Why We Often Feel Lonely

Why Do We Often Feel Lonely?

Selected from Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche's Not for Happiness

Life itself is already whole — self-sustaining, complete in every way, and asking nothing from the outside. Yet the greed born of ignorance keeps whispering that we should look outward for support. The trouble is, nothing out there can be relied upon forever. So as we keep searching, a quiet unease settles in the heart.

Our body, our family, our career — which of these stays the same? We can see impermanence unfolding every single day, yet somehow it doesn't wake us up. If anything, it makes us cling harder, as though holding on tight enough could hold the tide back, as though our grip alone could make what we cling to unbreakable.

Our attachment doesn't arrive fully formed. It grows each time desire flares up, and in the end we become the victims of our own wanting. The harm it does rises in proportion to how tightly we hold on.

Take a financial crash. Many people are hurt, but in very different ways. Some take their own lives. Some lose their minds. Others feel down for a while and then recover. The deeper the attachment, the greater the blow when circumstances shift; the lighter the grip, the less the damage. It's like climbing a building that is destined to collapse — the higher you climb, the harder you fall.

We are also constantly feeding our self-grasping. Whatever we do, "I" is always right there in the middle. In truth, a thing from start to finish is just a process of dependent origination. We cling to an "I" within it, and the sense that "I" is the one who finishes anything is born of illusion and bad habit.

What is this "I," really? The self we take ourselves to be is nothing more than a fantasy. Can the body stand in for it? Skin and bones came from our parents. When consciousness enters the womb at conception, we seize upon that little inherited material as "me," and from that moment on the whole drama of "my life" begins. If this is "me," then what was the original face before your parents were born?

In a world of dependent origination, there is no "I" and no "mine." The continuation of life is simply the continuation of causes and conditions. Our body is like a vessel we happen to carry around. Is the vessel "mine"? Only once we decide it is does it pick up that label.

Otherwise, what could it possibly have to do with "me"? But the moment we project our attachment onto it and call it "mine," every little change begins to affect us. When it wears out, we feel sad. When it breaks, we grieve.

It's the same with the body, only deeper, more lasting — the attachment has fused with it and cannot be pulled apart. From the very moment of conception, clinging is already there. In fact, long before conception, we had been grasping at self, lifetime after lifetime. In every flicker of our mental activity, we keep starting from "I," keep inserting "I," keep reinforcing "I."

When we succeed, we say "I" succeeded. When we fail, we say "I" failed. If we could simply put our whole heart into what we do without "I" mixed in, success and failure wouldn't wound us. The rise and fall of any endeavor are themselves dependent origination. Once we see this, we can put our effort into the causes and let the results be — and we won't be crushed by grasping.

Self-grasping makes us want to put ourselves forward at every turn. But what is this self, really? There's no such thing anywhere. Yet the ego-center that self-grasping builds sets us against everyone else. Once that sense of self takes hold, we immediately find ourselves facing off against the whole world.

"I" on one side, the whole world on the other. It's no wonder modern people feel lonely — when your world holds only you, of course loneliness follows. If, on the other hand, you and the whole world, you and every being, were truly one, you wouldn't even know what loneliness meant.

With the pandemic upon us, read more, think more!

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