Sitting in Silence

The testing we did on the app yielded us some very useful feedback. After reading the comments from our six beta-testers, I decided the app needs to more clearly express its point of view.

My original intent was to create an app that insisted people mantra meditate for 20 minutes at a time, and in silence.

In an effort to gain wider appeal, Chutika and I agreed to make the timer adjustable, but relaxing music and guided meditation keep the mind on the surface of awareness, which is inconsistent with the experience I am promoting.

I had originally tried to keep the instructional text in the app to a minimum, but what I settled on wasn't enough. People didn't really understand the app's point of view.

So for the last few days I have been condensing the instructions from my blog, emphasizing the value of 20 minute sessions and meditating in silence. I have also asked Chutika to set the timer at 20 minutes.

Not long after I learned Transcendental Meditation, I realized how TM is different than the method of Zen meditation I learned in the 1990s. Both are done in silence, but the practice of zazen involves focusing on the breath with eyes open. This makes it more difficult to achieve the transcendent brainwave states of higher consciousness. A friend once explained that Zen meditation is a tool for living in this world. The transcendent states are not unattainable, but they are harder to achieve consistently.

In contrast, when I do TM, I focus on a 'meaningless' word with my eyes closed. Without something to anchor me in this world, it is easier to transcend time and space in just 20 minutes. It is recommended by TM teachers that one should never meditate more than twice a day, unlike Zen monks who sit for hours at a time.

Using either method, meditating for 5 or 10 minutes at a time just isn't very useful. The brain needs time to 'power down' to the more powerful brainwave states, and 20 minutes seems to be a magic number. As Deepak Chopra says, 'After twenty minutes, something wonderful happens.'

Most studies on the effects of meditation are done on subjects who meditate for 15 to 30 minutes at a time. The subjects generally show measurable physical and functional changes in the brain if they practice daily, and regularly achieving transcendent brainwave states is the key factor in those changes.

If you think sitting in absolute silence for 20 minutes is a waste of time, and doing it twice a day is twice the waste, give me a chance to convince you otherwise.

The Science of Meditation

The other day one of my students sent me an article from the CBC's website about a scientific study which suggested that meditating for as little as 11 hours in a month could prevent mental illness. The US-based study noted physically measurable changes in the brains of people with mental illnesses, such as schizophrenia and borderline personality disorder, when they practiced a specific type of meditation.

This information may be news to some people but accounts of the benefits of meditation can be found among the oldest surviving records of human history. Daoism in China, and the teachings of Vedanta and Buddhism in India, all have hallowed traditions of 'sitting still and doing nothing' to benefit the body, mind and soul, going back thousands of years.

If you do a search of the words 'science' and 'meditation' on Wikipedia you will find an entry titled 'Research on meditation', detailing the modern history of this field starting with the work of Dr Herbert Benson. I rely heavily on Dr Benson's work to give credibility to what I do, since the word 'Qigong' carries little weight with most Canadians until they have tried it.

The CBC article came to me the day after I sent an email off to our local recreation department announcing my fall meditation classes. In the past I have always done my classes on Monday or Tuesday evenings, but since many people say those days don't work for them, I thought I'd try a different approach. Starting Monday, September 17th, I will be offering a meditation class one day a week for five weeks, on each successive day of the week, finishing on Friday, October 19th.

These classes are also different in that they are stand-alone classes rather than a series. Over the past six months, since I first started preparing for the presentation I did at LDSS, I have been refining the way I teach meditation. My hope is that a single class will give students all the information and experience they need to make meditation a daily habit. The slide show I am using for the class will be emailed to students afterwards so they can review it if they need to.

Most of the information I am sharing in these classes is already available on this blog, and I have added another page called 'Download and Print' to make it easier to access.

The goal of this blog from the beginning has been to demonstrate how simple the principles involved in meditation are, but if you're like me, you will find great benefit from attending a class. After all, there is no substitute for being in the same room as the teacher.

The cost of the class is $10 and you can contact the Rec Dept at 519-292-2054 after September 1st to register.

