S = P x R (yep, more math!)
“Is Dad Suffering?”: On the Nature of Suffering and the Selfishness of It All.
More mathematics of love is a’comin’—but again, no calculators necessary.
Someone shared an inquiry with me a couple weeks ago that prompted me to want to offer some clarification concerning my Dad.
In sharing an honest appraisal of Dad’s current condition, with an increasing tally of decreasing abilities (which I updated for you all in last week’s post), I’m afraid the wrong picture might be drawn when it comes to suffering. His suffering. So let me provide some clarity when it comes to this important question:
Is Dad suffering?
Answer: Yes.
Uh, wait…No, he’s not.
Umm…hold on another sec…maybe?
Sometimes? Most times? Just a little? Quite a lot?
Rarely? Never?
All of this?
None of this?
So… there you go. How’s THAT for clarity?
Turns out, it’s a complex and nuanced question.
A backstory and the seeds to my selfishness:
I first began an exploration into a deeper form of spirituality about 12 years ago shortly after I started a meditation practice. There was a period of time during that span of years around 2010 when the stress of being a principal was really eating away at me. If I was going to continue, I needed to do something different to find release and relief from the stress of that job—the caretaker of over 600 children, 80 staff, and a whole community that looked at the elementary school I served as their community center, their hub of communal life (schools have become exactly that btw—as was highlighted in stark relief from the pandemic shutdowns. But that’s a story for a much different forum.). So I bought a book from a physician based in Massachusetts who was changing lives, especially the lives of soldiers returning from battlefields with PTSD. Dr. Jon Cabot-Zinn’s book, Wherever You Go, There You Are changed the course of my life and turned me on to the power of meditation to heal one’s body and mind. Dr. Cabot-Zinn created Mindfulness-based Stress Reduction (MSBR) therapy—a form of cognitive-based psychotherapy aimed at reducing the very real harmful and physical effects of trauma and distress. The success of MSBR techniques on a person’s overall wellness, health, and healing is due to our strong mind-body connection—for total wellness, one must treat both the body AND the mind, concurrently. At first, it was a secular, non-spiritual endeavor to find relief for my inherent anxiety with all things principal. But as time went on, and my practice deepened, it was natural to keep pursuing the roots of mindfulness and meditative experiences. All that pursuit has led to my current day interest and passion for “soul advocacy,” Zen, and Taoism, which has included many silent retreats that have involved multiple “residential” retreats at various centers—some for over a week at a time. Those have been transformative.
I share that because that experience, and my being a student of Zen Buddhism and Taoism, has concurrently led me toward deeper understandings on the laws of impermanence and the nature of suffering. Both of which proved to also be transformative in my personal and professional lives—even as I am still learning. And they have been ESSENTIAL in my caretaking service to Dad. I honestly do not know how I would be viewing Dad right now if I hadn’t cultivated deeper understandings of these life truisms: “Everything changes” (e.g. the Law of Impermanence); and “In life there is suffering.”
Buddhism’s place in the religions of the world is still an active form of debate—there are no deities or gods in Buddhism. Buddhism, therefore, is classified as a non-theistic religion; it is perhaps more appropriate to consider it a system of psychology. Even the Dalai Lama tends to view Buddhism as a “science of the mind” and has, in fact, written several scientific-like books on Buddhist thought and practice. As an avowed atheist, this is what really drew me to Zen. And as an aside, there are priests, nuns, and other religious who are also practicing Buddhists—there is no exclusivity between Buddhism and one’s home religion.
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Pain v Suffering—what’s the diff?
Some of the teachings on impermanence and the nature of suffering is very esoteric. At first, when I began my study, because it was so different from what I was used to, especially in comparison to my Catholic upbringing, I selected only that which suited my initial desire to reduce my physical and emotional stress as focal points. Anything else I either glossed over, thought was too quaint and simplistic, or simply ignored. But certain themes constantly surfaced again and again, and gradually I came to a deeper understanding that it was precisely these, and really only these, that were central to my own life and which were the primary concern of Buddhism and Zen: change and suffering are THE bedrock fundamentals of human existence. Even the Buddha himself was reported to have said “I am only concerned with the causes of suffering and the cessation of suffering.” (Scholars have clearly shown now that this quote attributed to the Buddha is apocryphal and a misperception of the actual meaning from the Buddhist canon—but it’s actually not far off from reality; and it suits my purpose here, so let’s just go with it.)
