Chapter 12: When Feelings Rise Like Waves

Juice on the Keyboard

Marcus is forty and works from home on the days when his children are not at school. It is a Saturday morning, and he is trying to finish an important report before a deadline on Monday. His six-year-old daughter, Ella, comes to show him a drawing. She is holding a cup of juice in her other hand. As she climbs onto his lap, the cup tips, and juice pours across his keyboard.

Marcus feels the anger rise like a sudden wave. His face goes hot. His jaw tightens. His hands want to slam the table. Words are already forming in his mouth: "How many times have I told you not to bring drinks near my computer?" Ella is looking up at him, frightened, her drawing crumpled in her hand.

In that half second, something happens. Marcus has been practising sitting meditation for a few months, and he notices the wave. He notices the heat in his face and the tightness in his jaw. He takes one breath, then another, letting the out-breath be long. The words do not come out. Instead, he lifts Ella gently off his lap, turns the keyboard upside down to drain it and says, in a voice that is still a little tight but not shouting, "Oh no. Let us clean this up together. And then I want to see your drawing."

The anger does not vanish at once. It stays in his body for several minutes, slowly ebbing. The keyboard, it turns out, still works after it dries. Later, Marcus thinks about how close he came to shouting at his daughter, and how small the space was between the wave rising and his choice of what to do. This chapter is about that space, and about how Zen practice can help us meet strong feelings, anger, fear, sadness and others, without being swept away by them.

Waves on the Ocean

A common image in meditation teaching compares feelings to waves on the ocean. Waves rise, sometimes gently, sometimes with great force. They reach a peak. Then they fall back into the sea. However large a wave is, it does not last forever. And beneath the waves, the deep water of the ocean remains still.

This image points to several things that are useful to remember when a strong feeling arrives. The first is that feelings arise. Like thoughts, which we explored in the fourth chapter, most feelings are not chosen. They appear in response to events, memories, bodily states and thoughts. Marcus did not decide to be angry. The anger rose by itself when the juice spilled.

The second is that feelings change. Even very strong feelings tend to rise, peak and subside if we do not keep feeding them. The anger that feels overwhelming in the first moment is usually less intense a few minutes later, unless we keep stirring it up with angry thoughts. Remembering that a feeling will pass can make it easier to bear while it is here.

The third is that we are more than our feelings. The ocean is not the wave. When we are caught in a strong feeling, it can seem as if the feeling is all there is: I am anger, I am fear, I am sadness. But in meditation, we begin to discover that there is also an awareness that can notice the feeling, like the deep water beneath the wave. This awareness does not make the feeling disappear. It gives us somewhere to stand while the wave passes.

Zen does not ask us to stop having feelings. A person without feelings would not be calm; they would be cut off from life. The old Zen teachers in the stories laugh, weep and shout. What practice offers is a different relationship with feelings: feeling them fully, without being completely carried away by them, and without acting on them before we have had a chance to choose.

The Monk Who Could Not Show His Temper

Bankei Yōtaku was a Japanese Zen teacher who lived in the seventeenth century. He was known for speaking to large audiences of ordinary people, monks and lay people alike, in simple, everyday language, and many of his talks were written down by his students. In one of these records, there is an exchange that speaks directly to strong feelings.

In my own retelling: A monk came to Bankei and said, "I was born with a short temper. Even though my teacher has warned me about it many times, I cannot correct it. Please tell me how to get rid of it." Bankei said, "That is very interesting. If you have it with you now, show it to me, and I will cure it for you." The monk said, "I do not have it right now. It comes up suddenly, when something happens." Bankei said, "Then it cannot belong to the nature you were born with, because that would be here with you now, ready to be shown. It arises when you create it, in response to things. Because you are attached to yourself and want things your own way, you create anger. Then you blame it on the way you were born."

Bankei's teaching here is striking. He does not deny that the monk gets angry. But he questions the monk's belief that anger is a fixed, unchangeable part of who he is. Anger, he suggests, is not a permanent thing inside us. It arises in particular moments, in response to particular events, and especially when we cling to wanting things our own way.

