In Ideology and Insanity, Thomas Szasz expresses concern over classifying people with mental illness. Szasz noted how classifying a person has a direct influence over their self-image, and what they believe is possible. Decades later, research by Harvard psychologist Ellen Langer, captured in Mindfulness, shows the extent people unconsciously adapt their behaviour to their identity. We are what we think, and the concept becomes reality, a lens through which we see the world.
The purpose of transcendental meditation is to familiarise with pure consciousness, or the Supreme Reality. It begins with a growing awareness of awareness, behind phenomena, such as thought, feeling and sensation. Once this relationship develops, the journey of exploring the infinite nature of consciousness begins.
Equanimity is life-changing. Such is its value, it’s a central teaching of the world’s major religions and philosophies. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna even tells Arjuna: “mental evenness is what is meant by yoga (union with God). Indeed, equanimity is yoga.”
When teaching meditation, the right metaphors make all the difference between great instruction and a lack of clarity. I often compare meditation to exercise when teaching. Physical exercise is commonly understood, while many struggle to grasp the technique of strengthening the mind.
This point of reference supports learning. We know exercise is beneficial for our physical health, just as meditation is beneficial for mental health. Developing your practice is like training your mind at the gym, building strength, improving form, developing muscle memory to alter the structure of the brain.
But there is a significant difference between physical exercise meditation. When allowing this metaphor to dictate your approach to meditation practice, it could do more harm than good.
Insights often arise during meditation. Sometimes they are truths vaguely understood, now gleaning with clarity. As they burst into consciousness, their simplicity doesn’t quite match the intense feeling of resonance.
On the spiritual path, simple truths return, with added vigour, over and over, each time their meaning more profound.
This morning’s meditation provided one of these moments. For a number of years, I’ve practiced mindfulness meditation. The anchor is attention on the breath and sensations in the body. From early on, I’ve practiced the Buddhist concept of the Middle Way — an equanimous approach to all phenomena, including thoughts, feelings, sensations.
Gently guiding the mind away from extremes of aversion and indulgence revolutionises the relationship with thoughts and emotions. It’s a practice to be repeated, over, and over, and over, and over. Each time, bringing attention back to the anchor. This is the basic premise of non-attachment.
My suitcase is full of food, books, my meditation cushion, a few clothes. I’m full of intent, anticipation, eagerness to return home. As the decade nears its end, for my journey inward, I’m travelling away — in the physical sense.
The wheels of the suitcase recently rolled across Bristol Airport post-Christmas visit. Now they transverse gravel, covered in dirt, a metaphor for the work awaiting my solo retreat in Babelsberg, Germany.
Their rhythmic hum is reminiscent of the sounds of aviation, low and thunderous. As I stop to check directions, the sounds stop too, and I’m confronted with silence. I’m five minutes from the modest hut where I’ll spend New Year’s alone.
I pause, breathe deeply, smile at the sky, purr at the silence. Gone is the percussion of sirens, shouts, smashes, the instruments of noise pollution of the busy city where I live. I’m sure my thoughts, without background noise, just got louder.
The silence is confrontational. Even playful.
A Vipassana retreat is a special experience. How often are we gifted 10 days of silent solitude, away from busyness, obligations and responsibilities? Meals prepared, an hour-by-hour schedule, accommodation sorted?
The environment is primed for laser-like focus on meditation, self-enquiry and insight. Even so, thriving on retreat, and maximising the benefits… that’s down to you.
I attended my first retreat in April. I’d waited six years from when I started meditation. I knew the time would come when it felt right. And I’d known for a few years I wanted to jump in the deep end with a 10-Day silent Vipassana retreat.
I was attracted to the level of self-discipline. It was a challenge I wanted to prove myself capable of overcoming. Even more, it was an act of gratitude and dedication towards a practice that has added so much to my life.