiful message! 🙏❤️

Excellent story at the end of your talk! Very meaningful and something we all need to pay attention to.

Wow! “Today is a beautiful day and I cannot see it.” Those words really touched me because they are sadly so familiar. Thank you for a wonderful talk!

Amazing story thank you

That was really beautiful... thank you so much 🙏

Thank you for that beautiful message of Hope and encouragement

Beautiful, heartwarming story at the end of this talk. Thank you. 🙏

Thank You.