Letters to the Editor

Yesterday my writing time was spent on a letter to the editor of our local newspaper. I hastily wrote a few paragraphs which I felt captured my feelings, and sent if off before my morning meditation

I should have known better.

I have a history of writing inflammatory and poorly conceived letters to editors, a pattern which began in university. In the pages of Trent University's The Arthur, more than once I made myself the centre of attention by writing what was really on my mind, revealling more about how my mind works than anything else.

The first time was after hearing the song 'Bomb the Boats and Feed the Fish' by The Forgotten Rebels over the sound system of The Ceilidh one afternoon. The reactionary side of me took deep offense to the way the woman at the next table was amused by the lyrics. Understanding that the song was referencing racist remarks made against Vietnamese refugees, I foolishly decided it was inappropriate for an institute of higher learning.

The next day I wrote to The Arthur calling for a ban on playing the song campus pubs. It was met by a chorus of equally angry letters from people who were actually around when the song was popular in 1979 and better understood its political context. The Rebels, as I discovered through these responses, were not siding with racists but using racists' words against them in sympathy with the refugees. It took a while for me to live it down. I remember being introduced to people a few times after the incident and seeing the recognition of my name dawn on their faces.

The next time I wrote to The Arthur I tried to be more careful, but I hadn't counted on a particularly vindictive editor with blurry editorial ethics. Like the removal of the keystone from a stone archway, the editor's deft excision of one sentence destroyed any remaining credibility my name might have had with the student body. In addition to editing my words to her advantage, she had also seen fit to publish a full-page attack on my letter on the opposite page. For the next two weeks, the letters' section of the paper was filled with a barrage of rebuttals to my emasculated argument.

Fortunately for me, some people had come to understand the editor was abusing her role at the paper to further her own political views, all the while ironically decrying the privileged male voice of the media. One student came to my defense with his own letter and was similarly pilloried alongside of me. Although I was outraged and even felt sorry for her new victim, I was relieved that she had shifted her attention away from me.

The main lesson I learned from these incidents was the art giving myself a cooling-off period to reflect on what I've written before sharing. Not only does it give me a chance to edit my ire, but It also helps me to more fully express my ideas so my words cannot be so easily edited to hurt me. This lesson has come to serve me well both with personal letters and those intended for public consumption.

So when I sat down yesterday morning, I really should have known better than to write something out of anger and send it off without the benefit of at least meditating beforehand. Over morning coffee I shared what I had written with Tara who readily chastised me for my poorly considered words.

So I went back to my computer and looked at what I'd written, seeing as though for the first time where my worst tendencies were represented all too well.

I did a quick and much more thoughtful edit of the letter and sent it off, hoping the editor would choose to print the revision rather than the original. Upon receiving a positive response from the editor, I reflected on how a writer is only as good as their editor, especially in the case of self-editing.

Knee-Deep in the River of Zen

My visit to the Shinsho-ji Kokusai Zendo in 1993 resulted in a brief friendship with an American exchange student named Brian.

Upon completing his undergraduate degree in history, Brian submitted a thesis proposal to study the role of feudalism in contemporary Japanese martial arts. His proposal was accepted and a year later he managed to get a Japanese university to foot the bill for a six-month stay in Kyoto.

His weekly routine in Japan's cultural capital involved classes given in English at the university, Japanese language classes, and daily workouts at the oldest jujistu dojo in the city. Wanting to round out his Japan experience even more, he managed to find the money and time to take a few days to visit the zendo after hearing about it from one of the members of the dojo.

He had never been out of the US before and every day he spent in Japan was a revelation. I enjoyed spending time with him for this reason alone. I had been in the country for two years by that time and his questions and comments on life at the zendo helped me see certain things I took for granted with fresh eyes. His enthusiasm for life at the zendo also impressed Seigo-san. As with me, Seigo took extra time to tutor Brian on any aspect of zendo life he expressed interest in.

