There are many different forms of meditation, and often people speak of running, playing tennis, or doing other activities as a form of meditation. But meditative states are a completely different animal than being in “the zone” athletically.

Can the art and importance of meditation be conveyed, through writing, talking or even in person? Or is awakening meditative states something we have to discover completely for ourselves?

Meditation has nothing to do with techniques, traditions or systems. But if methodless meditation, by whatever name, is crucial to inward survival and growth, and each person is entirely on their own, what chance is there for humanity?

To my mind meditation means the effortless, spontaneous quieting of thought/emotion through undivided, passive watchfulness gathering non-directed attention. It begins with attending to every sensory impression in the moment, preferably in the mirror of nature.

Why is the quieting and emptying of the mind so important? Because without doing so the darkness of the world and cumulative consciousness overwhelms the mind and seeps into the heart, suffocating the spirits of even the strongest individuals.

In essence, meditation is the negation of psychological memory and experience. Therefore the first and abiding quality is to be self-knowing, which means being skeptically aware and sternly honest with oneself.

Most people don’t have the time to take an hour during the day, but anyone can find twenty minutes to sit quietly alone in the yard or patio, and experiment with observation.

Even if a meditative state doesn’t ensue, the mind is quieter and the heart is clearer when one takes a little time to sit quietly each day and observe without effort. A little spiritual diligence every day goes a long way.

There are two mechanisms that one needs to gain insight into for meditation to ignite. The first is the observer, and the second is time.

The observer is the illusion of the separate self, the ‘me’ that stands apart. In actuality there is no such thing, since the observer is essentially thought splitting off from itself and believing it’s separate.

Why don’t neuroscientists understand and explain the fallacy of the observer? For two reasons. First, because they haven’t had insight into it within themselves. And second, because an observer is necessary to do science, Shrodinger’s cat notwithstanding.

Why passive awareness? Because sustained passive awareness grows quicker than the habit of psychological separation, and ‘catches’ thought in the act of automatically dividing itself from itself as the observer.

When one has an insight into the human mind’s trick of continually separating the observer from the entire movement of thought, the infinite regress of the illusory observer ends.

Psychological time is a deeper movement in the mind. The very nature of thought is to live in the realm of becoming rather than being. During the tens of thousands of years when humans lived close to nature, time was a conceptual tool, not a psychological problem, because nature continually reminded and required people to live in the present.

For us to free ourselves of the chains of mental time, we have to observe the mechanism of time. But that’s more difficult, requiring tremendous energy of attention and depth of insight. But when there is sufficient energy of undirected, unwilled attention, psychological time stops.

However, one has to take the time to sit quietly and explore and experiment with observation and attention. Mindfulness during activities is essential, but it usually cannot bring about a quiet mind.

To effortlessly quiet the mind one has to set aside one’s busy life, and let the senses attune to one’s environment. Then watch thoughts and emotions that randomly arise. Sitting indoors with the eyes closed can be good, but there’s usually a subtle effort in doing so, a tendency to concentrate, rather than allow the mind the space and energy to be inclusively aware.

Meditation is not a matter of directed concentration, but undirected attention. It gathers invisibly, without effort or goal. Sitting outdoors with the eyes open, listening to every sound as it reaches the ear is a natural way of learning how to observe the movement of thought/emotion, and ignite deeply regenerative meditative states.

Initially, and even sometimes with adept meditators, stillness is uncomfortable and disturbing. Things come up one would rather not see and feel, and there’s a fundamental loss of control.

But if one simply remains with disturbance, as well as the fear of losing control, without judging or reacting against them, the ‘me’ lets go. Fear hides in the crevices of thought, because fear is the continuity of thought-time.

Counter-intuitively, one doesn’t lose order, stability and security in deeply letting go; one gains them.

One’s anchor and renewal becomes the ground of silence and emptiness that envelops everything. And one realizes one can only truly be secure in silence and emptiness, since life is a passage without a destination except death.

During timeless moments, there is no fear of death, because the fear of death flows from the continuity of psychological time. After all, death is certainly the end of the continuity and control of the self, though it is infinitely more than that, especially during life.

Martin LeFevre

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