As we get closer to clarifying how things are with Dad right now, we have to distinguish between pain and suffering. They are NOT the same thing—but they are often misconstrued as being identical. In fact, they are VERY different. And it was in learning this over a decade ago that altered the path trajectory of my life as a private person and a public principal—“everything changed!” And, believe it or not, it changed how I feel pain. This understanding, my reality now, I have to believe, is serving Dad in how he feels and perceives his own pain and suffering, as you’ll see shortly.
When I first was introduced to this quote, what I now know is a fundamental life truism, I didn’t fully get it:
But because it nagged at me, and was such a persistent theme in my full and soulful mindfulness practice and study, I came to understand and apply its truth rather successfully. After putting it into practice in my own life over and over again; and after becoming a student of, and witness to, the grand spectrum of human nature in these matters during the course of my principalship, I can now see it as 100% accurate: “Suffering is optional.” No ifs, ands, or buts. And now for every thought, whether my own or from others, that tries to point to the inevitableness of suffering, I can see quickly the folly and fallacy in that thinking. In life, pain is inevitable; but suffering is ALWAYS optional. In other words, even though pain might be experienced, we don’t have to suffer from it. THIS helps to explain so many courageous people in our lives who may be living life well even though they may be in the midst of severe and chronic pain or disease. They get it—they understand. Pain and suffering are not the same thing—one does not inevitably lead to the other. You can have pain, but you don’t have to suffer.
I wish I were taught THAT decades ago!
It’s not the molten hot rock thrown at you that burns you. It’s the fact you caught the hot rock and are holding on to it that causes the burn. Better to let it go. Better yet to simply not catch it in the first place.
Okay, here comes the math!
Math is just another way, another language, to help us understand our world. Like the nature of suffering for example:
S = P x R
Where S = Suffering
P = Pain
R = Resistance.
Understand and apply this equation to your life with sincerity, and get ready to experience both pain and suffering much differently. The key to the equation “Suffering equals Pain times Resistance,” is in the R.
We’ve already learned that P is the constant—in life, pain (P) is inevitable. Knees and backs will get strained; bones may get broken; be in the kitchen long enough and either a knife or open flame or hot baking pan will find their way to your fingers. Maybe you’ll need a root canal; or have your appendix out; or you’ll “catch” a Covid virus. Perhaps you’ll pass kidney stones. Your next walk or jog could result in a sprained ankle, or shin splints, or stubbed toes. Lift something wrong and here comes another bulging spinal disc in your neck or lower back. Ever been stung by a bee or any other insect bite? Or been bitten by ANYTHING for that matter? Forget about it if you’ve played any sport in your life; or if you know how to ride a bike (remember the pain in learning how do to that? Falling hurts!). Maybe a close partnership of yours dissolves; or you learn a loved one is dying or has died. Or you receive a diagnosis…like dementia.
In life, there is pain; it is inevitable that pain will find you in one way or another. One cannot create an environment in which pain becomes nil. And one wouldn’t want that anyway. In fact, that would be dangerous! There is a rare neurological affliction that cause one to not feel pain. People with that affliction run a huge risk, every day, of severe injury, infection, and internal bleeding. We need to feel pain—it’s our body’s natural warning signal that something is not right.
So thank goodness: Pain is the constant in the equation—it is also necessary to life.
The amount or degree to which we suffer from pain is solely due to the energy and effort we put into resisting it (e.g. fighting against, justifying, denying, embellishing, glorifying, etc.). Toddlers aren’t good at that, right? (And as I watch the World Cup, some Futbol players aren’t good at it either—well, they are actually very good at exploiting the appearance of suffering, for their gain, even though their acting is so obvious). If a toddler/futboler experiences the slightest hurt, whether from a scratch or small bruise or if they see a pin-prick of blood on their skin, their world might as well be over for the reaction they can have (not all toddlers mind you, but you know what I mean here). They could have you think they just had a limb amputated for the volume of crying and the amount of tears from even the smallest of insect bites. For those toddlers, their R approaches a million (if not even infinity for some). See what happens to S in the equation when Pain is multiplied by a million? The equation for those who resist mightily their pain becomes exponential—“CAN’T YOU SEE I’M SUFFERING HERE?!?”
