Memoir
How I Learned to Meditate Again After a 40-Year Lapse, and What I Get From It
A daily mental reset on the path to perpetual flow
When the Beatles visited India in 1968 to learn Transcendental Meditation from its founder, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, it got my attention.
The search for paths to the right way of thinking and living and the prospect of reaching higher levels of spirituality became addictive to me in my teenage years and continued to lure me throughout my life.
Not long after I started college the following year, I saw an advertisement for an introduction to Transcendental Meditation (TM) being offered on the University of Pennsylvania campus across town. So I went over to check it out.
My Introduction to Meditation
After a brief group introduction, individual TM instructors ushered one novice at a time into a dimly lit ceremonial room where I remember seeing a Buddha statue, candles, incense, and flowers.
My initiator had me sit in a chair and repeat the mantra he was saying — more of a sound than a word. I later learned that actual words are not used because they carry meanings that compete for the meditator’s attention and make it harder to empty the mind of thoughts.
After I’d repeated my one-syllable mantra aloud perhaps a dozen times, my guide told me to continue to say it silently in my head. If errant thoughts interrupted my repetition of the mantra, I was to simply return my focus to the word and go on that way for 20 minutes.
My instructor told me to never say the word out loud again, or to reveal it to anyone. “A farmer would never plant a seed and then dig it up to look at it or show it to others,” my TM teacher explained. “He would just let it grow.”
But with me, the seeds of TM never took, never grew. After a few months, I gave it up.
A Four-Decade Lapse
It would take me some 40 years to find my way back to meditation. In around 2010, I was living and working as an expat in Basel, Switzerland, where a colleague invited me to join her for an evening session at the Tibetan Buddhist Meditation Center there.
I accepted my friend’s invitation and climbed a couple of flights of stairs in a dusty old building with her to a large room with rows of meditation cushions positioned throughout a room that soon filled up with a couple of dozen devotees. A middle-aged man with a beard entered the room and sat on his own cushion in the front, facing the meditators.
The Meditation Style That Stuck
He introduced himself in a thick Scottish brogue and told us his name was Hamish. He then proceeded to teach the method of Tibetan breath-focused meditation that I have practiced ever since. To the best of my recollection, this is what he said:
“Start by sitting with your rear end toward the front edge of your cushion and get into the half-lotus position. Imagine the top of your head touching the sky. Place the tip of your tongue on the roof of your mouth. Keep your jaw, mouth and teeth unclenched and relaxed.
“Make sure your neck, back and spine are straight. And rest the palms of your hands on your thighs, keeping your arms bent, and your elbows facing outward.
“You should be touching the ground in three places: Your two knees are touching the floor, and your rear end is resting on your meditation cushion on the ground. You’re in the posture of an eagle getting ready to flap its wings and take off in flight.
“Finally, keep your eyes gently open, and place your focus on a spot about one meter in front of you.”
This last instruction felt unnatural and a bit uncomfortable to me, so I closed my eyes and did my best to do follow all the rest of his instructions.
Just Breathe…
He went on:
“Now we’re ready to begin meditating. First, though, it’s best if we put ourselves in the right mental space. So imagine something pleasant — a flower, a sunset, the horizon over the sea, a still pond in the forest. I find that the sound of the gong always relaxes me and puts me in the mood to meditate.”
And with that, he struck a brass gong three times, softly, with a pause between each strike, letting the sound resonate.
“ Now we’re ready to begin. Our meditation centers our mind on our breathing. And we breathe not from the chest but from deep down in the diaphragm. We focus on the inhale, the exhale, and the pause in between. So let’s try that.
“They say our minds should be divided in three: 25% is focused on mindfulness — paying attention to the inhale, the exhale, and the pause in between; another 25% is focused on awareness — being aware of where we are and what we’re doing, but also being aware of the countless other stimuli that confront us, including feelings of discomfort, an itch, sounds and noises, random thoughts and so on.
“The remaining 50% is dedicated to openness or spaciousness. This means adopting an attitude like the sky, which exists above the clouds that come and go, the aircraft that fly by, and the hustle and bustle going on below. In the face of all that, the sky remains fully aware of everything, yet it’s distracted by nothing. It dwells on nothing, clings to nothing, and judges nothing. It observes, it notices, it accepts, but it does not dwell; it remains detached. When we feel ourselves becoming distracted in meditation, we don’t beat ourselves up and tell ourselves we’re doing it wrong. We don’t get frustrated. We simply register the interruption, whatever it may be, and return our attention to the inhale, the exhale, and the pause in between.”
