Minding the Monkey Mind

                                                      

  Yesterday I worked on a post about the "time heals all wounds" cliche. I got stuck, didn't like what I'd written and put it aside. Before I fell asleep last night I asked my brain and the Universe to come up with something more about the relationship between time and healing so I could finish the post today.
    This morning I woke up with my relationship to my mind and monkey mind at the front of my awareness. Overnight my brain made a wonderful creative leap. I love when that happens.
   I learned about monkey mind when I was in rehab in my early twenties. Until I got clean, I was largely unaware of what went on in my head most of the time. Clean I was confronted with a loud brain. In rehab the brain noise, coupled with a lot of feelings, often kept me awake at night.
   When I got tired of spinning around in my head, I'd get up and talk to the night staff. One of the night shift regulars was a Zen Buddhist named Tom. He introduced me to monkey mind and T.D. Suzuki's Zen Mind, Beginner Mind. Tom's guidance and that book helped me start to befriend my brain.
   Monkey mind is a Buddhist term used to describe the agitated, incessantly restless and easily distracted state of mind. We all have some monkey mind. Until I got clean I wasn't aware of my monkey mind or that most of the time I was listening to it. Listening to it was such an ingrained habit that even when I was doing something else, part of me was still listening.
   That new awareness prompted me to really listen to what my monkey mind said rather than living with it as constant background music. I was startled by how destructive it was. I had no idea how to change that. I spent a couple years at war with my brain while I tried to make the monkey mind stop. I failed completely, but it gave me the opportunity to learn more about how monkey mind works.
     My monkey mind is the voice of fear. It's convinced something "bad" is about to happen or will happen. It remembers every dire warning I've heard about not wearing sunscreen, being in my car if a tornado hits and saying the "wrong" thing. My inner critic and the judgement monster from my shadow are part of monkey mind.
    So is the catastrophe factory in my head. When something unexpected occurs, the catastrophe factory fuels my jump from this minute to worst case scenario. I don't ever jump to it's all going to be fine because I might win a million dollars. I can fling myself to being homeless and pushing a shopping cart down the street talking to myself in seconds.
   The catastrophe factory tries to convince me that no matter how many times I've been helped through rough spots, this is the time the Universe is going to drop kick me. Too bad. You're on your own. Lots of luck.
   During the time I spent at war with my brain, I often described my mind as the thing that was trying to kill me. I was half joking, but that's how I felt. Now I can laugh at my monkey mind, but for years it wasn't funny at all. It took me a while to realize all the energy I was putting into trying to stop my monkey mind was giving it more fuel.
    My brain wasn't the enemy. It's more like an extremely energetic dog that needs a job. If the dog doesn't have something to do, it gets neurotic, self-absorbed and chews up the furniture. I shifted from trying to discipline my monkey mind to giving it something else to do.
    In college I was a double major in philosophy and fine arts. I like playing with ideas. I like creating. When I found myself mulling over a new idea or feeling curious about something, I investigated. That kept my brain busy. I also followed my creativity. I spent hours drawing on my jeans. I got a lot better at origami.
    Unbeknownst to me, I was doing more than redirecting my monkey mind. I was developing a practice of feeding my mind, which I continue to do. I was also strengthening what I call creative mind. I had no idea I was retraining my brain. Yippee for neuroplasticity.
   I've since discovered creative mind is the antidote to monkey mind. When I'm immersed in drawing,writing or some other creative project my thoughts move more like images in dreams than a bored dog chasing its tail. Monkey mind is circular and cyclic. Creative mind goes from A to Q and ends up on Saturn.
   The more time I spent engaging my creative mind, the quieter my monkey mind became...at least that's what I thought was happening. When I stopped check in my monkey mind was still skwaking. I'd just learned the redirect the part of me that was listening to it all the time.
     There's a huge difference in the way monkey mind and my creative mind work. Monkey mind is my brain running off by itself. It drag my heart and emotions with it, but the brain leads. Creative mind is my brain in equal partnership with my heart and intuition. My brain works much better when it doesn't play by itself.
     Supporting my creative mind let me befriend my brain. Over time my creative mind has actually grown stronger than my monkey mind which results in less monkey mind period. Feeding my creative mind invites it to come out and play when I'm not drawing or writing. The fanciful leaps my creativity makes are rarely practical. I've found if I follow the leaps I often end up new solutions to problems and fun ideas. Monkey mind magnifies and manufactures problems. Creative mind dissolves or solves them in interesting ways.
   Monkey mind returns to the same images over and over. Creative mind gives me great surprises. When I'm trying to figure something out I often see a little stick figure scribbling madly on a huge black chalkboard. And monkey mind...that's a tribe of gibbons skipping and whooping in my head after downing a case of Red Bull. Nuf said.

