Meditating, Uncomfortably

On Wednesday evenings, I lead a meditation group. I avoid saying I "teach" meditation because although I do share what I know, I am not an expert and --more significantly -- I think our true teacher is experience. In fact, this truth was clearly evident during last week's meditation!

I had decided to respond to a member's interest in a quote from the Buddha about mindfulness meditation, to which I had briefly alluded. Again, no expert here. So I read more about the piece in question, I read the longer passage translated from the Pali language that contained the quote, and I learned quite a bit on my own. I was fascinated to discover so much so quickly about "The Four Fields of Mindfulness," which is what I titled the meditation I planned for our next meeting.

Please trust me when I say you don't want me to re-hash the contents of that meditation. It was about 25 minutes of what our group later agreed was "cerebral," "definitely not touchy-feely," and though no one said this out loud: probably not relaxing. And yet... as we continued to share our impressions about the experience, many revelations came to light.

First, the group suggested that getting calm is the gateway to meditation. Finding a supported seat, taking time to slow the breath, listening to words of guidance, listening to sounds, employing time-proven instructions for mantra or mudra or mandala -- all these made the list of ways to get calm, even if only for a few short minutes. The delight of stepping into this kind of natural, expansive, trusting mind-state is so enticing that it is often the primary topic of an individual meditation session, and it can be the entire reason someone develops a meditation practice at all.

However, everyone also agreed that every meditation session is different; you never know what's going to happen even if you know the technique quite well. A person might fall asleep, might get anxious for no apparent reason, might be confronted with half-forgotten memories, plans for the future, weird ideas and weirder images, flashes of color or sound, trains of thought so off-track they resemble mental spaghetti. The click-click-clack of a wobbly ceiling fan hones attention into knife-sharp annoyance. An otherwise mild knee pain scorches like a griddle from within. Demons come out to play, and they laugh at the ridiculousness of notions such as calm, confidence, hope or compassion.

Another way to describe this unpredictability is to say that meditation is not designed to stop a person's thinking. This is a common misunderstanding. Just as the heart beats and the lungs breathe, the mind thinks. Our most skillful response to this situation is to let it happen, becoming more and more attuned to the mind's permutations, without feeling compelled to jump on board every thought that floats by. "Don't believe everything you think," as the adage goes. This result of this inner-sensitivity training -- again, despite possible criticism that meditation fosters spacey spiritual bypassing -- is renewed inspiration and ability to focus. As meditators, we are learning to notice and include all of these feelings in our awareness. As this ability grows, we become more and more inclusive, less fearful, more complete as humans. We are more inclined to choose our actions boldly, deliberately, and personally, with eyes ever-open toward consummate wholeness.

As it turned out, our group's little chat was just as important as the meditation itself. In fact, one would not have been complete without the other. Isn't this a delightful example of wholeness? Each person's individual experience became part of our shared wisdom. And, in classic Buddhist fashion, even the "bad" meditation was indispensable to insight.

I like to remind folks who show up on Wednesdays for meditation of how brave they are. It doesn't look like much, this sitting. But once a person commits (and re-commits!) to the full experience, anything can happen. Everything happens. You happen. It's an ongoing endeavor, but without it, life's disconnection seems inevitable. It is not. Pain and discomfort are inevitable; suffering them alone is optional. Find your own way to wholeness... you are always welcome to our group, where we meditate -- sometimes calmly, sometimes uncomfortably -- together.

Buddha's Head, Yandara Yoga Institute, MX