Above all, a materialistic society desires certainty—it seeks to guarantee it; passes laws to enforce it; wipes out the pathogens that threaten it; and lets everyone have guns to protect it. Even the seemingly innocuous habits of inking in plans and clinging to beliefs and opinions are the reverse-image of the uncertainties that the heart yearns to be certain about.
Yet, if we seek security in that which is inherently uncertain, dukkha, or discontent, is the inevitable result.
Fear is a discomfiting friend. The impulse is to get to a place of safety, but where in the phenomenal world—either mental or physical—could that be? The insight of the Buddha, informed by his own experiences of exploring fear and dread, encourages us to make a 180-degree turn. Whereas the instinct is to shrink away from the threatening aspects of life, his injunction for those who wish to free the heart is to contemplate frequently the following:
I am of the nature to age, I have not gone beyond aging;
I am of the nature to sicken, I have not gone beyond sickness;
I am of the nature to die, I have not gone beyond dying;
All that is mine, beloved and pleasing, will become
otherwise, will become separated from me.
For that which is threatening to the ego is liberating for the heart.
By turning to face the inarguable facts of nature, the habit of investing in unstable realms is interrupted. It shines the light of wisdom on the issue, reveals that we’ve been looking for certainty in the wrong place, and thus frees up the attention to realize where security can be found.
This needs to be examined in the light of personal experience, but in traditional Buddhist terminology, such security is said to be found in the Triple Gem: the Buddha—the awakened, knowing faculty of the heart; the Dharma—the truth of the way things are; and the Sangha—the noble, unselfish response. For when the awakened heart knows the way things truly are, what springs forth is harmonious and virtuous action. Undiscriminating awareness is dependable. The reality of Nature is dependable. Harmony is possible.
How can we arrive at such security?
There are many ways to meditate on fear. One is to wait until it appears adventitiously. Another is to invite it in—when we send out invitations we can be a little better prepared for who shows up at the party.
Fear is not the enemy—it is nature’s protector; it only becomes troublesome when it oversteps its bounds.
Perhaps for both methods of approach the first thing to bear in mind is that fear is not the enemy—it is nature’s protector; it only becomes troublesome when it oversteps its bounds. In order to deal with fear we must take a fundamentally noncontentious attitude toward it, so it’s not held as “My big fear problem” but rather “Here is fear that has come to visit.” Once we take this attitude, we can begin to work with fear.
Begin by sitting quietly and focusing the attention as clearly as possible on the present moment, using a simple tranquil object to establish equilibrium—the natural rhythm of the breath is good for this purpose for most people, moving in the empty space of the heart .
Once such centeredness has been established, deliberately bring to mind something that will arouse a fear reaction. For example,
“Anthrax in the mail”
—or any other memory, imagined possibility, or Image that triggers the compulsive effect.
Once the seed crystal has been dropped into the mental pool and the consequent flow of thoughts and images has begun, make a definite and concerted effort to withdraw the attention from the stories the thoughts are telling. Bring it instead into the sensations of the physical body.
Where do I feel the fear? What is its texture?
Is it hot or cold?
Is it painful? Rigid? Elastic?
We are not necessarily looking for verbal answers to all these questions; rather, we are just trying to find the feeling, accept it completely, and not add anything to it.
“Fear feels like this.”
Many find that fear locates itself primarily in the solar plexus, sitting like a tightened knot in the belly. Just feel it, know it, open the heart to it as much as possible. We’re not trying to pretend or force ourselves to like it, but it is here—right now it’s the way things are.
Let this process run for at least ten minutes, then consciously let it wind down—not suppressing it, but, as when it’s time for guests to leave, make the hints, and let the event wind down naturally. It might take a while, but that’s fine; just let it run out at its own pace. During this time, reestablish the breath as a focal point, and use the exhalation to support the fading of the fear-wave.
Once it has come to an end, focus the attention on the feeling of the breath, moving as before in the empty space of the heart. Let the heart be clearly conscious that the fear cycle has come to cessation: it arose out of emptiness, returned to emptiness. It was florid and impactful in its appearance, but the overarching quality, now having been seen directly, is its transiency.
Now we know …
The effect of this practice is to train the heart, so that when the next wave of fear arises, from whatever quarter, something in us knows. The intuitive wisdom faculty is awakened and recognizes: “I know this scenario—don’t panic—it looks impressive, but it’s just the fear reaction.” It becomes vastly easier to avoid being sucked into the vortex of anxiety.
The feeling is not pleasant, but the heart knows, with absolute certainty: “It’s only a feeling.” And if action needs to be taken, then that action will be motivated by wisdom, kindness, and sensitivity to time and place rather than by neurotic reactivity and habit. ▼