This is a hopeful message. If anger, or any other strong feeling, is a fixed part of our nature, there is little we can do. But if it arises in moments, then each moment is also a chance to meet it differently. We do not have to accept the story "I am an angry person" or "I am an anxious person" as the final truth about ourselves. We can notice the feeling as it arises, and see what happens when we do not feed it.

It is important to read Bankei's words kindly. He is not blaming the monk for having feelings, or telling him that anger is simply his own fault and that he should feel guilty. He is pointing out that anger is not his true, unchanging nature, and that he is therefore free to meet it in new ways. In Bankei's wider teaching, the mind we are born with is calm and clear, and the feelings that disturb it come and go; in the image from the fourth chapter, they are passing weather, not the sky itself.

Feeling Without Being Swept Away

How, in practice, can we feel a strong emotion without being swept away by it? Zen practice suggests a few simple steps, which can be used during sitting and in daily life.

The first step is to notice the feeling. This is what Marcus did when the juice spilled. Instead of being completely inside the anger, he noticed it: heat in the face, tightness in the jaw, the urge to shout. Noticing creates a small space between the feeling and our response. In that space, choice becomes possible.

The second step is to feel the feeling in the body. Strong emotions always have a physical side: a racing heart, a knot in the stomach, a lump in the throat, tension in the shoulders, heat or cold. Instead of getting lost in the thoughts that come with the feeling, such as "How dare she" or "Everything is going wrong", we can turn our attention to these bodily sensations. Feeling them directly, with curiosity rather than resistance, often helps them change and soften.

The third step is to breathe with the feeling. The breath, as we saw in the second chapter, is always present and can help the body settle. Breathing slowly, with a slightly longer out-breath, while feeling the emotion in the body, can help us ride the wave instead of being knocked down by it.

The fourth step is to name the feeling, silently and simply: "anger", "fear", "sadness", "shame". Some research suggests that putting feelings into words can reduce their intensity a little, perhaps because it engages the parts of the mind that reflect rather than react. Whatever the explanation, many people find that naming a feeling makes it feel more manageable.

The fifth step is to wait before acting. Strong feelings come with strong urges: to shout, to run away, to send an angry message, to eat, to hide. Many of these urges, if followed immediately, lead to actions we later regret. By noticing the feeling, feeling it in the body, breathing and naming it, we give ourselves time. When the wave has passed its peak, we can decide what, if anything, to do.

Meeting Anger

Anger is often a response to something that seems unfair, harmful or frustrating. In itself, anger is not bad. It can be a signal that a boundary has been crossed or that something needs to change. The difficulty is that anger also tends to narrow our view and push us toward quick, sometimes harmful, actions.

When anger rises, Zen practice suggests meeting it with attention rather than either suppressing it or letting it explode. Suppressing anger, pretending we are not angry or pushing it down, may keep the peace for a moment, but it often leaves the anger stuck inside us, where it can turn into resentment or come out later in other ways. Exploding, shouting or acting on the anger immediately, often causes harm to others and to ourselves.

The middle way is to feel the anger fully, in the body, while not acting on it immediately. Marcus felt his anger. He did not pretend it was not there. But he did not let it control his words. Later, when he was calm, he could think about whether there was something to address, perhaps a rule about drinks near the computer, explained gently to his daughter.

Sometimes, after the wave of anger has passed, we discover that the anger was pointing to something real that needs action: an injustice at work, a boundary in a relationship, a problem in the community. In these cases, the calm that comes after the wave can help us act more wisely and effectively than we could have in the heat of the moment.

It can also help, after anger has passed, to look gently at what the anger was protecting. Often, beneath anger, there is another feeling: hurt, fear, tiredness or a sense of not being respected. Marcus realized later that his anger at the spilled juice was partly fear about his deadline and partly exhaustion from a long week. Seeing this did not excuse shouting, which he had not done. But it helped him understand himself, and it led him to ask his manager for a little more time on the report.

Meeting Fear and Worry

Fear and worry are among the most common strong feelings. They may arise suddenly, as in a moment of danger, or slowly, as a background hum of anxiety about the future.

When fear rises, the body prepares to fight or flee: the heart races, breathing quickens, muscles tense. In real danger, this is helpful. But often fear arises in situations where there is no immediate danger, such as before a presentation, while waiting for news or in the middle of the night.

