Om's Present

In Rembrandt’s `The Night Watch,’ like the mother giving birth in this photo, there is an interplay of light and shadow.  Once noticed, its essentiality is revealed.  In both the painting and photo, it is the shadow that reveals the hand’s reach and depth.  There are shadows all around us, and it is through the shadows of world, impermanence and change, that life emerges, moment to moment.  Shadow and light, though having secret lives, are inseparable from experience and, in a fundamental way, cause experience. 

I chose this photo because it is, paradoxically, impersonal, and so, universal.  The mother’s hand is the archetypal hand of a priestess blessing the child on the altar of birth.  She is both literally and metaphorically giving birth.  She is the feminine giving blood for life, opening to the world its potentiality for love.  It is only by virtue of opening that life can exist.  Opening as emotional awareness is the gift of psychic and relational life.  The feminine intuitively knows this. And she is surrounded by other women, one smiling, one holding her heart, and one holding the newborn, a boy, bent over as if prostrating. And the white-lit umbilical corded helix connects the infant to life, which literally is the mother, and now the world.   

What will become of this boy who now, surrounded by the feminine, has to face a violent, imbalanced world, where the same blood, now below him, will spill from above, across landscapes of poverty and genocide, war and isolation, mostly from the hands of men?  Will this boy hold the light, his father asks, one hand over his face in tears, and the other supporting the mother’s head?  The chaos and beauty of birth before him he sees, but the awareness of the uncertainty and responsibility both he and the boy have is also present.  The father sees before him the past, the shadows of war his own father got swallowed into, and the family he destroyed.  The secret life of shadow is always present and inseparable from the light that gives us hope.  But, the hope must be a living hope, an active, never-tiring hope cultivated as practice, as mindfulness, compassion, wisdom, and lovingkindness.  It must be lived out there in the world. The mother and father are about to release the son into the world. The father is about to cut the cord and, as the cord falls, the light and shadow continue to shift.

NOAH: … in bridging Buddhist psychology and psychoanalytic practice…. we have discussed here on the blog with, frankly, a significantly greater degree of (radical) inquiry than I felt was happening at this event.

OM: Noah, I really loved this post for the clarity you bring to understanding just how a relatively (which is ultimately, a radical) small perceptual shift in focus can be the difference between suffering and a peaceful mind.  With that said, I would like to speculate on what you thought makes our (the blog) “inquiry” into “Buddhist psychology” and psychoanalytic practice more “radical” then Mark and Sharon’s seminar.  If I am correct, Mark and Sharon had begun their paths as Buddhists (I’m certain this is true for Mark) and then incorporated depth-centered psychology into their practices; rather than, as in my case, for example, my path was exclusively psychoanalytically driven and, only later, did my affinity for Buddhist philosophy and meditation practice take hold.  I can’t say for sure that this difference would influence both the language we use to metamorphize mind and its relationship to world, and what we focus on in that particular inquiry; but I intuitively feel (as well as, from what I have read) that both the language and the focus of inquiry is distinctly different.  For example, if we start from a psychoanalytic perspective, a tremendous amount of historical clinical analysis has focused on the self, either psychobiologically through drives and impulses related to fantasy, on the object relations constituting the self, or any number of variations between the two.  Further, the objective of the psychoanalytic mode is to strengthen the self, cohering it in such a way as to enable it to adapt better in the relational world.   Even if you are “postmodernly”

Inclined and take, for example, a radical social constructivist clinical and theoretical stance, and thus deconstruct the whole notion of self and its cultural ties, as a therapist you will generally remain in the dualism of self/object reality.  This, in and of itself, I feel is, if not a good, than a useful thing because it contextualizes western psychology in ways that help it hone in on the rubs and snags of psychological and spiritual development (eg, psychological ruptures affecting one’s state of mind).  One way, for example, is to understand the psychological development of selfhood in western culture and thus gaining a greater phenomenological view of `why’ self fails to develop beyond selfhood.  Though the vast majority of therapy in our culture is unaware and therefore holding a preconceived belief in the “reality” of self, when indeed we integrate the unqualifiable wisdom of Buddhist philosophy with an open and yet robust psychoanalytic methodology, that “reality” is qualified as conventional existence, not as ultimate reality.  This is simply nonduality and, in my opinion, it is impossible to study self properly without the philosophical rigor of Buddhism or another form of nondual philosophy.  It’s like climbing a mountain; the higher the elevation you reach, the greater the perspective.  An object (such as the self) appears differently when height (or depth) is achieved.  And the difference is its fundamental lack of self-existence.  That is what we have been inquiring on the blog.

