Why Meditate - article by Tom Butz
Occasionally, when we are in a relaxed frame of mind, maybe at the end of the day, or at the successful completion of some task, we might find ourselves just sitting back and enjoying a kind of mindless contentment. In these moments, if we take notice, we can sense a shift, a subtle refinement in perception. As we let go of the mind’s characteristic hold on organizing and controlling our daily efforts, we sense the possibility of a spaciousness, a wholeness that opens up to everything with a kind of ease and acceptance.
In such a state, there can be a quality of timelessness and a loosening of space. This is deeply satisfying when it happens, but rare. Seldom do we take a break from the relentless attending and processing that characterizes the mind in action. Occasionally we indulge the luxury of truly relaxing the business of thinking, and we open to the possibility of just being here in the present moment without efforting or doing. This is akin to what some have called the art of meditation, and it may point us in the direction of our deepest longings.
My Grandmother’s Diaries
My Grandmother probably never heard of meditation, but she understood some things about peace of mind. She was a hard working, Midwestern farm wife, raising a large family in the 1920’s. Shortly after she died, I discovered a stack of her diaries, with most of the pages curiously blank. The few entries were things like, “March came in like a Lion this year (1934).” Another entry, “Butchering Day.” Or, “I had a permanent.” In June she wrote, “Amanda’s niece was married.” All of these volumes were sprinkled with the simplest reporting of ordinary events … uninspired observations without interpretation or meaning. Year after year, pretty much the same stuff. March came in either like a Lion or a Lamb. My grandmother had a keen, active intellect, but her diaries suggested a path to something else. Her writing was simply an appreciation of the ordinary… watching nature, observing the coming and going of the seasons, and marking the observance of rituals. In none of her entries, was there any judgment. Although she was a thinking woman, her diaries were not about what she was thinking or doing, but rather about how life was “being.” She was hinting about how to slow down and harvest the fullness of each instant by pausing long enough to capture the deep, inner satisfaction of simply witnessing and being mindful of life’s little moments as they pass, one by one.
Relaxing the Mind
Mostly we are too busy to really pause and see, as my grandmother did. Our undisciplined mind is the master of rapid response. It rushes to take action and do things. It moves from thought to thought like a skipping stone bouncing over the surface of water, resisting the pull of gravity that would allow it to sink more deeply into the still waters below. Generally, the mind sees no point in slowing down to get a more complete view of the here and now. Yet, the possibility exists in every moment, that we could choose to observe the mind’s habit in a rather counter-intuitive way. We could momentarily step off the mental speedrail and linger long enough to (self reflect on) really notice some particular aspect of our experience, such as a sound, or a simple thought or a body sensation. By focusing our attention very keenly on some passing object of awareness, and riding it like a gentle wave, we might begin to discover through our heightened attending a myriad of subtle qualities and flavors to the moment, that were previously unavailable to our itinerant mind. We might be able to catch the silence within each passing moment.
Imagine this: You are driving, and there is a song on the car radio. In busy traffic, you might not register that the radio is even on. If you do manage to listen, your attention will be distracted at best. But imagine a different situation, reclining in your favorite armchair in front of the fireplace with headphones. The song could take you over. The words and lyrical expression could evoke feeling and image, perhaps memories and sensations. Going deeper, you might uncover the harmonics in the music, isolate the separate instruments, listen just to the bass or the piano, then come back to the fullness of the refrain. As you sink into the chair, your attention moves over the landscape of the song, landing on one rich motif after another. You begin to notice a centering of awareness and a dropping down into a more present state of experience in which you are intensely alert, yet deeply calm. In and through the experience of listening, the mind finds a quiet, coherent place to rest. This is a kind of presence. We naturally enjoy these experiences in settings of deep relaxation and pleasure. But most of the time, our restless mind dictates it’s own course of thinking, filled with distractions, wanderings, and the endless effort to address life’s ongoing issues and activities.
Why Meditate?
Meditation uses the mind’s natural tendency to pursue thought, but in a way that allows for deep penetration and true completion in the moment. Just as we allow music to slow the mind and deepen us into present time, meditation is a practice that employs simple objects of attention to help focus awareness and provide a point of interest for the mind to settle upon. Meditation harnesses the mind’s habitual tendency to move frenetically on the surface of things, and instead, allows awareness to fall deeply into the stillness and completion of a single, present moment. In this way, the simplest, inconsequential object of our perception, when hovered over with full attention, may become a portal to inner quiet simply through the act of stepping back and observing.
We discover that by harnessing the mind’s natural inclination to problem solve and to analyze, we can redirect and focus our attention onto deepening increments of stillness and presence by more fully observing or witnessing that which is already on our mind at any given moment. This quality of presence is the momentary dipping into ‘no mind’ or being switched off that we have difficulty sustaining in our day-to-day lives.
Through meditation, we become aware of the paradox and dilemma of our mental striving. In our magnificent ability to fix things, analyze things, decide things, we are the masters of doing, yet we have not found peace. The predicament of our boundless mental pursuit is that in order to complete ourselves, we must learn to pause the mental machinery and still our attention. We must look within in order to discover that the very happiness we strive to attain is itself already whole within the present moment. In my grandmother’s diary, she observed and recorded the simple things of life, and in this witnessing of present tense, she knew something of the peace that passes understanding.
