Self, Meditating
By Robert WrightThis Friday I’m heading up to rural Massachusetts in hopes of getting born again — again.
Six years ago, in the same locale, I attended my first and only silent meditation retreat. It was just about the most amazing experience of my life. Certainly it seemed more dramatic than my very first born-again experience — my response to a southern Baptist altar call as a child, which I wrote about in this space last month.
I came away from that week feeling I had found a new kind of happiness, deeper than the kind I’d always pursued. I also came away a better person — just ask my wife. (And neither of those things lasted — just ask my wife.)
So with the retreat approaching, I should be as eager as a kid on Christmas Eve, right? Well, no. Meditation retreats — at this place, at least — are no picnic. You don’t follow your bliss. You learn not to follow your bliss, to let your bliss follow you. And you learn this arduously. If at the end you feel like you’re leaving Shangri-La, that’s because the beginning felt like Guantanamo.
We spent 5.5 hours per day in sitting meditation, 5.5 hours per day in walking meditation. By day three I was feeling achy, far from nirvana and really, really sick of the place.
I was sick of my 5 a.m. “yogi job” (vacuuming), I was sick of the bland vegetarian food, and I wasn’t especially fond of all those Buddhists with those self-satisfied looks on their faces, walking around serenely like they knew something I didn’t know (which, it turns out, they did).
Yes, the payoff was huge. But it’s unlikely to be as big this time around. It’s famously hard to replicate the rapture of your first meditation retreat. Last time, during the first half of the week, my apparently prescient unconscious mind kept filling my head with that old song by Foreigner, “It feels like the first time, like it never will again.” I’ve never especially liked that song, and during those first few days it joined the list of things I hated.
What I hated above all was that I wasn’t succeeding as a meditator. Now, as the two leaders of this retreat were known to point out, you’re not supposed to think of “succeeding” at meditating. And you’re not supposed to blame yourself for failing. And blah, blah, blah.
Well, they were right: To “succeed” I really did have to quit pursuing success, and quit blaming myself for failing. And some other things had to go right.
And what was “success” like? Well, to start at the less spiritual, more sensual end: By the time I left, eating the food I’d initially disdained ranked up there with above-average sex. I’m not exaggerating by much. When I first got there, I didn’t understand why some people were closing their eyes while eating. By the end of the retreat, I was closing mine. The better to focus on the source of my ecstasy. I wasn’t just living in the moment — I was luxuriating in it.
Also, my view of weeds changed. There’s a kind of weed that I had spent years killing, sometimes manually, sometimes with chemicals. On a walk one day I looked down at one of those weeds and it looked as beautiful as any other plant. Why, I wondered, had I bought into the “weed” label? Why had I so harshly judged an innocent plant?
If this sounds crazy to you, you should hear how crazy it sounds to me. I’m not the weed-hugging type, I assure you.
And as long as we’re on the subject of crazy, there was my moment of bonding with a lizard. I looked at this lizard and watched it react to local stimuli and thought: I’m in the same boat as that lizard — born without asking to be born, trying to make sense of things, and far from getting the whole picture.
I mean, sure, I know more than the lizard — like the fact that I exist and the fact that I evolved by natural selection. But my knowledge is, like the lizard’s, hemmed in by the fact that my brain is a product of evolution, designed to perform mundane tasks, to react to local stimuli, not to understand the true nature of things. And — here’s the crazy part — I kind of loved that lizard. A little bit, for a little while.
Whether I had made major moral progress by learning to empathize with a lizard, let alone a weed, is open to debate. The more important part of my expanding circle of affinity involved people — specifically, my fellow meditators.
At the beginning of the retreat, looking around the meditation hall, I had sized people up, making lots of little judgments, sometimes negative, on the basis of no good evidence. (Re: guy wearing Juilliard t-shirt and exhibiting mild symptoms of theatricality: Well, aren’t we special?) By the end of the retreat I was less inclined toward judgment, especially the harsh kind. And days after the retreat, while riding the monorail to the Newark airport I found myself doing something I never do — striking up a conversation with strangers. Nice strangers!
