Mastering Mindfulness: A Thinker's Ode to Meditation
I'm lucky.
When I was fifteen, I was the sole survivor in one of those
horrific car accidents involving a bunch of teens, lots of
alcohol, and late-night fast driving. While the driver and other
passengers were killed instantly when our car hit a tree on a
drizzly summer night, I had the most powerful experience of my
life.
I felt myself being lifted lightly, and it seemed as though I
was actually caressed by a loving presence. I remember feeling
soothed, comforted, and cherished. I didn't want it to end.
The next thing I remember is lying in a pile of wet leaves with
a bunch of flashlights in my face. I walked away without a
scratch.
The others were from a different town, and their families, high
school friends and teachers mourned their loss bitterly. When
they heard that there was a survivor, someone from out of town,
many of them felt angry that one of their friends couldn't have
been the survivor instead of me. In their anguish, they called
to inform me of this sentiment. It was a lot for a 15-year-old
to handle.
Nobody knew about the accident at my high school. This was
before crisis teams were in place to deal with tragedies. There
were no counselors standing by in my case. I was filled with a
tremendous sense of guilt, and my beautiful experience was one I
never discussed. I couldn't talk about feeling cherished when
others had died. It seemed disrespectful and arrogant.
Months later, one of the mothers of the victims called me. I
hadn't had any contact with any of the families or friends, and
was mourning alone in silence, in exile, really, pretending that
everything was just fine. She wanted to invite me over for tea.
I declined. I was afraid of hurting her, overwhelmed by my
guilt, and petrified that she would lash out at me.
She persisted. I must have declined her invitations half a dozen
times in the next three months, making lame excuses and once
even pretending to be my sister, telling her I wasn't home.
Fortunately, she kept at it, and when I finally did come over to
her house for tea, she wrapped me in a completely reassuring
hug.
She was my first meditation teacher. She recognized my pain, and
I am eternally grateful that she taught me skills to cope with
it. I truly believe she saved my life for the second time.
I used meditation as a tool. There was no association with any
particular religion. Despite the clear sense of a benign
presence during the accident, it just never occurred to me that
it was God. Others may have responded with a renewed religious
conviction. I opted for a simple there-must-be-a-reason view.
Years later, as a college student interested in psychology,
philosophy, and science, I was studying with a university
professor and meditation teacher in Sri Lanka. Ratne taught a
technique for mindfulness meditation that meshed perfectly with
my need for logic, order, and my view of the universe as
manifesting power in magnificent but unpredictable ways. He
taught meditation from a thinker's perspective, validating the
notion that we are entrusted with the responsibility to use our
minds for both thinking and non-thinking.
Ratne died a few years ago, but his son, Deva, is carrying on
his tradition of mindfulness training in Sri Lanka. My friend
visited Deva recently and was immersed in discussions to build
an environmentally-friendly meditation center on a hilltop
there.
Deva's mindfulness technique is growing in popularity with good
reason--it's simple, and it is completely detached from any
specific religion.
This is not your father's meditation. It's Deva's insightful
take on his dad's approach. It's thoroughly modern and
inclusive, based as much on our understanding of the brain as it
is on our professed need to find bliss.
I've been lucky to be exposed to this unique method. Through
good times and bad, meditation has given me perspective and a
sense of ease when I needed it most. I've lost two brothers to
suicide, one to AIDS, a stepfather and father-in-law to cancer
in the last few years. Meditation has been a life raft as well
as a surprising source of direction and joy.
Although I am quick to identify myself as a thinker, in the same
breath I'll tell you I'm a meditator. They go hand in hand for
me. I consider it my favorite ego-attachment.
Regardless of your religious beliefs, you can use meditation to
strengthen yourself and your understanding of the universe. If
the age-old methods aren't working for you, perhaps all you need
is an updated version, an upgrade to Meditation 2.0, if you
will.
You can skip the pricey bench or embroidered cushion. Don't
bother with the candle. Keep the incense in the drawer. Contrary
to popular belief, no equipment is required.
All you need is your mind--and a supportive teacher. I hope you
are lucky enough to find yours.