Guesthouse of Despair

"Depressive psychosis is the extreme on the continuum of too much necessity, that is, of too much finitude, too much limitation by the body and the behaviors of the person in the real world, and not enough freedom of the inner self, of inner symbolic possibility. This is how we understand depressive psychosis today: as a bogging down in the femands of others--family, job, the narrow horizon of daily dutues. In such a bogging down the individual does not feel or see that he has alternatives, cannot imagine any choices or alternate ways of life, cannot release himself from the network of obligations even though these obligations no longer give him a sense of self-esteem, of primary value, of being a heroic contributor to world life even by doing his daily family and job duties." -- ERNEST BECKER

Fear of death is a normal part of life--or so Ernest Becker believed.

Sadly, for those of us who struggle daily with depression, we are afraid--all too acutely--of life.

In each of us, an insidious voice whispers alluring lies...and, far too often, we listen and nod our approval.

You are worthless.

Your guilt will haunt you forever.

You feel terrible about yourself? Good. You should.

And, the kicker:

Why don't you just DIE? The world will be better off without you.

This last one HURTS. We scramble to respond with a self-reassuring platitude to pacify the demon. It works...for a while. Then, the voice returns, twice as loud, twice as angry...twice as false.

I have come to realize that the only way to transcend the death drive is to listen to it. Get to know it, as one gets to know a temporary guest.

Bring yourself to a state of meditative awareness.

Then, listen.

This lying voice--what does it sound like? Does it whisper or shout? Is it slick, grumpy, or frothing with rage?

When does it speak to you?

LISTEN.

After a while, something truly remarkable happens. The voice grows weaker, softer, less self-assured.

Want to really drive it nuts? Then do this.

Smile...and bow to it.

At that moment, the "voice" is often so stunned that it grows silent. When it finally resumes its whispering, its former power is somehow diminished.

And you...you suddenly feel a flush of sorrow and compassion for this lonely, frightened voice deep down inside, which rages and raves simply because it is so utterly alone and terrified.

When you feel love for it...it grows quiet..

So, as Rumi enjoined, love every guest that travels through your mind--but keep both doors open. Let them pass through, and send them off with a smile.

Try it--and please, let me know how it works out!