My various epiphanies may sound trite, like a caricature of pop-Buddhist enlightenment. And, presented in snapshot form, that’s what I’m afraid they’re destined to sound like. All I can say is that there is a bigger philosophical picture that these snapshots are part of, and that I had made some progress in apprehending it by the end of the retreat.
The “apprehension” isn’t just intellectual. This retreat was in the Vipassana tradition, which emphasizes gaining insight into the way your mind works. Vipassana has a reputation for being one of the more intellectual Buddhist traditions, but, even so, part of the idea is to gain that insight in a way that isn’t entirely intellectual. Or, at least, in a way that is sometimes hard to describe.
On Thursday night, the fifth night of the retreat, about 30 minutes into a meditation session, I had an experience that falls into that category, so I won’t try to describe it. I’ll just say that it involved seeing the structure of my mind — experiencing the structure of my mind — in a new way, and in a way that had great meaning for me. And, happily, this experience was accompanied by a stunningly powerful blast of bliss. All told, I don’t think I’ve ever had a more dramatic moment.
This retreat is coming at a good time for me. In June I published a book that I’ve been feverishly promoting. Publishing and promoting a book can bring out the non-Buddhist in a person. For example, when book reviewers make judgments about your book, you may make judgments about the reviewers — ungenerous judgments, even.
Also, you’re inclined to pursue the fruits of your activity — like book sales — rather than just experience the activity. Checking your Amazon ranking every 7 minutes would qualify as what Buddhists call “attachment.” And attachment is bad. (Oops: I just made a judgment about attachment.)
In fact, in general I’ve been living like someone who hasn’t been meditating with much regularity or dedication, who has strayed from the straight and narrow. It’s time to start anew.
At the end of my first retreat, still reeling from that Thursday-night experience, I told one of the meditation teachers about it. He nodded casually, as if the insight I’d had was one of the standard stops on the path to enlightenment — but far from the end of the path. Through truly intensive meditation, he said, the transformation of your view of your mind — and your view of your mind’s relationship to reality, and your view of reality itself — can go much deeper than I’d gone.
That would be interesting! But this week I’d settle for half as deep.
Robert Wright, a senior fellow at the New America Foundation, is the author of “The Moral Animal,” “Nonzero” and, most recently, “The Evolution of God.”
From 1 to 25 of 48 Comments
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Nothing wrong here, but not up to the standard I’ve come to expect from this “blog”. Happy Days has had the best writing available in the NYT over the past couple of months…
— Curm -
What a bore. Me thinks Mr. Wright is a square. Good luck with your quest, my friend.
— aristata -
I find meditation very difficult. I keep having thoughts that I cant stamp out, and where does some-one who has 2 kids under the age of 5 find any bliss???? Can a sleep deprived person who cannot eat a meal in peace, or be organized, or is in a financial crunch and must support children find the type of bliss that meditation brings? I want to see how meditation affects urban city kids and their struggling welfare parents, or I’d want to see how meditation affects those of us who are in dire straights. Often it feels like activities like meditation are for those who are financially and emotionally set for life, and have no real responsibilities like earning min. wage jobs to support a family. I sure would appreciate a response or answer as to how these things help those in real need in society.
— jmp -
I remember in a previous entry in this blog someone (maybe it was you Robert) mentioned that meditation at a retreat like this was very grueling and difficult. In the comments at the bottom of the post someone else wrote that they felt that was rubbish, that meditation shouldn’t be arduous, but should be more…I don’t know, soothing? I remember relating to the commenter, thinking that my work at meditation so far has been much less disciplined than you describe the process on one of these retreats to be. And when I think about that, I start criticizing myself and thinking “See? I should be working harder at this meditation/mindfulness thing! I am not practicing often enough…!” But isn’t that basically the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing? As you say above, it’s supposed to be about non-judgment right? So we shouldn’t be judging ourselves for not working hard enough at this..?? (Confusing stuff!)
— Nico S. -
How does the thesis of your new book dfffer from Karl Marx’s account except for a slight rewording? Social scientists of various shades, including cultural anthropologists, have offered similar accounts for decades.
— PC -
Thank you. I think this is just what I needed to read right now. I’ve always been impatient and resistant to meditation and buddhism (and I tried doing it regularly at a zendo) but this is very inspiring.
— a reader -
Hysterical and excellent!
