Observed Meditations The 40th of Spring, 225 AV Master Ahn's Dojo, Somewhere in the Zastoska Mountains Anselm practiced mantric meditation through the Winter 225. He learned to center and silence the mind, to shut down the “noise” that normally fills most peoples' heads, to arrive at a place of controlled inner stillness, a place of non-thinking. At first it was just hard work. But over time he gained greater control over his thoughts and a whole new world opened up for him. He had never realized how much “noise” there was in his mind. It was as if there were a dozen different conversations going on at the same time, as though there were several versions of him inside himself, all vying to be heard. Master Ahn called it “self talk”, which he thought was a fine thing as long as one could manage the conversations so that only one conversation was going on at a time. In retrospect, as Anselm gained control over the internal noise, he came to wonder how he had been able to think at all with all that noise going on inside his head. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing clarity of thought. It was exhilarating. “Tell me Anselm,” said Master Ahn. “Now that you have achieved clarity of thought, what are you going to think about?” They were sitting on a log next to a stream that ran behind the dojo on its journey into the heavily forested valley below. It was mid-afternoon and already getting dark. The temperature that had hovered around freezing all day was dropping further as the sun sunk in the east. Anselm was glad for the heavy robe he wore over wool pants and shirt. “I'm embarrassed to say that I haven't thought about it,” he replied. “I have a little exercise for you to do,” said Master Ahn. “Perhaps it will help. Clear your mind but do not close your eyes.” For the first two months of Anselm's mantric practice, Master Ahn had allowed him to close his eyes during meditation, which made it easier to concentrate. But then he started requiring Anselm to do more and more of his meditation with his eyes open. “Do you know why I make you meditate with your eyes open?” he asked Anselm. “No.” “Most people look but do not see,” he explained. “They look at the surface of things, but the inner essence of the thing, the reality of the thing, escapes them. This is because clarity of thought is the prerequisite to clarity of vision, and they do not yet have clarity of thought. Now do you know why I make you meditate with your eyes open?” Anselm thought for a moment and realized that he did know after all. “One cannot see if one's eyes are closed.” “That is so,” said Master Ahn. He pointed to a cluster of crocuses pushing up through a snow bank. Then to one of the purple flowers. Then to a single petal. “Do you see this petal?” Anselm looked at the flower. “Yes. I see it.” He was puzzled. Master Ahn was not given to asking superfluous questions. “Are you sure?” Ah, he thought. A test. Anselm centered his thoughts and quieted his mind, systematically shutting out everything else – the brightness of the snow embracing the flowers, the sound of a chickadee singing forlornly in a nearby pine tree, the smell of juniper needles, the caress of a breeze across his face – until it was just him and the petal. Shape: long narrow, oval. Form: slightly concave on the upper surface. Color: deep violet at the edges, gradually changing to mostly white near the center of the flower where it meets the other five petals. His eyes traced the central vein from the flower's yellow center to the tip of the petal. Smaller veins branched off and reached out to the petal's edges. “Shape, form, color, structure, simplicity,” he finally said. “Indeed,” said Master Ahn. “Nothing is wasted. Everything about it has a purpose. It is efficient. But to what end?” “I do not know.” “Perhaps you should observe it some more.” |