Conflict and cooperation by Ben Young
It seems I’ve discovered how to stop conflicting with my partner. I don’t understand what it means, and I wish I had discovered it sooner, but I know that it is real. The proof is in the kitchen.
Our kitchen is small. For a long time it was a place of conflict. Once the baby was asleep, and my partner and I sat down together to eat, I would take offence at something and become morose and argumentative. I’d ruin the short time we had alone together, and sometimes walk out of the house. Especially after a mouthful of beer.
Or when we were cooking, I felt she was always getting in my way, as if deliberately blocking me. We were constantly in collision, although we never touched. And I would tell myself long stories about why I was hurt and betrayed, spinning out why I was a victim or misunderstood or mistreated. These stories were deafening, for all that they were told silently in my head.
The conflict spread out of the kitchen and poisoned our flat. In the heat of an argument I would beg for a space of ten minutes to cool off. In those ten minutes the irritation I felt could completely disappear, and I would become contrite and ask for forgiveness. I used to tell myself that this was a strength I had: that I could get over something if I only had a few minutes to myself. But I was wrong. Far from being a strength, it was actually one of the causes of the problem. For sure, my sense of self is always shifting, so that given time one part of myself can die off and a new one come alive. (Is everyone else like this?) Once the angry self has faded away, the new temporary self feels no guilt and can blithely make amends: but this was me depending on the fact that my Self is a merry-go-round in order to try to make life bearable for my partner. And the carousel will carry on turning, bringing the conflict back before long. What I needed was to put an end to the cycling of personalities, not to speed it up. The faster it moves, the faster the conflict will return. The carousel goes round in a circle: no point trying to steer it, we can only try to get off.
It came to a point where I knew something had to be done, and honestly wished I could do it, but had no idea what. The conflict became a crisis, and everything was put in danger. But then, unrelatedly as far as I can now remember, I started doing an early morning meditation exercise. It had nothing to do with emotions or resolving conflict. I think at first it was just something to help start the day off before my son woke up. I’d done it years ago, on and off, and noticed that the day would go more smoothly whenever I did. Only this time it stuck. (A child gives life a rhythm which substitutes for lack of discipline.)
I’m not sure when I first noticed we’d not argued. One morning we were sorting out breakfast as usual, and suddenly I realised I no longer felt we were conflicting. The kitchen had not grown. Perhaps our movements around each other were even exactly the same as before, only their meaning had changed. Eating together, after baby was in bed, the very same comments that I used to react to have no ill effect on me at all. I can even — and this is true miracle — accept criticism or teasing. If this is enlightenment, then enlightenment is more common that they say. Really I’ve just become less unstable, and quite late in life for all that.
I am totally convinced it is the meditation that has made this happen, though I can’t plainly say why. It is a simple exercise which has nothing to do with relationships or emotions, just noticing that sensation and consciousness are not the same, and allowing the sensation to be in the limbs, where it needs to be, and letting the consciousness untangle itself from sensation, and take its own shape. It feels that this has put an anchor inside me, so that I am no longer thrown on the rocks by every changing tide. I can’t see the anchor, I only see its effects. And it is not as if I have no emotions at all: reactions of irritation or anger still spring up as expected: but it is like they are struck on a guitar string that is dampened, and the note quickly fades away. One day on a city street a driver tailgated me, honking, and then roared past on the wrong side of the road. I watched inside myself, astonished, as the typical angry reaction burst out, and then it paused, went into reverse, and was reabsorbed, leaving not even a sweaty palm in its wake. You might think this is nothing special, dear reader, but I can tell you for me it is. It seems that this kind of enlightenment makes us immune to road rage.
A year ago, if I had thought it possible to escape the carousel of selves, I would have found the prospect frightening. If I stopped telling myself stories about how I felt all the time, what would be left? A weird and upsetting state of No-self? At the moment, it seems the answer is: a self who is quieter, a bit more stable, and nicer.
Ben Young
