This is Chapter 15 of The Fourth Way: Getting the King Out of the Garden.
In the last chapter, we looked at friction—those people, circumstances, interruptions, disappointments, and unexpected events that push against the way we think life ought to be going. Friction can reveal something about ourselves that we might otherwise never see. But there is another side to friction that is just as important. The event itself may last only a few minutes, while the energy we continue to spend on it can last for hours, days, or sometimes even years.
Someone says something that bothers us. The conversation ends, but inside us it keeps going. We replay what was said. We think of what we should have answered. We imagine what the other person was really thinking. We defend ourselves before an imaginary jury. Perhaps we tell the story to someone else, then tell it again a little differently. The actual event happened once, but within our mind we may experience it twenty more times.
Every replay requires energy.
The same thing happens with worry. Something may happen tomorrow, next week, or perhaps never, yet we begin living it today. The mind creates one possible future after another, and the emotional center reacts to each imagined possibility as though it were already taking place. Before anything has actually happened, we may already be tired from dealing with it.
The Fourth Way places considerable importance on energy because awakening requires it. Attention requires energy. Self-observation requires energy. Remembering ourselves in the middle of an emotional reaction requires energy. If most of that energy has already been spent worrying about tomorrow, resenting yesterday, defending our self-image, judging other people, or carrying on imaginary conversations, there may be very little left when the moment arrives in which we actually need to be awake.
This does not mean we should never think about the past or prepare for the future. There is a tremendous difference between useful thought and mechanical thought. Useful thought has a purpose. We examine something, learn from it, make a decision, and then move on. Mechanical thought simply circles. It goes nowhere. It gives us the feeling that we are doing something when, in reality, we may only be wearing ourselves out.
This is one of the things self-observation gradually allows us to notice. We begin catching ourselves in the middle of an inner argument and suddenly realize, I am having a conversation with someone who isn’t even here. We may notice ourselves explaining our actions to someone who has never asked for an explanation. We may discover that we have spent half an hour proving ourselves right in a courtroom that exists only inside our own head.
That little moment of recognition is important.
We do not have to condemn ourselves for doing it. We simply see it.
The moment we see it clearly, something has changed. We are no longer completely inside the thought. There is now the thought, and there is also the awareness observing the thought. Once again we encounter that question from earlier in this series: Who is watching?
The part of us replaying the argument may be angry. Another part may be wounded. Another may be frightened. Another wants recognition. Another wants justice. Yet something deeper can observe all of them without necessarily becoming any of them.
That observer does not need to fight the thoughts. It does not need to force them away. Often the simple act of seeing what is happening begins to loosen their grip.
This is another reason the pause we explored in Chapter 13 is so valuable. The pause is not merely a way of avoiding saying something we may regret. It can also prevent an enormous expenditure of inner energy. An insult received and observed may pass quickly. An insult received, identified with, replayed, enlarged, defended, and retold can occupy the inner garden for days.
And that brings us again to the question at the center of this entire series: What is sitting on the throne?
When resentment occupies the throne, resentment determines what receives our attention. When fear occupies it, fear begins selecting our thoughts. When pride occupies it, nearly everything becomes evidence either for or against our importance. We may believe we are freely thinking about these things, while in reality our attention has been captured.
The false king does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it simply whispers, Think about this one more time.
And we do.
Perhaps this is one reason Jesus repeatedly directed attention back toward the present. “Do not worry about tomorrow” is not an instruction to become irresponsible or careless. It points toward something profoundly practical. Tomorrow will have its own realities when it arrives. Much of what we suffer beforehand is created within ourselves.
Jesus also spoke repeatedly about forgiveness. We often think of forgiveness primarily as something we give another person, but forgiveness may also release us from having to continually carry the event. Resentment ties part of our attention to the past. The person who hurt us may be going happily about his or her day while we continue paying the emotional bill.
Letting go does not mean pretending that something did not happen. It does not mean calling wrong behavior right. It does not mean we cannot establish boundaries or take appropriate action. It simply means we no longer allow the event to endlessly consume the energy of the present.
This can become a very practical Fourth Way exercise.
Suppose someone irritates us in the morning. Later in the day, we notice ourselves thinking about it again. Instead of immediately following the story, we might simply observe: There it is again.
What happens in the body when the thought returns? Does the stomach tighten? Does the jaw tense? Does the breathing change? Does the emotional center begin producing the same feeling it produced earlier?
Then we can bring some attention back to where we actually are.
Feel the feet on the ground. Notice the hands. Hear the sounds around us. Take in the room. Become aware of the body breathing. For just a moment, receive the impression of the present before returning to the story.
Nothing dramatic may happen.
But we have stopped feeding the machine.
That may sound almost too simple, yet much of the Fourth Way consists of discovering how much of our life is lost in extremely small moments of unconsciousness. Awakening does not necessarily begin with some extraordinary spiritual experience. It may begin while washing dishes and realizing that we have spent the last ten minutes arguing with someone in our imagination.
Then comes the choice.
Do I continue?
Or do I return?
There is an interesting thing we may begin to notice when we stop spending so much energy on these inner dramas. We have more energy available for other things. We may listen more carefully. We may see another person’s point of view more easily. We may have more patience. Prayer may become quieter. We may notice beauty we would otherwise have walked past. We may even discover that many things we thought were exhausting us were not exhausting in themselves. Our resistance to them was exhausting us.
The circumstances of life may not have changed at all.
We have changed our relationship to them.
This does not happen perfectly. We will still become irritated. We will still worry. We will still catch ourselves replaying conversations. Sometimes we will discover that we have been lost in one for twenty minutes before awareness returns.
That is not failure.
The moment we notice is the moment the practice begins.
We are gradually learning where our energy goes. We are beginning to recognize which inner parts consume it, which emotions drain it, and which patterns keep demanding another helping of our attention.
And perhaps we can begin asking a very simple question:
Is this worth the energy I am giving it?
Not: Is this thought true?
Not even: Am I justified in feeling this way?
Those questions may have their place.
But first:
Is this worth my life energy right now?
Because our attention is more than something we possess. In a very real sense, our attention is our life. Wherever our attention continually goes, part of our life goes with it.
The purpose is not to become indifferent. Quite the opposite. By wasting less energy mechanically, we may have more available for what actually matters—for love, service, creativity, compassion, prayer, understanding, meaningful work, and the people standing directly in front of us.
The garden does not need to be empty.
It needs to become conscious.
And every time we recognize that we are feeding an unnecessary inner argument, replaying an old wound, or living tomorrow before it arrives, we have an opportunity to bring some of that energy home.
We see.
We observe.
We pause.
We return.
And little by little, the King is no longer pushed from the garden by every passing thought that demands the throne.
Continue the Journey
Previous: Chapter 14 — Friction: When Life Pushes Back
Start at the Beginning: Chapter 1
Next: Chapter 16 — Gathering Our Attention