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The Inner "Others"
by Cathy Holt
We are complex beings. Within each of us there are many, many aspects, some
of which seem to be at war with others.
The Inner Critic
We all have an Inner Critic: that voice that nags at us, puts us down, tells
us we're not good enough. When we were little, our parents or teachers were
critical of us, and we developed the habit of criticizing ourselves. When I
hear a voice in my head saying "You failed," that's a giveaway that my
Critic is speaking. Only the Critic would say that.
Be aware of the Critic's distinctive voice or pattern. Often the Critic
masquerades as Reality or Truth and keeps its true identity well hidden. At
such times, go cautiously and ask yourself: "Is it possible that there is
another way to see this situation?" The tricky part is to remember to ask
this question. Ask it whenever you start feeling bad, especially if you are
putting yourself down or judging a situation as hopeless.
Know that you can always choose whether or not to tune in on the Critic
channel, or some other channel of your mind; don't hesitate to switch
channels as soon as you realize you're hearing the Critic. Haven't you spent
enough of your life listening to that voice? Perhaps it was useful at one
time, and then you may not have realized that you had any other option, but
now you know there is a choice. Be aware that you can decide whether or not
to listen to the Critic, to believe it, or to act on what it says. Whenever
you do make another choice, observe carefully what happens. Although the
Critic has always warned you that disaster would ensue if you stopped
obeying it, discover whether or not this is true in your experience.
When I listen to my Critic too much, everyone around me starts sounding
bossy and critical. I start seeing Critics all around me because I project
them from my own mind. Hearing the Critic's judgmental words, I begin using
this language toward others, and they in turn feel criticized by me. At such
times, try telling your Critic to put earphones on and listen to its
favorite music.
When others are angry at me, my Inner Critic arises and says, "See -- you
did it wrong, you failed to please them." Now, when I hear that, I'm
learning to say, "I did the best I could at the time. If they are angry,
perhaps it's their problem."
Despite all the abuse my Critic seems to heap upon me, it has a valuable
role to play in my life. When I was growing up, its cautions helped me to
survive; I need to honor it for that. When the Critic's voice is getting in
my way, I sometimes say: "Thank you for your concerns. Please save them for
later. I'll check in with you after a while." This frees me from my Critic
while I focus on an important situation. Later, I can dialogue with my
Critic and ask about its fears. Usually I learn that my Critic was afraid of
a possible negative consequence of my behavior, and was trying to protect
me. It's good to define for your Critic what you want its job to be, while
setting limits on when you will listen to it.
Once while I was attending a workshop with Barbara Brennan, I was practicing
the skill of tuning into other people's energy fields. My Critic was
declaring loudly, "You'll never learn how to do that; you have no skill
whatsoever!" I thanked it and asked it to be silent for awhile, promising
that I would check in later. Much to my surprise, I was then able to do
rather accurate readings of two participants in the workshop. On the train
ride home, I remembered to check in with my Critic. It brought up a fear of
which I had not been consciously aware: that if I were to develop psychic
skills, some people would perceive me as weird or crazy, and I might lose
certain friends. This was the first time I had ever truly listened to my
Critic on my own terms, instead of raging against it or meekly complying
with it. I was impressed by its genuine concern for my well-being.
When my Critic is ranting about some error or act of poor judgment I've
made, it sometimes works well to outline what I would do differently next
time. For instance, when my Critic was berating me over missing the Creek
Cleanup Day, I said: "Next time, I will write it down in my schedule. That
way I won't miss it or schedule other things for that day."
Sometimes it seems more like a Complainer than a Critic. It's a fearful
voice that worries, "You've made the wrong decision, this experience isn't
what it should be, you're missing out." The false perception that leads to
complaining and criticism is based on the belief that I have to rely only on
my own wits and choices (with no help available from Spirit). This calls for
a compassionate but firm reply, such as: "Dear Complainer, I'm sorry that
this experience isn't quite up to your expectations. But life isn't really
about finding the most perfect experiences, it's about making the best of
whatever is given. Let's focus on what is delightful instead of what isn't."
Fear of missing out can actually cause us to miss out on the present moment!
We can never know enough to make the wisest choice at all times, but we can
choose to look for the gift.
ASK YOURSELF: What is my Inner Critic trying to protect me from?
The Impartial Witness
The best balance to the Inner Critic is the Impartial Witness. The role of
the Witness is not to judge, compare, criticize, or give orders, but simply
to observe with impartiality, detachment, curiosity, even wonder. The
Witness might say things like, "Let's take another look" and "Is this the
real truth or not?"
