In defense of the cocoon
On Sunday night, I was meeting with my breakout group for my Buddhist Psychology program. Before you ask, yes, we accidentally scheduled it during the Super Bowl, which feels very on brand. On the docket we had deep listening and compassion exercises, which called for lots of focus, presence, and hard work. When checking in, it became abundantly clear that none of us wanted to do it. We were all so tired. We felt generally overwhelmed by the state of the world and things going on for us individually. We just wanted to retreat into our cocoons.
The idea of cocoon comes from Shambhala Buddhism. In Chogyam Trungpa’s Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior, Trungpa defines the cocoon as “an enclosed familiar world in which we can hide or go to sleep…The way of cowardice is to embed ourselves in a cocoon…perpetuate habitual patterns. When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh ground.” Cocoon is the ultimate comfort zone. Everything is easy and familiar. We can nestle in and go right to sleep.
Perhaps you’ve found yourself in cocoon frequently during this pandemic. I’ve heard a lot of my clients shaming themselves for this habit. This reaction can be tempting, as cocoon is often painted as a bit of a villain (see “the way of cowardice” in the definition). Shouldn’t we be challenging ourselves? Working out more, meditating more, picking up woodworking? Remember when we thought we were going to use this pandemic to learn a new language? Lolz.
If we believe in inherent wisdom, we must allow for wisdom in everything, even our cocoon.
The pandemic is a software update running in the background of your life. It doesn’t feel like it’s doing anything, but its draining your battery and slowing everything down. You are tired for a reason, and there is wisdom in looking after that little kid inside of you who’s begging to be cared for. Maybe the enemy isn’t the cocoon itself, but the lack of awareness of our cocoon. Rather than numbing out in cocoon, we can feel in to the comfort we create for ourselves. Be awake to whether it feels restorative or paralyzing, full of a comfort or a place for existential anxiety to balloon. Look into it, and make changes where you need to. Perhaps allowing ourselves comfort without the background noise of shame could provide the rest we’re after.
The cocoon is a time of remarkable transformation for moths and butterflies—they basically dissolve into goo and then become an entirely new creature. I could belabor the metaphor but I trust you to connect the dots. When you’re ready to emerge, the great wide world—the one that is forever changed by this pandemic—is waiting to be rediscovered.
My Buddhist Psychology group trashed the agenda items and instead spent Sunday night in conversation about how deeply affected we all were by the pandemic, and honed in on the wisdom of providing comfort to ourselves. We then gleefully encouraged one another to spend the rest of the evening in cocoon. It was liberating. So I’d like to extend the invitation to you—just in case you’ve been waiting for one. Spend some time fully awake in your cocoon. What’s the worst that could happen? And you may just turn into goo and re-form with wings, which would be a huge plus.