And so for a few minutes, we followed those instructions the best we could. Then Hamish strikes the gong three times again and we take a short break before resuming our meditation.
Zen Parables
In this second round, Hamish interjects a couple of times with zen parables as we continue to focus on our breathing. I always found them enlightening and helpful. The one I remember best goes like this:
“A student, who happened to play beautiful music on his lute, was not satisfied with the progress of his meditation, so he asked the master what to do. “Should I be more tight in my practice, or should I be more loose?” the student asked.
“You make beautiful music with your lute,” the master said. “Do you find that the sound is more pleasant to the ear when the strings are tighter or when they’re looser?”
“When each string is tuned properly — neither too tight nor too loose — is when the instrument produces the most lovely sound,” said the student.
“That, said the master, is how to practice your meditation: not too tight and not too loose.”
After that, I began to see my mind — a constant battleground between loose and tight — as a 12-string guitar, with each string having to be kept in perfect tune, in perfect balance between passive and aggressive, indulgent and industrious, spontaneous and organized, and so on.
All Good Things Must Come to An End
Unfortunately, Hamish told the class one day that he was going to return to Scotland. His replacement was a woman named Marina, who ruined everything. She started introducing Sanskrit words to replace our focus on breath-based meditation. Then she began reading passages from prayer books, along with other exercises that just felt too religious to me. After a couple of her sessions, I walked out and never came back.
Since then, my meditation practice has relocated to my bedroom, wherever that may be. For a time, I tried to force myself to focus only on my breathing. But I found that sometimes, the natural flow of my thoughts would carry me to wonderful places.
For example, I’d imagine my lungs contracting and expanding, contracting and expanding within my body, filling my blood with oxygen that is sent to my heart to sustain my life. I’d imagine the “inhale, exhale and pause in between” extending all the way back in time to my birth and before that to when I lived inside my mother’s womb. This made me feel a closeness, a oneness with my mom that continues even now, years after her death.
Another equally powerful recurring thought during meditation is the realization of how wonderful it sometimes feels to simply breathe free — to sense the complete ease with which the healthy body functions. At those moments, I also realize how little I really need, how the comfort of my room, the essentials of my home and life, all deserve the utmost gratitude.
From a Stress-Relief Exercise to a Way of Rewiring the Mind
A very important moment in my meditation practice came when I started seeing it not only as 20 minutes of stress-relieving respite in the course of my day but rather as a method of reprogramming my mind and the ways it responds to things.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t discount the physical and mental health benefits of mediation, which are substantiated by a strong growing body of scientific evidence.
For example, a December 2009 article in Cognitive Processing reported that many behavioral and neuroscientific studies have suggested that meditation states may be able to achieve an increase in cognitive and affective neuroplasticity in the brain. The clinical relevance of such findings could include greater attention, consciousness, self-awareness, and empathy.
Moreover, the National Institute of Health’s National Library of Medicine published a June 19, 2023, article reporting that magnetic resonance imaging has shown positive brain changes and several improved brain functions associated with meditation.
The article said meditation could improve the immune system and inflammatory processes, as well as have positive effects on multi-factorial diseases, including diabetes, hypertension, and fibromyalgia.
In terms of mental health, the article reported that meditation has been shown to help address mental health problems such as social anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and depression.
But that’s not what drew me to meditation. Beyond clearing my mind, grounding me, and focusing my attention, I came to look at my daily 20-minute meditation session as an opportunity to give myself a little pep talk to calm my so-called “monkey mind.”
You may have one of those volatile little creatures bouncing around in your brain, too. You know all about their hair-trigger tantrums: the minute one of your household appliances doesn’t work, for example, Cheetah explodes in a raging fit; when some online site doesn’t accept your password — there he is again, rattling your cage; when you order something from Amazon and they send you the wrong thing — feel the wrath of Cheetah! But know that it doesn’t have to be that way.
For more cognitive benefits of meditation from a scientific perspective, check this article by Dr. Mehmet Yildiz, covering his research and extensive experience in meditation: Meditation Can Boost the Cortical Thickness in the Brain and Prevent the Thinning of It.
