When we hear noises, they remind us to gently return to the breath. As we notice the activity of the mind, we embrace the effortlessness of our breath as it gradually guides us back to the present. Vipassana also teaches us to scan the sensations of the body from the head to the feet, focusing our attention on each area, noting which sensory phenomena are rising and falling. If there is pain or some other sensation in one particular area of the body, we embrace the feeling rather than try to resist or change it. If for some reason we have to move, we do it gently and remain aware of our adjusted position.
The practice of meditation invites us to participate in nondoing. Meditation isn’t about doing nothing; it’s about doing nothing else. The purpose isn’t to stop the thoughts and feelings that appear or to manipulate them to bring about joy or bliss. We are requested to sit and observe and not attach to the mind’s (ego’s) splendid array of distractions, determined to kidnap us from the moment. When we are assaulted by thousands of thoughts, the exit strategy is to gently return to the breath. This conscious act is done again and again. This is the practice. When practicing moment-to-moment awareness, we may be surprised to see how short-lived each thought actually is.
Distractions are a part of everyone’s meditation, not just the beginner’s. It’s normal for our first thoughts to seem like a nuisance, but we soon realize that these distractions are what it’s all about. Our lesson is to learn to deal with these distractions without dwelling on them. Learning to deal with a simple thought and watching it disappear is our training for those times when life hurls another challenge our way. Like watching a thought, our practice is to detach; soon it will pass away.
We soon see that this becomes the ebb and flow of life. Thoughts come and thoughts go; challenges come and go as well. The rhythm of life becomes the same dance: Life comes together, and life falls apart. Our lesson is always to observe and not to become preoccupied by following the never-ending story line.
Being mindful of our life force is our introduction to enlightenment. We summon mindfulness to follow us throughout our busy day. We move away from nondoing to doing, recommitting to our intention of paying attention from deep within and purposely observing even the most mundane movements. By witnessing life, rather than attaching to each event, each thought, we gracefully respond to each challenge in lieu of “reacting.”
Showing up each day to our area of practice, sitting and paying attention to our breath, even for ten minutes, reinforces our discipline to start our day with mindfulness. When breathing in, we know we are breathing in; when breathing out, we know we are breathing out. This simple task, repeated again and again, can change our lives.
Our practice becomes one of remaining open to the ongoing challenges and obstacles that seem to throw themselves at us. This open-mindedness becomes the path to the divine and to our inner joy; the divine plan was in place before our arrival. Difficulties can now guide our spirit to finally awaken.
We find peace when we embrace and accept the gifts and demands of life, now that we are equipped with our practice, returning to the moment again and again—always coming back to the breath. When thoughts slow down, the eyes of the spirit open, and we see the world through the eyes of an alert, yet humble, sage.
“I can’t sit still long enough to meditate” is a common response when the practice is suggested. The Thai dharma teacher Ajahn Chah once observed that some people thought that the longer one sits, the wiser one must be. However, true wisdom comes from being mindful in all postures. I gently explain to men I sponsor that there are twenty-four hours in each day; however, if you can’t devote the morning to extended meditation, please sit for ten minutes and be mindful of your breath. The mind will wander, but keep returning back to the breath. Keep returning again and again to the breath.
Restlessness is common in the practice of meditation. In Theravada Buddhism it is considered one of the five hindrances, or obstacles, to sitting meditation. I experience its appearance not only in my daily practice upon rising, but also when sitting on a retreat. I have been on many three- to ten-day retreats. After I arrive and check in, I’m confronted with the fact that I’m there without my normal distractions, and then the mind games begin. A multitude of thoughts drop by for their uninvited visit, trying to convince me that I have to leave. This onslaught of restlessness can last a few hours or even for the first day or two.
Whether it happens during a ten-day retreat or a morning meditation of twenty minutes, our only defense is to allow the restlessness to arise and to acknowledge it. When allowing any feeling or thought to arise, we are being present with it. This immediately brings us back to the moment. The truth is that we can’t be present and feel restless at the same time. We breathe in and breathe out. Suddenly the restlessness dissolves into peace. The invasion of thoughts is drowned out by the roar of silence as we become lost and then cradled in the moment. The projection of the impossibility of sitting for ten minutes can turn into thirty minutes of just being present.
To become lost in the moment is to be lost in love. The only way this happens is to sit through what our ego will continue to assault us with—intrusive thoughts, determined to trip us on the spiritual path. With steadfastness we stay with the breath and suddenly stumble in the moment; the paradox is then revealed. Becoming lost in the moment is always a gift.
The practice of mindfulness encourages us to think only of this moment. It introduces us to the space called here and the time called now. We meet each moment exactly as it is. In this way we can become intimate with all that arises within. The phenomenon of being present is the result of sitting through the restlessness and purposely paying attention to what life offers in each moment.
As we travel across our beautiful planet, we are guided by signs posted on the roadways that indicate where we are and how to get where we’re going. For more information, we refer to a map. Since roads and pathways have true directions, wouldn’t our spiritual path also have true directions?
The practice of meditation, encouraged in Step Eleven, serves as our signpost and map as we travel the spiritual path. Access to these directions will assure us that we’re in the right place at the right time. Anyone who is a true seeker has a lot of “baggage”—after all, we are on a spiritual journey! The information you find within you when practicing sitting meditation tells you what to carry and what to discard.
Be mindful as you follow your breath. While breathing in, pay attention to breathing in. While breathing out, pay attention to breathing out. Observe your thoughts as they float by. In this simple act of practicing the presence—not attaching to any of our thoughts—we can become receptive to the whisper of the universe. We can always find the inspiration that leads us closer to our soul’s purpose.
In my study of mindful meditation, I haven’t discovered a lot written about the guidance we can find in our practice. My motivation for exploring this phenomenon is my interest in Buddhist recovery. I realize the Buddha’s teachings are primarily concerned with suffering and following the path to end that suffering. Buddha wasn’t a big “God guy”; in fact, contained within the Buddhist mythology is a story where Buddha chastises Brahma, the Hindu deva (god) of creation, for returning beings to the cycle of birth and rebirth. Yet regardless of Buddhism’s views toward any belief in a supreme being, so many people attracted to Buddhist recovery have no problem with the word God. They’re not insinuating