Meeting fear with Zen practice involves the same steps: noticing, feeling it in the body, breathing and naming. It can also help to ground ourselves in the present, by feeling the feet on the floor, the weight of the body on the chair or the sounds in the room. Fear usually lives in the future, in what might happen. Grounding brings us back to now, where, very often, we are actually safe.

It is also important to be gentle. Fear often comes with harsh thoughts: "I should not be afraid," "This is stupid," "What is wrong with me?" These thoughts add a second layer of suffering on top of the first. Zen practice invites us to meet fear as we might meet a frightened child: with patience and kindness, not with scolding.

Worry has a particular shape. It tends to loop, returning again and again to the same possibilities, as Rafael's did in the previous chapter. When you notice that you are caught in a worry loop, you might say silently, "Worrying," and come back to the breath or to the feeling of your feet. You may need to do this many times. Each return is a small step out of the loop. Over time, many people find that the loops become a little shorter and a little less tight.

Meeting Sadness and Grief

Sadness and grief are different from anger and fear. They do not usually push us toward quick action. Instead, they tend to slow us down, make us want to withdraw and bring tears.

In many cultures, people are encouraged to hide their sadness, to "be strong" or to "move on". But sadness and grief are natural responses to loss, disappointment and change. They are part of loving and caring. Zen practice does not ask us to get rid of them. It invites us to allow them, to feel them and to let them move through us in their own time.

When sadness arises, you can sit with it, feeling it in the body: perhaps a heaviness in the chest, a lump in the throat, tears. You can breathe with it. You can let tears come if they want to. Many people find that, when they stop fighting their sadness and simply let it be there, it moves more freely, and they feel lighter afterwards, even if the loss is still real.

Grief, especially after the death of someone we love, can come in waves for a long time. A smell, a song or an anniversary can bring a wave of sorrow years later. This is normal. The wave image is especially helpful here: grief rises and falls, and between the waves there may be moments of peace, even of joy. Over time, for many people, the waves become less frequent, though they may never disappear completely.

When Feelings Are Too Big

The practices in this chapter are helpful for the ordinary strong feelings of daily life. But sometimes feelings are too big, too frequent or too long-lasting to be met by meditation alone.

If you experience intense fear, panic or sadness that does not ease, or that makes daily life very difficult, please talk with a doctor or another qualified professional. If you have experienced trauma, focusing closely on bodily sensations during meditation can sometimes bring up overwhelming memories or feelings. In that case, it is wise to practise only with the guidance of someone who understands trauma, and to stop at once if you feel overwhelmed. Opening your eyes, looking around the room and naming what you see can help bring you back.

If you ever feel that you might harm yourself or someone else, please do not wait. Contact your local emergency services or a crisis helpline right away, or go to the nearest emergency department. Reaching out for help in such a moment is not a failure of practice. It is an act of courage and care.

Zen practice can be a real support in difficult times, and many people find that it helps them meet their feelings with more steadiness. But it is one support among many, and it works best alongside human connection and professional care when these are needed.

Three Lives and Their Waves

Henrik is fifty-eight. His wife died two years ago. Most days now, he manages well. But some days, a wave of grief hits him without warning, in the supermarket or on a walk, and he feels he might fall apart. For a long time, he tried to push these waves down, telling himself he should be over it. A grief counsellor suggested that he let the waves come. Now, when grief arrives, he finds a quiet place if he can, sits or stands still, feels the heaviness in his chest and breathes with it. Sometimes he cries. He says the waves are still painful, but they pass more quickly when he does not fight them, and afterwards he often feels close to his wife.

Sade is sixteen. A close friendship has ended badly, and she feels a mixture of sadness, anger and embarrassment that she does not know how to handle. She lies awake replaying arguments. A teacher at her school runs a short meditation club at lunchtime, and Sade starts going. She learns to notice her feelings and name them: "sad", "angry", "embarrassed". She learns to feel them in her body and to breathe. The feelings do not disappear, but she finds she is less lost in them. She also talks to her older cousin about what happened, which helps even more.