NOAH: 

I believe it was actually Salzberg who said, roughly, that “by and large we tend to direct our attention to the object toward which our emotions are directed, instead of the experience of the emotion itself.”

OM: Great point and, as you have shared and quoted, I specifically addressed this in my last post: "when we experience a feeling, for example, something else, a thought, quickly takes over, which makes it difficult to identify what the feeling is; which, in turn, makes it difficult to relate to the feeling, and what the arising of that feeling is in relation to or dependent on."

To address this dilemma, the conventional therapeutic approach would help the patient to better understand her emotions and the belief systems that perpetuate emotional pain.  Further, the therapist might help the patient develop better strategies to help regulate emotions and therefore behavior.

The Buddhist psychologist would likely, as Sharon and Mark explained, help the patient stay focused on the feeling and work to transform the negative feeling into a positive one that would foster more compassion.  In this way, it feels more cognitive than affect- (emotion) and relationally-based. 

What I so thoroughly love about psychoanalytic inquiry is the sheer aesthetic beauty of its process and how it honors the comprehensibility and reach of the human psyche.  Freeing mind from all negative afflictive emotions is a monumental many-lifetime process. The better we understand the totality of mind as “an embodied and relational process,” with significant historically determined structures, the better prepared and equipped we are to thoroughly dismantle its hold on individual consciousness.

Now, specifically addressing your point, which is one of redirecting attention to one’s feelings, rather than on the object of one’s feelings.  In order to thoroughly reach that node of understanding (where one can actually redirect her attention), a rigorous and committed therapeutic process (which may not necessarily be called “therapy”) of inquiry or interrogation must take place.  Then, if one has reached the level of understanding to contextually redirect attention, as you say, “the ground of presence is completely altered. It is not just a matter of plain observation, but active inquiry and investigation of the experience of emotion that really makes the difference.

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Noah and Om, thank you for your responses to my Rilke post from January 22. I have been letting your words sink in, and they have transformed my experience in a subtle way that I am only now beginning to understand. Something clicked. Noah, you wrote “forget to be confused.” You wrote this in the context a post suggesting that confusion is an act of will. Om, you reiterated this advice and added that “[w]e ‘feel’ confused when we cling to reifications—things—even if those things are thoughts.”

When my mind has become scattered this past week, spewing thoughts incoherently (and painfully), I have forgotten to be confused, and it worked! During sittings not only did it work, but it opened up a stillness that I had not yet experienced in over a year of meditations. I was able to experience rising and falling emotions without thoughts “quickly tak[ing] over." This seems so elementary to me as I write this down. But there was a profound shift that I am excited to explore--is the shift is a result of something as simple as letting go of my thoughts as opposed to clinging to them? How are those thoughts willful?  They seem subconscious.

Salzberg’s comment, that we tend to direct our attention to the object toward which our emotions are directed, seems to be another way of saying “forget to be confused” or that we “cling to reifications.” Am I comparing apples to apples to apples?

For me, I often experience thoughts not in the direction of externalities precipitating emotions, but rather in the direction of externalities onto which I project my emotions. This projection is often defensive. The emotions are often hidden and difficult to identify because of this thought-reaction, but by forgetting the confusion, based on my (extremely limited) experience, “the whole stance subtly changes from one of defensiveness and confusion to one of curiosity and innocence,” as Noah describes. I cannot know if I shared your experience, Noah, but your description is consistent.

I love that you use “innocence” in your formulation because it resonates with me, although I do not know if I can articulate why. Legally, innocence entails a lack of guilt. In the religious context, innocence often connotes a lack of sin. I think that the subtle change you describe, for me, might feel innocent because there is a lack of shame.

if i feel karmically blessed, it is for one main reason (which, naturally, is connected to various other main reasons ;).

