we began with Bonnie and her desire to talk about her childhood.» Bonnie had been
Stuart`s frequent critic, and he glanced at her for approval before continuing.
«No, not quite right, Stuart. Right facts, wrong tone. You`re making it sound
flippant. Like I just want to tell a story for the fun of it. There are a lot of painful
memories from my childhood that are now coming up and haunting me. Get the
difference?»
«I`m not sure I do get it. I didn`t say you were doing it for the fun of it. That`s just
the kind of thing my wife complains about. But, to continue: next there was some stuff
with Rebecca, who felt insulted and angry with Bonnie for pointing out how she was
preening and attempting to impress Philip.» Stuart ignored Rebecca`s slapping her hand
to her forehead and muttering, «Goddamnit,” and continued, «Then there was Tony`s
feeling that we were using a more complex vocabulary in order to impress Philip. And
then Tony commented that Philip was a show–off. And Philip`s sharp response to Tony.
And then there was my comment to Gill that he avoided displeasing women so much that
he lost his sense of self.
«Let`s see what else...” Stuart scanned the room. «Well, there`s Philip—not what
he said but what he didn`t say. We don`t talk too much about Philip, as though it`s taboo.
Come to think about it, we don`t even talk aboutnot talking about him. And, of course,
Julius. But we worked on that. Except that Bonnie was particularly concerned and
protective, as she often is about Julius. In fact, the Julius part of the meeting started with
Bonnie`s dream.»
«Impressive, Stuart,” said Rebecca. «And pretty complete: you left out only one
thing.»
«And that is?»
«Yourself. The fact that you were being the group camera again, photographing
rather than plunging in.»
Often the group had confronted Stuart about his impersonal style of participation.
Months ago he described a nightmare in which his daughter had stepped into quicksand
and he could not save her because he wasted so much time getting his camera out of his
backpack to take a snapshot of the scene. That was when Rebecca labeled him the «group
camera.»
«Right you are, Rebecca. I`ll pack my camera away now and say I agree entirely
with Bonnie: you are a good–looking woman. But that`s not news to you—you know that.
And you know I think so. And,of course, you were preening for Philip—doing and
undoing and stroking your hair. It was obvious. How did I feel about it? I felt a little
jealous. No, a lot jealous—you never preened for me. No one ever preened for me.»
«That kind of thing makes me feel like I`m in prison,” Rebecca shot back. «I hate it
when men try to control me like this, like my every movement is under scrutiny.»
Rebecca broke off each word, showing an edge and a brittleness that had been under
wraps for a long time.
Julius remembered his first impressions of Rebecca. A decade ago, long before she
entered the group, he had seen her individually for a year. She was a delicate creature
with an Audrey Hepburn graceful, slim body and precious, large–eyed face. And who
could forget her opening comment in therapy? «Ever since I turned thirty I`ve noticed
that when I enter restaurants, no one stops eating to look at me. I`m devastated.»
Two sources of instruction had guided Julius in his work with her both individually
and in the group. First, there had been Freud`s urging that the therapist should reach out
in a human way to a beautiful woman and not withhold himself or penalize her simply
because she was beautiful. The second had been an essay he had read as a student titled,
«The Beautiful Empty Woman,” which made the point that the truly beautiful woman is
so often feted and rewarded solely for her appearance that she neglects developing other
parts of herself. Her confidence and feelings of success are only skin–deep, and once her
beauty fades she realizes she has little to offer: she has developed neither the art of being
an interesting person nor that of taking an interest in others.
«I make observations, and I`m called a camera,” said Stuart, «and when I say what
I feel I`m labeled a controlling man. Talk about feeling cornered.»
«I don`t get it, Rebecca,” said Tony. «What`s the big deal here? Why are you
freaking out? Stuart`s just saying what you`ve said yourself. How many times have you
said you know how to flirt, that it comes naturally to you? I remember your saying that
you had an easy time in college and in your law firm because you manipulate men with
your sexuality.»
«You make me sound like a whore.» Rebecca swiveled suddenly to Philip.
«Doesn`t that make you think I`m a whore?»
Philip, not distracted from gazing at his favorite spot somewhere on the ceiling,
answered quickly, «Schopenhauer said that a highly attractive women, like a highly
intelligent man, was absolutely destined to living an isolated life. He pointed out that
others are blind with envy and resent the superior person. For that reason, such people
never have close friends of their same sex.»
