The Daily Grind:
I Clench, Therefore I Am
(An Essay on Meditation and
Self-Discovery)
By Alan James Strachan, Ph.D
I
am alarmed and embarrassed in equal measures when my dentist tells me he can
see that I must be grinding my teeth. “They are chipped in front,” he said,
“and the line of the teeth matches above and below.” I am alarmed because I hope to be around, chewing, for
another 40 years or so, and at this rate of chipping I am concerned that my
teeth--my god-given, once unchipped teeth--won’t make it along for the
ride. I am also alarmed because
although I knew that I had tension in my jaws, I had no idea it was so chronic
and causing actual physical damage.
To find this out from two relative
strangers (the dentist and his assistant) as they peer into my gaping jaws is
the embarrassing part. It is like
being stopped on a street corner by a stranger, who, in a well-meaning gesture
of good will, points out that you are wearing your underwear on the outside of
your slacks---information that you really should have, and the sooner the
better, but which, when delivered in public, makes it difficult for your
carefully groomed persona to carry off the impression that you are in complete
control. So I carry my alarm and
embarrassment out of the dentist's office and proceeded to do the only
reasonable thing.
I
buy a doggy-bite.
A
doggy-bite, for those of you without pets and who have not yet discovered that
you too grind your teeth, is one of those rubber contrivances that your dog can
bite and tug on one end while you pull on the other. The dog usually growls during this interaction, and, if you
are completely forthcoming, so might you.
So
here I am, wandering the aisles of a pet store, searching the racks for a doggy
–bite. As it happens, they come in
different sizes, depending on whether you are purchasing one for Spike or
Tike. Well, I am purchasing for
me, and there is only one way to determine the correct size. Taking one off the rack and carefully
surveying the shopkeeper and other customers, I turn my back and---hoping that
I am not about to contract a factory-born disease that preys upon Homo sapiens
but not canines---I chomp down. Hmmm . . . not very tasty, and definitely too large. Fortunately, choice number two is just
right. I hand the doggy-bite to
the store clerk, hoping that he won’t not notice the chew marks.
Having
barely avoided public humiliation, I set myself to the task of observing when
my jaws are clenched. As it turns
out, this is akin to making a mental note whenever I notice that my eyes were
blue. That is to say: is there
ever a time that my jaws are not clenched? So I adjust my criteria; instead, I will notice when they
are especially clenched, and then take appropriate action.
Two
days after my purchase, I get up in the morning and notice a certain fervent
desire to clench my teeth, somewhat as though I am hanging from a cliff by my
jaws. I stumble into my home office, barely alive, and sit down to meditate.
I
practice a special form of vipassana—“lazy man’s vipassana”---which means that
I occasionally manage to notice what is going on. If I am thinking, I note that
I am thinking; if I hear a sound, I observe to myself that I am hearing, and so
forth. After my visit to the dentist, I have added a new refrain to my mental
register: clenching.
As
I begin to meditate, I feel the urge to clench. Clenching, clenching. Noticing this is helpful, because
clenching is the precursor to grinding, which is itself the precursor to
orthodontia. I am on to
something. The question is, What
am I clenching about? The answer,
as I had surmised, is my carefully washed doggy-bite.
Curious, and a bit apprehensive, I
reach for the doggy-bite. I put it
in my mouth and bite down. As I
begin to clench harder, I feel nausea in the pit of my stomach and an urge to
throw up.
While
part of me observes that chewing on a dog toy is not what I want to be doing at
6 a.m., my curiosity---and my dentist's warnings---give me a push. I concentrate on the sensation---nausea,
nausea---letting
the feeling intensify, allowing spasms to ripple upward from my stomach to my
esophagus. A drop of bile burns
the back of my throat, and I think: this is for real, I could actually throw
up.
I
bite down harder and feel heat in my chest. The heat intensifies, and then tears form behind my
eyes. I identify the feeling that
goes with the tears: vulnerable, vulnerable.
I
don't want to feel this vulnerability, I really don't. I pause, backing off from the feeling
just slightly---enough to get a breather, but not so much that I lose touch
with it. I am chewing convulsively
on the doggy-bite. The taste is nothing to recommend, but the texture and its
palpable presence are reassuring: I clench, therefore I am.
Pausing
helps me to renew my resolve. Once
again, I clench harder. Feeling my vulnerability, I notice the beginnings of a
sob. I hesitate, then let it rise
my throat, filling the space around the doggy-bite as it escapes into the room. Another sob follows, more loudly. The vulnerability takes on specific
hues: sadness, an aching loneliness. An image of my ex-girlfriend, with whom I broke up three months before,
flashes by. Grief wells up, and
the next thing I know I am sobbing and moaning with pain. The sobs come from deep in my
chest. I feel a tremendous
emptiness, an aching for connection with a partner. I take the doggy bite from
my mouth and ride the tide of my feelings until, of their own accord, they
begin to recede. When I am
through, I notice that my jaws feel relaxed.
And
so it has gone. It is now six months since I my visits to the dentist and the
pet shop. My doggy bite has become my faithful companion. My jaws, with the help of my chew toy,
have taught me about my need for connection---and a great deal more---taking me
again and again into the subterranean realm of feelings I would rather not feel
and thoughts I would rather not think.
I
wish that I could report that I have completely overcome my tendency to grit my
teeth. The truth, as usual, is a
bit more complex. Lifelong habits
die hard, so the tendency to clench is still with me. The good news is that I am far more aware of it than ever
before, and that awareness has given me options: I can either stop through an
effort of will, or, time and environment permitting, I can dig deeper to find
out what's triggering it. The
latter option brings extended relief, and---so far, at least---learning the
underlying truth has offset the pain of discovery.
And,
if truth isn't motivation enough, yesterday my dentist, while inspecting my teeth,
said, "We'll have to keep an eye on this. It's not getting any worse, but if it does, we'll have to do
something. Are you aware of grinding your teeth?"
Am
I ever, I thought. Clenching,
clenching.
(originally
published in The Inquiring Mind, 2002)