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Wanting more of less

     Looking for more sustainable ways of living has been an interest of mine for many years. Since moving to Taos in 2000 I’ve lived in a straw bale house, an adobed Airstream trailer, a hand built cabin with a composting toilet and river rock shower, a caretaker cabin with an outhouse and an earthship

    I’ve been an avid follower of the tiny house movement since I stumbled across it a couple years ago. In 2007 the average size of a single family home in America was 2, 479 square feet. Most Americans spend 1/3 to 1/2 of their income on housing. That translates into working for 15 years  just to pay for shelter. This begs the question do we own our stuff or does our stuff own us?

     The tiny house movement questions the assumptions behind this norm. Most tiny houses range in size from 100 to 400 square feet. Carrying a mortgage is the exception not the rule for tiny house owners. Many people are taking a DIY approach. With some ingenuity and recycled building materials, it’s possible to build and own a tiny house for $10,000. Amazing to have house that costs less than your car!

    Last week I learned about the Wildwood resort in Washington State. The resort community consists of tiny lakefront cottage with a price tag of $324,000. Yes at this price these folks are missing half the point of the tiny house movement. However the existence of a tiny cottage resort is an indication that less is making its way into the mainstream.

    After perusing the Wildwood website, I saw Verizon’s current “more everything” commercial. The ad includes the lines –“No one ever stomped their foot and asked for less. Because what we all really want is more.” Funny, even in my life I can think of a few people who are doing exactly that….me included.

    Initially I found the Verizon ad disturbing and sad and then it made me laugh. The tiny house movement is gaining momentum. A&E has even announced a new series with a projected July launch date tentatively titled “Tiny House Nation.” Given the contrast between this and Verizon’s commercial, is it possible enough of us have begun to want less that corporate giants are feeling a bit insecure?

    I feel hopeful that maybe, just maybe, our conspicuous consumption has begun to run its course.  

    The tiny house movement is about more than living in smaller spaces. It’s about re-examining our social and cultural assumptions. It’s about learning the difference between having what we want and wanting what we have. It’s about simplifying externally and internally.

     Maybe, just maybe, we’re starting to understand that if we’re not content now we’re not going to be content with more money or a new iPhone because it’s not about stuff.

    Since January when I unexpectedly lost my apartment, most of my stuff has been in storage. I don’t own much. The sum of my worldly possessions takes up a third of a room sized storage unit. I have a pretty good sense of the difference between my needs and wants. Living without most of my stuff has refined that even further. I’ve been surprised both by what I miss and what I don’t.

     The first thing I missed was music in a form other than earbuds in my ears. So I bought myself a set of iPod speakers for my birthday. I miss the rest of my shoes but I can dig those out of storage. I miss my poetry books.

    After the first couple weeks I stopped missing the bulk of what stayed in storage. During the two weeks where I did miss other things I discovered that what I missed was the convenience of having what I’m used to having and not the things themselves.

     Being inconvenienced and a bit uncomfortable sparked my creativity. Instead of grabbing X to go do Y, I had to find another way. Yes, that was a bit of a pain in the butt. Many things I was used to doing on auto pilot required thought. Some mornings even making coffee took longer.

     As the weeks went on I noticed a new level of creativity spreading out in my life. The need to use creative problem solving where I’d been functioning by rote altered my default mode of thinking. I found myself turning toward different more sustainable ways of using what I have.

    We all need some measure of comfort. But the line between having enough comfort for nesting and growth and the place where comfort becomes a form of sedation is hair thin and very individual. Too much comfort and convenience lulls us into amnesia.

      I was a little too comfortable. Comfortable enough to lose some gratitude for what I do have. Comfortable enough to numb my creativity and talk myself into believing I needed more stuff. I don’t.

    This more creative way of thinking and being has crept into the way I work with clients, my artwork and my ability to be the observer of my actions. This is what I truly want more of.

    When I had more stuff, I had more wants. Having less shifted my wants away from objects and toward something more authentic.

          I’m much clearer on the difference between immediate and long term or bigger picture wants. Most of my immediate wants are impulsive. I see something appealing and I want it…kinda like a crow with a shiny object. Those want are fleeting. They fade in hours or days even if I acquire the shiny thing. Satisfying an immediate urge often detours me away from my deeper wants.

     So far my adventure in having and wanting less has brought me more creativity, more freedom and more clarity about what’s really important to me. That’s not something that any amount of money or things could have brought me.