In meditation, we seek the same sense of presence, and we allow our own pure experience to capture us right here, right now, and to free us to experience a finer sense of consciousness.
In such a state, there can be a quality of timelessness and a loosening of space. This is deeply satisfying when it happens, but rare. Seldom do we take a break from the relentless attending and processing that characterizes the mind in action. Occasionally we indulge the luxury of truly relaxing the business of thinking, and we open to the possibility of just being here in the present moment without efforting or doing. This is akin to what some have called the art of meditation, and it may point us in the direction of our deepest longings.
My Grandmother’s Diaries
My Grandmother probably never heard of meditation, but she understood some things about peace of mind. She was a hard working, Midwestern farm wife, raising a large family in the 1920’s. Shortly after she died, I discovered a stack of her diaries, with most of the pages curiously blank. The few entries were things like, “March came in like a Lion this year (1934).” Another entry, “Butchering Day.” Or, “I had a permanent.” In June she wrote, “Amanda’s niece was married.” All of these volumes were sprinkled with the simplest reporting of ordinary events … uninspired observations without interpretation or meaning. Year after year, pretty much the same stuff. March came in either like a Lion or a Lamb. My grandmother had a keen, active intellect, but her diaries suggested a path to something else. Her writing was simply an appreciation of the ordinary… watching nature, observing the coming and going of the seasons, and marking the observance of rituals. In none of her entries, was there any judgment. Although she was a thinking woman, her diaries were not about what she was thinking or doing, but rather about how life was “being.” She was hinting about how to slow down and harvest the fullness of each instant by pausing long enough to capture the deep, inner satisfaction of simply witnessing and being mindful of life’s little moments as they pass, one by one.
Relaxing the Mind
Mostly we are too busy to really pause and see, as my grandmother did. Our undisciplined mind is the master of rapid response. It rushes to take action and do things. It moves from thought to thought like a skipping stone bouncing over the surface of water, resisting the pull of gravity that would allow it to sink more deeply into the still waters below. Generally, the mind sees no point in slowing down to get a more complete view of the here and now. Yet, the possibility exists in every moment, that we could choose to observe the mind’s habit in a rather counter-intuitive way. We could momentarily step off the mental speedrail and linger long enough to (self reflect on) really notice some particular aspect of our experience, such as a sound, or a simple thought or a body sensation. By focusing our attention very keenly on some passing object of awareness, and riding it like a gentle wave, we might begin to discover through our heightened attending a myriad of subtle qualities and flavors to the moment, that were previously unavailable to our itinerant mind. We might be able to catch the silence within each passing moment.
Imagine this: You are driving, and there is a song on the car radio. In busy traffic, you might not register that the radio is even on. If you do manage to listen, your attention will be distracted at best. But imagine a different situation, reclining in your favorite armchair in front of the fireplace with headphones. The song could take you over. The words and lyrical expression could evoke feeling and image, perhaps memories and sensations. Going deeper, you might uncover the harmonics in the music, isolate the separate instruments, listen just to the bass or the piano, then come back to the fullness of the refrain. As you sink into the chair, your attention moves over the landscape of the song, landing on one rich motif after another. You begin to notice a centering of awareness and a dropping down into a more present state of experience in which you are intensely alert, yet deeply calm. In and through the experience of listening, the mind finds a quiet, coherent place to rest. This is a kind of presence. We naturally enjoy these experiences in settings of deep relaxation and pleasure. But most of the time, our restless mind dictates it’s own course of thinking, filled with distractions, wanderings, and the endless effort to address life’s ongoing issues and activities.
Why Meditate?
Meditation uses the mind’s natural tendency to pursue thought, but in a way that allows for deep penetration and true completion in the moment. Just as we allow music to slow the mind and deepen us into present time, meditation is a practice that employs simple objects of attention to help focus awareness and provide a point of interest for the mind to settle upon. Meditation harnesses the mind’s habitual tendency to move frenetically on the surface of things, and instead, allows awareness to fall deeply into the stillness and completion of a single, present moment. In this way, the simplest, inconsequential object of our perception, when hovered over with full attention, may become a portal to inner quiet simply through the act of stepping back and observing.
We discover that by harnessing the mind’s natural inclination to problem solve and to analyze, we can redirect and focus our attention onto deepening increments of stillness and presence by more fully observing or witnessing that which is already on our mind at any given moment. This quality of presence is the momentary dipping into ‘no mind’ or being switched off that we have difficulty sustaining in our day-to-day lives.
Through meditation, we become aware of the paradox and dilemma of our mental striving. In our magnificent ability to fix things, analyze things, decide things, we are the masters of doing, yet we have not found peace. The predicament of our boundless mental pursuit is that in order to complete ourselves, we must learn to pause the mental machinery and still our attention. We must look within in order to discover that the very happiness we strive to attain is itself already whole within the present moment. In my grandmother’s diary, she observed and recorded the simple things of life, and in this witnessing of present tense, she knew something of the peace that passes understanding.
In meditation, we seek the same sense of presence, and we allow our own pure experience to capture us right here, right now, and to free us to experience a finer sense of consciousness.