Nonfiction: Meditation, a discourse on personal practice.

             I came to meditation by accident. During adolescence, like many I struggled with emotional control. I was angry. I was horny. I was frustrated. I was… a teenager? I don’t know how we all get through it, I guess we don’t all make it to the other side.

I remember starlit nights, best just before the monsoons. Climbing atop the fort in our backyard; I sought privacy and quiet in the moments when my rage, sadness, and hormonal confusion peaked. Sitting cross-legged, staring up at the sky, trying to get a grip on my roiling emotions.

            

After years of this habit, I began to find certain subtleties within myself. Real or imagined, who can say? When on the topic of thought itself, it is impossible to disentangle truth from one's perceived truth. I strongly felt, and feel to this day, energy within my body. I learned to bring it to my hands, and could feel them warming as I focused. I would go through my day with this thought in my mind, practicing applications. Taking the energy to my muscles, focusing on physical tasks, I used this to empower myself. Perception or reality? Perhaps that is irrelevant in the face of mental boundaries.

            

Practitioners of eastern-ish philosophy gave me encouragement. Though it was never attained, I was told that with practice I could learn to emit such subtle forces as to manipulate flame. This suggestion was made a professional in the healthcare field. A woman who was well respected within my church, and viewed by my parents as possessing great faith and wisdom. All this to say, trustworthy. I still can’t put out a candle; have yet to see it done in a way that gets past the bullshit detector.

             I can however sit quietly and slowly gain control of my mind. Depression is a mainstay in my life. I have less anxiety than some, though I experience significant post-socialization anxiety. Without the calm control exerted through my meditations, I fear where and whom I would be today. I have two main mantras, though they have shifted over time.

“I am the mountain and my thoughts are the clouds.”

When my mind is racing, panicked, unfocused, I am unable to keep away my own self-judgement. Every mistake, misstep, and misspoken word pounds at the doors, whirling. This cycle can become a tornado, tearing up the foundations as the vortex gains strength. A mind can be its own worst enemy. I use the mantra above to ground myself, contextualizing my whirlwind. Storms pass. Winds fade. Mountains are carved by them, yes, but they remain mountains after the sky has cleared all the same. Winds lose their speed, and the mountain passively watches and waits.

I am the mountain and my thoughts are the clouds. I say it slowly, one half on inhalation, the next as I exhale. I find it helpful.

I have another mantra, and while the mountain was given to me by another, this I developed independently. Perhaps it was borrowed, and my mind did not attribute the source. I like to use it when I am feeling overwhelmed or stressed.

“I am the stream, and life is the bank. I am the stream, and trials are the eddies and currents. I am the stream, and the jabs of others are stones thrown in the water.”

This is an adaptation for the page. In truth, this mantra is a visualization. I don’t speak those words to myself, not exactly. Maybe they could be formatted and reworked into something worthy someday. The troubles others give me, or that I must overcome for myself, are contextualized as shores and banks. Time, and my day to day are eddies and currents. A hurtful word from another becomes a stone tossed thoughtlessly into the stream. I am that stream. I move forward. I accept the world around me, and I respond to its disruptions. However, I flow onwards. The ripples pass, and it is not long downriver before the signs of the largest stone have dissipated into nothingness. The river flows forward, unperturbed.

I am the river.

             Some days I cannot find the focus for a visualization. There are times when words cycled on repeat fail. A breath in, slow, held slightly, a breath out, slow and full. Repeat. Find a location within myself to focus attention on while inhalation passes. The nose? Mouth? Chest? Wherever feels right. Find another for exhalation. Repeat, slowly, until the mind settles. A quiet and dark place helps me. Water falling across my body helps me. Being surrounded by beauty has helped me. Some days I meditate on my body, moving from piece to piece trying to bring it into a place of peace.

Acceptance. Radical acceptance. Acknowledge reality and move forward. I have found helpful tools from other sources over the years. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) uses many tools from eastern philosophy, and at its root the mindfulness movement follows trails laid centuries ago.

An exercise I gained from CBT and use occasionally helps with focus. Find an object. I have used both physical objects I held as well as well remembered items held in my mind. Describe that object, either in your head to yourself, or externally. Carefully. Slowly. Every detail. What is its texture, its features, its shape, its color, how does it feel in your hands, what does it make you think of, anything you can bring to your thoughts. Focus and clarity.

            

I no longer have a fort in my backyard. Today I spent hours and hours a week in the shower, wasting water, cross-legged on the floor beneath the calming flow. I still move energy throughout my body. Through the fragments of eastern-ish philosophy that I have read or been taught, I now hold many points within my body that I move energy to and fro. My crown, my minds eye, my throat, my heart, my stomach, my groin, my feet. I use this focused energy as a form of meditation at times. Slowing down other stimulus in my mind, deeply moving my thought into the energy I seek to find within myself. Some days it is difficult, and I cannot muster it. Other days the energy feels like it would burst through me like flame from within. At times a scientifically measurable impact absolutely has to exist, I can feel it so strongly and so vibrantly that temperature changes must exist. I have never had the heart to test, I enjoy the thought that I might have just a hint of super-power.

            

There is significant literature on extreme abilities of master practitioners. Studies showing incredible feats of temperature control, fasting, and iMRI results. Sadly, I am capable of nothing so remarkable or noteworthy.

            

But it helps. It really does. Spending the time to quiet myself. To gather my thoughts. To allow a rest and respite from my worries. Slow down. Slow down your breathing, slow down your body, slow down your thoughts. Once you have done it once or twice with help and guidance, it can become another muscle to exercise. This is my first advice to anyone else looking to develop meditation as a tool.

            

 I know I will always grow and learn on my path. I am not an expert, or even very knowledgeable on this subject compared to those who devote their lives and religious experience to the practice. Meditation is a tool, like so much else in our life it is up to each of us to master its use and keep up its condition. I do not find meditation solves my problems. In some ways, it makes them worse before it helps. It helps me to uncover them, to unearth from my depths that which I would hide from myself, or hide myself from. After I have a better understanding of myself more clearly, I can involve my intellect and rationality in the finding the path forward. Understanding yourself is one of life’s greatest challenges. Meditation helps me. I hope you find your path as well.