We've heard about it, right? It's in the lexicon. Over the past few decades, it's gained momentum in the cultural ether in which we all swim. We've maybe read a few articles or watched a few videos about it. Maybe we've even tried it. But what, really, is meditation?

Put simply, it us, sitting with ourselves. It is the intentional, nonjudgemental paying of close attention to our own lived experience, in the present moment. We sit or stand or lie down. We choose and focus on an anchor - often the breath. We allow things to arise into our awareness, we note their presence, without judgement or reaction, we let them go or be, then return our focus to the anchor. Over and over and over. Simple. Not easy.

In practice, meditation is the training our attention and our awareness. It isn't about stopping our thoughts or emptying our minds or ignoring anything. Rather, we are changing our relationship to our thoughts, and to distractions, by observing them without judgement or manipulation. Through this we achieve and strengthen states of mental clarity, emotional composure and stability, which we can then carry into our daily lives.

To do this we work to cultivate core components of the practice: focus, awareness, nonjudgemental observation.

Attention: this is a foundational skill. It is the ability to maintain focus. But to strengthen it, we need something on which to focus. We need an anchor. (We will get into different anchors in a later post). In the beginning, we use the breath, and for simple reasons: it is close, it is familiar, it is constant, and it is always changing. We can feel it.

Awareness: this is our ability to recognize what is happening in our internal and external environments. Thoughts from the mind and their accompanying emotions, noises, physical sensations both pleasant and unpleasant, objects in our line of sight, smells, tastes. We notice what's arisen into our awareness from these six different avenues: our five senses and thoughts/emotions (mind objects), without getting caught up in them. We simply bear witness. Through this we strengthen our ability to recognize what's happening while becoming comfortable with all of these phenomena. This goes to the heart of emotional stability. We must first become aware of the emotion if we are to work with it, to sit with it, to become comfortable with it, to regulate it.

Nonjudgemental observation: we practice without judging anything that comes into our awareness. We simply experience it, without trying to change it. We don't try to cling to anything, we don't try to reject anything, we don't try to manipulate anything. It's not good. It's not bad. It just is. It will come and go as it sees fit. If you find yourself growing frustrated or impatient, that's great! Observe these feelings as well. What better tools to use for meditation than negative emotions and mind states? Just observe them, without judgement. Let them go or be or stay or leave. Just observe.

Think of meditation as taking the mind to the gym. Exercise strengthens the body. Meditation strengthens the mind. We improve our ability to focus, to recognize distraction, to concentrate, to manage stress, to regulate our emotions, to be fully present in the moment.

A teacher I had in Thailand expressed it this way: "Imagine the mind as the trunk of a great tree. The wind blows. The leaves shake. The branches sway. The weather changes. Yet the trunk remains steady and rooted and immovable."

This isn't exactly an easy task. Much of what happens in our daily lives brings chaos and disorder: frustrating traffic, less than agreeable coworkers, job deadlines, barking neighborhood dogs, rain, all manner of bad news. These are the shaking leaves and the swaying branches. And they are there every day. Challenges.

Meditation teaches us how to keep the mind steady in the midst of all of these changes in our environment.

So, just what are we doing?

I ask that you take a moment and live in real time with me as I describe a typical meditation session.

I set my timer. I sit down. I gather my body and relax and allow my physical structure to settle: my feet and legs and hips and stomach and shoulders and arms and neck and facial muscles. I take a few deep breaths and allow my eyes to close gently.

I mentally repeat this mantra: "With this meditation I am becoming more patient with myself and others. I am becoming more accepting, more compassionate, more aware when anger or fear or doubt have arisen." (This is my own mantra, composed of the things that I am trying to improve in my own life. Yours will be personal to you and you alone).

I become aware of my body, of the weight of my body, of the presence of my body. I'm simply feeling the body as it settles and continues to relax.

I am aware that my body is breathing. I bring my focus to the breath, to the rising and the falling of the belly. I anchor my focus and my attention here.

Immediately, a thought arises.

"What will I write about today?"

Noting to myself - "Thinking is present." I let it be and return to the breath. One or two breaths pass.

"Did I start the dishwasher?"

Noting - "Thinking." I let it be and return to the breath. A few breaths pass.

"Did she say something this morning I may have missed?"

Noting - "Thinking." I let it be and return to the breath. A few breaths pass.

"I'm never going to be able to teach meditation and support myself."

Noting - "Thinking and doubting." I let them be them, without judgement. I return to the breath. A few breaths pass.

The neighbor's dog begins to bark.

Noting - "Hearing." I let it be and return to the breath. A few breaths pass.

My beard begins to itch.

Noting - "Feeling." I welcome it and sit with it. I let it be and return to the breath. Two or three breaths pass. Continue on until finished.

This short passage details the first minute or so of my morning twenty minutes of meditation. Thoughts visit. Physical sensations arise. Noises distract. But eventually, it all goes calm. Like tunnel vision. The dog is still barking but now it sounds miles away. Cars pass by outside but I barely notice them. Thoughts are still present; they arise and pass like clouds in the sky. I am not seduced by them. My knee aches a little, but it is far below me. I observe it; I let it be. My mind has settled, my focus has narrowed, distractions arise and pass through my awareness, but nothing pulls me off of the breath. I breathe in, I feel it. I breathe out, I feel it. There is the pause between the breaths. I feel that as well. Thoughts come. This is their nature. Thoughts go. This is also their nature. The wind blows. The leaves shake. The branches sway. The weather changes. The mind is steady and rooted and immovable. This is peace. It is here. It is now. Please, help yourself to it.

Jon