by Harris, Dan
Appendix: Instructions
There are a lot of bad reasons not to meditate. Here are my top three:
1. “It’s bullshit.” I get it. As you may remember, I used to feel this way, too. But there’s a reason why businesspeople, lawyers, and marines have embraced meditation. There’s no magic or mysticism required—it’s just exercise. If you do the right amount of reps, certain things will happen, reliably and predictably. One of those things, according to the research, is that your brain will change in positive ways. You will get better at not being carried away by your passing emotional squalls; you will learn—maybe 10% of the time, maybe more—to respond, not react. We now know that happiness, resilience, and compassion are skills, susceptible to training. You don’t have to resign yourself to your current level of well-being, or wait for your life circumstances to change; you can take the reins yourself. You brush your teeth, you take the meds your doctor prescribes, you eat healthfully—and if you don’t, you probably feel guilty about it. Given everything modern science is telling us, I think it’s now safe to put meditation in this category.
2. “It’s too hard for me.” I call this the “fallacy of uniqueness” argument. People often tell me, “I know I should meditate, but you don’t understand: my mind just moves too fast. I can’t possibly do this.” News flash: Welcome to the human condition. Everybody’s mind is out of control. Even experienced meditators struggle with distraction. Moreover, the idea that meditation requires you to “clear your mind” is a myth. (More on this misapprehension below.)
3. “I don’t have the time.” Everybody has five minutes. My advice is to start with five minutes a day and to tell yourself you’ll never do more. If you increase your time gradually and organically, great. If not, totally fine.
Basic Mindfulness Meditation
1. Sit comfortably. You don’t have to twist yourself into a cross-legged position—unless you want to, of course. You can just sit in a chair. (You can also stand up or lie down, although the latter can sometimes result in an unintentional nap.) Whatever your position, you should keep your spine straight, but don’t strain.
2. Feel your breath. Pick a spot: nose, belly, or chest. Really try to feel the in-breath and then the out-breath.
3. This one is the key: Every time you get lost in thought—which you will, thousands of times—gently return to the breath. I cannot stress strongly enough that forgiving yourself and starting over is the whole game. As my friend and meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg has written, “Beginning again and again is the actual practice, not a problem to overcome so that one day we can come to the ‘real’ meditation.”
Pro tips
• To stay focused on the breath, try making a soft mental note, like “in” and “out.” (Don’t get too mesmerized by the note itself, just use it to direct your attention to the actual sensory experience of the breath.)
• “Noting,” as it’s called, can also be useful when something strong—such as itches, pain, worries, or hunger—comes along and drags your attention away from the breath. The act of applying a label—“planning,” “throbbing,” “fantasizing”—can objectify whatever’s going on, making it much less concrete and monolithic. (Don’t get too caught up in thumbing through your internal thesaurus for the right word. Make a note and move on.)
• Another trick for staying focused is to count your breaths. Start at one, and every time you get lost, start over. When you reach ten—if you ever reach ten—start back at one.
• Try to meditate every day. Regularity is more important than duration.
• Set a timer so that you don’t have to check your watch. There are apps for this. (I use something called the Insight Timer.)
• Find friends who are also interested in meditation. It’s not a must, but sitting with a group—or merely having people with whom you can discuss your practice—can have an HOV lane effect.
• Find a teacher you trust. Meditation can be a lonely and subtle business. It really helps to have some personal guidance. If you live in a remote area, there are teachers who offer lessons over Skype.
• Beginning meditators are sometimes advised to sit at the same time and in the same place every day. If, like me, your schedule is unpredictable and involves a lot of travel, don’t worry about it. I sit whenever and wherever I can fit it in.
• Every once in a while, do a little reading about meditation or Buddhism. Even though the basic instructions are simple, hearing them repeatedly can be useful. It’s the opposite of airplane safety announcements. Also, since the practice itself often feels stupid (“in,” “out,” ad nauseam), glancing at even a few passages of a good book can be a helpful reminder of the intellectual underpinnings of the practice, which are extremely compelling. Here are some books I like:
On meditation
Real Happiness, Sharon Salzberg
Insight Meditation, Joseph Goldstein
On Buddhism and mindfulness in general
Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart, Dr. Mark Epstein
Buddhism Without Beliefs, Stephen Batchelor
FAQS
Remind me, what’s the point of this?
Meditation is the best tool I know for neutralizing the voice in the head. As discussed, the ego is often a hatchery of judgments, desires, assumptions, and diabolical plans. The act of simply feeling the breath breaks the habits of a lifetime. For those short snatches of time when you’re focused on the rise and fall of the abdomen or the cool air entering and exiting the nostrils, the ego is muzzled. You are not thinking, you are being mindful—an innate but underused ability we all have, which allows us to be aware without judging.
When you repeatedly go through the cycle of feeling the breath, losing your focus, and hauling yourself back, you are building your mindfulness muscle the way dumbbell curls build your biceps. Once this muscle is just a little bit developed, you can start to see all the thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations that carom through your skull for what they really are: quantum squirts of energy without any concrete reality of their own.
