Thoughts on Meditation
Tom Hogan teaches yoga at Om Namo Center. This month he shares his thoughts on the value of meditation.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was January 2nd, 2011, and I was visiting Kauai on a yoga retreat. For those that don’t know, Kauai has a pull. It was my third visit in five years; the island’s abundant sunshine, refreshing tradewinds, and rugged remoteness calling me back. Kauai is called “The Garden Isle” and the name is appropriate. The whole island is alive and vibrant. Beaches, waves, rivers, waterfalls and rocks exude an invisible and irrepressible lifeforce. It is as if the whole island has a halo. In this energy I felt my chakras open, my soul sing, and my whole being start to float. I was one with this life force, and nothing bad could happen.
On Kauai, it takes about three days to become fully immersed in “island time”. This is a way of life where you go with the flow. There are no hard deadlines, work is completed when it needs to be, and if something isn’t completed, no big deal. There is a loose agenda for the day; you might go on a hike or in a boat, but if you stray from your agenda, no big deal. This contrasts starkly with “mainland time” in all its hustling and bustling stress-filled-glory.
It was mid day, and I was fully embracing “island time” while cruising along route 56 with one of my fellow yoga retreatants. The ocean was a short 200 yards to our right as we drove north and looked across a rolling dune. The strong steady waves churned the water, the mid day sun danced on the ocean with each undulation, and the deep, unwavering hum extending an invitation for adventure to anyone who would listen. We flipped the blinker on and turned our rented Dodge into the beach parking lot. Before we knew it we were at the water’s edge.
Waves in Hawaii are not like waves in New England. Think of having a bowl of frozen peas for dinner. Then think of having a farm to table feast with fresh veggies cooked perfectly. This is like the waves in Hawaii. They are amazing. Filled with energy and ready to be enjoyed.
Noticing the many “DANGER! strong current signs” around, I cautiously dipped my feet into the water. A wave crashed 10 feet away, surging towards me. The water went up to my knees, pushing me gently, and then pulling me as it retreated back to the ocean. It pulled the sand with it, pulling with such a force I sank into the sand a few inches as if I was in quicksand. I laughed like I was five, free to play in this newfound nature’s playground.
Over the next 10 minutes I played with the waves in that way, feeling their push and pull, dancing with their energy, inching my way into the water. The farther I waded out, the more fun it was. I ventured out to where the water rose to my waist, close to where the waves were crashing. I bent my knees and braced myself as if I was a hockey player bracing for a check. Kaboom! Each wave crashing had the same sequence: a crash, a pull, a moment of checking to make sure I was ok, and great enjoyment. My legs were the key. As long as I had solid footing, and as long as I could connect the strength of my leg muscles to the ocean floor, I could absorb the force of the incoming wave and brace myself as the current pulled itself back out to sea.
It is frightening how quickly things changed. Thirsty for more I put my head underwater. As my head went under, my feet lifted, just for a moment. A moment was all it took. When I took my head out after what could not have been more than three seconds, my whole scenery had changed. It took a moment to realize I had somehow floated out and to the left; the coast was smaller, and the parking lot was now 100 yards up to my right. My feet could not touch the bottom.
I didn’t panic immediately. I was on Kauia on vacation. I was able bodied, strong, and athletic. No need to worry, I’ll just swim in to shore. I put my head in the water and started a swim stroke towards the shore at 75% effort for a minute, only to find myself farther away from the shore. Then 90%. Then 99%. No progress. Panic set in. The current was too strong. There was nothing I could do. The shore was getting smaller. I had no lifejacket, no flippers, no wetsuit, no hope. The waves were unrelenting; each one throwing me farther away from where I hoped, despite my panicked silent objections. With no control over where I was floating, I started to lose hope. Each wave stole a little bit more of my energy, and was a constant reminder me of how little control I had, and how helpless I was.
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I started practicing meditation in 2004 as a bright eyed young professional, with a small book titled “Tibetan Heart Yoga”. Since then I have practiced different styles with different teachers, for different durations and different frequencies. Increasingly I am being asked how to meditate, where to meditate, and why to meditate, and increasingly I think of the above story as a way to explain the benefits that I experience from mediation practice in my everyday life.
Inevitably all humans will find themselves away from the figurative shore. Inevitably we will have that feeling of being thrown around by the waves, like we have no control, like hope is lost, that despite our best efforts we can’t change our situation. Out of nowhere a car cuts us off, or we read an upsetting email, or we see a controversial news story. And in the blink of an eye our minds are pulled into a state of anger, fear, and indignation. We swim a little faster, or yell at the waves to stop, but it does not help. We type something in the comment field of the facebook reply, but it does not help. Hope seems lost. We drive home and get cut off again. There is no end and no relief.
What I am learning is that meditation does not stop these external waves. Meditation will not change someone or something on the outside. But it does ground me. When I meditate consistently, I feel as though my feet are touching the ocean floor. The currents and external forces of life don’t stop. These are waves that will come and go, and waves over which I have no control. But as long as my feet touch the ocean floor, I no longer feel that fear, that loss of control, or that helplessness. The waves still rise and fall, but they don’t feel unmanageable.
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Somehow on that fateful day, the waves brought me to a sandbar. I stood up. Returning to the practice of meditation is like the moment when my feet once again made contact with the sand. Nature showed me that I wasn’t in charge, but in that moment I regained the perspective I needed to navigate the world with grace and awareness.