Fatima is twenty-nine and becomes very nervous before giving presentations at work. Her heart races, her hands shake and her mind goes blank. She has started practising a short routine before each presentation: she sits for two minutes, feels her feet on the floor, notices the fear in her body without trying to push it away and says silently, "Fear is here, and that is all right." Then she breathes slowly for a minute. The fear does not go away completely, but it no longer takes over. She is able to speak more clearly, and her presentations improve.

Marcus, from the beginning of this chapter, continues his sitting practice. He notices that he still gets angry, but more often now he catches the wave before it breaks. He also talks with his children about feelings, teaching them to notice when they are angry or sad and to take a breath. One day, Ella tells him, "Daddy, I am angry. I am breathing." He is deeply moved.

Practical Steps

First, notice the wave early. Learn the first signs of strong feelings in your body, such as heat, tightness or a racing heart. The earlier you notice, the more space you have.

Second, feel it in the body. When a strong feeling arises, turn your attention from the thoughts to the bodily sensations. Feel them with curiosity rather than resistance.

Third, breathe with the feeling. Take slow breaths, with a slightly longer out-breath, while staying with the sensations.

Fourth, name the feeling. Silently say "anger", "fear", "sadness" or whatever fits. Keep the naming simple and kind.

Fifth, wait before acting. Let the wave pass its peak before you speak or act. Then decide calmly what, if anything, needs to be done.

Sixth, seek support when feelings are too big. If feelings are overwhelming, frequent or lasting, talk with someone you trust and with a qualified professional.

A Short Practice: Riding One Wave

This practice takes about ten minutes. It is best done when you are calm, as a way of learning to meet feelings, so that you can use the skill when stronger waves come.

Sit in your usual posture and settle with the breath for a few minutes. Then bring to mind a recent situation that caused a mild to moderate feeling, such as irritation, worry or sadness. Do not choose the most painful thing in your life. Choose something manageable.

Recall the situation in some detail, until you feel a little of the feeling arise. Then let the story go and turn your attention to the body. Where do you feel the emotion? Perhaps in the chest, the stomach, the throat, the face or the shoulders. What is the feeling like: tight, heavy, hot, fluttering?

Breathe gently with these sensations. Imagine your breath flowing around them, giving them space. Silently name the feeling: "irritation", "worry", "sadness". Notice whether the sensations change as you watch them. They may grow stronger for a moment, then ease. They may move or change shape.

Stay with the sensations for a few minutes, breathing and noticing. If thoughts about the situation return, notice them and come back to the body. If the feeling becomes too strong, open your eyes, feel your feet on the floor and return to the breath.

Finally, let go of the feeling and return to the breath for a minute or two. Notice how you feel now. You have just practised riding a small wave. With practice, this skill can help you meet larger waves in daily life.

Questions People Often Ask

"Is it wrong to feel angry or sad?" No. Feelings are natural human responses, and Zen does not ask you to stop having them. The practice is about how you meet them: with attention and kindness, rather than being completely swept away or pushing them down. Even very experienced practitioners feel anger and sadness.

"What if noticing my feelings makes them stronger?" Sometimes, at first, paying attention to a feeling can make it seem stronger, because you are no longer distracting yourself from it. Often, if you stay with it gently, it then begins to ease. But if a feeling becomes overwhelming, it is fine to stop, ground yourself and come back another time, or to seek support.

"Can I teach these practices to my children?" Many parents and teachers do, in simple forms. Children can learn to notice their feelings, name them and take a few slow breaths, as Ella did. Keep it light and playful, and practise together. If a child seems to be struggling with strong or persistent feelings, it is wise to talk with a doctor, a school counsellor or another qualified professional.

Chapter Summary

Strong feelings are like waves: they arise, peak and pass, and beneath them there is an awareness that can notice them. Zen does not ask us to stop feeling, but to meet feelings fully without being swept away or acting before we have chosen.

The seventeenth-century teacher Bankei told a monk with a short temper to show it to him, and when the monk could not, pointed out that anger is not a fixed part of our nature but something that arises in moments, which means we can meet it differently. Noticing a feeling, feeling it in the body, breathing with it, naming it and waiting before acting help with anger, fear and sadness alike. When feelings are too big, professional help and, in danger, emergency help are essential.

In the next chapter, we turn from our inner waves to other people, and to the practice of listening with our whole attention.