Earlier this month, Mindful Magazine used the Statler and Waldorf heckling duo from The Muppets to personify our Inner Critic.
My favorite animated movie Inside Out presented its own adorable muppet-esque characters to represent five of Paul Ekman's six universal emotions: Sadness, Fear, Anger, Joy, and Disgust (leaving out Surprise).
I love this phenomenon because imagining these voices as muppets completely disarms them. In my head, there are more than a few voices who are often fully locked and loaded, ready to fire at anything that moves, like:
The guy at the coffee shop who is laughing too loudly.
The woman at my panel discussion who wouldn't smile when I looked at her.
Anytime I get in front of more than five people to share something I know.
Any of these events can trigger the peanut gallery and the commentary rolls in:
There are other people working here, sir.
What happened to you this morning? Wait, what am I doing wrong? Why don't you like me?
I don't know anything, and I need to get out of here before they figure it out.
These trains of thought can be incredibly powerful and completely derailing. They can impact how we respond to others (I've on more than one occasion glared at THAT guy). If we aren't careful, they run around without us even realizing it, driving us to do things that we wouldn't choose to do. We need to do some work to put them in their place.
Step 1: Notice you're having those thoughts. Creating quiet unstimulated space each day often brings thoughts to the forefront. They eagerly present themselves to your consciousness, filling any empty space you give them. This doesn't have to be anything formal. Keep your phone in your pocket for a few minutes of your bus ride, while on the loo, or while walking down the street. Get curious about what's going on up there.
So let's say we start gaining that awareness and noticing we are having those thoughts. Then what?
My first instinct is always to fight 'em (I've got a bit of a fiery personality):
Relax! It's not such a big deal.
Stop being so judgy and such a coward! You don't know what's going on with her.
Shut up.
There's a back, a forth, and before you know it, World War III is taking place in my head.
Unless. Unless I...
Step 2: Imagine them as Muppets. This helps me in a couple of ways.
One. It helps me remember my thoughts aren't me. That is, they are some separate beings that don't have to be taken too seriously, and I don't have to blame myself when they say something terrible or embarrassing. I've heard it said that the brain secretes thoughts like the mouth secretes saliva. Our thoughts are just going to keep spinning whether we like it or not, and they are going to be all sorts of crazy, so we best not get too attached to them.
Two. Muppets are cute, and cute things are hard to take seriously. Even the grumpy ones are fuzzy and soft. So when I consider them as Muppets, I feel less annoyed at their existence. It is much easier for me to look upon them with compassion, which both defuses them and my sometimes overly aggressive reply.
This is easy enough to remember in my calmer moments, but how do I remember it during the more chaotic moments when they Muppets are on a tirade, and I can barely hear myself? We need to train when things are relatively easeful if we most want to have access to that rational chill part of self that can laugh at our Muppets.
Step 3: Train in the emotional off season.
Because of my more hot-headed nature, my teacher, Vinny Ferarro, prescribed me compassion meditation at a retreat last year. When I spoke of the silly annoyances I found arising through our silent practice— like the person who would walk through my mindful walking space, for instance— he suggested combating those "Muppets" gets you no where. Instead, I was told to try actively cultivating a compassionate voice.
So I put aside my skepticism and have added repetition of the lines below into my daily practice. (Into the blank space you can insert "I", the name of a friend or family member, or even an enemy if you've filled your heart up first with some warm fuzzies.)
May _______ be happy.
May _______ be healthy.
May _______ be patient.
May _______ be peaceful.
You can adapt these lines to fill whatever quality you are trying to cultivate. When I speak them to myself in meditation, I try to notice what it feels like in my body. It turns out that even sending the wishes to others still has the bonus benefit of creating the sensation of warmth and expansiveness in myself.
That warmth and expansiveness help me keep perspective. The sensation helps me remember my thoughts are nothing but Muppets, and are best dealt with in good humor and compassion. Every now and then I can even laugh at myself and the ridiculous things they find to be worried, angry, and frustrated about.
So to the Muppets: I hear you, loves. I hear you.
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