The Appeal of the Dungeon

This photo is from San Gimignano -- an unbearably lovely little Tuscan village, which for some unaccountable reason offers tourists a Museum of Torture, to which this is the entrance. And even before you realize that those are skulls on the ceiling, you have to admit it's tempting: there's something in us -- the same something that slows down on a highway to look at an accident on the other side -- that just wants to go down there.

Now I wasn't even remotely interested in this museum. But that doesn't mean that I don't occasionally find myself drawn to torturous thoughts. Not literally thoughts of torturing other people, but thoughts that torture ME, thoughts of not being good enough, of loss, of failure, of loneliness. And they have the same sort of allure this picture has: sometimes, for whatever reason, I just seem to want to go down there.

The fact is that sometimes the sad and depressive thoughts can be very appealing -- rather like soap operas, and tragic movies, and the endless drama with which some teens surround themselves. I don't know why it is but sometimes there is an unmistakeably alluring quality to lowering thoughts; sometimes it feels like a luxury to just get right down there and wail.

I wish I understood that temptation better: maybe it's a familiar place? Maybe if I get caught up in "poor me" I can feel like the center of attention? Maybe there's value, somehow, in that temporary victim status? Maybe, like this image, there's an illusion of color in that place, color that may be lacking if I stay up here on the surface of things?

But maybe the fact is that sometimes we just need to go there to process through unfinished business. I remember, years ago, a friend telling me she had called her sister for comfort after getting a bad mammogram, and her sister had responded, "Oh, you're such a drama queen!"

No, I replied. Not true. There's a BIG difference between a DQ (drama queen) and a VP (verbal processor). A DQ needs drama to feel alive and creates it if there isn't any. A VP, on the other hand, does not create or repress drama: they talk about it in order to deal with it; they talk when their peace is disrupted, visiting the dark dungeon if necessary, in hopes that it will facilitate a timely return to peace.

Because the fact is that sometimes you have to go into that space, if only to get in touch with the thoughts and behaviors that need to be addressed. The trick is to remember we are just visiting, and not to set up camp down there. Because sometimes we’re not sure we WANT to replace those thoughts: aren’t they part of what make us unique? Wouldn’t I be less myself, even disloyal to the me-that-has-always-been if I left those sad thoughts behind?

In my reading this morning I have learned that the Buddhists have long been practitioners of what is now called cognitive behavioral therapy: believers that the compassionate response to suffering may be choosing to replace, not only bad behaviors with good ones, but bad THOUGHTS with good ones.

The theory is that we can actually create new thought patterns by becoming conscious of the old ones and consciously challenging them -- a theory now thoroughly borne out by recent discoveries in brain science about neuroplasticity: the ability of nerve pathways to reform and redirect themselves. It seems to me that these discoveries and practice could be an enormous gift of hope.

Yes, sometimes we have to go into the dark dungeons of the mind. But there is a way out. We can visit those dark patterns of thought, acknowledge them, feel compassion for the self that is thinking them. But then we have a choice to come back up into joy. We can choose to offer positive alternatives; choose to acknowledge the dark thoughts, let them go, and feed ourselves on a healthier more positive diet of mind.

"Out of compassion," says Jack Kornfield, "we change what is in our minds. We transform our thoughts as a loving protection of ourselves and of others. This is a nineteenth principle of Buddhist psychology: What we repeatedly think shapes our world. Out of compassion, substitute healthy thoughts for unhealthy ones."

Hmm. Easier said than done, I suspect. But certainly worth a try -- the trick is getting yourself to WANT to do it.