Brian had studied Thai kickboxing in his home state of Tennessee for seven years before switching to the Japanese art of jujitsu. His knees just couldn't take the demands of the former, and the damage he had done to them frequently impeded his progress in the latter.

As Leonard Cohen once said in an interview: 'Zen is great for the mind, but hard on the knees.' Life at the zendo amplified the pain in Brian's knees in more ways than one. In addition to the demands of sitting cross-legged during zazen, sitting seiza for breakfast and dinner probably contributed more to his increased discomfort.

During the week Brian visited the zendo, a German literature professor named Peter who taught at a university in Tokyo, came to stay with another German colleague. Peter was fluent in German, English and Japanese, and his effortless ability to sit in full-lotus position for zazen impressed everyone including Seigo.

On Brian's last day at the zendo, he asked Peter for a favour. He had some very specific questions for Seigo, but since his command of Japanese wasn't the greatest and Seigo's command of English was even more rudimentary, he hoped Peter could translate for them. Peter was more than happy to oblige.

Several of the guests joined the three of them in the lounge that afternoon to share in the exchange. I remember there being a fairly harmonious group of people visiting that week, and all of us looked forward to hearing what Seigo had to say. Brian set up a camcorder on a borrowed tripod to capture the exchange for future reference and asked me to operate it.

He began with broad questions about the benefits of zazen. Seigo's face took on a serious, almost sombre expression as he answered the questions through Peter. He spoke of how daily meditation would benefit Brian's studies, his martial arts practice, and his personal relationships. He also spoke of the determination and discipline it would require, but promised the rewards would be immediate, measurable and long-lasting if he persisted with this practice.

With a competent translator for the exchange, Seigo explained in great detail the importance of posture in enhancing proper breathing during meditation, and the benefits of doing it on an empty stomach. As to the literal meanings of the words uttered during the morning sutras, he told Brian not to concern himself with them. Their primary purpose was to 'wake up' the lungs and body before morning zazen.

Finally Brian asked the question I believe weighed most on his mind: Would the pain in his knees during zazen diminish or at least get easier to bear?

Seigo became even more serious, almost dramatic as he spoke of the pain getting worse and worse. With one hand he wordlessly drew a rising arc in the air, curving up and up, suddenly dropping it in an apparent indication of when the pain would stop completely.

Brian moved to the edge of his chair and asked Seigo to clarify when this would happen. Peter translated.

For the first time during the exchange Seigo smiled a deep, full-faced smile. He looked directly at Brian and responded in English:

'When you die!'

Extraordinary Brainwave States

More than once I have heard a wonderful anecdote about  Thomas Edison's approach to problem solving. It involved a unique method of accessing the creativity of his subconscious mind.

As I heard it, Edison would sit in a chair with two tin pie plates on the floor, one on either side of him. Then he would hold a handful of ball bearings in each hand, close his eyes, and allow himself to nod off, all the while thinking about the particular problem he was looking to solve.

Eventually he would begin to fall asleep. As he did so, his body would begin to relax and his brain would shift into what he called 'the twilight state', that place between waking and deep sleep. When his body was relaxed enough, his hands would no longer be able to hold on to the ball bearings and they would fall onto the pie plates. The crashing sound of metal on metal would jerk him awake and, hopefully, he would awaken with a new idea on how to proceed with whatever project he was working on.

History is full of examples where revelations, discoveries, inventions, and innovations were arrived at through the act of meditation or other meditative activities:

During 40 days of fasting, meditating, and praying, Jesus resisted all sorts of evil temptations, attained his oneness with God and found his way to divine grace.

Richard Branson claims his best work is done lying in a hammock on Necker Island and staring off into space.

Mikao Usui received the secrets to Reiki while meditating.

Even though he states that one shouldn't approach meditation as the means to solve a specific problem, David Lynch says his use of Transcendental Meditation has increased his intuitive capacity.

Toshiharu Fukai credits insights he received from meditation as critical to his development of Sosei Water.

Gautama Buddha is said to have achieved Enlightenment after 49 days of meditation, and through this experience discovered The Four Noble Truths, the central tenets of Buddhism.