«That`s not necessarily true,” said Bonnie. «I`m thinking of Pam, our missing
member, who is beautiful too and yet has a large number of close girlfriends.»
«Yeah, Philip,” said Tony, «you saying that, to be popular, you have to be dumb or
ugly?»
«Precisely,” said Philip, «and the wise person will not spend his life or her life
pursuing popularity. It is a will–o`-the–wisp. Popularity does not define what is true or
what is good; quite the contrary, it`s a leveler, a dumbing down. Far better to search
within for one`s values and goals.»
«And how aboutyour goals and values?» asked Tony.
If Philip noted the surliness in Tony`s question, he gave no evidence of it and
replied ingenuously, «Like Schopenhauer, I want to will as little as possible and to know
as much as possible.»
Tony nodded, obviously baffled about how to respond.
Rebecca broke in: «Philip, what you or Schopenhauer was saying about friends
was right on the mark for me—the truth is that I`ve had few close girlfriends. But what
about two people with similar interests and abilities? Don`t you think that friendship is
possible in that case?»
Before Philip could answer, Julius enjoined, «Our time is growing very short
today. I want to check in about how you all are feeling about our last fifteen minutes.
How are we doing here?»
«We`re not on target. We`re missing,” said Gill. «Something oblique is going on.»
«I`mabsorbed,” said Rebecca.
«Nah, too much in our heads,” said Tony.
«I agree,” said Stuart.
«Well, I`m not in my head,” said Bonnie. «I`m close to bursting, or screaming,
or...” Bonnie suddenly rose, gathered up her purse and jacket, and charged out of the
room. A moment later Gill jumped up and ran out of the room to fetch her back. In
awkward silence the group sat listening to the retreating footsteps. Shortly Gill returned,
and as he sat he reported, «She`s okay, said she`s sorry but she just had to get out to
decompress. She`ll go into it next week.»
«Whatis going on?» said Rebecca, snapping open her purse to get sunglasses and
car keys. «Ihate it when she does that. That`s really pissy.»
«Any hunches about what`s going on?» asked Julius.
«PMT, I think,” said Rebecca.
Tony spotted Philip scrunching his face signifying confusion and jumped in.
«PMT—premenstrual tension.» When Philip nodded, Tony clenched his hands and poked
both thumbs upward, «Hey, hey, I taughtyou something,”
«We`ve gotta stop,” said Julius, «but I`ve got a guess about what`s going on with
Bonnie. Go back to Stuart`s summary. Remember how Bonnie started the meeting—
talking about the chubby little girl at school and her unpopularity and her inability to
compete with other girls, especially attractive ones? Well, I wonder if that wasn`t
recreated in the group today? She opened the meeting, and pretty quickly the group left
her for Rebecca. In other words, the very issue she wanted to talk about may have been
portrayed here in living color with all of us playing a part in the pageant.»
Pam in India
(2)
_________________________
Nothingcan alarm or move him
any more. All the thousand
threads of willing binding us
to the world and dragging us
(full of anxiety, craving,
anger, and fear) back and
forth in constant pain: all
these he has cut asunder. He
smiles and looks back calmly
on the phantasmagoria of this
world which now stands before
him as indifferently as chess–men at the end of a game.
_________________________
It was a few days later at 3A.M. Pam lay awake, peering into the darkness. Thanks to the
intervention of her graduate student, Marjorie, who had arranged VIP privileges, she had
a semiprivate room in a tiny alcove with a private toilet just off the women`s common
dormitory. However, the alcove provided no sound buffer, and Pam listened to the
breathing of 150 other Vipassana students. The whoosh of moving air transported her
back to her attic bedroom in her parents` Baltimore home when she lay awake listening to
the March wind rattling the window.
Pam could put up with any of the other ashram hardships—the 4A.M. wakeup time,
the frugal vegetarian one–meal–a–day diet, the endless hours of meditation, the silence,
the Spartan quarters—but the sleeplessness was wearing her down. The mechanism of
falling asleep completely eluded her. How did she used to do it? No, wrong question, she
told herself—a question that compounded the problem because falling asleep is one of
those things that cannot be willed; it must be done unintentionally. Suddenly, an old
memory of Freddie the pig floated into her mind. Freddie, a master detective in a series of
children`s books she hadn`t thought about in twenty–five years, was asked for help by a
centipede who could no longer walk because his hundred legs were out of sync.
