Is Meditation Difficult?

This is one of the questions I often encounter when talking with people about meditation.

But let me respond to that with another question: is Painting difficult?

Meditation like painting or playing an instrument or any other human activity requires time, perseverance, discipline and focus.

For most of us, that is.

Some of us just jump in hey presto!, they're there.
But these are the exception, not the rule.

I'm not one of these wonders. I'm one of the other ones. The ones that hesitate and falter and bash their heads and hurt and get hopelessly confused trying to figure out something they don't quite understand. The kind that makes mistakes that sets them back for a while, that turn out to push them forward for a time and that, in the end... well, I still haven't got there so I can't really tell you about that...

So meditation is a bit like painting (be it with a crayon, a brush or a blow-torch). If we have a natural aptitude to it, it will be easier to draw a smooth and steady line, to create and repeat shapes, to compose them on a canvas, to use colour, to play with various desired effects. It will probably mean a lot of work, a great many hours dedicated to that art, perfecting it in whichever ways we find ourselves most interested in.

But even if we don't have a natural aptitude for painting we can all do it to some extent. It might take us longer than these "naturals" but we might get to be as "good" as them if we practice enough, if we explore it enough. We might even be "better".
After all, even if someone has the greatest natural aptitude for painting but if they don't do anything with it, what good is that natural gift?

Besides, we might not be all that great with the brush and water colour but we might be incredible with charcoal. Who knows? We need to experiment and be willing to learn from those experiences.

I think meditation truly is a bit like playing an instrument or painting. There's music in all of us, there's art in all of us. And, to a certain extent, it is important to uncover our own music and our own art because it is an integral part of who we are.
The same applies to meditation.
Okay, perhaps Vipassana isn't for you. But maybe Yoga is. Or Tantra. Or something else entirely (Vipassana with a different teacher, in a different place....) These things will change as you get to know yourself through them.
The important thing is to be willing to learn from every single experience and, for that to happen, we need to know what occurred. And that means we need to be paying attention...

The other thing I'd like to mention is something that we tend to identify with difficulty.

When I speak about the schedule and the discipline of a meditation retreat (where a yogi is supposed to be meditating at every waking moment and refrain from such basic things as speaking, looking here and there and thinking too much) people react saying that it sounds really difficult or really hard.
And it is.
Even for me and I've done it a few times already.
But it is particularly so in the beginning of the practice. Then, as your body and mind start to become accustomed to the routine, it starts becoming easier and easier. And there is much to be gained...

This sense of difficulty comes about happens because most of us do not have the experience of being fully committed to anything through the entirety of our lives. Not at this level at least.
We're used to having moments where we can just "switch off" and "relax" and "take our mind off of things".

This is great for many activities but, in regards to meditation, at least in the way I have been taught and learned from, the emphasis is placed on the building of this kind of meditative momentum. And, in order for it to increase, we must make continuous effort. The emphasis truly is on the word continuous.

I'll give you the following example.

Imagine that you are on the shore of a river. This river is continuously flowing. There is no bridge whatsoever and the only way to cross it is for you to build a bridge yourself. There is however another problem: the only material available is sand.

The river flow is fairly calm and so, little by little, upon each handful of sand placed on the shore, the distance between us and the other shore shortens. The more we work, the faster and more precisely we do it, the faster we'll get to the other side. Still, we need to be careful for if we trip or start going in the wrong direction we might be making effort in a way that will deviate us from our objective rather than bringing us closer to it.

With this in mind my question to you is this: what will happen if we stop to rest?

Clearly the river never ceases flowing, therefore it will drag at least part of the sand we've placed. This means we have to continuously replenish sand. If we always put more sand than the amount the river takes we will be making slow but steady progress.

Eventually we will have to rest, to sleep. But these activities should be kept to a minimum in order for us to be able to reach our objective.

Of course, by placing sand on the shore of the river, the flow of the river itself is altered and, therefore, the placing of the sand must continuously adapt to this in order for us to attain our objective.

This is what happens in meditation. The more we diligently sustain our awareness upon the objects surfacing in our consciousness, the closer we will be moving to that other side of our reality, the one we might have glimpsed but whose route we are yet to find.

But there is another great advantage of undergoing a process such as this. In fact it's an advantage that brings many others. If we allow ourselves to commit totally to something not only will we know what that actually means, but we will also be a great step closer to what the word devotion truly means. And, as a side effect, we will know all the much better what are our limits, what we can do, when should we stop, how much further can we go.
In a word, through this process of total commitment, true compassion arises, for self, and for others.

And, in my opinion, if for nothing else, solely for this, this immersion in the meditative practice would already be incredibly valuable.

So, in conclusion and in answer to the initial question, meditation, per se, isn't difficult. We are all gifted for it in one way or another. The question is how far we are willing to explore and be explored by it.

After all, meditation's biggest problem isn't difficulty, it's the yogi...

Peace!