You write, "when we experience a feeling, for example, something else, a thought, quickly takes over, which makes it difficult to identify what the feeling is; which, in turn, makes it difficult to relate to the feeling, and what the arising of that feeling is in relation to or dependent on." I'd probably experience that thought as a kind of fixation on whatever I've decided is the externality precipitating the emotion. And when the focus of attention is on that object, in my experience there often results a state of confusion, which leads either to regrettable action or (more likely) paralysis.



it goes without saying that i'm glad that my karmic stream has made a seeker out of me. but there are lots of seekers, and many of them don't go the distance. i haven't, of course, but i know that i will. one of the reasons that i feel so confident is this main reason i feel karmically blessed: i am better trained at focusing my attention on the feeling rather than the thought and/or on dismantling the construction. what i mean by that is simple and can be simply and powerfully explained. people talk sometimes about an "oceanic" feeling, this feeling of oneness, or of God, or whatever. it's this really great feeling -- and i know it, because i've experienced it too. often people take that feeling to be it, and so did i -- for a moment. i decided that i had experienced emptiness. and for a time this served me as a useful experiential illustration of a difficult concept, and as a source of confidence and motivation -- and so, for a while, i held onto it to use it in that way. but then i began to feel more well-grounded in that confidence, and i didn't need that moment to spur me on any longer, and i got to look at it more critically. i examined the experience and realized that i had only glimpsed a step along the path -- that the mere thought "i have experienced emptiness" reflected the grasping/limitation of the experience. this, of course, is a process, and thus i am as guilty as everyone else when it comes to getting addicted to my thoughts, constructions, fantasies, etc. but what goes hand-in-hand with my ability -- at least after i'm no longer as reliant on them -- to question these creations is my comfort with the groundlessness and paradox these questions always lead to. i actually get more excited when i realize that i had cemented over a patch of groundlessness. i find that people are often frightened by that which excites me most, that they often shy away from that which i seek out. i wish everyone sought it out -- but i'm very grateful that, at least, i do, and that that many others before me (including me!) have done a good enough job that all the tools i need to make this more directed and focuses are right here.

i experience my emotions as a lens through which to view the world: it is a much clearer focus than the other lenses i've tried on over the years, and it feels much more peaceful -- no matter the emotion. i don't really have to think about my emotions terribly often. it's just in those tough areas that i have yet to master that i really have to work hard to keep my attention. i'm so susceptible to falling down a well in some areas, and in those the emotion is more like a lens covered by grease, or perhaps better is to say that there's some muck covering over something and i don't even realize yet that it's just another one of those crystal clear lenses. what i love about the clarity i've cultivated over the last several years is that now, for the most part (which is an amazing thing to say: for the most part -- and though it will get truer, it already is true), i don't have to bother naming my emotions -- but if i'd like to, i can. i can imagine a world in which i feel clearly all of my emotions -- but because those few areas i'm still struggling with are such a large part of my experience, i do still feel held back and drudged down. and this, again, i take to be a great strength. i feel pretty darn good most of the time: and yet i still don't feel comfortable. and i shouldn't: i still have more work to do first.

For several days I have been reading the rich exchange on this very special blog. Feasting on the thoughts, emotions and wonderful images, yet unable to step in, and not understanding what was blocking me. Then I read your recent posting Noah and your words:  “It is not just a matter of plain observation, but active inquiry and investigation into the experience of emotion that really makes the difference.” resonnated so intensely, I had to try stepping in again. So here I go:

 
I recently had an experience at a new job which I am still struggling to fully process. The situation reminds me of Paul Ekman, who once said, “Emotions unite and divide the worlds in which we live, both personal and global, motivating the best and the worst of our actions.” and Noah your thoughts regarding one’s investigation into the emotions rather than merely the action.
 
The situation was not unusual in many ways. I was being asked to do something which I didn’t feel was right. How many times have each of us been faced with this delema. The difficult aspect for me was I was being asked to implement a decision, which would adversely affect 4 lives (a mother and her 3 children). Their futures were going to be permanently altered because the mother had a mental illness and had been judged unworthy by her sponsor to continue studying in this country. Although she was fully functioning and her oldest son would graduate from high school this spring, they were being forced to leave, to return to their home country where a civil war was brewing. Her oldest would be branded an illiterate for life without his diploma.
 
I tried unsuccessfuly to plead her case and that of her children. My emotions were intense and overwhelming. How could I live with myself, knowing I had implemented such a heartless decision. Why couldn’t  I make the decision-makers see the injustice of their decree?  What if this woman had a psychodic episode and endangered herself, her children or others as she digested the impact of the news I was to carry to her. 
 
