Deep Immersion and A Vision in Meditation

People often ask me about my approach to meditation. It has evolved over the years, and is currently hard to describe. Suffice to say that my goal is to get beyond thinking, and to experience an immersion. At that point, my ego is "gone," and I lose my awareness of the here and now. I think this resembles what the Tibetans refer to as "chopping down the tree," in which the meditator endeavors to defeat each thought until thought ceases altogether. It comes fairly easily to me, and I'm not sure why. I know that's very different from mindfulness, in which one focuses on the breath and maintains an awareness of the here and now. But my problem is thinking and worrying about things that don't really matter, or over which I have no control. Also, if I can reach the state of immersion in spirit, I am immediately recharged and less attached to whatever is on my list of anxious worries.

Also, I often experience visions in the state of immersion that inform me of the "deeper track" of my life. For instance, this morning, I reached the state of alert immersion, and experienced this vivid, spontaneous "dream":



I am standing with a woman between two causeways, one old and one new (like to two joining Port Isabel to Padre Island in south Texas). The old one is broken, and no longer used for cars, and the new one is fully functional. I hear the phrase, "They are peers." When I came out of meditation and shared this with Julie, I realized that "peers" could be "piers." I then though of how the old causeway is used as a pier, and has become useful again.

There was a lot in the short experience, but I realized as I emerged from the experience that the dynamic or active work we do will come to a halt due to aging or natural cycles, but can then provide a "passive" and supportive foundation for others. It is so easy to value the current, dynamic work more highly than the past efforts, but as aging sets in, it's important to be able to shift to a sense of gratitude for the enduring contributions of one's life rather than the new efforts, which of course, in time, will also come to quiescence. At this stage in my life, both are quite evident--three presentations well received last week attest to the fully functional causeway, but that, too, must pass in time. It's always good to have a metaphor that compensates for the sense of decline. I am always impressed by the genius and generosity of the deeper self. Who could have rationally constructed such an experience that said so much in the span of mere seconds? Not my conscious mind, that's for sure.

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