Struggling with Anattā
Original source: satipanya.org.uk
Noirin Sheahan offers an unusually honest and intimate account of grappling with anattā (not-self), one of Buddhism's most profound and challenging teachings. Moving beyond intellectual understanding, she describes the jarring transition from romanticized notions of expanded consciousness to the stark reality that anattā literally means the absence of 'self' - a realization that initially brought horror rather than liberation.
The essay explores the deep psychological resistance that arises during meditation when approaching the direct experience of not-self. Sheahan vividly describes the internal struggle between the ego's desperate attempt to maintain control and the natural flow of experience that occurs when we truly let go. She maps the physical sensations of this resistance - the tension, the gasping for breath, the familiar comfort zones - alongside the profound ease and friendliness that emerge when fear finally dissolves.
This candid reflection reveals how anattā manifests not as a philosophical concept but as a lived reality that challenges our deepest assumptions about control and identity. The essay offers valuable insight for practitioners who may struggle with similar resistance, showing how the very qualities we most value in ourselves - peace, friendliness, ease - are discovered to exist beyond our control or understanding, pointing toward the liberating truth of not-self.
Struggling with Anatta.
The idea of anatta (often translated as „not-self‟) used to fascinate me – inspiring a lovely image of an
expanded mind which covered the whole universe. Some texts mentioned fear – but I just knew I
wouldn‟t be afraid … until I caught a brief glimpse and realised, to my horror, that the expanded mind
didn‟t include me – that “I” was left behind for that brief moment and that “I” would always be left
behind in the experience of anatta. It was so obvious – the words not-self said it plainly – but I skipped
over this till the moment of insight.
Now I don‟t often think about anatta … there are no nice images to entice me and thoughts fade into
vagueness. It‟s a relief if my mind simply relaxes, gives up on the question. I feel the breath going in
and out, and am relieved to know that the whole system functions, that life happens, even though it‟s
all beyond my understanding.
But in deep meditation I still fight hard against this truth. I may be experiencing the rising and falling
of the breath, with thoughts and emotions coming and going, and forget myself within the flow of
experience. But if there comes a sense of something strange and new, then a strong sense of “me”
emerges, straining to master the situation. On the out-breath, I feel myself daring to relax, wondering
“what is it that I am experiencing?” I can feel various sensations – softness or heat in various tissues
perhaps – these are comforting, suggesting there is nothing to be afraid of. But there is usually tension
as well in other tissues, and a scary gap opens up between „me‟ (where it‟s all soft and warm and safe
and known) and „that‟ (whatever lurks in the vague, unexplored, seemingly uninhabitable tension).
It feels as if I must die to cross that gap into the unknown. Having been at this juncture so often, I can
encourage myself the only thing to die will be fear. But I have to let go of these thoughts and memories
in order to relax completely into the felt sense of my present experience.
Fear wins and I snatch at the next in-breath, tensing and gasping in an effort to hold on to all I know, to
prevent myself dissolving into the unknown. This effort in turn becomes unbearable and the wish to
relax and trust persuades me to breathe out again. The struggle continues until somehow fear dissolves
and my senses can explore what was previously beyond my comfort zone. To my surprise I find I
recognise a newfound depth of friendliness and ease within myself – as if it were a place I once
inhabited within my psyche but had long forgotten. Although I would love to hold onto this experience
forever, I find I must forgo all temptation to interfere. Friendliness cannot be imprisoned and any
attempt to control obliterates ease.
The truth of anatta sinks in a little deeper as I learn that I am not in control of what I most value within
myself. At my best, I am beyond my own understanding and control. As Mary Oliver says in the last
lines of her poem “Sleeping in the Forest”:
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
Noirin Sheahan