— Jeff Roth -
Robert,
— Marcie
Wonderful. Thanks for sharing. I’ve been a meditator for years - TM (transcendental meditation). Nothing as intensive as you must go through on your retreats. I do find myself, though, opening to little slices of bliss, joy … whatever … at completely unexpected times.. The other day I was walking next to a garden. It’s hard to express this, but I had the feeling of all of this “life” making love to me. I know it sounds strange and I’m afraid I just can’t put it in the right context — but it was delightful. And joyful. These experiences just kind of pop up in my life. It’s like your eating thing. There is just this exquisite joy in the simplest, most basic experiences.
Anyway, thanks. -
Superb blog (and Norman Fischer’s was a hard act to follow). ¿As author-to-author, ain’t the book biz a beautiful challenge for practice? Besides writing itself (staying mindful in the moment while the pen encompasses realms.) I find it, as you allude, a reminder we’re all entitled to our work, not the fruits, which belong to all. At least my books are such — but an artifact of the work, the product, not the process. And, that said, having read this blog, I look forward to reading yours now! You’ve given me a sweet glimpse in my own mind … thank you!
With a peaceful smile —
— Gary Gach -
Great column. You really made us believe. Years ago I reviewed your book, The Moral Animal: Evolutionary Psychology and Everyday Life (1994). It was the book that really opened my eyes to the power of evolutionary psychology. I am so pleased that you are making progress in meditation. The way you express it, how good the food becomes, your eyes closed in appreciation, is the way it should be. Enlightenment comes and goes. You have it, you grasp it, but then it slips away. You will catch it again, and then again, like an elusive dream it is just out of your reach, and then again you catch it. And then after a time you are in a different place and the world no longer looks the same and it will never be the same again. You are probably too young for non-attachment. We all are. But how great an achievement that would be!
Dennis Littrell
— Dennis Littrell -
Hi Robert,
It would be great if you could describe specifically what insights you gained about the structure of your mind. I have often read such descriptions about the experience of meditation, but few details.
One of the reasons I ask is that the feeling of great insight is common with alerted states (induced naturally or via drugs), but that feeling seems to be just that - a feeling - and when the person exits the altered state, they don’t remember what the insight actually was!
Cheers,
Graham(who enjoys meditation now and again)
— Graham Glass -
“It’s time to start anew.”, is right. I have been a student of meditation for, ah, nearly 20 or more years and know what that’s like. I’ve spent months at Lareb Ling, near Montpellier, France with the Tibetans and sat at the feet of Sogyal Rinpoche for hours. You want bliss? Sit on the floor with 500 chanting Tibetans and you will leave your body behind. Oh yes, the food was excellent, both vegetarian and meat were offered. While there, I met a couple of Zens who convinced me that there way would be more to my liking and I agreed. Later I attended a retreat at Plum Village near Bordeaux, France and sat at the feet of Thich Naht Han for hours. Their food was also excellent though all vegetarian. It was all good. They made their own tofu so maybe that made a difference. What I came away with was not so much bliss but mind control, an awareness of oneness with mankind and nature, living in the now as the past drops away and the future loses its importance. Sit. Too bad it isn’t taught in schools.
— gep -
There was a moment at my first meditation retreat when I felt true compassion for the fly that had been buzzing around the meditation hall for days.
Thank you for reminding me what I’ve been missing.
— Jon -
A week-long meditation sounds wonderful but is not realistic for many of us. I am a single parent with 2 school age children, a demanding job, and financial concerns. I think of the story of the student asking the master what he did before he found enlightenment, “I chopped wood and carried water.” The student then asks what he did after he found enlightenment, “I chopped wood and carried water.”
I have painted on my kitchen wall, “Make food, wash dishes.” Bliss is when we all enjoy the meal with good conversation. Even better is when the children show gratitude on their own and clear the table without prompting.
— Wannabe -
Robert - Thank you for sharing your meditation experience.
Hopefully there are a few more curious but intrepid people who will give silent meditation retreat a try, and blow their own mind with the beauty of mundane objects as observed by a more serene mind, a less critical ego, and a heightened awareness of inter-connectedness.