I felt paralysed by my own emotions. How could I remain honest to my own ethics and enforce a declaration of rejection on these four innocent human beings. And if I did my boss’ bidding what about the next time, or the next…. What about the needs of my own family. Did I really want to send the message to my son, that you do what is right when it is easy, but when it becomes difficult it is ok to move the line of morality, if only a little to ease your conscience. In the end I couldn’t do it. I examined my motives from many different angles. My answer didn’t shift from its origin. The emotions I felt were both for the suffering this woman and her 3 children were going to experience and an intense realization that I was feeling her pain and could not let go of doing what I deeply felt was right, no matter what the personal consequences were going to be.
 
So out of a deep sense of compassion and connectedness with this family I resigned. I shall never forget the cold empty stare of my boss and our VP when I gave my reasons. They took it personally. I tried not to sound judgemental or superior. Stund by my actions they refused to talk to me during my last few days in the office. Interestingly, I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom and peace, eventhough I was again unemployed with no prospects. I couldn’t alter the discriminatory actions against this innocent woman and her children, however, I wasn’t going to condone it or rationalize it away, because it was the “easier” path to take. I was reminded of David Loy’s words in The Dharma of Dragons and Daemons, “Awakening to my nonduality wit the world, realizing that I am not other than my world. I am not ‘in’ the world, I am a manifestation of it.” My interconnectedness with this woman and her children was the essence of my being at this moment in time.
 
Since that announcement, I have been overwhelmed by the reactions of my staff, colleagues and employees who I hadn’t really gotten to know except on the elevator in passing. People stopped by my office, sent emails, etc to tell me how much they respected my actions. When the announcement of my departure went out to the regional offices, I received two private messages filled with unexpected kind thoughts. Why was doing the right thing, considered such an extrodinary act? I questioned my motives, the results of my actions, what other options I had or more importantly the impact of this action on the individuals who’s rights were being denied them. I sent my family away for the holiday weekend so I wouldn’t be distracted or influenced by my spouse’s anxiety. I felt compled yet guilty (for my actions were going to affect my family) and had to examine my own emotions wraped around these feelings.
 
I’m still puzzled by the gratitude and praise I have received for taking what I thought was the only ethical decision. Ironically I am more comfortable with the cold stares of rejection by my superiors than the warm words of admiration and support. I realize my reaction stems from being abused as a child and expecting to be rejected or blamed for whatever goes wrong. But instead of internalizing the negative, this experience has given me the chance to examine my emotional reactions as the observer more than the player. In a small way, my own personal awareness has been elevated in a very freeing manor.
 
I’m left feeling humbled and empowered yet most of all a bit more free from my own afflictive emotional chains which held me back for so many years, if not life-times. Perhaps the familiar anonymous verse is more true than I realized:
            Sow a thought and reap a deed.
            Sow a deed and reap a habit.
            Sow a habit and reap a character.
            Sow a character and reap a destiny.
 
In closing, thank you Noah for sparking this step of clarity.   
 
Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha
 
 

 Noah, as you have pointed out, there are a number of ways to skin meditation and at times the language of instruction may be a bit confusing, particularly in terms of “thoughts” and “the thinker” of the thoughts.  Meditation, like any process, evolves in stages and I think it important to first just get mind increasingly comfortable with sitting and getting quiet.  To turn the experience of meditation into an activity of achievement is the first problem.  Of course, this is a paradox, because mental activity itself is achievement-oriented; it emerges causally and so seeks effects.  The second problem is taking sitting too seriously, and is connected to the first problem.  It means we are taking ourselves too seriously and thus strengthening ego.  Of course, this is a paradox, too, because we must take ourselves seriously enough to take ourselves less seriously.  To follow strict traditions about sitting, such as, rigid postures, reflects the vestiges of a patriarchal lineage that is more about obedience than realization.  I sit on a chair and smile my way through sitting.  

As far as thoughts, don’t think that we are aware of all of them.  That is dangerous. We are only aware of those that do not feel laden with conflict. This is why meditation at times is easier than other times.  The unconscious is a strong force and the mind does seem to have a mind of its own!  If thoughts are unconscious, however, we obviously can’t dissolve them, but that’s why meditation is a process practice. 

