First, I worked on learning how to turn fear into love. Then I started learning to breathe it right out of my body. As I progress through this transformative process, I’ll keep sharing it. Take what you want, roll your eyes if you need to, and leave the rest behind.

To my amazement, I didn’t believe this was possible until I tried it and found out it was honest and could work for me. I have learned and am still learning how to exhale fear and despair.

I have been teaching this to the Mansion residents with some success, and I’m not selling the idea, but I believe if you have fear and work at this and concentrate on breathing, you can almost see (and you can feel)  the fear leaving your body when you exhale.

My efforts were inspired by Buddhist, Jewish (Kabbalah), and Christian teachings of St. Augustine and Thomas Merton. The prophets and philosophers of spirituality all believed it and practiced it.

I think the Viethamese Monk Thich Nhat Hanh (who died at the beginning of this year) was one of the first to write a book about it.

I am in awe of what these great minds can each me and how relevant it is today.

Their time was even crazier and more frightening than ours. They all felt tremendous fear and worked hard to reduce and release it.

“We have to be aware of our feelings,” writes Thich Nhat Hanh in his book Fear: Essential Wisdom For  Getting Through The Storm.

“There’s a whole lot of feelings blowing in us day and night. Every feeling is a drop in in that river. A feeling is born, manifests,  stays for a time, and then passes away…We’re free even from our feelings. And with mindfulness, we can bring a feeling of well-being, happiness, at any time.”

It was hard for me to believe this was possible; I’ve felt tremendous fear and anxiety all my life.  And I’ve never really trusted organized religion to help me.

I could barely do the things that cloistered monks and rabbis could do. Mindfulness, I learned, is just a new name for concentration and focus.

Nothing I tried helped me ease my fear or worked as well as I hoped or for as long.

But learning how to exhale fear and despair out of my body and exhale it has helped more than anything else, as odd as it sounded to me.

 

 

I mixed things up a bit and made the process my own. I steal from one faith and another and make my mix. I looked for what worked for me, not just for them.

No single faith has worked for me, but each has some beautiful apples on the tree; I pick the ones I like and chew on them repeatedly.

First, I leave all of my devices behind in a different room. I made sure the house phone was turned off. I set my timer for 30 minutes, sometimes less, sometimes more.

I takes a few minutes to clear my head and let in the quiet.

I close my eyes, sit straight in a comfortable position, and put my hands on my knees. I go inward, as deep as I can in my mind. I try to feel my body all over. I have no trouble finding fear; it is always in the same position, in my stomach, just below the heart. I turned on some Gregorian chant to quiet my nerves and settle me.

I’ve been told to speak to my feelings: “Hello fear, hello, my anger, hello my sadness and pain. I know you are there. I know you are a part of me. I’m going to take good care of you.” It sounded strange, but it felt just right. These words connected to my fear in a personal way; it is, after all, a part of me, not just an enemy but something to know and try to love.

I don’t need to fear fear is the idea, I guess.

This is a practice, an exercise. It takes time, concentration, solitude, and quiet.

The more I  do it, the less fear I feel and the stronger I get. I am not fearless and can’t imagine that state for me, but this is where breathing and exhalation lead.

Fear is inside me; that is where I can find and connect to it differently. I’ve always looked outside to the disconnected world for the answer to my fear; I never understood that fear and fearlessness are cousins; they live inside me. It’s the things inside of me that can hurt me.

I breathe fear out of me.

After breathing and being still,  and cleaning the distractions of the world from my head, then it was all about breathing. Deep breath in, count to four,  deep breath out, count to four,  pause, repeat four or five times.

Breathing is essential.

Then, eyes closed, I meditate some more. And then, I went inward again and tried to connect with my feelings, especially my fear. I found it again; I had no trouble feeling it.

I understood what the monks meant when they said to see my fear and connect to it, to get in touch with the seed of mindfulness in me. It is not different from me; our outside of me, it is inside, a part of me.

I felt the energy and power of the fear and the pain; both stood out; I knew exactly where they were, where they lived, just as much a part of me as my nose.

Then I began to take the deepest breaths and exhale fully and with feeling.

There was no fighting, no violence, no conflict. And less and less fear.

The air I was exhaling became warmer and warmer, and I felt the fear stirring, ever so slightly, then more distinctly. I felt it come up my mouth and out my nose, and into the air around me.

The fear never leaves me; it doesn’t need to return; it is always there. But it is different, and I feel differently about it. It just happens.

Mindfulness is a conscious spiritual practice of being aware of all the elements of the present moment without being lost in the past or the future. It is paying attention when the mind wanders to negative places where no creative or positive outcome is possible.

This meant recognizing and locating the fear, which brought relief and familiarity. When I tried to find it again, it was outside me, but not gone.

Breathing is an exercise; the more I do it, the deeper it goes, and the more powerful my very intimate connection to my feelings, which slowly ceases to be something I dread but recognize and accept.

I think the exhaling fear and despair helped me understand my mind and let go of the illusions, impulses, and conceits so I could feel the true nature of reality and inch towards a kind of fearlessness.

Once I learned where fear lives, I began fearing the outside world less and less. I’m unsure what to make of it, but I’m glad to share what I am learning.

I’ll keep at it and keep sharing the process.