Having an inward life has become essential to remaining inwardly alive and growing as a human being in this dark and difficult age. Self-knowing is the key, and meditation without regard to systems and traditions is the action that flows from it.
Methodless meditation begins with learning the art of undivided observation and making space in one’s daily life for it. For tens of thousands of years, the human mind has cultivated accumulation. Indeed, the hominid brain evolved to notice and store information about its surroundings and separate things from them.
The conscious mind formed useful knowledge and skills from this cognitive foundation to exploit vastly different environments. Eventually, humans dominated the earth, so much that scientists call this “the Anthropocene Age,” the “geological epoch in which human activities have significantly impacted the Earth’s environment.”
Our cumulative tendency does not stop with useful things and information, however. The brain records and accumulates useless experiences, including irrational fears, past hurts, and burdensome sorrows. These form the content of our conditioning and consciousness and the collective darkness of man.
Conditioning is not inevitable, however; the mind/brain has the capacity to remain young and unsullied. However, one has to make the space every day to passively observe the movement of one’s thoughts and emotions, preferably in the mirror of nature, which allows non-directed attention to gather and dissolve the useless and destructive content of consciousness.
There is no method for meditation. Methods and systems are fabrications of thought and cannot be used to quiet psychological thoughts without dulling the brain. One begins with the intent to listen and delight in the senses. Find a relatively quiet place, preferably a spot in nature. But even a patio or balcony at sunrise or sunset will suffice.
Take a half hour and set everything aside. Let your senses attune to your environment, especially the sounds of nature and people. Unlike what we see, we can’t control what we hear. Listen to every sound without judging, interpreting, or even naming it. If you find yourself judging and naming, don’t oppose it, but passively observe one’s reactions until they stop.
In the same way, you non-reactively listen to each sound, letting your attention come to the total movement of thought and emotion within. When the mind is hectic, jotting down things that come to mind, such as things to do later, problems, or questions, helps to bring a natural, non-imposed order to the mind and open spaces and silences within.
When one passively watches every thought and emotion as they arise, one discovers that thought and emotion are one movement, which we divide by choosing what’s good or bad, what we like or dislike. You’ll notice that there’s always an observer that stands apart from what it’s observing. The observer is the human mind’s ancient, psychologically separative movement, which forms the illusorily separate and permanent “me.” Simply passively listening and watching, the brain (not ‘I’) gathers attention.
Let everything that is happening within reveal itself without interference or judgment. Then, the unconscious tells its story, and repressed emotions bubble up. A shift in consciousness begins the moment that the separate observer ends. Meditation ignites when passive awareness grows quicker than thought’s habitual reactions of separation, judgment, and interpretation. Non-directed attention grows, and the mind/brain falls silent and empties itself of the unnecessary memory content. When the mind as thought falls silent, there is timelessness, immanent sacredness, and love.
The fog had begun to burn off, then returned to wrap around the hills and linger over the fields. As it began to lift again, the mist refracted the light so vividly that every twig and leaf stood out. Despite the gray, earth-hugging blanket, the morning was mild, with little dampness or chill. I sat on pads without discomfort under a huge sycamore, peering out over the fields toward the enshrouded canyon and foothills beyond town.
The visibility was about 200 meters. Suddenly, for the first time in over a year, I saw a type of falcon that used to be familiar to the area, a kite, right at the edge of the fog. It flew about 30 meters, hovered for 20 seconds as it scanned the ground for prey, and repeated the pattern until it disappeared into the mist. The sight of the falcon’s exquisitely graceful flight at the edge of the world produced a reverential feeling. Suddenly, the fog was gone, and everything around me, which had appeared flat and colorless, came alive.
Standing, the cliffs of the canyon beyond town were sharp and clear. But I was jerked back to “reality‘ by the sight of “monster houses“ at the mouth of the canyon. I stood still for a few more minutes. The self had dissipated with the fog. The little creek, dry for most of the summer, is running full again. Deeply aware of the earth, one saw with eyes that had been cleansed of the past.
For Times Media Mexico / The Yucatan Times
Martin LeFevre
lefevremartin77@gmail
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Martin LeFevre is a contemplative and philosopher in California whose “Meditations” explore religious and philosophical questions in a non-sectarian and non-academic way.
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