Now, for the sake of brevity, let’s set aside all the medicinal and drug-induced ways to reduce the P in the equation—this is where all the narratives of addictions can become powerful players. Granting the very real benefit that comes from doctor-directed and prescribed medications, all forms of “pain-killers” are really meant to reduce our Rs to as low a number as possible (“pain-killers” don’t actually kill the pain, only our ability, neurologically, to feel the pain—it’s still there, the chemicals are just interrupting the brain’s ability to register it—drugs do their work where the Rs reside). Getting high, whether from a prescription or from “self-medicating,” is a way to reduce resistance. When you reduce resistance, you reduce suffering. It is that “euphoric” feeling that we begin to crave that may get us into trouble if we don’t know our bodies and minds well, or if we don’t follow doctor’s orders.
But folks like the Buddha, and the ancients, and the Dalai Lama, and Jon Cabot-Zinn, and now the multitudes of researchers, neuro-scientists, Zen masters and mindfulness teachers, are pointing to other natural, non-addictive ways at reducing our Rs. There are very real life practices, like meditation, or exercise (aerobics, yoga, walking, any of the martial arts, etc), or other mindful ways of being that serve well to lower resistance in this context. We’ve all heard the words “let go” in the context of how we hold onto our stress—learn to let go, and things won’t hurt as much; you will suffer less. Now, there’s so much more to that—but it’s not necessarily any more complex than that. Learn to adopt practices that lower your resistance to pain—rather, that lower your resistance to feeling pain fully, and you’ll see the accompanying reduction in suffering. It HAS to be that way—it is MATH after all!
Look at what happens to suffering, look at what happens to the S in the equation, when there is zero resistance to pain. Anything times zero equals zero! What you are left with, then, is just the pain. No suffering, just inevitable pain; but a form of pain without all the added stories we create to justify our suffering in order to gain sympathy from others.
So where does that one million and that zero come from? Where does the R come from?
Resistence comes from our minds and only from our minds. Our Rs are the stories well tell ourselves about how to interpret and perceive inevitable pain. Some R stories are cultural; some are ancestral; some are spiritual; some are familial. All stories are learned. And all are personal. The powerful narratives we have built in our lives, and that we want to believe are real, to show to the world who we are, absolutely influences the degree to which we suffer.
Pain just “is.” We don’t have to add anything additional to it. Right now, I’m pretty sure I’m living with torn cartilage in my right knee. And the trigger finger in my left hand is returning after having had a steroid injection in my hand earlier this spring. And right as the pandemic was starting, I severed my left Achilles tendon when I was playing hoops at recess with a bunch of sixth graders (btw: have I mention I’m in an old body—and that it’s getting older by the minute? I’ll have you know though, I was winning that game!). I think I can honestly say, despite the pains, I’m not really suffering. When I do suffer, I’m quick to realize I’m resisting the pain in some way—and goodness what a humbling realization THAT is—if I know this, and I know that I’m in control of my suffering, I can’t expect a lot of sympathy from anyone. That’s a form of manipulation. (Keep in mind empathy and compassion are diametrically the opposite of pity and sympathy—I want others to have compassion and empathy if I’m in pain; it shows they care. But I don’t want nor need their pity or sympathy.).
And so, Eldering 101: “The Answer to The Question” …I think.
“Is Dad suffering?”
I think there IS a definitive answer to this question, but split into two parts—and the more time we spend together, he and I, the more definitive the answer becomes.
First, as is obvious, one cannot truly know the inner workings in another, right? And when it comes to Dad—this lifelong stoic, “over-thinker,” and compulsive perseverator, a man who never shared his thinking out loud on inner-matters of any kind, let alone his OWN “inner matters”—the mathematics of “him” may be as opaque for the rest of us as is theoretical quantum mathematics. So, I’m guessing to a degree—but it’s a pretty informed guess.
Is Dad suffering? In truth, THAT is the real reason we are doing what we are doing for and with him; that is why he is here with us. We don’t want him to suffer. And if you’ve been reading these posts from the beginning, you know Dad is not learned in the ways of the suffering equation—no one Eldered him or taught him to distinguish between pain and suffering. He never learned about lowering one’s resistance through mindfulness practices. He was never given a context from which he could form his own narrative about how to interpret pain in his life—especially the existential pain that comes with aging and dying. All of that, any of that, would have been of benefit to him right now. Instead, as you’ve read, I’ve placed him squarely among the Eeyores in the fable of life—too quick to “woe is me:” “I’m uncomfortable so I must be suffering—I’ll bet it was that pill I took, or that vegetable I ate, or that juice I drank, or…, or…, or…. I need to go see the doctor!” For Dad, but only after mom died, not necessarily before (which is interesting!), there had to be some reason, some story on to which he could hang a rationale for why he was experiencing pain or discomfort. It couldn’t ever be just because pain is always going to be present in some form. There had to be a reason why and if there is a reason why, that is then what could be blamed and therefore “my suffering is out of my control. I get to now suffer as much as I want. Woe is me.”
