Meditation Without A Method

Having an inward life has become essential to remaining inwardly alive and growing as a human being in this dark and difficult age. Self-knowing is the key, and meditation without regard to systems and traditions is the action that flows from it.

Methodless meditation begins by learning the art of undivided observation, and making the space in one’s daily life for it.

The human mind, for tens of years, has cultivated accumulation. Indeed, the hominid brain evolved to notice and store information about its surroundings, and separate things from it.

From this cognitive foundation, the conscious mind formed useful knowledge and skills to exploit vastly different environments. Eventually, humans came to dominate the earth, so much so that scientists call this “the Anthropocene Age,” the “geological epoch in which human activities have significantly impacted the Earth's environment.”

Our cumulative tendency does not stop with useful things and information however. The brain records and accumulates useless experiences, including irrational fears, past hurts and burdensome sorrows. That forms the content of our conditioning and consciousness, and the collective darkness of man.

Conditioning is not inevitable however; the mind/brain has the capacity to remain young and unsullied. However one has to make the space every day to passively observe the movement of one’s thoughts and emotions. Preferably in the mirror of nature, which allows non-directed attention to gather and dissolve the useless and destructive content of consciousness.

There is no method to meditation. Methods and systems are fabrications of thought, and thought cannot be used to quiet psychological thought without dulling the brain.

One simply begins with the intent to listen, and delight in the senses. Find a relatively quiet place, preferably a spot in nature. But even a patio or balcony at sunrise or sunset will suffice.

Take a half hour and set everything aside. Let your senses attune to your environment, especially the sounds of nature and people, since we can’t control what we hear, unlike what we see. Listen to every sound without judging, interpreting or even naming them. If you find yourself judging and naming, don’t oppose it, but passively observe one’s reactions until they stop.

In the same way you non-reactively listen to each sound, let your attention come to the total movement of thought and emotion within. When the mind is especially busy, I find that jotting down things that come to mind, such as things to do later, problems or questions, helps to bring a natural, non-imposed order to the mind, and open spaces and silences within.

When one passively watches every thought and emotion as they arise, one discovers that thought/emotion is one movement, which we divide by choosing what’s good or bad, what we like or dislike.

You’ll notice that there’s always an observer that stands apart from what it’s observing. The observer is the ancient, psychologically separative movement of the human mind, which forms the illusorily separate and permanent “me.”

Simply by passively listening and watching, the brain (not ‘I”) gathers attention.

Let everything that is happening within reveal itself without interference or judgment. Then the unconscious tells its story, and repressed emotions bubble up.

A shift in consciousness begins the moment that the separate observer ends. Meditation ignites when passive awareness grows quicker than thought’s habitual reactions of separation, judgment and interpretation. Non-directed attention grows, and the mind/brain falls silent and empties itself of the unnecessary content of memory.

When the mind as thought falls silent, there is timelessness, immanent sacredness, and love.

The fog had begun to burn off, then returned to wrap around the hills and linger over the fields. As it began to lift again, the mist refracted the light in such a way that every twig and leaf stood out vividly.

Despite the gray, earth-hugging blanket, the morning was mild, and there was little dampness or chill. I sat on pads without discomfort under a huge sycamore, peering out over the fields toward the enshrouded canyon and foothills beyond town.

The visibility was about 200 meters. Suddenly for the first time in over a year, I saw a type of falcon that used to be common to the area, a kite, right at the edge of the fog. It flew about 30 meters, hovered for 20 seconds or so as it scanned the ground for prey, and repeated the pattern until it disappeared into the mist.

The sight of the falcon’s exquisitely graceful flight at the edge of the world produced a reverential feeling. Suddenly the fog was gone, and everything around me, which had appeared flat and colorless, came alive.

Standing, the cliffs of the canyon beyond town were sharp and clear. But I was jerked back to “reality’ by the sight of “monster houses” at the mouth of the canyon.

I stood still for a few more minutes. The self had dissipated with the fog.

The little creek, dry for most of the summer months, is running full again. Deeply aware of the earth, one saw with eyes that had been cleansed of the past.

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