I’d like to hear more about “bare attention” from your perspective, Noah.  For me bare attention is gently clearing out (as if with a feathered broom) thought products (thought-feelings) and, for beginning meditators, focusing on the cycle of in-breath/out-breath vis-à-vis counting to 10, is an excellent way to begin cultivating mind’s capacity for controlling thought products.  Once we have a sufficient mastery, the focus on breath and counting will become unnecessary.  Again though, as a process, it may be too difficult at first to clear out thoughts.  The anxious, distracted personality has particular difficulty with “just” sitting.  Relaxing body and using visualization techniques may help.

Recognizing that stillness and silence are mind’s natural states (as opposed to wresting mind into obeisance) will certainly help the process.

 My first thought in response to your post is actually a book recommendation: `The Mindful brain’ by Daniel Siegel (who also wrote the brilliant `The Developing Mind’).  Siegel’s main interest is in developing an integrated state of brain function, another way of saying well-being.  Because the brain is as much a process as a structure, its correlative mind has the capacity to cultivate literal transformative changes in neuropathways (“resonance circuits”).  Meditation is one process for galvanizing these changes.  Because you experience what you describe as ADD (Attention Deficit), I would most definitely come to a more intimate understanding of what the “mindful” brain would look like and how you might achieve it.  And so, the benefit would be attacking your meditation challenges from two sides of the same consciousness (mind/brain).  I would love for you to come back for a further discussion after you read the book.  Thank me later :)

I think there is a sort of paradoxical element to meditation in that one does it ostensibly to cultivate certain states of more awakened mind, and perhaps reap positive changes in life as a result: increased mindfulness, empathy, less stress, more insight.

But I've found that in a practical sense, when I actually do it I have to try and put any notions of achievement or desired state of mind aside and just show up, work at being present. The more my mind races or chases stimulus around, the more opportunity there is to notice that about it and redirect attention to the breath. There isn't really a good or a bad, there is just becoming more aware of whatever is happening in mind by creating an intention to hold it to one place. If the mind is distracted and this causes frustration or fear or whatever, well all that can become an object of awareness.

I'm not saying its easy or simple to show up for that, but I really think that's what it comes down. I find it counterproductive to relate to meditation itself as a calling, reason for being, Purpose, or hobby, or really anything worth investing ego in. Obviously we have to continue to learn and embody this over a long time.

But what if you thought of it not as an achievement oriented practice to calm your active mind (though that is a probable long term result and may unfold naturally), but instead a way to develop clearer vision and more perspective on whatever it is that you call your mind. More than any other factor, it is simple curiosity that got me to finally start. Whether my mind is 1000MPH and anxious or quiet and alert I still have this basic desire to know what it is...

I've noticed all sort of interesting things about mind already in taking that curiosity and investigating it by meditating. For example, so many things I used to consider solid or continuous parts of me (identity, personality, self) I'm starting to see as scattered states of awareness that are quite discontinuous. But maybe that's another post.

 Hi Sasha, I was sitting with your post and kept getting stuck on two words: "attachment" and "know."  I think as readers we tend to take for granted that what the person says, the person means and, as a result, we never really know what the person means.  Words are not only golden bridges of meaning, they are often golden paths of misunderstanding.  You say "know" around 6 times in your post and "attachment" around 8 times.  I'm curious, what does "know" mean? And, how do you know you know?  Also, what is "attachment?"  And why does it cause suffering for you?  Some of my most profound and joyful moments involved attachment.  

May you find peace in your seeking!

Om mani padme hum

 Sasha, thank you for this most important post.  I'll respond more later but two things now struck me that I want to quickly discuss.  You say, "It seems to me that safety is a precondition for intimacy, and so to the extent one’s relationships aren’t emotionally safe--meaning I am derided or otherwise shamed for my feelings by my partner, or my boss, or my friend --how can relationship be an effective conduit for transformation?  It would seem rather dangerous and even toxic in that case."  

And, "Specifically, this blog explores intimacy at a level I’ve never seen replicated in day-to-day human interactions, perhaps in part because of the safety created by the general anonymity of the medium."

These are great points.  Let me address the second first, and then I would like to elaborate later.  What this blog is creating through dialogue is not actually intimacy but a portal into intimacy, the beginning steps of creating a language of intimacy, a mental process oriented (intention) toward intimacy, a motivation (appreciation/aspiration) for intimacy, and, most important, a questioning of those many things that interfere with intimacy. 

