There is one other interesting feature of giving up alcohol and caffeine, at least for me, and I guess that this may be a feature of giving up any species of psychoactive substance, for other people as well. There is the physical aspect of being addicted to one of these substances, which I have luckily never felt for alcohol, but have felt for caffeine. In the case of caffeine, at least, the physical addiction wears off in about 72 hours, as I noted in my previous post.

I haven’t fully understood what the psychological aspects of addiction comprise, other than the fact that a behavior has become part of your routine and there is a hole left in your routine once this behavior has been excised, which must slowly be filled in. This is also something I described in my previous post: that giving up these things helps me realize what an important source of pleasure they had become for me, both in the present and as a component of my vision of the good life. It makes sense that this type of attachment would take a long time to subside, as you need to develop not only new sources of pleasure but new visions of what a pleasurable existence looks like. In the long run, this seems like it would be a good thing, though. If like me you have come to the point where your main sources of pleasure in life consist of drinking things or eating things, with occasional fillips provided by watching things and perhaps going for a walk, then it seems like your life would improve by seeking out better sources of pleasure. But if you habitually reach for a drink or a cup of coffee when you are looking for such a boost, perhaps that blocks you from pursuing more authentically enjoyable experiences. I think this has true for me, at least. It’s much easier to open a cold beer and sit on the front porch with a bowl of peanuts, than to do the many things G does when he’s looking to have fun: drawing, playing music, dancing, imagining. But G certainly has more fun in life than I do.

I think there’s another element of addiction to substances, though, which is that they have a transportative effect. They allow you, through ingestion of something residing in a vessel, to change the way you feel. When you are tired, they can make you feel fresh, and when you are tense, they can make you feel relaxed. They can make you happy when you are sad. They can make you sociable when you are disinclined to be with people. They can make you interested when otherwise you would be bored. Unfortunately, their efficacy in accomplishing these changes declines over time. And these desired changes are always accompanied by other, less desirable changes, which is why we end up wanting to give these things up in the first place. But this capacity to change our feelings immediately is magical. I think it is most of what we want in life, to be able to leave a reality that we don’t like.

I meditate — not very well, though I’ve been at it, on and off, for a while. It’s seemed clear to me that my consumption of coffee has been interfering with my meditation, by making it difficult to concentrate, by revving up my hot smoky sensations of anxiety, by making my head cloudy. I haven’t been as sure whether the drinking was a problem for my meditation, though the Buddhist texts certainly suggests that imbibing is incompatible with the practice. I’ve done a little looking around and it does seem that the Dalai Lama consumes tea (though it seems that he eats it, in little balls mixed with roasted barley flour, or tsampa).

My meditation has improved since I gave up caffeine and alcohol. My head is just a little clearer. But it occurs to me that giving up these things is important entirely aside from whether they fuzz up your brain. An important part of what you’re trying to do when you meditate — with mindfulness meditation, at least — is to be present. To be here now. This means that you don’t get caught up in thoughts about the past or the future, and it also means that you don’t get caught up in strong feelings about your current reality. You try to remain centered in what is happening now, and to maintain a certain detachment from this while at the same time whole-heartedly accepting it. The paradoxical quality of this approach strongly recommends it, I think, for it is simple but continuously unfolding, as any teaching of great wisdom would seem likely to be.

I think that having a life routine which centers around caffeine or alcohol or any other substance is problematic for Buddhist meditation practice because it means that you habitually try to be somewhere other than where you are, and rely on crutches to perform this transportation. This is the opposite of being here now. So I suspect that, at least for people upon whom these substances have strong effects, use of them is incompatible with spiritual progress — for this use means that the user has not learned to accept reality as it is, and likewise has not learned to transform reality through the exercise of personal agency.

Giving up this transportation, or learning to do it yourself — maybe that is the hardest thing about giving up these substances.