Meditation - What?
For me, it started out pretty painful. Sitting still was hard. Paying attention to my breath was hard. Holding my arm up to do alternate nostril breathing was just annoying. Even manipulating the breath with slow inhales and slow exhales and holds seemed pointless and made up. So I would just sit there impatiently thinking about whatever flavour of the week “problems” I had and let my mind do what it’d always done - whatever the fuck it wanted. And when meditation was over it was one more thing I could check off my list. I was also frustrated because it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. When do we get to the part where we just sit with an empty mind and hours pass by and we hardly even notice because we’re so super enlightened that our bodies get light and we’re pretty much levitating with a mild glow around us cuz we’re vibrating complete unadulterated bliss? I was impatient to get it. After all, we’re a results-based society, and any endeavor seems to require some sort of final arrival place of completion.
One morning, last summer, it was really nice out. And I stepped out onto the porch and rolled out my yoga mat and just sat with my eyes closed. I listened to the trilling call and response of birds, the fluttering of their wings in the trees that surrounded my porch. The gentle sigh of leaves waking up. Distant traffic wooshes. I felt the sun, warming me like a benevolent giant’s hand hovering just over my skin.
When I opened my eyes, I knew it had happened. I had just meditated. And it was…nice. It wasn’t forced. There weren’t any rules. There wasn’t a time limit or expectation. I just…was.
If I were to explain what meditation means to me now, I’d probably say learning to be with myself. Learning to listen to and feel my breath. Realizing that most of the day I probably am breathing pretty shallow, and consciously deepening that breath. I’d say it’s looking at something, and really seeing it. Eating something, and really tasting it. Touching something, and really appreciating every cell that gives it life (if it’s a living thing) or every life that’s breathed into it (if it’s an inanimate object). It’s observing everything that goes on inside my head, without identifying with or attaching to it. It’s being neutral or equanimous, even when compulsion pulls me to do otherwise.
Thich Nhat Han would teach it as, “Breathing in, I know that I’m breathing in. Breathing out, I know that I’m breathing out.” Jon Kabat Zinn in his book, Wherever You Go, There You Are, says, “Meditation is neither shutting things out nor off. It is seeing things clearly, and deliberately positioning yourself differently in relationship to them.” Pema Chodron, in When Things Fall Apart, describes it as “a gradual awakening, and it’s cumulative, but that’s actually what happens. We don’t sit in meditation to become good meditators. We sit in meditation so that we’ll be more awake in our lives.”
In other words, meditation is simply the processing of life. Of not only being aware, but being connected to that awareness. One of my most frequent places to meditate is in the car. Mainly because it’s one of my least favorite places to be lol. So I pay attention to my breath, and come back to the present moment, no matter how much my brain tries to think of useless information designed to make me tired and irritable (my brain, like my untrained pitbull when I first brought her home, can be a real asshole sometimes). And then repeating the process until I no longer am attached to or plagued by thoughts. They seem more and more like distant clouds I can choose to observe and maybe even be amused by (“that one looks like two turtles humping!”) but ultimately know they’re transient vapors and are inconsequential.
But I think my favorite way to meditate is just being in nature. Noticing the trillions of miracles happening simultaneously to make everything around me possible. All the life and change that happens without our intervention. To get down to the ground and actually feel the pull of the earth that supports our every step, fast or slow. To place my hand on a tree and feel the sturdiness and denseness of it, the dryness and warmth of its bark. To feel the wind lifting my hair, brushing my skin, cleansing me of my past selves of years, months or even minutes ago. To hear the sound of rushing water, and knowing I’ll never look at the same river twice. To wonder at the rustling of unseen creatures, their private lives and struggles and triumphs, not so unlike ours. To notice the bending of branches, lending their weight to rain, snow, birds, squirrels and not minding, as the alternative to bending is breaking. To feel how small I am, how to this forest, I am the transient vapor that’s inconsequential.
Meditation is ultimately an exercise in liberation. I think for a lot of us, myself included, it’s our thoughts that hold us back, that keep us in a prison of what we think we can’t do. So learning to use my breath, my awareness, and my choice in thoughts has really become a game changer. It’s knowing that I don’t need to attend every fight I’m invited to, knowing that everyone else’s thoughts are fucking with them too, knowing that the only truth in life is impermanence, and that’s why paying attention to what’s happening now is so important. Now only happens once. You can meditate when you’re walking, showering, cooking, washing dishes, petting your dog, doing the laundry, playing with your child, drinking your coffee. Every moment you’re alive is an opportunity for meditation. Just start by noticing your breath. Breathe in, and know you’re the witness. Breathe out, and witness.
