Moving Toward Emptiness

In 21st Century life in the Western World it is sometimes hard to find context and translation for these words written in 1948 by Trappist Monk, Thomas Merton in his classic book Seeds of Contemplation:

Let us throw off the pieces of the world like clothing and enter naked into wisdom. For this is what all hearts pray for when they cry: 'Thy will be done.'

When I read these gorgeous words, I know I'm immediately smitten because I will proceed to re-read them again and again (or more paragraphs just like them)- it is like eating more and more bites of a delicious chocolate cake.

But sometimes, instead of more, I find I need to pause and let the words percolate inside of me.  Often during meditation.

Making a decision to not take in more is a pretty radical one, at least in the United States.  In 21st century life we are shaped to continuously seek out the new and the novel.  If you  really like it, get more of it- make it a collection.

I'm not criticizing though.  Just observing.  Because I see the inclination in myself all the time as well.

I truly appreciate that it takes a fair amount of intention (and impulse control) to actually pause and make the decision to take in no more.  No more words. No more stuff. No more stimulation. No more new and novel. No more chocolate cake.

But as my 2 going on 22 year-old daughter might ask: why? Why on earth would you want to do that? What purpose might it possibly serve?

All great questions, that I can only answer from my own small personal experience.  One of them, just months ago at my first 5 Night Silent Mindfulness Meditation Retreat.

It was Day 4 of the Retreat at the 8:30 a.m. meditation sitting. 

At this point I had been engaged in a rotation of 45 minute periods of silent sitting, walking and eating mindfulness meditation for 3 full days starting at 5:45 a.m. and ending at 9:30 p.m., and in that time layers of skin had begun to shed off of me.  I had begun to empty out.

This concept of "emptiness" was quite new to me.  Of course I had read about it, but the words never made it past the page with me.

Not until I read this piece called: Writing Undoes Me by author Pico Iyer that I found one day on his website.

The essay had originally appeared in the periodical Shambhala Sun in November, 2005, and in it, he described the process of throwing off the pieces of the world like clothing and entering naked into wisdom in a way that I could understand.  It was the first explanation of moving toward this concept of emptiness that I had ever understood (at least a little). 

He talks about this process in the context of writing.

To write is to step away from the clamor of the world, to take a deep breath and then, slowly and often with a shaking heart, to try to make sense of the bombardment of feelings, impressions, and experiences that every day and lifetime brings.  The very act of putting them down--getting them out of the beehive of the head and onto the objective reality of the paper--is a form of clarification...

But there is a fatal catch in the process that any Buddhist might mournfully savor...The very fact of trying to explore the mind and its responses, intensely and inwardly, without stepping back, moves one after a while to see that the mind, and the self that talks about the mind, feels no more real than that cloud formation over the mountains, where the sun is beginning to set...

The Buddha famously spoke of the 'jungle of opinions.' To still the mind, he suggested, is to move past layer after layer till you're in a place where the chatterings of the mind, the jungle of opinions, this contention and that certainty, seem as remote as the hubbub in the street when you're seated in a church.  There is a space behind the mind, and that is where all the things that really endure exist.  Speech is where we give and take the wisdom of the world, silence is where we absorb a wisdom that makes the world dissolve...

Writing is a form of meditation, I sometimes tell myself (though no doubt I could say the opposite the next day).  But it's a form that deconstructs itself, so finally you come to feel that writing is just the convulsive exercise you do to get to the place where all writing ceases.

I recalled this piece by Pico Iyer while on the Mindfulness Meditation Retreat, especially on Day 4 when I had an experience during sitting meditation that I had never had before- in fact it happened twice that day.

I was about 20 minutes into a 45 minute sit.  At this point I could drop into a more or less calm and still meditation (as opposed to the earlier days of the retreat that were filled with restlessness, sleepiness and a mind that wouldn't quit chattering). But this time something new happened.

I had this physical sensation of something energetic and tangible being plucked out of my chest (and later that day out of the very top of my head), almost like a bubble or a water balloon.  The physical sensation was not pleasant or unpleasant, pleasurable or painful, it just was a sensation of something leaving my physical body.  It was brief, probably seconds, and when it was over, that was it.

Since that time, being the nerdy intellectual-type that I am,  I have of course talked with meditation teachers and read books about this experience to try to make sense of it. 

And while that has been helpful, like all contemplative experiences, at the end of the day, I have tried to apply my own sense, understanding and wisdom to this new experience which comes in the form of the classic board game Operation.

Do you remember this game?

For those of you who don't, the object of the game is to try to pluck out the game pieces that are stuck in various parts of the human body with a pair of tweezers.  The challenge is, if you touch the edge of the board while removing a game piece, a loud buzzer will sound and you will lose a turn.  Therefore, to win, you must have slow, careful, precision as you gently remove the objects from the body that do not belong.

For me, the experience of practicing deep stillness or mindfulness meditation was the catalyst for movement toward emptiness. 

As Pico Iyer suggested in his piece on writing meditation, I believe the practice itself allowed me to remove layer after layer of thought, experience and sensation that were no longer needed.  Leaving me in greater synchronicity, harmony and deeper understanding of myself within god.  Or as Merton said, For this is what all hearts pray for when they cry: 'Thy will be done.'

How about you? Have you had the experience of moving toward emptiness? How did you interpret this experience?