Like a lot of people, I made a New Year's resolution, and like most people, I've found mine's been more difficult to keep than anticipated. My resolution was simply to meditate for 15 minutes every day. That's it. Nothing extreme, nothing that should take unreasonable levels of motivation. Just 15 minutes of calm.
So why has it been so hard to keep? There are days when I have several hours totally free, and I remember that I need to meditate sometime today, and I don't end up doing it. I have all the reasons in the world to keep up the practice: developing a clear and calm mind, seeing the world more clearly, cultivating happiness, etc. There should be overwhelming motivation there to just sit for fifteen lousy minutes! Besides, it's not like I've just started to meditate; I've been practicing on and off for several years now. I just want to get rid of the 'on and off' part and actually keep a pure schedule.
For beginners, practicing meditation is described as trying to drink from a waterfall. The amount of thoughts and things running through the head is overwhelming, and the instructions are simply to notice them as they go by and not to hold on. It's almost impossible to keep it all out. With progress, though, the object is to calm the flow of thoughts to be able to concentrate, uninterrupted, on the breathing. By turning down the volume of discursive thoughts, naturally you are more present and clear-minded in everyday life.
At first I chalked up my avoidance to laziness. After all, there's a lot of difficult, continuous concentration going on. Before I start, I remind myself of what exactly I'm going to do 'now I'll concentrate solely on the breath and release all thoughts and emotions...', and I end by saying, 'and this will be the most difficult thing I attempt to do all day'. I've never once been wrong. It is incredibly difficult. But I no longer think that's why I fall into avoiding the practice. Ironically enough, it was while meditating today that I think I found a clearer explanation.
Most of the time, it feels like the thoughts running through my head come from within. 'I had a thought, it came from my mind, it lived there, and it died there'. Lately, however, that feeling has changed a bit. It no longer feels like all those random thoughts come from inside my head. It feels more like a mosquito buzzing close to my ear. I also realize more and more just how worthless and baseless most of those thoughts are. They're just little distractions, stories, sources of entertainment to break up the monotony or to keep my mind occupied. And they're everywhere. During meditation, I am conscious of the stream. During the rest of my day, I barely notice it. That's the scary part - and that's what's been distracting me from my practice: fear. Let me explain.
With enough practice, that little mosquito in the ear should go away, leaving you in full control of your mind. In meditation today, while being pestered by the mosquito more than usual, I just had this moment of abject frustration. 'Just go the hell away already! I don't want all these worthless distractions coursing through my head day after day. I've seen them all before, and I don't want them there.' As soon as that crossed my mind, however, there was a retort. I should have seen it coming. I've heard the concept explained many times before, but I was unprepared for it to hit me. The answer that came back was simply, 'if I go away, what's left?'
The idea is this - all those thoughts, fantasies, feelings, remembrances, desires, the situations you envision, dreams, the stories you tell yourself... all go into this concept of 'you' that doesn't exist except in the world of your own head. They aren't real - all those thoughts and stories don't exist in the real world. It's pure fantasy. They only exist in the mirror - the mirror that you constantly stare into that reflects of how you see yourself. I mentioned in an earlier post the concept of the shattered mirror; this is what I'm talking about. When that mirror in your head breaks, there aren't any stories to tell yourself anymore. There is only the potential to constantly create and re-create who 'you' are in each moment. It's a powerful place to be. And it's equally as terrifying.
That's the place where there is nothing left to hang on to. It's pure emptiness. I think I may have reached a place where I can just start to comprehend the meaning of that emptiness, and it's scary. I can feel that the thoughts aren't really coming from 'me', and I can just get a half glimpse at what it would be like if that external thing were to disappear completely. I'm nowhere near that point of course. I've just seen the top of the waterfall, and that's the first step.
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