Putting Fear in its Place
Part Two: Discovering Freedom from Fear
In part one, I focused on two events with the potential for physical harm. In the first instance, an auto accident, there were no residual effects, and no psychological fear was established. In the second instance, a construction accident, there was an injury that induced shock which interrupted the cyclic flow of instinctually released energy. That resulted in what effectively served as a reservoir of fear stored as muscle memory. This created a psychological fear that was not completely rational or irrational but could be disruptive at critical times. I chose these incidents because they were best suited to describe the process of instinctual fear that can lead to psychological fear.
As I pointed out, psychological fears arising from genuine threats to bodily health and survival can be quite disruptive and may require professional therapeutic intervention. Relatively minor issues, as I experienced, are fairly easily identified and the information I share here can be applied.
However, there are less readily identifiable psychological fears that affect our everyday lives in hidden and insidious ways that contribute to both inner and outer conflict, individually and collectively. They’re so common that their roots in fear are not recognized, and their disruptions have been normalized as conventional human behavior. These types of fears are the primary subject of these writings. These fears are the invisible chains that lock us into a trance-like state with unseen, reactive forces masquerading as our free will. It’s in the resolution of these fears that we come to know Life free from fear.
Psychological Fears and Ego
In part one, I also pointed out that at birth there are just two innate fears; newborns experience the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. However, these are not the only survival instincts we inherit. There’s also the instinct to find food and comfort. Without nourishment, a baby will perish relatively quickly. Without the presence of another person to shelter and protect, the likelihood of a baby surviving is greatly diminished. These basic instincts are also further shaped and added to through conditioning.
What occurs when no one is present to comfort a frightened infant, warm them when cold, or feed them when hungry? Of course, the baby cries. But why do they cry? Because they’re afraid. The child doesn’t know that they are going to be protected, nurtured, or nourished. And what happens if there is an unexpected lengthy delay in response from the baby’s caregiver? The seed for fear of the unknown is planted.
The fact is, no matter how dedicated parents are or how much they love and care for their babies, there are going to be times when a baby is going to be frightened, uncomfortable, or hungry (sometimes all three at once) and no one is going to be able to arrive soon enough from the child’s limited perspective. The sense of separation between a child and the primary caregiver only begins to develop at around two years of age. There is only “something” that has happened and no possibility for the baby to understand what or why. There is only the energy of fear, and it continues beyond expectation, no explanation is possible. The experience of this fearful episode is, by definition, unknown and unknowable.
The fear of the unknown is likely the first conditioned fear human beings develop. But it can’t be labeled as such by us at least until language skills are well developed. And, quite frankly, it remains unidentified for life by the majority of adults. This is not to say that this fear serves no purpose or is inherently irrational. On the contrary, it most likely fueled the development of our Survival Optimization System.
However, it’s safe to say that fear of the unknown has become at least among the first of our psychological fears and there are a multitude of permutations that arise from it, including the fear of abandonment, the fear of death, and the fear of uncertainty. And what does the ego have to do with all of this?
The ego is derived from the psyche. The psyche is our capacity to reflect on the contents of consciousness through attention. The ego is the reflection of our concept of selfhood and is formed through the consolidation of memories and knowledge. The ego is an image of who we imagine ourselves to be. And the primary identification is “I am the controller.” As an image, it has no inherent, self-sustaining energy. Without energy, there is no continuity.
How then is the ego sustained? Through the energy of psychological fear. It is the energy of fear of the unknown that seeds ego in the womb of the psyche, develops it, sustains it, and protects it. But because the role of ego serves not only the survival of its bodily host it appropriates that fear to protect its essence. But its essence is nothing more than an idea. At this point, legitimate instinctual fear is introduced into the realm of the irrational.
Nov. 1958
I am nearing my seventh birthday. I follow my parents through the door and into the living room of my grandma Fisher’s house. I’m struck by an unusual smell, it’s vaguely familiar, but it isn’t pleasant. I don’t know what it is. No one says a thing, my mom and dad have gone into another room, and my older sister and brother meander off to the kitchen.
I sense something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is. There are several other people there, but no one speaks much, and when they do it’s in hushed tones and not to me. A few minutes later my mother comes and takes my hand, she leads me into a small bedroom. On the bed is a frail and unrecognizable woman. Her grey hair, eyes nearly closed, a weathered and wrinkled face and hands. The stench is much stronger here. I am led to the side of the bed where she lays and my mother places my hand in the hand of this seeming stranger. I am dumbstruck and I barely hear my mom say something about Grandma Fisher. The lady squeezed my hand, but I don’t know why. I don’t squeeze back. Mom takes my shoulders and guides me from the room.
Minutes ago, as I started to write how mom came to take my hand: “An overwhelming sadness comes over me and as unexpected tears are pressing to come out. They need to come out, I need to let them come. I am sobbing like a young child and through the tears I choke out, please forgive me, Grandma.” I let the tears run their course and observe the sensations in my body, just allowing them to be. I feel my heart open up and know I still need to finish sharing my memory.”
I felt compelled to recall this event as I expected to be writing about the fear of death; this is my earliest memory of a death in my family, and this is my first time letting it emerge from memory. I was not expecting the details or the impact. I have wondered since why I didn’t feel sad. That’s been revealed to me as I shared this account with you today.
Grandma Fisher was my great-grandmother, my father’s maternal grandmother. Strangely, I didn’t connect the dots of this memory with her death until I was over 50 years old and doing family tree research. It was only when I saw the date of her death, that I remembered that day decades earlier.