The Four Noble Truths and a Box of Handkerchiefs
When I read Sylvia Boorstein’s “That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist” some years back, there was a line that really struck me. Boorstein quoted a friend who’d said to her, “The first time I heard the Four Noble Truths, I cried.”
I didn’t shed any tears when I first read the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, but I did get the sense I was on to something important. These core tenets of Buddhism essentially say that:
- Pain, suffering, sadness and loss are inescapable facts of life. You try to fight ’em, but you can’t beat ‘em.
- You can save yourself a lot of angst and agita by grounding your mind and not making bad things that you can’t change any worse than they already are. (Sorry Cheetah. You’re fired!)
- If you depend on external events to make you happy, you’re gonna be disappointed. Find your happiness within.
- You think reprogramming your mind to think this way naturally all the time is hard? You’re goddam right it is! If it was easy, everyone would be doing it. But you can achieve it, through diligent, daily practice. Daily practice of what? You guessed it: Meditation to reprogram your mind to think properly for the world we live in.
Yeah, but…
In spite of the exquisite sense all this makes to me, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to confess that one thing about my understanding of Eastern philosophy has always troubled me and prevented me from fully buying in.
It’s always struck me as too passive, too inclined to accept everything — good and bad alike. It’s struck me as a kind of peace-loving mentality where you don’t resist the assaults of life but accept them, like a supple tree bending in the wind.
Then, I stumbled upon the Chinese philosophy of wu-wei, which has been translated as “doing nothing” but more accurately means “effortless action.” My definition is that it means spontaneously doing what any situation in life calls for without hesitation or forethought. As I understand it, wu-wei is the perpetual state of flow, which has always been my holy grail.
And in this Corner, The Fighting Philosopher
Wu-wei stems from Taoism, founded by the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu, who believed we should strive to align our behavior with that of the natural processes of the universe. Its core tenets are spontaneity and living in accordance with the flow of natural forces, rather than fighting them.
However, this does not mean never fighting at all. If it did, Lao Tzu would not have become famous for saying that “The best fighter is never angry.” In fact, I’ve read a story that once, when Lao Tzu was talking to his disciples and a guy started arguing and interrupting the conversation, Lao Tzu got up, walked over to the disruptive dude, and kicked his ass before calmly returning to the conversation. This story closed the deal for me.
The Journey Continues
And so, my meditation practice continues to evolve in my 70s.
In the spirit of wu-wei, I spend much less time on technique and instead attempt to master the art of trying not to try. My goal is just to follow the natural flow of nature and be spontaneous.
I try to master this paradoxical, non-disciplined discipline every time I sit down and meditate, hoping that someday, I’ll finally get it or, more likely, just stop trying to.
Takeaways
When it comes to meditation, to each his own. I started out with Transcendental Meditation, which is the preferred mode of celebrities from David Lynch, Jerry Seinfeld, and Oprah Winfrey to Clint Eastwood and Mick Jagger. But it didn’t appeal to me, so I moved on to another form that does. We’re all individuals, and luckily, we now have countless choices of different meditation techniques available to us that are only a click away on our laptops or smart phones.
Meditation can help you to realize how little you really need that you don’t have. If you’re taking 20 minutes to ground yourself by focusing on your breathing, and you’re healthy and free of congestion in your nose and lungs, and there’s a roof over your head and some food in the refrigerator, you’ve got A LOT TO BE THANKFUL FOR.
Meditation is a great way to relax and relieve stress. But it can also be a regimen for reprogramming your mind to be more flexible, to manage expectations more realistically, and to overcome your tendency to conjure up and dwell on negative thoughts.
Like life, your meditation practice is likely to go through phases in which you focus on different things, experience different things, and benefit in different ways.
Don’t be too rigid about your meditation practice. Sure, it’s great if you can fit it into a daily routine that works for you. But don’t force it. It needn’t be at the same time every day unless you want it to be. Remember, it’s part of an overall philosophy of “not trying.” So let it come, and do it when you feel like it. Nothing wrong with that.
Finally, interested in learning more about meditation? Here’s a recommended reading list, including some of the best books I’ve read on the subject:
References
- That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist, by Silvia Boorstein
- Trying Not to Try, by Edward Slingerland
- Wherever You Go, There You Are, by Jon Kabat-Zin
- The Art of Meditation, by Mattieu Ricard
- Thoughts Without a Thinker, by Mark Epstein
Thank you for reading my story.