Dr Herbert Benson, in his book The Breakout Principle gives examples of activities - everything from doing needlework to taking a shower - which allow people to solve problems or remove blockages to creativity.

Sound for Meditation

In 2001, about a month before we moved back to Ontario  from Nelson, BC, Tara and I went to the Langham Cultural Centre in Kaslo to see/hear Pandit Shivnath Mishra and his son Deobrat perform.

There were about 20-30 people in the audience, and the father-and-son sitar duo were accompanied by a tabla player. The best thing about the performance was how the elder Mishra defied my expectations, playing in a way that one could only compare to Jimi Hendrix. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he rocked back and forth in a frenzy as each piece progressed in tempo and volume, slamming his sitar downwards to strike either the stage or his own legs, introducing another percussive element to the ragas.

Deobrat was quite the opposite. Except for his hands, he barely moved and frequently closed his eyes as he played, his angelic face transfixing the audience as much as his father's antics did. (The album cover above captures exactly the essence of what I recall of that evening.)

It was the middle of a very hot summer and the theatre did not have air conditioning, so I had a really hard time keeping my eyes open. Despite this, it was an unforgettable experience. I never fully nodded off, and probably absorbed more of the music while in that wonderful state of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep than if I had kept my eyes open.

After the performance, the audience was invited onto the stage to ask questions about the music and the instruments. In the theatre's lobby we purchased one of the CDs they had on offer, and since then I have purchased a few more of their discs through CD Baby including a recording of Deobrat without his father, Sound for Meditation. Unlike the others, which build to an intensity Tara finds incompatible with the atmosphere of her clinic, Sound for Meditation is gentle and even-tempoed, and could be used in a yoga or Qigong class.

A few years ago, while I was working on my screen adaptation of Autobiography of a Yogi, I became friends with Deobrat on Facebook. One day I wrote to him about my screenplay and asked if he was interested in doing the music for the film. After all, the Mishras hail from Varanasi (Benares) a city which plays a significant role in Paramahansa Yogananda's story. To my delight he expressed enthusiasm for the project, telling me of his admiration for Yogananda.

It has been a few years since that exchange, so if I ever manage to get the film made, I hope he remembers his promise.

The Mishras can be seen/heard on YouTube.

Fall Classes

The other day I made the decision to do a series of one-time meditation classes in September and October. In the past I have always offered them on Monday or Tuesday night, but many people have told me those nights don't work for them, so they've never signed up. This time I am doing five separate classes over five weeks, the first on Monday, the second on Tuesday and so on. Hopefully this will give everyone interested a chance to attend.

The classes will be at Trinity United Church here in Listowel, where I've been teaching Qigong for the past seven years. The Parlour there is such an excellent venue with its wall-to-wall carpet, subdued lighting, comfortable chairs and sofas.

Another reason I like teaching there are the people. The minister, Reverend Steven Cox, and the office administrator, Norma MacDonald, always welcome me as an old friend whenever I drop by. Steven has a background in Asian martial arts, so he is very supportive of what I do, and Norma is just one of the nicest people you will ever meet. Even though I am not a member of the church, nor ever attended service there, the two of them make me feel as though I belong, making the church a perfect home for my classes.

Yesterday when I went to work out the dates for my classes with Norma, I had my usual brief but profound exchange with Steven, bringing him up to date with my life and my plans for the fall classes. I have never attended church with any sort of regularity, but Steven's energy and outlook have me thinking it's time I did. Maybe, one of these days...

Norma was her usual cheery self, and when I started telling her about teaching meditation at the high school, she told me she had heard all about it from her son. He was in the class for my first visit last fall, and had apparently come home impressed and inspired by my presentation.

It was tremendously gratifying to hear her words, to know that my hard work is having the desired impact on the community. It is rare that I get that kind of feedback and it inspires me to continue in this direction. Even though it is months away, I find myself looking forward to the fall when I will have a chance to introduce another group of students to the art and science of meditation.