About 5 months ago I divorced my uBPD/NPDw of almost 20 years. The chaos is mostly over. I reclaimed my life. When we interact she rarely triggers me now. I still need a little more time and more work on myself but overall life's good. I came across this little piece of wisdom. I'm sure I'm not the only one who can relate. It's a bit long but take a moment to read it and reflect on it's message. I think it'll resonate with many of you.
The Lenchak Dynamic Not a Healthy Kind of love
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We all have some rough relationships in our lives that seem held together by the stickiness of attachment and expectation. It is true that we have love and care for these people, but, at the same time, it's not so clean; there's plenty of complexity. Inside, we feel an emotional tug when we see or think of them. This is often exaggerated with the people we are close to and with whom we share a strong dynamic, such as our parents, children, close friends, or spouse-all relationships where a lot of expectations tend to arise. There are many unspoken demands. In the midst of our romance, marriage, or parenting, we find ourselves responsible for someone else's loneliness and their emotional or physical pain.
There is a Tibetan term that describes this kind of dynamic, lenchak, commonly translated as "karmic debt." Len literally means “time" or "occurrence," while chak refers to "attachment," “attraction," or the notion of a karmic pull toward someone, usually in an unhealthy way. So lenchak could be understood as the residue that revisits us from the dynamic of a relationship from a past life, a dynamic now strengthened by reoccurring habitual responses. Lenchak is most often used to explain or describe why a particular relationship is how it is.
In the Buddhist texts, it says that in certain hell realms beings experience the negative results of past unwholesome relationships. They hear their name being called out and experience a pull toward the voice of the person they once knew. They travel toward that voice but end up encountering horrendous creatures and experiencing intense physical and mental anguish. This is interesting because, with those with whom we have lenchak, we feel an immediate pull beyond our control or sense of resistance. Our name is called, and we jump to at once to serve them. This is not a conscious decision-not a joyous decision-but more like being propelled by a strong wind. Our reaction-whether with anger, jealousy, attachment, or what have you-only serves to reinforce the dynamic. People have done many things "in the name of love." But if this is love, it's not a healthy kind of love.
THE SEAL AND THE OWL
In Tibet they say there is a lake where, during a particular full moon each year, the seal-like creatures who live there gather fish in their mouths and offer them up to hordes of owls who hover in the trees above, waiting to eat. There is no apparent reason for the seals to offer the fish other than the fact that the owls seem to expect it. As the story goes, the seals gain nothing from offering the fish, and the owls are never satisfied. So, they say, since there is no obvious reason for this dynamic to be as it is, "it must be lenchak."
The lenchak dynamic has two sides: the seal side and the owl side. If we are the seal, we feel an unspoken emotional responsibility for someone else's mind and well-being. We feel pulled toward this person as if they had a claim on us. It's a strong visceral experience, and we have a physical reaction to it:
The phone rings and we check our caller-ID --it's "the owl." We should pick it up, but we are overcome by a strong wave of anxiety and repulsion, as if we are being attacked by our own nervous system. We brace ourselves for a problem or a strong emotional download. As much as we want to detach ourselves from this person, we can't break loose; It's as if they have captured us, and there's no escape—checkmate! Of course, this is not the case. In truth we are held hostage by our own attachment, guilt, and inability to resist the pain that comes from feeling unreasonably responsible for them. On one hand, we can’t bare watching the owl struggle. On the other hand, we can't let go. This dynamic brings us down; it makes us lose our luster as human beings.
Meanwhile, the owl is never satisfied, no matter how many fish the seal tries to feed it. Of course, when caught in the owl syndrome we don’t see it in this way. We feel neglected, isolated, and weak. The reason for this is that we are depending on someone else in hopes that they will manage our fears. We have so many unspoken demands, although we often express these demands in a meek and needy way. The owl syndrome reduces us to a childlike state. We begin to question whether or not we can do things on our own, and we lose confidence in our ability to face our own mind and emotions. Interestingly, the owl—so frail, needy, and insecure is not necessarily as feeble as it seems to be. In fact, the owl has the upper hand. It's a little manipulative if you want to know the truth. The owl just doesn't want to clean up its own mess. This is a privileged attitude. If the owl couldn’t afford to be weak—if it didn’t have the seal—it would naturally rise to its own challenges.
The irony of this dynamic is that, in most cases, the more fish the seal offers the owl, the more resentful, demanding, and dissatisfied the owl gets. For both the seal and owl, this kind of n dependence and expectation gives way to a lot of ugliness. At work we may have to hold our tongues and swallow what our boss has to say, but there is no holding back with our loved ones. We let our guard down and allow ourselves to get ugly, spreading our web of ego anxieties all over the place. It's true; the seal may temporarily pacify the owl, but no mutual respect arises from this kind of arrangement. And in truth, isn't it respect that we want most of all? Everyone wants love and care, but, more than these, human beings want respect for who they are. Even an enemy can respect another enemy. There is a sense of human dignity in this.
In this confusion of lenchak for love, we fear that without the lenchak dynamic our relationships will completely fall apart. What is there beyond all the obligations, all the "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts," and all the fantasies we try to live up to? The distinction between love and lenchak needs to be examined carefully. Love and care toward others warms the heart and makes us generous and giving. Feelings of love and care arise naturally; they are not the product of pressures and demands. Think about the attachment and pain of lenchak. Think of all the insecurities and resentment that come with it. Lenchak makes us feel like we are not up for our own life and its challenges or that we can't handle seeing others in pain. And yet, we don't trust that they can handle their own lives either!
Wisdom and compassion are the two components of bodhichitta. When we begin to discover the mind’s natural potential and strength, we are cultivating wisdom. This doesn’t mean that we become hard-heated or indifferent. It doesn’t mean that we have to cut our family ties, quit our job or live in a cave. It simply means that we don’t give in to lenchak because we see that it doesn’t serve us and it makes it impossible for us to serve others. We recognize lenchak and we can “just say no!” We can see it as a form of civil disobedience – a nonviolent approach in which we refuse to succumb to our own and others’ ignorance. When we can reclaim our nose ring, we are left with no real reason to resent others. With a mind free of lenchak, we have a lot of room to expand the heart through serving others. This is how wisdom can protect us, so that we can be soft and caring. This is the bodhisattva’s way.
FROM: Light Comes Through by Dzigar Kongtrul Rinpoche, Shambhala, 2009