Ram Dass tells a story of a farmer with a son and a horse, both of whom give
him great joy. One day, the horse runs away, and all the villagers shake
their heads in consternation. The farmer says, "We'll see." The next day,
his son goes out to search for the horse, and instead comes back with two
wild horses, both very splendid. The neighbors say, "What good fortune." The
farmer says simply, "We'll see." A few days later, as the son tries to ride
one of the wild horses he is thrown off and breaks his leg. "Poor fellow,"
intone the neighbors, sympathetically. The farmer: "We'll see." The next
week, war breaks out and all the young men of draft age are signed up to
defend their village; all, that is, except the farmer's son, who is too
disabled to fight. "Lucky man!" sigh the villagers. And so on it goes. The
farmer, like the Impartial Witness, does not get caught in the emotional
roller coaster caused by evaluating each event as good or bad, lucky or
unlucky. He observes and accepts what is, without judgment. Therein lies his
serenity.
To me, the Witness is like the sky above, observing everything; or like the
ancestors looking upon us with unconditional positive regard, and perhaps a
touch of fond amusement. Great old trees have this quality of pure
awareness, perhaps because they have witnessed so many generations of humans
and animals and their dramas. The trees remain unmoved, a stable awareness
in times of crisis and storms.
How can we cultivate the Impartial Witness? Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us of
the witness quality of quiet water, which we can learn to emulate by
quieting our minds, with this meditative phrase: "Breathing in, I see myself
as still water. Breathing out, I am reflecting things as they are."
Angeles Arrien advises that our Witness needs to be stronger than our
Critic; "Stop feeding your Critic gourmet meals," she says. She suggests
that we look at our experiences without exaggeration or diminishment. When I
observe myself doing something that appears to have a negative consequence,
I am now learning to say, "How interesting! What can I learn here?" The
Witness looks with curiosity and a desire to understand; it doesn't attempt
to evaluate.
One of the great tasks that I believe we all come here to accomplish is to
learn who we are. That sounds funny in a way. Aren't we supposed to know
ourselves, just from living with ourselves day in and day out, year after
year? In truth, if we don't reflect and take time to get to know ourselves,
we can stay very much in the dark. After more than fifty years, I am still
shocked at how little I know myself sometimes. Just when I think I know who
I am, I change. Half the battle is to know what I truly want, so I can give
it to myself!
I've discovered that being self-aware is a great gift to give others. When I
know and communicate what I need and what works or doesn't work for me, I
give other people clear guidelines. They don't have to read my mind in order
to avoid stepping on my toes. Conversely, my lack of self-awareness creates
difficulties in my relationships. For example, I've had experiences
traveling with a friend when I didn't realize that I needed some alone time
or quiet time each day. If that did not happen, I found myself becoming
irritable without knowing why.
Looking at myself through the compassionate eyes of the Witness, I can see
that I need a lot of help. Yet I also see that this is true of most of us,
and I'm neither ashamed nor sad about it. Nor am I proud of it. It's just
the way things are.
The most powerful way to cultivate the Witness is through the practice of
meditation. Sitting quietly, we observe our thoughts and feelings with
acceptance, without judging or attempting to control or change anything.
"Nonattachment" is a term used to describe a calm attitude toward thoughts
and feelings, and ultimately toward whatever life brings. By not identifying
with our viewpoints, opinions, or judgments, we begin to gain freedom from
them. This is very different from refusing to look at or know about
uncomfortable inner processes.
"Mindfulness" refers to the ability to go about our daily activities --
breathing, walking, driving, speaking, eating -- while being fully present
and aware. This concept, which I first learned about in Thich Nhat Hanh's
wonderful book The Miracle of Mindfulness, sounds deceptively simple. The
trouble is that our lives seem terribly complex. It's only possible for me
to eat mindfully if I slow down, stop trying to read or listen to the radio
or carry on a conversation at the same time, and put my full attention on
each mouthful of food. Is it worth it? Whenever I eat with true mindfulness,
I wonder whether eating disorders would exist if everyone simply practiced
mindful eating. We would really taste our food, and we would be more in
touch with our bodies to know whether the food was agreeing with us or not;
we might know when we were eating to try to fill an emotional emptiness, and
when we'd had enough.
Our breath is one of the greatest allies in the practice of mindfulness.
Coming back to an awareness of breath, several times a day, is a deep
practice of being present in the body, present in each moment. It's a
wonderful refuge from the fears of the future and the regrets of the past.
During these moments my Witness gains strength.
SPEND a LITTLE TIME EACH DAY reviewing your experiences while you are calm
and relaxed, not giving more time or energy to what went badly or well, but
just seeing it all from the slightly more distant perspective that time can
give. It's very tempting to evaluate: "I did a great job on this, I did that
terribly." Instead, simply look at it all and ask, "What can I learn about
life? What can I learn about myself?"