Don’t Medicate, Meditate… Or The Margins in One’s Life

Whether you call it meditating, sitting or just being, even though gadgets and Hollywood surround us, there is truly no way to escape. As I like to challenge the famous magazine TimeOut, in reality there is only a TimeIn.

I come back again and again to Ajahn Chah:

If you are having a difficulty, what you must do is face it. Go into your hut. Shut the doors and windows. Wrap yourself in all the robes you own. Sit there and don’t move and face it. Only then can you overcome it.

And to Thoreau in “Walden”:

There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hands.

I love a broad margin to my life.

Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time.

I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance. I realized what the Orientals mean by contemplation and the forsaking of works. For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished.

Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune. As the sparrow had its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so had I my chuckle or suppressed warble which he might hear out of my nest.