Driving through the previously forested but now nearly treeless and sparsely populated mountain town was sad. Every still standing tree had a black burn scar. However, arriving at the unscathed little lake beyond town was a joy.

But crap music blaring from across the reservoir marred the astounding quiet of the place. Though perhaps two miles away, the background silence there is such you could almost make out the lyrics as the bass reverberated across the water. Meditation was going to be a deep challenge.

The ground was damp. Even though the lake is only about 700 meters from the valley floor, where autumn is now in full leaf, the leafless deciduous trees scattered among the thick pines gave evidence that winter had come to this elevation.

After taking my seat a short walk from the parking area and sitting quietly for some minutes, the noise became intolerable. Spontaneously, more out of indignation than any thought it would have an effect, I bellowed, TURN IT OFF!

Incredibly, the racket immediately ceased. My companion, who had returned to the parking area to sit on the sunny side of the lake, said my voice echoed over water.

A diving duck about 50 meters in front swiveled its head from side to side in the manner that species of ducks do. The sun glinted off its shapely skull with each turn. A minute later it pivoted its entire body into the water and dove. I didn’t see where it came up.

The surface of the water, which was full of small ripples when we arrived, slowly grew calmer and calmer.

Only now do I see that it was more than a metaphor for the quieting of the mind, as outer and inner stilling happened in parallel.

The duality between the outer and inner dissolved away, and the nameless, immeasurable essence of the earth’s beauty was felt again anew. There is an inviolability, which is different and yet the same every time.

Passive watchfulness effortlessly and imperceptibly intensifies non-directed attention, which ignites a flame that acts without a trace of volition to incinerate each thought and emotion as they arise.

The observer is the reactor, splitting thoughts from the total movement of thought in a slow, decaying fission that never fuses into wholeness. The separative self is a half step from the observer, and the ego is a half step from the self.

The entire movement of thought, self and time ends with the complete quieting of the mind in attentiveness, not concentration. Only then can the brain feel the sacredness within and beyond nature.

This is the true meaning and process of meditation I feel. Meditation is not a practice but a phenomenon.

Just as one’s meditation at the little lake was deepening beyond the known however, the racket started up again from across the water.

Though I remain skeptical, it certainly didn’t appear like a coincidence. Of course psychologically, given that the guy (almost certainly a guy) heard my holler, he probably thought an hour was enough time, and he could turn his blaring, blasted radio back on.

This kind of thing happens too often to be coincidental. What is its metaphysical mechanism? Is it the almost unbearable noise of man’s cumulative, collective darkness operating through oblivious human conduits?

Bach would be ill fitting at that place, but the crap music was deeply jarring. I felt it marring the meditation until I asked: can I learn something from this?

Then I realised that though relatively quiet and undisturbed places in nature are necessary to induce meditation, needing quiet to meditate is a false thing.

I saw that a breakthrough means that one can meditate anywhere, under almost any circumstances, at any time. Then I asked: can I go beyond darkness entirely?

Suddenly the racket stopped, and didn’t start again.

My companion returned, and we walked back, saying little. The lake grew so calm and flat that it was no longer water at all, but a mirror for anyone willing and able to see.

Martin LeFevre

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