“Nobody is going to pour the truth into your head. It’s something you have to find for yourself.” – Noam Chomsky
Meditation comes in as many varieties as meditators. And one thing I’ve noticed about the art of meditation which is generally true each time, it focuses attention within and around the organic system my parents named “Bryan” for a while. And, this entity called “I” doesn’t seem to appreciate the attention or the experience very much. A lot of times meditation comes under the heading, “Do it, it’s good for you.” Like eating your vegetables. Meditate, and your spiritual self will rise above all, or something like that. Still, I am drawn to meditation, as a way to connect with whatever I am in those moments of attention.
Once a week I sit in a room with a bunch of people, until the clock strikes 10am, a bell is struck, and we all dive into our secret hidden interior worlds for a while. After 45 minutes, a bell is struck, and everyone re-emerges. And we tell each other stories about what happened in there, during the 45 minutes.
Who is it that does that? Wants to sit with others silently noticing? And what happens in there for 45 minutes? Images of nirvana? Insights exploding, truths spinning, stories of being enlightened while sitting in a rented room? Is there some TRUTH that appears? Does the universe take pity on the fool? And send me nirvanic thoughts, or better yet, a road map and a destination. Do I “see” the future and past? Does some giant absolutely permanent truth on how to live my life suddenly make itself known?
Nope.
I sit noticing what’s going on in proximity to body and breath, exactly in the room where the body sits and breathes. Or, I’m being highly entertained with these lovely stories and thoughts about, well, everything. Guess which one conditioned separate personality hangs onto? The entertaining one, reality is not all that entertaining if you’re not paying attention to it. Unattended, reality has that “I’m in third grade and it’s the middle of summer vacation and I don’t know what to do but I know I need to do something,” feeling.
If I say, “I’m going to meditate”, I’m already lost. There is an “I” who is on his way to do something called meditation. There’s a doer who must do, and do right. I will get ready. I will focus my concentration. I will purify myself with the Janna’s. I will hear the bell, I will do one pointed meditation. I will come out of meditation when I hear the bell. And I will listen to the talk. And I will find someone to share what I believe in, and “they” will share with me. I will become a better me by thinking of me not thinking. (Sometimes I like to take a second and congratulate myself for not thinking thoughts for a while, I know this because when I thought about it later not a single thought had occurred during the time I wasn’t thinking. Or perhaps ego wasn’t really paying attention to itself having thoughts about not having thoughts. See? See how ridiculous this is?)
I’m buying my own ridiculous stories, selling myself the snake oil and drinking deeply.
I. I’m not sure there’s anywhere where there’s not a I lurking either in conscious awareness or flowing under it. Somewhere.
Another messy blog that hasn’t gone anywhere. No solutions. No outcome. No positive results. Perhaps it’s just some more clarification. But still, it’s like tunneling through fog, the only clarity that appears is there for an instant, and then the fog immediately reforms around me.
It’s called practice.
A day of heat and moisture, and annoying clothes that are now slightly sticky. Summer in the Bittersweet.
Bryan Wagner