A few weeks ago I was hunkered down in my little back-room office in our condo, having my Zoom session with my therapist, Patrick, and, at one point, out of the clear blue sky, he told me I was depressed. Apparently, I’d reported feeling bummed out for a few weeks in a row. Go figure.

Now here’s the thing. Like tons of other people, I had an abusive alcoholic parent. Consequently, I grew up feeling damaged and inferior. And I compensated for that feeling by developing an over-inflated, puffed-up self-image. Somewhere around the age of thirteen or fourteen, I decided I was some sort of advanced, together, “spiritual” guy. I was irreparably influenced by the 1970s TV show, Kung Fu, and began to imagine that I was the serene, ass-kicking, Shaolin monk hero, Kwai Chang Kane.

My Guru has been deconstructing my delusions of grandiosity – with help from my therapist, Patrick – for some years. But these sorts of defense mechanisms are durable little suckers. Like zombies, they can suddenly come back to life when you least expect it. So, insanely enough, I took Patrick’s new diagnosis as an insult to my vanity. I found it embarrassing. Unflattering. Unbecoming for a modern-day Shaolin monk. Kwai Chang Kane could not be depressed. 

Him telling me I was depressed was also…well…depressing. I mean, I’ve already been clawing my way up out of developmental PTSD for the last nine frigging years, and it’s improved a gazillion percent. But now depression? Seriously? I argued with him. “But what about the whole ‘flat affect’ thing? I thought depressed people were supposed to have a ‘flat affect.’ I don’t have that.”

“Yes, that’s a symptom of moderate-to-severe depression. You have mild depression,” he reposted. Eventually he said, “The depressed person is usually the last person to know that they’re depressed.” Hmmm. Touché. Well played, therapy man.

He added that my “mild depression” was understandable given the pandemic, the election craziness (this was the week after the election), my lack of contact with any human beings except my wife, and the beginning of winter, which means no more sitting outside writing at my precious coffee shops.

Immediately after this therapy session I burst dramatically out of my office and stormed across our condo to my wife, who was typing at her treadmill desk. “Patrick said I was depressed! Can you believe that?” I sounded like a child coming home from school and telling his mom about a kid who was mean to him on the playground.

“No, you’re not! That’s ridiculous.”

“Right? That’s what I said!” 

This display of allegiance on her part was all the more touching because she, too, sees Patrick for therapy, and we both think he’s pretty much a genius. In fact, that’s usually the exact thing we exclaim right after therapy. One of us will say, “So how was your session with Patrick?” Then the other one will proclaim, “He’s a genius!” So, typically, Patrick’s views carry way more gravitas for her than do mine. And that’s putting it charitably.

At our next session Patrick convinced me of the depression business and talked me into reading the Henry Emmons book, The Chemistry of Joy. So I’ve been doing some of the stuff in that book. Plus a couple of Wim Hof techniques every day – his wacky breathing routine and three-minute icy showers. And the depression has been dramatically improving. Kind of shocking, really.

The coolest thing, though, is that seeing difficult truths about ourselves – “insults to our vanity” – is excellent for spiritual practice. Because wherever I am denying or disowning, truths about myself, I am contracted – hardened in my living being. That means the God Force cannot get in. And when I say “God Force” I’m not being cute or poetic. At least not usually. I mean an actual, tangible Power that feels nectarous, rich, and alive in my body.

This is one reason the Guru has always emphasized that we must be willing to face anything about ourselves. Here, in talking about His own early years of sadhana (spiritual work or practice), Adi Da says: 

“… I never cared one whit what was ‘wrong’ with the body-mind. I did not have the slightest inclination to dissociate myself or protect myself from whatever I might notice, whatever might be the case, whatever I might have to discipline or overcome. There was not the slightest limitation on that process. 

            “So you must be. Why should you care what the particular impediments of your own egoic design are, and what its contents are? Why should you be hiding about any of that? Why should you resist criticism? Why should you care one whit about what your ego-patterning contains and what you are required to discipline about it? As my devotee, you should have no concerns whatsoever.”

The takeaway: When the Spirit is not breathing us and living us, it’s because we have not made any room for it. And that’s because we have not dared to feel our terrible need for it. We’ve buried the wounds within us that would make us know this need. I’m pretty sure this is what the first step in A.A.’s 12 steps is all about. Admitted we were powerless and that our lives had become unmanageable. Seeing mortifying realities in ourselves tenderizes us, makes us porous, available, teachable.  

Adi Da said once that, traditionally, when seekers showed up at ashrams and monasteries: 

“Their heads were required to be bowed. You were expected to be crushed within, in a humble state, reflecting awareness of your habit of living. You were expected to arrive on your knees…”

Sometimes Adi Da spoke of this principle in terms of “losing face:”

“Satsang [spiritual company] with Me requires everything of you. It requires you to absolutely lose face. You must lose face in relation to the Truth. It is quite a different thing from being caught naked in the subway. You lose face by being absolutely vulnerable to God…”

As I write this, I’m getting the eerie feeling that I may have posted on this exact topic before. Sorry. I just find so much beauty in this particular bit of wisdom. I am deeply grateful that the very wounds that have hurt me so much throughout my life can be turned into God Communion, almost like alchemy. It’s a blessing beyond belief, and I bow down, again and again, at the Feet of my Radiant Guru.

Whether or not you feel absolutely vulnerable to God, you could perhaps take a baby step in that direction, starting by being absolutely vulnerable to getting a new newsletter in your email box! This one! 🙂