Find a Quiet Corner: A Simple Guide to Self-Peace

Introduction

I used to wish my life away. I lived my life thinking ahead to the next thing—the next day, when I had a date with so-and-so and wouldn't that be nice; the next job, because I hated my current one so much; the next year, when I was planning to take that great vacation which held the promise of changing my life; the next prince charming, who would rescue me from my life because the last one was really a frog and I was meant to be saved. I couldn't wait for the next experience that was sure to transform me and my life. I still have the tendency to live in the future, but today I notice when I do and am usually able to catch myself and bring my attention back to the moment. But it took some time and a lot of pain to shift my awareness into the present.

My journey in search of a quiet corner began with loss and a great deal of despair. It was 1985. I was living my life as usual, waiting for something to happen, retreating from myself and my world with drugs and alcohol, and living in a black hole of despair, not caring much about my life. In fact, I considered ending my life just to escape the misery. And then my father died. The shock of losing the only person in my life who seemed to love me was devastating. For a short while I sank further into despair and a haze of intoxication. But for some reason his death made it clear to me that I wanted to live. I saw how I was slowly slipping into oblivion. Some force beyond me and my ego drove me to admit that my life was a mess, and I made a decision to move toward life rather than death. I put down drugs and alcohol and began the move toward health.

Three years later, after spending much time working toward recovery, another loss forced me to recommit to my quiet corner journey. My prince charming of the moment left me, for seemingly no reason. My mind wouldn't leave me alone. My ego was crushed, my heart was bruised, and my mind blamed me. I sank into a self-deprecating state of loneliness and tortured myself with notions that it was all my fault, that I was unlovable, that I would never be happy, that I got what I deserved. The pain was debilitating and I sometimes thought I might drop off the sane world into that of the insane. That's how noisy and confused my mind was. Because I was desperate, I went on a retreat to a Zen Buddhist monastery in the Catskill Mountains. Because I always wanted to be the good student and get the gold star at the end of the day, I did what was suggested that weekend. When told to sit still during the zazen periods of meditation, I sat still. I was in so much mental pain that I would have done anything for the promise of soothing it.

The physical pain of sitting was so excruciating I was convinced that I was doing serious permanent damage to my body. But something happened that weekend in the stillness of sitting and in the encounter with pain. The physical pain took my mind off the mental pain and taught me that pain is only temporary and often simply a measure of my ego and its attachments. I continued sitting after leaving the mountain, and I went on other retreats over the next few years. My life was changing, I was changing, and the pain of that time subsided to the point where I was actually enjoying my life. By 1991 I was in a job that I loved and in a relationship that was working, and I had just purchased my first home. Life was okay.

Then the bottom fell out again. Within a month I lost my boyfriend and my job. I hadn't realized until I lost them how much my identity was wrapped up in both, especially my job. I was a very sad and broken person. The self-blaming demons returned. I didn't know what to do next, so I retreated to the monastery for a weekend to think about my next move. Beginning with that weekend and with the help of many people I started on yet another path of recovery. I had always wanted to write, and when I put forth the idea of spending more time at the monastery and writing about the experience, I was encouraged to do so by the monks and by many friends who cared about me. I lived there for five months and am changed from that experience. (That, of course, is another book.)

Find a Quiet Corner is a product of all this experience. It comes from much personal pain and the need to quiet my mind. My pattern had been not to make changes in my life unless I was in great pain and my back was up against the wall. My instinct is to continue to resist change, but today I am aware when I do this and I use the techniques in this book to accept the change that is inevitable. I am grateful that my life was filled with so much pain and that I was introduced to a form of meditation that helps me to accept and understand this pain.

While you can open to any page in this book and find inspiration, you will get the most from it by working through it from front to back, from beginning to end. I know many people who are in pain and could benefit from the suggestions in this book. If I am able to help but one other person, all my pain will have been worthwhile. But I also know that we each have our own path and unless we're ready to surrender, nothing can force us. Pain is a fact of life. Joy is available to us also, but not unless we understand the pain. I have experienced joy for the first time in my life since starting on the quiet corner path. I will continue to experience pain, but I now know that joy is also probable if I continue my quiet corner practice.

Copyright © 1995 by Nancy O'Hara
Excerpt posted with permission from http://www.twbookmark.com

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