THE MEDITATION PROFESSIONALS

Yoga is a mirror to look at ourselves from within. —B.K.S. Iyengar

When I started practicing yoga, I discovered its partner, its soul sister: meditation.

I understood the concept but understanding didn’t make doing easier.

I read the required books and tried different techniques.

I asked some of my teachers and fellow students for advice. They talked about Transcendental Meditation, candle gazing, and breath counting, but when I asked about their own practice, their answers were vague. I realized most of them were as clueless as I was.

My personal practice was a struggle. A torture. I dreaded it.

As soon as I sat down, it was open season on my mind. A flood of unwelcome thoughts rushed in, pulling me into all different directions. My most current worries arrived first, followed by more ancient repressed feelings I had thought were long forgotten. My monkey mind—that relentless flow of thoughts jumping from one branch to another like a monkey—was on steroids, on spring break. Monkeys gone wild! I didn’t know how to stop this onslaught. I just wanted to sit down and connect with my higher self but I was confronted by turmoil and petty thoughts.

I knew that yoga without meditation was just stretching.

Pleasant but just an empty physical exercise.

Calming the mind is yoga. Not just standing on the head.
—Swami Satchidananda

I felt deep in my gut how important yoga was and would continue to be in my life, and I didn’t want to stop at the threshold of this mystical journey. As Elizabeth Gilbert said: Meditation is both the anchor and the wings of yoga. Meditation is the way.

So, I persisted.

But how could I hope to embody the essence of something so challenging?

I felt like a meditation hypocrite, praising the practice but unable to find any satisfaction in it myself.

I was looking for some magical formula that would allow me to sit in a perfect lotus position with a knowing Buddha smile on my lips.

But sitting still didn’t come easy to me.

And then, one day, I had a revelation: when your kitchen sink leaks, you don’t try to fix it yourself; you call a professional.

My mind was leaking. I needed to go to the meditation professionals.

The Buddhist monks.

I had heard of the Thai Buddhist temple across the James River Bridge, thirty minutes from my house. I knew they had a special meditation session for English speakers every Wednesday night, but had never felt any need to go. Until now.

The drive itself on that late summer afternoon was a metaphor: my friend Del and I were crossing the bridge into a place of peace and serenity.

The temple—Wat Pasantidhamma—was an exotic splash of color nestled in the Virginia woods.

The orange-clad monks welcomed us with a smile.

No fuss. No formula. No gimmick.

They told us to just sit.

And we sat.

Facing the back of the monks and the golden statues of the smiling Buddha surrounded by an array of flowers.

We sat for thirty minutes while they chanted.
We sat for thirty more minutes in silence.
We did walking meditation for thirty minutes.
We sat again for fifteen minutes.
When I stood up, I knew my life had changed forever; I felt brand new, as if I had taken a shower from the inside.
Monkey mind had come as always. But this time, after my first usual instinct to fight it, I had let go and just observed its senseless little dance. Without the momentum of my resistance, it seemed to have slowly given up. The waves of unrest had become just ripples. And between those ripples, I had caught a glimpse of glorious peace, as someone catches glimpses of sun when the storm starts to abate. Those glimpses were all I needed to gain hope and continue to sit.

Meditation is a surrender. It’s not a demand. It’s not forcing existence your way. It is relaxing into the way existence wants you to be. It is a let-go. —Osho