NI

yaml title: tags: [productivity, ideas] date: 2024-01-15 status: draft

Meditation is quite ordinary. We sit, we pay attention, we open our awareness to the present moment.

We all arrive to meditation for a specific reason — to ease anxiety, relieve stress, find peace, sharpen focus. These are the “goals” we aim for. But the funny thing is, you have to drop the striving to arrive. Embrace the paradox.

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Practice doesn't begin and end on the cushion. It moves through every interaction, every task, every responsibility. The dishes, the laundry, the line at the post office — every experience we have is an opportunity for presence. Life is not an obstacle to practice. Life _is_ the practice.

“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

It doesn’t matter how many times the mind wanders. Each time we become aware, we return. Every return is a liberating moment of mindfulness.

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My practice has changed form with the seasons of my life, the way water takes the shape of the vessel it's in. As a father to a young child, I can't sit in silence for 45 minutes every day.

Start where you are.

Discernment is a key on the path. Knowing when to push through, when to let go. Practice doesn’t require perfect conditions. It requires willingness to be present with what’s coming through our senses.

There is no one-size-fits-all. No panacea. No ideal.

There is a north star. What matters is the orientation toward the present moment and the willingness to turn toward your experience rather than pushing it away

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When is the last time you ate an apple and *only* ate an apple? No entertainment. No distractions. No conversation. Simply sat with the apple, absorbed by the experience?

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Retreats are valuable. A strict(ish), well-tended container along with a healthy dose of silence and simplicity open things in us that are difficult to see in our regular day-to-day life. Retreats unlock new doors and show us what's possible.

But aside from adopting a monastic lifestyle, every retreat ends. Suddenly we return to life as it was, full of responsibilities, tasks, relationships, chores, bills to pay, notifications to respond to, etcetera. The contrast can be overwhelming and disorienting. I’ve certainly felt the barrage.

It’s easier to sit for 10 hours a day at a retreat center where all basic needs are taken care of. It’s very difficult to do it in day-to-day life.

It is a question of integration.

A different draft:

Meditation is quite ordinary. We sit, we pay attention, we open our awareness to the present moment.

Yet it is a paradox. You’ve arrived to meditation practice for a specific reason: to calm stress or anxiety. To be more at peace. To improve concentration. To become a more compassionate person. These are the “goals” we aim for in meditation. But the funny thing about it is that you have to drop the striving to arrive.

“And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.”
T.S. Eliot

It sounds simple enough. But you quickly realize that welcoming the moment as it is isn’t so simple. In fact, it can be an overwhelming place.

We’re all carrying something. Aches and pains. Regret. Grief. Desire. All of it lives in the body, whether we’re aware of it or not. Without this body, you do not have these felt-sense experiences. Something as simple as focusing on the breath can suddenly reveal a previously unknown depth and richness, and also turbulence, of what’s happening in and around us. That can be illuminating, overwhelming, or both at once.

Pause here, close your eyes, and feel three deep breaths.

The moment is always a breath away.

Our practice doesn’t live on the cushion. Our practice moves with us through the day; through every interaction, every task, every responsibility.

Our practice is life.

There’s no use waiting for ideal circumstances to begin. Instead, to turn toward the moment and open ourselves to the beauty that’s right here and right now. The place where you are most alive.

Practice is an ongoing inquiry. An ongoing “being-with” or “opening-up-to.” Letting go of all expectations and to just be.

But as you start sitting, you realize that it’s not so simple to welcome the moment as it is. We’re all dealing with something: aches, pains, regrets, grief, sadness, excitement, pride, joy, blame, guilt. It all lives in the body.

Something as simple as focusing on the breath reveals the depth and richness of what’s happening in and around us. That can be illuminating, enlightening, or overwhelming.

Pause here, close your eyes, and feel three deep breaths.

The moment is always a breath away.

Meditation techniques are plentiful. There are many splintered lineages, many modalities and adaptations of ancient practices in contemporary garb.

My core approach to the practice is centered on everyday life. Because life is not lived on a cushion. It’s lived in our daily rhythms, responsibilities, communities; in long walks with a friend and dirty diapers and endless piles of dishes in the sink. It’s easy to forget that those dishes mean a roof over my head, a nourishing meal, and good company to share it with.

Doing the dishes, folding laundry, waiting in line at the post office… everything is an opportunity to practice mindfulness.

“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”
— ancient Zen proverb

It does not matter how many times the mind wanders. Each time we become aware, we gently come back to the moment.

As a father to a young child, I simply cannot sit on a cushion in silence for 45 minutes every day. There’s too much to do, it’s too unpredictable. Yet my meditation practice remains. It’s merely changed shape, as water takes the shape of the vessel that holds it. For me, it might look like five minutes before bedtime, getting up early in the morning, taking 5–10 minute breaks during the day, or eating a meal without any outside distractions, entertainment, or input.

When is the last time you ate an apple and only ate an apple? Absorbed by the experience, nourished by the flesh of life.

This isn’t to diminish long periods of sitting and walking meditation. Going on a retreat is a wonderful way to immerse in meditation practice and reach dusty corners of awareness that you never knew existed. Silence and simplicity greatly support depth in meditation practice. A well-facilitated retreat offers that space to let go, drop life’s responsibilities, and connect with your mind, heart, and spirit.

But aside from adopting a monastic lifestyle, every retreat ends, and suddenly we return to life as it was, full of responsibilities, tasks, relationships, chores, bills to pay, notifications to respond to, etcetera. The contrast can be overwhelming and disorienting. I’ve certainly felt the barrage.

The question is: how do we integrate mindfulness into our daily lives? What are we bringing back from deeper periods of practice?

But it’s easy to fall for the trick that a monastery is necessary to strengthen our practice.

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