I know now why I asked for forgiveness. I realized how inappropriately cold I was, I didn’t even know it was her. Today I also felt how it affected her. But I know now too that she forgave me long ago. I just needed to hear it from her. There is no doubt that I had known who she was, and she knew me. If not, I wouldn’t have suppressed the memory of her and her passing so thoroughly.
I have never before set out to recall the events of that visit until now. The memory was still here but hidden from view until I was ready. It turns out, this is another one of those “funny things” that happen to me from time to time. So, it’s not the fear of death we will consider next, but an unacknowledged fear that drove the ego mad and influenced decisions and relationships for over half of my life.
March 1995
She wants to know, why do I think that everyone has to love me? I don’t think that! Do I? I mean she’s a stranger really, she doesn’t know me. We met just the day before in the cafeteria and chatted a bit about why we each came to the Diamond Heart Retreat. She chose on her own to sit at my table today. There was no plea, no invite from me. Still, something rings true. I feel tense in my chest and upper abdomen and there’s confusion, some fog in my mind. Something needs to be looked at closely. I don’t think I can do this alone.
I return to my room and call Bob, a spiritual advisor for the male attendees. I ask if he can come and assist me. He agreed.
I tell him about my encounter in the dining room. He says I shouldn’t let it bother me. “She does this kind of thing a lot. She thinks she’s helping but she is out of bounds” No, I say. That may or may not be true about her. But I know she has touched on something that deserves my attention and I’m only asking him to sit with me as I investigate. “Of course, I will” I feel a genuine kindness in his words and see it in his eyes. He can help me hold the space I need.
I begin to free associate, and the topic of death comes to the top rather quickly. I’m not surprised. It hasn’t been that long since a series of deaths in just over 3 years.
Together Bob and I take a few deep breaths. I settle into the space of awareness and observe.
I’m in tune with the body and taking note of the feelings and sensations. Suddenly, deep in my bowels I feel knotted up. What is this? I just let it be. Slowly it softens a bit but there is a roiling beneath. Just let it arise. Now it feels like an eruption, a mixture of emptiness and great pain. It’s not just sadness … it feels like desolating grief. This is far more grief than I have ever felt. Who am I grieving for??
Just as quickly as the question arises, so does the answer. There’s great moaning arising from deep in my being, it's erupting up through my chest, into my throat, and out comes the most anguished sounds I have ever let loose.
Even now, as I write, I can still feel the pain and tears pouring from my eyes. But I don’t have to push them away any longer. On that day nearly 30 years ago I felt for the first time the pain of losing Grandma Morain.
I won’t recount the full details of what followed that cathartic moment. I will only say it was a release that left me with a heart so wide open there are no words to describe it. Initially, even though I had no doubt who I was grieving for, I was startled. To this day the only memories I have of this dear woman come from a couple of pictures and the recall of stories from my mom and Aunt Mildred. But as the grief poured out, I knew how much she loved me and I loved her.
It turned out, I learned a few weeks later from my mother, that Grandma Morain had been my primary caretaker for most of my first 4 years. Mom had medical issues and bouts of depression. Fortunately, the family was able to move in with her parents.
My mother shared with me how on her return from grandma’s funeral I just took hold of her leg and held on. She didn’t say if she lifted me or hugged me. I don’t blame her if she didn’t. Grandma died just 3 months after learning she had pancreatic cancer. Mom was devastated herself and that affected her for the rest of her life. Mom did tell me how she knew when I grabbed her leg that I knew Grandma wasn’t coming back, even though no one had said a word to me about her death.
That day I recognized and was freed from the fear that took hold at 4 years of age and defined who I was in almost all situations. I was someone who desperately feared being abandoned. When this release happened Donna and I had been married for roughly 20 years. Fifteen of which were tumultuous, to say the least. This isn’t the place or time to go into details. What is important is that since that spring day at a retreat in California, this life and relationship have profoundly changed and improved for us both. Six weeks ago, we quietly celebrated 50 years of marriage.
What Now?
I am not going to give you some 5-step technique or dictate a path or procedure you must follow to discover freedom from the psychological fears that fuel and sustain the ego and dictate much of your life decisions. After all, this life experience and yours are inevitably going to be quite different.
What I can offer is a compass that will, when followed, guide you to wholeness, freedom, and love. This is not something you need to “add to your toolbox.” It is already naturally available to you now. You’ve no doubt even made use of it, but just never realized its value and purpose. Take a little time and consider whether there has been at least one time (perhaps more) that you were so stymied as to what to do next, all you could do is stop. For at least a moment, or maybe even minutes, your mind went quiet. You may have decided just to let go of the need to decide, or maybe you immediately knew what you would do (those are the same thing). Either way, at some point later, insight came and the resolution was clear, you knew what your next step would be.
So, the compass I mentioned is the silent space of awareness. Like the screen or the paper upon which these words you read make their appearance, that space is always there. But we do not attend to it, we believe the words to be the sole conveyer of meaning. But without the screen or the paper, there’s no place for words. The value of each is not their knowledge. It’s in their capacity to hold and make manifest the symbols we call words. But awareness offers one thing more, an innate intelligence that goes deeper and beyond knowledge that is tied to the past. Awareness, when the time is right, gives understanding.
Some people find this silence in prayer or meditation. Some call it surrender, “Letting go and letting God.” And if that’s what works best for you, go for it. I would never denigrate or discourage your choice. However, I do want to point out that Awareness belongs to no one and requires no special technique, it’s always already present, just listen.
