HOW TO MEDITATE.

At nearly every retreat I lead and meditation class I teach someone(s) will ask me "How do I meditate?" or comment that "meditation is really hard" and, you know, "just not working" for them.

"I tried it this one time...." they continue, "and my mind just wouldn't stop....is that normal?....maybe it's not for me....I'd like to try but I don't know how....is there an easy way?....what's your trick?...."

Sound familiar?

I've been there. Trust me. I'm there a good chunk of the time still.

I've begged my teachers for the formula. For the answer. For something! I was convinced they knew the secret that would take meditation from rip my hair out to, well, effortless. Let me rephrase. In asking for the easy way out I was asking them to help me hop, skip, jump over the rock-bottom work of meditation and deliver me queen-like in a struggle-proof carriage directly into the hands of enlightenment.

Essentially I was told dream on. And knock it off.

They wisely told me and remind me still - quoting from the Bhagavad Gita - that I am what I seek. Or Tvam Tat Asi - "Thou That Art".

It's taken me years, a lot of frustration, and what feels like many, many, many failed attempts to experience the wisdom in this statement. I am what I seek. I am what I seek. I am what I seek. And here's where I pause. Sorry. You have to do the work and sit with this one. Obligatory "leave you hangin" here as sometimes words simply fall short. Consider this incentive.

My oh-so-wise teachers also shared, with I swear a twinkle of mischievous enjoyment in their eyes, that it's all - the entire experience - meditation. And when they said all, they meant all. The batshit crazy voices blasting themselves into the walls of my mind. The mysterious pains that I never feel elsewhere but somehow become life and death on my cushion. The fact that my left foot passes out and then hammers itself with needles in its listless stupor when I shift position. The dreaded "who cares? does this matter? what am I doing? this is crap." that plays on repeat in the least opportune moments. The sliding from bed to floor, mala in hand, wondering what makes this more important than sleep. The falling asleep, hereto with mala in hand and the best of intentions of course. I've had every known disease and a few I discovered. I've come up with solutions to every world problem, with humility of course. I've committed numerous crimes, climbed many mountains, fixed my kids and husband and everyone else I know, and single-handedly secured world peace. All this without leaving my seat. All while the players of my mind charade - critic, scientist, creative, dreamer, victim, parent, teacher, good girl, bad girl, shamed girl, acclaimed girl, hurt girl, strong girl, little girl, grown girl - consistently show up uninvited and demand immediate attention.  Apparently they're all welcome. All of this really. All teachers. All part of the gig.

That being said, I'm only coming around to such wisdom because I stuck, and am sticking, with it - meditation that is. It takes sitting nearly every day. Every. Single. Day. Turns out there's a massive amount of trust and faith involved, a fair share of doubt (you know, just to keep it interesting), and absolutely no shortcut. None. Nada. Zilch. I've looked.

So here's the truth with no artificial sweetness: Meditation can be hard (really, really hard), especially at first. In fact, I'm more and more convinced difficulty has been hardwired in. You can thank the cosmic jokester(s?) for said insanity and (sense my grudging hesitation) - brilliance.

This brilliance in a nutshell? The challenge makes us want it.

What "it" is may be ambiguous for a long, long time. But that "it" keeps us going. More or less pulls  us forward, toward, into.

It's pretty sweet (albeit sometimes in a sour sort of way).

And difficulty is what actually delivers some of the gifts meditation has to offer.

Small things like discipline, desire, surrender, compassion, grace, connection, endurance, focus, selflessness, self-reflection, and peace. 

I love the way Elizabeth Gilbert's friend Richard puts it:

"You can't get to the castle if you don't swim the moat."

Yup. It's like that.

All that to say (thanks for humoring my chatter), I've distilled the process of meditation down to this:

Stop.

Sit.

Stay.

That's it. That's my recipe for meditative success, if there is such thing, void of goal, ending, and public affirmation.  Oh and no promise of enlightenment though I can promise your efforts will not be wasted. It's like saving a million dollars one penny at a time. They only add up.