Imagine how massively useful this can be. Normally, for example, when someone cuts you off in traffic or on line at Starbucks, you automatically think, I’m pissed. Instantaneously, you actually become pissed. Mindfulness allows you to slow that process down. Sometimes, of course, you’re right to be pissed. The question is whether you are going to react mindlessly to that anger or respond thoughtfully. Mindfulness provides space between impulse and action, so you’re not a slave to whatever neurotic obsession pops into your head.
My mind keeps wandering. Am I failure?
This question gets back to the whole “clear your mind” misconception. The relationship between thinking and meditating is a funny one. Thoughts are simultaneously the biggest obstacle to meditation, and also an unavoidable part of it—like the opposing team in basketball, or the hurdles in track. The goal is not to erase the obstacles, but to play as well as possible.
So, again: this entire endeavor revolves around moments of mindfulness, interrupted by periods of distraction, then gently catching yourself and returning to the breath. Over time, the mindfulness may grow longer and the wandering shorter. Not incidentally, the ability to begin again and again has significant “off the cushion” benefits. It creates a resilience that can be enormously useful when confronting the ups and downs of everyday life.
How come I don’t feel relaxed? This really sucks.
First of all, when you learn any new skill—Urdu, French horn, krumping, whatever—it is often awkward and difficult at the beginning.
Second, write down this quote from Jon Kabat-Zinn and put it up on your wall: “Meditation is not about feeling a certain way. It’s about feeling the way you feel.”
It’s amazing how many times I can hear this message and yet forget it when I sit down to meditate. You don’t need to achieve some special state; you just need to be as aware as possible of whatever’s happening right now. This is what the Buddhists mean by “
letting go”—better translated as “letting be.”
Meditation became much easier for me when I stopped holding myself responsible for what was happening in my head. To this day, as soon as I start meditating, the first thoughts are usually: How the hell am I going to make it until the timer goes off? Why am I even doing this? But I haven’t summoned those complaints. They just come out of the void. So rather than lapse into what Sharon Salzberg calls a “judgment jag,” I just note the thoughts as “complaining” or “rushing” or “doubt.” Yet again, there are massive off-the-cushion consequences to cultivating this attitude. Just because your wife or your kids are driving you nuts does not mean you are a “bad person.” You can’t control what comes up, only how you respond.
You keep talking about this notion that “you can’t help what we feel, only how you respond,” but I want to feel different things. Won’t meditation do that for me?
In my experience, yes, it will. Not right away, of course—and not entirely. But as you learn to stop feeding your habitual thought and emotional patterns through compulsive mental churning, you will make room for new things.
If I’m in physical pain, should I change position?
I know this stinks, but the advice is to sit still and investigate the discomfort. If you look closely, you’ll see the pain is constantly changing. Try to note it: “stabbing,” “throbbing,” “pulling,” etc. You may find that it’s not the pain that is intolerable, but instead your resistance to it. Of course, if you think you’re in real danger of injury, definitely shift position.
I keep falling asleep.
This is not a new problem. The Buddhists, perhaps unsurprisingly, have lists of things you can do to fight fatigue.
• Meditate with your eyes open. (Just enough to let a little light in. Try to fix your gaze on a neutral spot on the wall or the ground.)
• Do walking meditation. (More on this later.)
• Investigate the feeling of fatigue. Where do you feel it in your body? Is your head heavy? Your forehead buzzy?
• Do metta. (More on this later, too.)
• Pull your ears, or rub your hands, arms, legs, and face.
• Splash water on your face.
• If all else fails, go to bed.
• Also, consider the possibility that you’re constipated. (Seriously, they say that.)
This is so unbelievably boring.
Boredom: also not a new problem. The advice here is similar to how you should handle pain and fatigue: investigate. What does boredom feel like? How does it manifest in your body? Whatever comes up in your mind can be co-opted and turned into the object of meditation. It’s like in judo, where you use the force of your enemy against him.
Another trick for overcoming boredom is to increase the level of difficulty in your meditation. Try feeling the breath more closely. Can you catch the beginning and the end of an in- or out-breath? Can you see yourself subtly leaning forward into the next breath instead of being exactly where you are? Can you note the intervals between breaths? Maybe, if those periods are long enough, you can designate a few “touch points”—quickly bring your attention to your butt or your hands or your knees before the next breath resumes.
I keep trying to feel the breath as it naturally occurs, but every time I focus on it, I involuntarily start to control it, so it feels artificial.
Doesn’t matter. As Joseph Goldstein says, “This is not a breathing exercise.” You don’t have to breathe a certain way. If you want, you can even take sharper breaths so that it’s easier to feel them. What matters here is the mindfulness, not the breath.
What if I feel panicky and hyperventilate every time I try to watch my breath?
This is not uncommon. Fortunately, there are many variations of mindfulness meditation.