Everyone will experience their silent meditation retreat differently, and yet there are also similarities. What one gets will vary according to how much they were able to let go of seeking “meditation success” and just hone their mental muscle to stay still, non-distracted and non-reactive to their sensations, just as a field biologist would observe nature with wonder and cool detachment.
And indeed there are a lot more to the Buddhist meditation practices. Cultivation of the mind and not worship is the heart of the path to insight, enlightenment and liberation.
— Observer -
I’m a weed hugger too. They have some of the most beautiful leaves. I feel guilty killing them. I mean who am I to say they should not live? I try not to share this fact with too many. My husband and daughter already think I’m strange and that’s because I love rocks. Yes, rocks. I love to find special ones on the beach and just hold them in my hand as I walk. I think they hold memories of millions years. They connect me to the universe and I find the experience very comforting.
— Jeanne -
Any description of a spiritual experience is apt to sound a little strange. Have you ever thought that this form of awareness is our natural ‘uneducated ‘ state ? Brotherhood with lizards, plants and the weather are aspects of aboriginal consciousness. Perhaps anyone without the benefit of a modern civilisation sees things the same way.
— james -
Fun article but too bad that we have to remain defensive and funny when writing about personal change…When others write about the latest chemo therapy or diet no humor is necessary. We have a long way to go to come out of the closet with personal growth on equal terms…
— Bruce Davis -
Robert Wright sounds very far from enlightenment. Good for him to keep trying!
— J Carbon -
Very, very satisfying. As one who has been meditating since Woodstock days, (Oh wow, man, forty years!) it is wonderful to watch the whole world heading this way. People think politics will save the world, but the upward evolution of consciousness is what will actually do the job.
Just one insight to share. Every new step up, onto the next rung of the ladder that leads to That, feels huge. People think they have achieved much when there are still a thousand steps to go. (Not criticizing you, Mr. Wright. You have told your story beautifully and humbly.) The point of the journey is to reach the goal, of course, but you soon realize that the journey and goal are inseparable.
And what a journey! Around every bend something new, something you have never even imagined, awaits.
— Jagadeesan -
At the risk of sounding harsh — and judgmental! — if you find you have to go back to a Buddhist monastery to get a “refresher course” on Buddhism, it shows that you are not practicing what you have learned the first time.
I reckon the reason why Buddhists meditate ever day of their lives is because enlightenment is not something that becomes automatic pilot one day. To put it simply: meditation has to be performed on a daily basis in order to keep from slipping back into your old habits.
So as someone who has been through the same experiences as you, with regards to meditation, it might help to remind yourself on a daily basis what it is you have learned. For me, that is pretending the people around me are fellow retreatants (unbeknownst to them, of course) and being observant.
This is more akin to a walking meditation, where you are aware of what is happening around you and letting things — people, lizards and weeds! — be the way they are. This sole act won’t bring about enlightenment, but at least it reminds me why my own two-week retreat was the best thing to ever happen to me. And, at the moment, that is enough to keep me from going back to the monastery.
— Darryl M -
i’m sure all the prisoners at “Guantanamo” can empathize with you. the 5.5 hours of sitting meditation and the 5.5 hours of walking meditation must have been horrific.
— d. schimmel -
A most honest, true to the heart account. While I have not meditated (in the fashion Mr. Wright talks about) I have experienced bliss that he speaks of. The trick, I believe is not to chase the bliss but transcend it to realize God as one Swami explained it to me. I use discipline as a tool to experience this in my pursuit for perpetual bliss. What I do is to make a conscious effort to do whatever I do with all my heart. If I learn to see God in every task and every moment, it is difficult for me to put myself ahead of Him. Humility is the fundamental essence to true Nirvana. This is not my statement but my understanding of it from what I have read. Thank you, Mr. Wright for a truly uplifting column. Thank you.
— Inder -
It takes some 50 years of solitude the gain the insight that you seem to be alluding to. I’m glad you found it in a weekend.
— Jay from Brooklyn Heights -
Well written. I’ve read The Moral Animal. I’ve been meditating for years and only recently have I started to really sense a calm detachment from the operations of my mind. It’s quite useful. On a practical level, my experience has allowed me to become more patient, open and kind.
Enjoy your retreat RW.
