Traveling through time and space.

Chapter 6: Starting with Seeking and Observing - "When Entering the State of Zen Meditation, the Mind is in a state of confusion"

In the meditation hall of an ancient Indian temple, sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting a few golden rays through which motes of dust danced slowly. I sat upright on a cushion, officially beginning my journey of searching and observing.

From the outset, I deeply experienced the state of my mind in this state. It was like a surging sea, my thoughts like wild horses unbridled, running wild and difficult to control. I tried hard to focus on the goal of meditation, but the slightest disturbance in the outside world easily pulled my attention away. The occasional melodious chime of a bell outside the window seemed to have a magical power, instantly causing my thoughts to drift far away, imagining the vast world beyond the temple. Or the gentle sound of a bird soaring over the rooftop would stir ripples in my heart, and my mind would involuntarily imagine the bird's flight and the beautiful mountains and rivers it had witnessed.

Furthermore, distracting thoughts followed me everywhere, flooding in. Memories of the past flooded back like a tide. The details of modern life, the laughter and tears, the triumphs and setbacks, all became especially vivid. I recalled teaching yoga in modern society, the expectant and trusting faces of my students; I recalled the warm moments I spent with family and friends, gathering together to share delicious meals and discuss the joys of life. These distracting thoughts and memories intertwined, creating a cacophony of inner noise that made it impossible to focus on the present moment of meditation.

During a meditation session, I finally managed to pull my attention away from external distractions and focus on my breathing. I inhaled slowly, feeling the cool air flow through my nose and fill my abdomen. However, just as I exhaled, a thought suddenly entered my mind: "Is this meditation method correct? Can I really make progress on this path?" This thought, like a spark, instantly ignited the doubts and anxieties deep within me. My thoughts snowballed, completely overwhelmed the little focus I had just mustered.

I felt incredibly frustrated and defeated, and a wave of self-doubt crept into my heart: "Am I really not cut out for meditation? Why is my mind so difficult to calm?" However, a stubborn indomitable spirit refused to give up. I knew the path of spiritual practice was inherently fraught with hardship and challenges. If I were easily defeated by difficulties, how could I possibly discover the true meaning of Buddhism? Thus, I secretly resolved to overcome these obstacles and find peace and progress amidst this predicament of a turbulent mind.

To better cope with difficulties in meditation, I formed a support partnership with several fellow practitioners. We agreed to monitor each other during meditation and work together. Whenever I saw my fellow practitioners' focused expressions during meditation, I felt a surge of strength in my heart, reminding me not to slack off. And when they showed signs of distraction, I would offer encouragement and reminders with my eyes.

Once, while meditating, one of my fellow practitioners was troubled by distracting thoughts, his body swaying slightly unconsciously. I coughed gently, and he instantly regained his composure. He glanced at me with gratitude, then adjusted his posture and focused on his breathing. When I encountered difficulties in my meditation and was about to give up, my fellow practitioners would gather around me, encouraging me with their own experiences and insights. They told me that everyone encounters similar difficulties in the early stages of meditation. The key is to persevere and not be intimidated by temporary difficulties.

Despite the companionship and encouragement of fellow practitioners, my progress in meditation remained slow. In desperation, I decided to seek guidance from the meditation instructor at the temple. The instructor was a highly respected monk who had spent years in meditation in the meditation hall and possessed a deep understanding and extensive experience in meditation.

I arrived at my teacher's meditation room filled with reverence and trepidation. The room was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood, and my teacher sat upright on a cushion, his eyes closed in meditation. I gently approached him, bowed respectfully, and then shared the difficulties I encountered in my meditation. My teacher listened quietly, a kind smile on his face. That smile seemed to have a magical power, gradually calming my nervousness.

When I finished, the teacher slightly opened his eyes, his gaze gleaming with wisdom and insight. He slowly began, "When you first enter a state of meditation, your mind can be like a monkey, difficult to tame. This is normal. To break through this state, you must begin by focusing on your breathing. Breathing is the very foundation of life, the bridge connecting your body, mind, and the outside world." As he spoke, the teacher personally demonstrated the technique of focused breathing.

He taught me that when inhaling, I should focus all my attention on the cool, moist feeling of the air entering my nostrils, feeling the breath slowly filling my abdomen, as if picturing a picture of the breath flowing through my body. When exhaling, I should focus on the contraction of my abdomen, feeling the warmth and relief of the breath slowly flowing out of my body, as if exhaling all my inner distractions and worries. And, if I find my mind wandering during the breath, don't panic or try to dispel it. Instead, gently bring my attention back to my breath, like a gentle mother calling her playful child home.

I felt overwhelmed. Returning to the meditation hall, I began practicing according to my instructor's instructions. Initially, my mind would still wander from time to time, but whenever I noticed a distraction, I would immediately adjust my breathing and bring my attention back. Through repeated practice and effort, I gradually found a sense of tranquility in the rhythm of my breathing. My once unbridled thoughts gradually became tamed. Although they still occasionally flared up, I was able to quickly regain my composure and continue focusing on meditation.

However, new problems arose. As my focus on breathing grew, I became overly attached to the sensation of breathing. Even in my daily life, I was constantly tense and focused on my breathing. This made me very restrained when walking and doing things, losing the naturalness and ease that should have been there. I realized that this was another new attachment and obstacle that, if not overcome, would hinder my further progress on the path of meditation.

I once again fell into inner conflict and struggle, unsure how to strike the right balance between concentration and detachment. On the one hand, I understood that focusing on the breath was a crucial step toward entering a state of meditation; on the other hand, excessive attachment violated the Buddhist principles of emptiness and non-self. Amidst this conflict, I once again searched for answers in the scriptures and engaged in in-depth discussions and exchanges with fellow practitioners.

Fellow practitioners shared their insights and experiences. Some reminded me to maintain a calm mind and not to overly pursue the effects of meditation. Others suggested that I participate more in temple activities in my daily life, using physical activity to relax my body and mind and break my over-attachment to breathing. With everyone's help and inspiration, I gradually realized that meditation is not a rigid form, but something to be experienced and practiced in the little things of life. True tranquility does not come from the obsessive pursuit of a particular object, but rather emerges naturally from the inner freedom and liberation.

So, I began to adjust my meditation practice. While meditating, I still focused on my breathing, but I no longer sought that ultimate sensation. In my daily life, I relaxed and allowed myself to more naturally blend into the life of the temple. Whether sweeping the floor, carrying water, or interacting with other monks, I focused on experiencing each moment, integrating the mindset of meditation into every aspect of my life.

Over time, I gradually found my own rhythm within the meditative state of seeking and observing. While distractions from my mind and external world still occasionally surface, I'm no longer as bothered by them as I was at the beginning. I've learned to maintain a relative calm amidst my fluctuating state of mind, steadily progressing through continuous practice and reflection, toward a higher level of meditation.