When he joined us back on July 4th, he didn’t know I knew differently.
Answer part I…. Dad is not really in any pain. This I’m relatively sure of. He no doubt has the understandable aches and pains but there is nothing right now that is acute—and all his chronic ailments are under control following doctor’s orders. Besides, he would not hesitate to tell me if he were hurting somewhere in or on his body. The interesting nuance to the Suffering equation, with P, with pain being the constant, is that one cannot reduce P to zero. Remember, pain is inevitable—pain cannot be a zero in our lives; but it can be a very small number. (Doctors and nurses use this fact when they ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10). During the times when you can honestly pause and feel your body and emotions, and you can say “hey, I’m in no pain right now, I’m feeling pretty great!” that only means “right now.” “Right now,” right then, your P is fractional and cannot be felt. But it is not zero—and/or certainly won’t be for long.
So again, for the most part, Dad isn’t feeling pain—I know this ‘cuz he’s pretty quick to complain about it if he is. So is he suffering? Well, that’s a bit more complex.
Answer part II…. Any amount to Dad’s suffering is due to whatever narrative his mind conjures (eg the Rs he creates)—and lately, in fact for quite a while now, his main sources of suffering have been emotional and existential in nature, not physical. So, when he is lucid, and he realizes he has to ask for my help with something that was once easy for him, he experiences “angst.” You can see it on his face. Angst = suffering. But do you see where it’s coming from? It’s coming only from his mind—from the story he created when he thinks “I shouldn’t be like this; I wish I were my younger self.” But on the whole, with little to no pain, and resistance being minimized, well, I’ll refer you back to the math.
But let’s not forget (because I cannot), Dad’s brain is a Lewy-body dementia brain, and along with that “never-going-back” fact, as tough as it is to live with dementia (for both the patient and the caregiver) there comes an unexpected and blessed silver lining.
For there is a grace to dementia that I’ve come to understand—the more Dad’s mind and neurons disconnect and disintegrate, from the ravages of dementia, the more he becomes “in the moment.” Dementia’s unexpected grace is resulting in a reduction of Dad’s existential suffering. It is dementia’s little twist of irony. Dementia, at least Dad’s form of dementia, is reducing his Resistance such that I can tell it is on the road to approaching zero. Dementia is changing and erasing Dad’s old narratives for suffering. In their place, we are cultivating acceptance and allowance and patience; and deep breathing, and seeing how the 1 + 1s = 3s, and “approaching with reverence,” and “just this too;” all new stories to reduce resistance. And so his suffering.
And this is our life and dying practice right now.
And yes, it is working.
Besides, it’s hard to suffer with a warm, home-baked, vegan chocolate chip cookie in hand.
About the Selfishness part:
Of course, Kristin and I and Sammy, with support and nurturing and concern from Dad’s entire immediate family, are doing this FOR HIM. Yes, this is what generations’ past used to do as a matter of course in the evolving cycles of births and deaths within families; nowadays, it is not so common. Allowing someone’s life course to find its final end in the comfort and love of the family home initially is for the benefit of the one dying. But as we are discovering daily, profound benefits exist too for everyone else surrounding that person, surrounding Dad.
Serving Dad, as I’ve come to discover, is a selfish act. Each day provides multiple opportunities to become a better, more compassionate human let alone son. When Dad dies, and in his honor, I will feel obligated to share this learning, this growing and deeper compassion, with others. But no matter where that path may lead, it cannot cloak the fact that Dad is helping me to be a better person. And it’s selfish because I know it is happening, I want it to happen, and I want more of it. And we don’t have a whole lot of time left together. These life teachings from Dad, his “now” Elderings, through the very living of his dying, will provide endless memories, stories, and lessons that will serve ME to the end of my days.
In this, the season of giving, THAT’s a pretty remarkable gift from a humble, 84 year old retired farmer. It’s maybe among the greatest gift I’ve ever received…ever.
Forget the maybe.
T plus 166 days…and counting. Dad’s Journey Home is about reducing suffering through the changing of stories. Seeing suffering, leaning into it, giving it meaning, feeling it fully…then letting it go. And sometimes now, we don’t even catch it to begin with. Sometimes you have to learn how not to catch things.