Of course there's a bit of shameless bait and switch happening here. Said recipe sounds simple (geez there she goes with another "s" word!) but, as you can and should expect, is far more deep than a surface glance reveals. Each of the three - Stop. Sit. Stay. - have layers to be peeled (blame quantum physics). So here we go. We begin to peel.

STOP.

Meditation demands the first thing we do is stop. Stop the busyness of life - the tasks, the lists, the emails, the calls, the scrolling, the liking, the chatter, the doing, the outward interacting. It may mean stopping the alarm and stopping the sleep. We have to drop it all. It's in this moment that we make the choice: stop so we can sit or...not. To stop means turning things off, shutting things down, closing conversations and doors and saying no so we can say yes to this one thing. In the stop lies the gate. This is where we choose to enter through the smallest of doors into the secret garden of soul. For some it's the most difficult step. For some it may never happen. The pull of life is so strong. But for others who choose to enter through the stop, this - this - is where it all begins.

SIT.

There's no trick here. I mean what I say - sit down. Sit on a chair, a cushion, a blanket, a ledge. Sit on the grass, the sand, a bench, or the floor. Sit in a closet, a class, or a park. Sit. Sit. Sit. Make yourself as comfortable as possible (no sense in fighting what can be adjusted) and then sit. Some may find it easier to come with a plan. Maybe a specific mantra or pranayama (breath) practice. Maybe it's a visualization or guided meditation. This can be really helpful at first as mental activity may be stuck in hyper mode for awhile. Essentially, dog meet bone. Give your mind something to play with. Then ask it to sit.

PS - You may find it helpful to set a timer. Olympians rarely wake up at the Olympics. Meditation is similar. Start small. Like a minute (you laugh now...). Build each day. I find it more helpful to build on my (perceived) success rather than resent my (perceived) failure. Set a timer then forget about time. Be in it for as long as you're in it.

Which leads me to...

STAY.

Through it all - the discomfort, restlessness, loss of desire, immediacy of thoughts and feelings, tiredness, schedule change, anxiety, fear, lack of "progress", frustration - through it all, stay. Stay in your stopping and your sitting. Stay with your practice. Stay in it. Listen. Feel. Soften. Look in. Bring your mind back time and time again to the point of your focus (or the emptiness if that's what you're doing) and stay. Sense the millions of other people who are meditating around the world and stay. Sense those you love fiercely and stay. Sense the wiser you pulling you forward and stay. Sense the tradition, the teachers, the purpose, the depth and stay. Let the difficulty roll through you and over you and stay. Let the practice be whatever it is, whatever comes up, whatever does or doesn't happen and stay. Stay for you. Stay for us. Stay for the world. Stay because your practice does make a difference. I've come to believe that faith is the combination of discipline, resolve, and hope. Meditation takes tremendous faith. When you doubt, stay with it. When you believe, stay with it. When you don't care, stay with it. When you're bursting with love and connection, stay with it. When you're empty, stay. When you're full, stay. When you're the fullest kind of empty, stay. Stay with it and without fail it will stay with you.

So here it is my friends. My not-so-simple simplified recipe for meditation. Know that I cheer you on, I'm here if you have questions, and I have the deepest gratitude for the beautiful force you bring to the world through your meditation.

To the light within.

Namaste.

End Note: As always, please do not consider this a one-size-fits-all prescription. Each of us are different and
carry a variety of experiences within us. Some of those may be traumatic and painful. If this is you,
I urge you to talk with a qualified professional as you begin your meditation rhythm. This is especially
necessary if you find meditation draws forth experiences that create excessive fear, stress, and anxiety.
You’re not “doing it wrong.” Ask for help. Seek what you need so you find what you search for.

WEEDS IN OUR INNER GARDEN

Yesterday I spent some time out in the garden. Over the years the garden has taught me lessons about myself, about humanity, about the world. Lessons that, honestly, I'd rather not learn. These lessons can be difficult to take and generally require action, movement, and growth; diligence and discipline.

There's a certain plant in said garden that reminds me a bit of a porcupine. At first glance it seems harmless, docile even, but go to touch and bam! hand full of quills, or in this case small punctures, wounds from a spine of thorns. It's flowers are deceptively beautiful, each birthing pods of hundreds of rebel seeds ready to reek havoc on any bit of dirt they touch.