Eventually, Freddie solved the problem by instructing the centipede to walk without
looking at his legs—or even thinking about them. The solution lay in turning off
awareness and permitting the body`s wisdom to take over. It was the same with sleeping.
Pam tried to sleep by applying the techniques she had been taught in the workshop
to clear her mind and allow all thoughts to drift away. Goenka, a chubby, bronze–skinned,
pedantic, exceedingly serious and exceedingly pompous guru, had begun by saying that
he would teach Vipassana but first he had to teach the student how to quiet his mind.
(Pam endured the exclusive use of the male pronoun; the waves of feminism had yet not
lapped upon the shores of India.)
For the first three days Goenka gave instruction in theanapana–sati —mindfulness
of breathing. And the days were long. Aside from a daily lecture and a brief question–and–answer period, the only activity from 4A.M. to 9:30P.M. was sitting meditation. To
achieve full mindfulness of breathing, Goenka exhorted students to study in–breaths and
out–breaths.
«Listen. Listen to the sound of your breaths,” he said. «Be conscious of their
duration and their temperature. Note the difference between the coolness of in–breaths
and the warmth of out–breaths. Become like a sentry watching the gate. Fix your attention
upon your nostrils, upon the precise anatomical spot where air enters and leaves.»
«Soon,” Goenka said, «the breath will grow finer and finer until it seems to vanish
entirely, but, as you focus ever more deeply, you will be able to discern its subtle and
delicate form. If you follow all my instructions faithfully,” he said, pointing to the
heavens, «if you are a dedicated student, the practice ofanapana–sati will quiet your
mind. You will then be liberated from all the hindrances to mindfulness: restlessness,
anger, doubt, sensual desire, and drowsiness. You shall awaken into an alert, tranquil, and
joyous state.»
Mind–quieting was indeed Pam`s grail—the reason for her pilgrimage to Igatpuri.
For the past several weeks her mind had been a battlefield from which she fiercely tried
to repel noisy, obsessive, intrusive memories and fantasies about her husband, Earl, and
her lover, John. Earl had been her gynecologist seven years ago when she had become
pregnant and decided upon an abortion, electing not to inform the father, a casual sexual
playmate with whom she wished no deeper involvement. Earl was an uncommonly
gentle, caring man. He skillfully performed the abortion and then provided unusual
postoperative follow–up by phoning her twice at home to inquire about her condition.
Surely, she thought, all the accounts of the demise of humane, dedicated medical care
were hyperbolic rhetoric. Then, a few days later, came a third call which conveyed an
invitation to lunch, during which Earl skillfully negotiated the segue from doctor to
suitor. It was during their fourth call that she agreed, not without enthusiasm, to
accompany him to a New Orleans medical convention.
Their courtship proceeded with astonishing quickness. No man ever knew her so
well, comforted her so much, was so exquisitely familiar with her every nook and cranny,
nor afforded her more sexual pleasure. Though he had many wonderful qualities—he was
competent, handsome, and carried himself well—she conferred upon him (she now
realized) heroic, larger–than–life stature. Dazzled at being the chosen one, at being
promoted to the head of the line of women packing his office clamoring for his healing
touch, she fell wholly in love and agreed to marriage a few weeks later.
At first married life was idyllic. But midway into the second year, the reality of
being married to a man twenty–five years older set in: he needed more rest; his body
showed his sixty–five years; white hair appeared in defiance of Grecian formula hair dye.
Earl`s rotator cuff injury ended their tennis Sundays together, and when a torn knee
cartilage put an end to his skiing, Earl put his Tahoe house on the market without
consulting her. Sheila, her close friend and college roommate, who had advised her not to
marry an older man, now urged her to maintain her own identity and not be in a rush to
grow old. Pam felt fast–forwarded. Earl`s aging fed on her youth. Each night he came
home with barely enough energy to sip his three martinis and watch TV.
And the worst of it was that he never read. How fluently, how confidently he had
once conversed about literature. How much his love ofMiddlemarch andDaniel Deronda
had endeared him to her. And what a shock to realize only a short time later that she had
mistaken form for substance: not only were Earl`s literary observations memorized, but