Body scan
1. Sit, stand, or lie down.
2. Start at one end of your body and work up or down. Bring your attention to your feet, your calves, your knees, your butt, and so on. When you get to your head, what can you feel? Anything? After reaching the top, work your way back down.
3. Every time your mind wanders, gently bring it back.
Walking meditation
1. Stake out a stretch of ground roughly ten yards long. (That’s somewhat arbitrary—whatever length you’ve got will work.)
2. Slowly pace back and forth, noting: lift, move, place with every stride. Try your best to feel each component of every stride. (Don’t look at your feet, just look at a neutral point in the distance.)
3. Every time your mind wanders, gently bring it back.
4. There is a temptation to denigrate walking meditation as less serious or rigorous than seated meditation, but this is wrong. Just because your legs are crossed doesn’t mean you’re meditating more effectively. As a noted teacher once said, “I’ve seen chickens sitting on their eggs for days on end.”
Compassion meditation (aka metta)
At first blush, most rational people find the below off-putting in the extreme. Trust me—or, better, trust the scientists—it works.
1. This practice involves picturing a series of people and sending them good vibes. Start with yourself. Generate as clear a mental image as possible.
2. Repeat the following phrases: May you be happy, May you be healthy, May you be safe, May you live with ease. Do this slowly. Let the sentiment land. You are not forcing your well-wishes on anyone; you’re just offering them up, just as you would a cool drink. Also, success is not measured by whether you generate any specific emotion. As Sharon says, you don’t need to feel “a surge of sentimental love accompanied by chirping birds.” The point is to try. Every time you do, you are exercising your compassion muscle. (By the way, if you don’t like the phrases above, you can make up your own.)
3. After you’ve sent the phrases to yourself, move on to: a benefactor (a teacher, mentor, relative), a close friend (can be a pet, too), a neutral person (someone you see often but don’t really ever notice), a difficult person, and, finally, “all beings.”
Open awareness
1. Sit, stand, or lie down. (You can actually do open awareness while walking, too.)
2. Instead of simply watching the breath, try to watch everything that arises. Set up a spy cam in your mind and just see what is there to see. To maintain your focus, try noting whatever comes up: burning, hearing, itching, breathing, etc.
3. Every time you lose your focus, just forgive yourself and come back. (It’s pretty easy to get distracted doing this type of meditation, so you might want to use your breath as an anchor that you return to when you get scattered. It’s like filling up the hot-air balloon of the mind with enough concentration so that you can fly.)
More questions:
Isn’t noting just a form of thinking?
Yes, but it’s what the Buddhists call a “skillful” use of thinking, designed to direct the mind toward connecting with what is actually happening, as opposed to getting caught up in a storm of unproductive rumination. As with all thinking, it’s possible for noting to lapse into judgments. For example, I often find myself noting: You’re wandering again, you gigantic moron.
Is being mindful the same thing as being in the moment?
Being in the moment is necessary but not sufficient for mindfulness—which involves being in the moment, but also being aware of what’s going on. Joseph has a term I like: “black Lab conscious.” Black Labs are always in the moment, but they’re probably not nonjudgmentally aware of the contents of their consciousness as they eat sweat socks or take a dump on the rug.
I keep hearing about Transcendental Meditation. Lots of celebrities do it. What’s the difference between TM and the stuff you’re talking about here?
TM involves a mantra—a word or a phrase that you repeat silently to yourself. It’s a style of meditation that comes out of Hinduism and is focused mainly on generating a deep sense of concentration, which can feel terrific. The practices we’re discussing here come out of Buddhism and are focused more on
developing mindfulness. (The dividing lines aren’t so neat. You definitely build up concentration in Buddhist meditation, and you can also develop some mindfulness in TM.) The two schools tend to look down their noses at each other. However, even though I’m in the Buddhist camp, I’ve done enough poking around in the TM world to be convinced the practice has plenty of benefits.
Is meditation good for everyone?
If you have severe depression or trauma, it might be best to practice in close consultation with a mental health professional or a very experienced teacher.
You’re not a teacher. What business do you have providing meditation instructions?
Fair question. You should be wary of teachers who lack deep experience. I had everything here vetted by people who actually know what they’re talking about.
Can I meditate if I’m a believing Christian (or Jew or Muslim, etc.)? Will it erode my faith?
There’s some controversy around this question. Dr. Albert Mohler, the head of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, has criticized both yoga and meditation as being based on Eastern spirituality, and therefore not good for Christians. Before he became Pope Benedict XVI, Cardinal Ratzinger specifically slammed Buddhism as an “auto-erotic spirituality.”
There’s equally strong pushback from devout Christians (and Jews and Muslims) who point out that meditation has been a part of the mystical traditions of all the great faiths. Furthermore, they argue, mindfulness meditation—especially the secularized MBSR technique pioneered by Jon Kabat-Zinn—is simply a tool for improving mental hygiene. In fact, they argue, quieting the voice in the head has helped them feel closer to God.