A Time For Everything

The more you meditate the more meditative your attitude towards life will be. During the last few days I have been meditating more than usual. And I've kept catching myself doing things only semi-alert (what we call the normal state of consciousness, the non-awakened state) to them - the usual.
But, because I have been meditating more, I have been able to retain some measure of concentration after that moment of awareness. For a few seconds my mind stops chattering and begins paying attention to the little things that fill our lives.

Just a few minutes ago I was taking a shower. One of those showers that you thank the universe for the experience. Today has been a very warm day here in London and I cycled, quite relaxedly though, for about half an hour, from work. I was sweaty and warm and just wanted to get in the tub and feel the water falling all over me.
And when I did I suddenly realised the soft but deep pleasure I was having. The body relaxing from the exercise, the mind relaxed for me being home, and the warm feeling of becoming cleaner, lighter, freer. I observed the mental chatter and it disappeared.

And I immersed on the physical sensations invading me at each moment. A huge beautiful symphony that I barely could keep track of. I didn't try to. I just allowed my frail consciousness to flow, just like water, through the plethora of experiences coming to me.
And, after a few seconds of mental silence a thought came to me. An insight. The realisation that, as a child this type of awareness was much more common than it tends to be these days. At least, I believe this is the case for most of us. As children, because we have less mental constructs in our heads, our minds sometimes, spontaneously, shut up and we're simply there, peacefully observing. Being.

In a flash I realised that we lose this with time, as we become increasingly obsessed with time itself. With meaning. With knowing. With this experience or the next or the previous or some other, somewhere in the past, perhaps coming towards us from the future. With fantasy.
In one way or another children seem to naturally retain this openness of perception, before objectives and all manner of wantings come into place.

I recalled the words of a friend of mine that keeps reminding people around him that "There's a time for everything".
I agree with this. I think it's important to become aware of the age in life we are traversing so that we can fulfil in harmony with our capabilities.
And then be able to let it go and move on to the next.

I think he, like myself, has observed many times people that are still stuck to a particular age that they feel they have not lived completely. This may happen through longing for those times long gone. Or through hatred towards those times (or even those living that age themselves).
Living in a way that we are flowing with the time present in us is easy but also difficult. For it's rare to find reliable guides to help us find footing where we stand.
Most of the times, we end up having to figure it all out by ourselves. This is not only tiring and incredibly complex but also difficult to achieve.
To my mind this should be the main role of those with greater experience than ourselves. Usually this means people older than us, people that have crossed the times we are traversing already, that can see where we stand from the vantage point of their distance.
Of course, these days particularly, things aren't that easy. Things keep changing around us and, young or old, we all struggle in one way or another to keep up with the changes we see around us.
This much is clear...
We cannot stop the world. Perhaps nor should we want to.
But the one thing we know we can incredibly influence is ourselves.
Therefore it is important to find those that can guide us through the unfolding of our-selves.
Which kind of brings me back to the beginning of this. For these people (we can call them spiritually minded - even if they don't believe in spirituality themselves, simply by being interested in their actions, in their beings and their relation with things around them, they are already being spiritual and spiritual beings - that is, to me at least, the core of spirituality, uncovering the true extension of self), these spiritual people, will have lessons learned, stories to tell, ideas to teach, advisable practices and, above all, the experience of their years and the examples of their lives to share.

(and I think this is the role we all should represent to one another too... everybody has something to learn and something to teach - sometimes even they are the same thing, only from perhaps different perspectives)

But, in order for us to benefit from this wealth of knowledge, we must learn how to be present. I usually say, learn how to listen. And listening, to me, is a full being thing. When you listen you listen with the wholeness of you - not just the ears.
Using just the ears is like saying that cycling is pedalling.
And I think that we all know what will happen if we only pedal and don't pay attention to traffic, use the handle bars or even sit properly...

For this we need to be present.
So, and in conclusion, for us to truly be present in this time and age of ours we need to retain awareness of what's happening. We need to be insightful into the now. We need to be present.
Then, perhaps not only we'll fulfil each time, one moment at a time, but perhaps we will feel that each time, each moment, is already full. That each moment is already everything.

Strange Pathways

Life is a strange thing. I think we spend a lifetime getting used to it and more or less failing because it keeps slipping from under our fingers.
I've just seen the second part of the Crow Road TV miniseries. It's based on the Iain Banks book of the same name. And it's as much about secrets and how they tear you down as well as Scotland and Scottish culture and way of being. And, if only for the latter, it's worthwhile seeing.

For a long time I've been thinking what should I write here. I mean sure, it's about spiritual stuff. Yesterday a talk I had with someone I recently met focussed precisely on this. His preoccupation had to do mainly with other people's expectations - and the change of those expectations. Like you'd been building a product and then somehow frustrated the reliability of that product.
My view is somewhat different.

But what is spirituality?

