I know it can hold a negative connotation, but emptiness – what I call the space between and before my thoughts and actions - is my good friend. We haven’t always been friends; I avoided emptiness for decades because I feared what it might contain. I covered it up with every manner of distraction, from food to busyness to incessant worry to a rich fantasy life. I have felt my blood run cold with dread at the thought of a day without plans. I didn’t take the time to look closely at this dread because I was already running on to the next distraction from it.
I am not using emptiness as synonymous with a quiet mind. I have a daily meditation practice, both solo and in groups, and this practice of structured quiet has nurtured me and grounded me for nearly 30 years. The emptiness I’m referring to is the kind that occurs during the 23 hours of the day when I am not sitting on purpose in silence; the kind that comes up while working, talking with others, driving, etc. It’s an ability to be still in the middle of noise and activity – especially the noise of my own mind. Paradoxically, the emptiness I am talking about has a feeling of activity to it; it’s a stillness that requires an inner vigilance.
Getting in touch with emptiness has been a beautiful and poignant challenge for me. Under the busyness and the ice cream and the scurrying worries of the day, I found a depth of emotions I didn’t know I'd been avoiding. I found terror and anger and panic and shame and greed. (The greed surprised; I always thought of it as an action word rather than an emotion.) It’s not like I never felt these things before. It’s just that I had always tried my best to skim past them and avoid making eye contact. I nodded curtly or made stilted conversation with them and held my breath a bit until they passed through. I never gave them the space they deserved. I didn’t dare! What if they took over? But all of these emotions, all of them, are part of me and they were begging for space! BEGGING me for just a little space to be seen. They were asking me for mercy. When I gave them space - safely, mindfully, over time - it felt threatening and it felt vulnerable but offered no actual threat.
For me this is neither fast nor easy nor simple. There is no road map. It requires Presence and willingness, patience and compassion, vigilance and humor, to make space for what has been set aside for so long.
Emptiness comes to me now as a friend. It sometimes brings with it challenging emotions that ask me for space. And when I am able to give them space, that emptiness often brings me peace.