This is horse nettle friends. And it's a real...well you know.

The thing about this particular plant is the act of pulling it out of the ground actually aids its spreading. Horse nettle seems to come up easily, compliantly letting me draw it from the ground and walk away naively thinking I was victorious. Then boom! a few days later it's back, stronger in number. Farmer's in the area have found pesticides are no match and tilling is like giving frisky teenagers a car and directions to the nearest park.  

It seems that forcing it out actually makes it grow. 

The only way to rid our land of this annoying, painful plant is to cut it down in infancy, just below the dirt. And then repeat over and over and over and over throughout the summer. 

It demands I surrender to it's strength, respect it's place in the garden, and then do the careful, gentle, monotonous work of watching and culling, watching and culling, watching and culling. 

You do this enough and a pattern emerges. In fact, garden long enough and you reap both physical fruit and find lessons of life abound. 

Here's what I learned: taking care of horse nettle is no different than taking care of the places in me that are in opposition to my True, authentic self. No amount of ripping, grinding, or muscle will remove the hostile places I keep hidden deep within. The places I cover over with shame and anger and guilt. It seems this is like compost, providing nutritious food for these toxic habits.

In the same way I deal with horse nettle, watch and cut in infancy, I now care for these addictive tendencies in myself. With mindful awareness, self-compassion, and surrender, we can gently work to improve the land of our soul, the garden that lies within. When I enter the flow of what is rather than aggressively try to beat it down, I find the freedom I've been seeking, the peace I so desire. Oh, and the garden teaches on thing without fail, over and over again - it's never too late.

It's never to late to begin. That's called grace.

Namaste* friends.

*Namaste means the Light in me sees and honors the Light in you.

WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

This morning I went paddle boarding. Carrying my board along the path from our house to the water, carefully setting it down to float, stepping onto it's wide body, and pushing off away from the land has become a very spiritual practice for me. When I'm on my board life slows way, way down. The sound of the paddle dipping into the water is a lullaby for my soul. May awareness shifts from anxious thoughts and plans and lists to a place of right here, right now - being in this space of explosive life and meditative stillness.

Today, for whatever reason, I was shaken with the many creatures that call this small body of water home. As I watched the fish swim about, dashing from surprisingly shallow waters and into the deep, I was overcome by this sense of wanting to know their names. All of a sudden it was really, really important to acknowledge who they are.

The other day my daughters were dancing around in princess dresses singing about how beautiful they look. I watched on with expectation. I knew within moments my husband would come around the corner, lift them onto his lap, and ask them what their names mean.

"Sunshine." my eldest replied with a smile. "FLOWER!" yelled out my youngest. My husband nodded in agreement and then told each of them that they were created to bring warmth and kindness and beauty and compassion and color and light to this world. That there is far more to beauty than a dress or sparkles or shoes, although those are fun to explore. That what makes them beautiful is how they respond to injustice and hurt and fear. That their beauty goes far deeper than their skin. It begins in their hearts.

Naming things is an ancient art, one that has grown up with civilization. From our earliest roots, there's been something within us aching to know our name. Needing to understand our place and figure out where we fit in this great expanse of life.

As I paddled around the pond, guiding my board gently along side the reeds, I was aware that everything around me had a name, and with it's name came a place in this world.

I'm learning the more I observe, the deeper I walk into a place where it all matters. Everything has meaning. Watching fish has led me to acknowledge they have a name and existence as important as my own. Watching people has led me to believe we are not all that different. That we each have a name and a light within us and, at the very core, we all want to be seen, to matter, to find our place in the world.

As the wind picked up and rippled away my view, I looked off to the side and found a nest hovering precariously over the water. In it were 4 tiny eggs, white with brown spots. The mama bird hovered nearby, anxiously waiting my decision. Would I watch on quietly or choose to imprint on her life in an unkind way? Would I see first our commonality or respond with carelessness and apathy? Would I live into the meaning of my own name? River. Flowing water, bringing life.

I took one last glance, lifted my paddle, and thought to myself "You are important and good and kind and have a name.You have a place in this life and mine and it's my honor to see you."