Slow Down!

I’m a fast person. So when I first read Thích Nhất Hạnh’s suggestions about the need for slowing down to be mindful, I balked. I’d also read from other teachers that one can be mindful at any speed, that one should not force oneself to move at an unnatural pace, so I grabbed onto that. “Sure, you may need to be slow to be mindful, but I don’t,” I said. “I am quick by nature. I can be fully aware while moving fast!” At the time, I was practicing with my first sangha, which was a Plum Village sangha (Thích Nhất Hạnh’s school) in Austin. Every meeting, there would be a ceremonial serving of tea, and one week in 2011, I had the honor of providing it. I remember walking into the room at my natural pace with the tray of tea cups, and someone breaking the customary silence to admonish me to slow down. I did not like that.

But now I’m taking a closer look at it.

Yes, I can maintain awareness of what I’m doing when I’m moving fast. I can be fully aware when I’m bored. I can be fully aware when I watch my mind decide that ordering in and eating too many pot stickers is the solution for that boredom. I can be fully aware when I click the button to order a delivery on DoorDash. I can be fully aware that overeating will have unpleasant consequences, and probably leave me unable to do much the rest of the night, while I am overeating. I can do all of these things with full awareness.

The Buddha distinguished between “right mindfulness,” the kind of mindfulness conducive to liberation, and “wrong mindfulness,” the kind of mindfulness conducive to confinement. Ajahn Ṭhānissaro uses the simile of a thief breaking into a house. The thief is mindful, attentive, and staying aware of their situation in case they need to flee. That’s not right mindfulness! Sāyadaw U Tejaniya even titled one of his books Awareness Alone is Not Enough. Because it isn’t. For mindfulness to be “right,” it needs to be supported by good actions and guided by wisdom. In turn, it will create conditions that facilitate deepening wisdom, and make it easier to act in good ways.

This is where slowing down comes in. This is why I need to stop. In Peace Is This Moment, Thích Nhất Hạnh wrote, “The first step of meditation is stopping.” I might quibble with that being the first step, but it’s an essential part of the process. Maybe you aren’t even really meditating unless you’ve stopped...

Sure, I can maintain awareness while taking the path from boredom to overeating, but I can only take that path if I run instead of walk. I can only take that path if I stay in frenetic motion, and don’t pause for a moment to let things settle and really see what I’m doing. I have even caught myself hitting the “complete order” button as quickly as possible, because once the restaurant gets my order, I can’t cancel it, and if I move any slower I know I will do the wise thing and not spend the money and harm myself. It’s not just about maintaining awareness, then. It’s about stopping, so you can look at what you’re doing. Stopping and letting things settle to get clarity on what is happening, and then making a deliberate decision whether to proceed with your current course, or to make a different choice.

When testifying before the Senate to preserve funding for public television that Nixon wanted to cut, Mr Rogers recited lyrics to one of his songs. It brought goosebumps to the usually tough and gruff Senator John Pastore, the chairman of the subcommittee responsible for that funding. The song was for children, as everything Mr Rogers did, and specifically about what to do when angry and how to refrain from acting out of anger in a harmful way. It’s called “What Do You Do with the Mad that You Feel?” Part of the last verse is:

I can stop when I want to
Can stop when I wish
I can stop, stop, stop any time.
And what a good feeling to feel like this
And know that the feeling is really mine.
Know that there’s something deep inside
That helps us become what we can.

This is the key. Slow down, stop and look at what I’m doing. I’m only going to do the bad thing if I rush to it and through it, and don’t give myself an opportunity to take a breath and see what’s actually going on.

Because when I stop rushing, when I stop hurrying, when I let things settle, I can see how choosing peace and kindness (which includes to myself) is preferable to the alternative. I can see that the reason I’m reaching for the unwholesome thing is that I think it will give me peace. But peace is available right here, by simply being present with what is happening, even if the thing that is happening is difficult.

In fact, more often than not, what I actually need is rest. This unwholesome response is arising because I’m doing too much and trying to push myself to do more, when what I actually need is to do nothing for a bit. When what I need is to sit quietly and not act. And the next time I do take an action, let it be motivated by wisdom, rather than driven by craving. Then, instead of overeating and watching YouTube comedians for the rest of the night, I might read a sutta, or write an essay, or contemplate a Tarot card.

Ajahn Chah used the phrase, “stillness flowing,” which became the title of his biography by Ajahn Jayasāro. Being in motion in such a way that I do the wrong things, the things that hurt rather than help (even if the only person I’m hurting is myself), is turbulent. But if I can find that moment of stillness, and act from wisdom, the stillness can stay with me, even in motion. And that’s the goal. It’s a goal only met by doing less, rather than doing more.

Inevitably, I still get rushed after finding this stillness and stability, and I end up having to stop again and regain clarity. So what can I do? I can just do my best to be aware of my mental state at all times, the practice called cittānupassanā in Pali; and when I get too scattered or lost, I can stop until I’m back. Someday, this stillness in motion will be constant. Maybe not in  this lifetime, but until then, what can I do but practice?