The best definition I can come up with is that it doesn't matter the theme as long as you are really fully there. There rest, when you're half there (or less) is just everything else we fill our time with.
In a word, spirituality is immersion.

I've been thinking about how and what should I write here because I am a bit shy of sharing my vulnerabilities. Not so much because I am afraid of being harmed by others people's knowledge of them (like most people seem to be) but because that experience may harm them in some way. I mean the world is filled as it is with negative stuff and white-brained dogmatism. I wanted to escape all that. At least here. And to be precise. To give people something worthwhile. Something somewhat different from what seem to be surrounded and to do it in a hopefully positive or inspiring way. Uplifting.
Arrogant of me? Perhaps. But I am sick of reading rubbish that's not even true to itself.
And I think it's important we protect one another. Things are difficult as it is without that.

But what is a blog? It's supposed to be a place where you come and you just write whatever comes to mind, writing for yourself, yet sharing it all for the whole world to see. So it's supposed to be personal, yet for the whole world to see.
It kind of doesn't make much sense now does it? But, then again, if you're like me and you have one of these, then you probably don't worry too much with these things and just get on with it.
Until the day...
(and that day ifs perhaps tonight for me...)

While I was walking down to the postal box to return the DVD something like this monologue was happening in my mind:
I'm feeling I'm moving too fast through life. Divided between a knowledge and a bodily yearning. As if I'm too old and still young enough. Trying to fit together two different perspectives about the same thing. As if I'm harbouring two different beings. But that are both myself.
I'll explain further.
The experience of meditation changes things a bit. You kind of fast forward into lessons that probably you're only supposed to learn and realise later on in life. The relativisation of romantic love. for passion is after all one of our most dire concerns.
And yet you're still young enough for your body to just want more than your mind deems necessary or even healthy.
And if you find yourself in a tight spot. Being the arbiter of a very strange game indeed.
And you end up doing what is only reasonable to do.
Everybody gets to win or to lose sometimes.
You improvise. You allow one to win and the other to lose whenever situations are appropriate.


I'll tell you what's perhaps my greatest vulnerability. Sharing my deeper, innermost truth with someone.
I always feel that if I do do it, I will be banished. I will be cut away for the very thing I'm trying to reach.
Writing or isolation then become obvious choices for a screen or pen and paper will never run away unless you want them to. And you can always have the secrecy of your mind to keep nurtured.
It's easy to trace back to where these things started to come into my life, at least consciously.
Just as it is easy to understand that these things are so deep and span so much that it's not likely that they'll be changed dramatically any time soon. Unless something equally dramatic happens to change that happens. I at least, shy of meditation itself, am not planning on undergoing other type of possibilities.

it is obvious that, either we like it or not, we always end up pouring ourselves into the characters we create. One way or another we have to give them realism, solidity, presence. And the only reference we've got is our own.
in a way the characters always control you. The difference when you do see it happening. And you play along. And the more you play, the more you see the subtleties in which they relate, that they change, that they mirror, that they escape. The way they represent the myriad of archetypes we all have inside ourselves.

It should be clear to you by now that I don't really know where I'm going with this: I'm trying to figure it out myself. I keep coming to the title but I'm finding no real solace there.

Here's another thing that I wanted to say.
people claim they want the truth all the time but, in my experience, very few are actually ready for it. I've done it a few times. Shared the truth (or as close as I can muster to it) with them. But more often than not people mistake the opening of your heart, with all its faults and failures (that's why it is hard, if it were perfect we wouldn't be so shy in doing so), by our shirking away from them. Because you tell them of the distance you feel, they mistake this with unloving feelings. They mistake confusion with not caring. Whilst in fact it's quite the reverse. You share the confusion and the distance, because you care, because you feel close, because in some strange way you've learned to trust that person, because you want to share yourself with them.
Being turned down on this is quite hard. It's always hard for me at least. It has happened numerous times, in varying degrees, but there's always a hurt and a feeling of betrayal... I don't know, betrayal is not the right word right now, right here, maybe disappointment. A feeling that things should've been different (yet perhaps you knew at the onset that this was truly the outcome only you didn't want to to believe it...)
And it makes you feel you don't want to do it again. Because you don't want the distance to increase, along with the confusion and all the other things you were trying to get away by sharing them.
That's why I keep trying. sometimes you get it right. Even for just a few brief moments. And when you do, life acquires something better than meaning. It acquires empathy. With what it doesn't matter. Perhaps just with itself. That's what I keep searching for perhaps. People that allow this feeling to surface more rather than less.

Whenever I come out of one of the retreats I always end up meeting someone. I'll recognise the shine in the eyes, the openness inside them. And I see the joy that doesn't come merely from being happy but the joy that comes from being in tune and in acceptance of all things, wonderful or not.
And I know that we can't talk. That we can share.
And I am comforted in the knowing that even if we don't talk, even if we don't meet that we're already sharing incredible amounts.
We're already sharing our strange pathways.