Regarding your first question, safety and security are indeed the primary needs of intimacy if the individuals in relationship are to heal and evolve.  So that means two things.  One, intimacy begins with the choices we make regarding who we are willing to have relationships with, and, two, the process towards more intimacy is a slow one.  And the process is process itself, the opening to and communicating with skillful means.  I think you haven't seen the type of intimacy described here in many relationships because few people are taught how to be intimate.  Which leads to the most obviously solution regarding the therapeutic: therapy.  I recommend a deep, dynamic, relationally-oriented therapy to people, one that emphasizes affectivity, or feelings as the prime mover of the therapeutic process.    In addition to therapy, it is practice, day to day, moment to moment mindfulness approaches to our relationships.  But, again, it is in the choosing.  Is this person i am with committed, not so much to me, but to cultivating her own self-awareness.  The commitment to me will be the by-product of that first commitment to self.

"...how to create intimacy that leads to transformation in a world that’s so unconscious and as a result so emotionally unsafe." Such a perplexing question on so many levels, but I love how your phrase it because the word transformation points to both 'self' and world. This is where, for me, some manner of spiritual orientation becomes really important. The understanding I am reaching for is that you are the world, and as we are able to create transformation internally, the world as we experience it will also begin to transform.

I know this is a rather cliche sentiment, but I think it's absolutely true in so far as our impressions that the world is isolating, emotionally unsafe, or frightening are qualities of imputation, which structure our perceptions in profound ways. And to the extent that we are able to identify, examine, and deconstruct the mechanisms by which we impute reality (including the self-object within us that we feel can be harmed), what once were barriers become bridges.

What that means to me, in a practical way, is that the existence of fear need not be in and of itself an obstacle to intimacy, if we turn toward it and allow it to become an object of inquiry that we seek to understand via relationship. There is nothing wrong with being afraid; I'm afraid nearly every day that I won't be understood or that I will fail to respond to my life, my relationships, and my potential to act in the world. It's retreating from fear that is problematic and actually blocks intimacy. So when you beautifully say "I ask that question with the awareness that fear is paralyzing me right now" I feel that you are actually creating a space around your fear in which we can meet look at what's between us.

True, it is hard as hell to find other people with whom we are able to have authentic intimacy and mutuality. And we need to be selective. But it is also true that by creating spaces of safety, compassion and recognition within ourselves, we will create those people (and they us). Just ask Om.

 When we think about how we are to respond to the world, we no doubt mean how to respond to our basic insecurity in the world.  This insecurity is based on a knowing, however conscious or unconscious, simple or complex, of our basic impermanence and groundlessness as individual “selves.”  Yes, we will all at some point die.  We will cease to exist.  But, believe it or not, that is not the existential anxiety we suffer from most.  Death is not at the heart of our suffering; but the awareness that the “self” we reside in, the self we, with all our mights, believe in and grasp onto, the self we think we are, is at the core of our pain.

As I read Sasha’s posts, I see all of us struggling with the slings and arrows of outrageous beliefs inculcated by ridiculous men striving for the impossible and unreasonable power of selfhood.  At the heart of Sasha’s suffering are two things: again, the belief in a permanent, independent self; and a dualistic way of understanding that self and the world that mirrors it. 

The dualistic mode of being tries to control the world; the nondual mode, that is, that mode that repudiates the ascribed independent, permanent self, opens to the world without care and thus with only care.   It is according to which realization we live by that will determine how we experience suffering and whether we will be helpless to that suffering.   Further, the intimacy we speak of here on the blog is also dependent upon which view we live.

Make it clear: dualism is based on fear; nonduality is based on love.    So for Sasha and the rest of us, it is practice that will transform suffering into happiness because practice means engaging our whole beings in how we think about the way we think.  And how we think involves how we think about our embodiment, our perceptions, our conceptualizations, our feelings, our actions.  Not one of these aspects of consciousness is ever excluded from how we think and the beliefs formed out of that mode of thinking. 

One concrete example of this is how we tend to moralize our behavior: we see ourselves as either good/bad, right/wrong, this way or that, etc.  if, however, I experienced my relationships in terms of responsibility, that is, my ability to respond to the relationship, I will stay open to my need for responsiveness.  You see, there is no self to be bad, good, right, or wrong. There is only a relational consciousness responding to the needs of the relationship, in such a way, as to seek relational balance.  From this perspective, the self that we acknowledge exists, exists only to serve that higher relational balance.  The paradox, of course, is that when the balance is met, the existent self feels happy.