Who Moved My Cheese? and the nature of change.

Amazon.com: Who Moved My Cheese : An Amazing Way To Deal With Change In Your Work And In Your Life: Books: Spencer Johnson,Tony Roberts,Ken Blanchard

I've noticed during meditation that one's mind tends to create crutches to interpret the experience of just being. These crutches take many forms, and some last for seconds, others for minutes. Some of them are so interesting that it's tempting to get convinced that the crutch is itself something important. But to remember that, fundamentally, the crutch and the fact that you are aware of it indicates distraction. The only thing is awareness. Any interpretation of awareness is no awareness.

This is what is meant by "everything changes".

One may ask the (quite reasonable) question, "How does this state of awareness you describe differ from a vacant stare?" The best answer is simply "you'll know the difference when you get there." This is true, but not helpful.

Consider that, for short stretches, it is easy to think of nothing and be calm. It is hard to concentrate the mind on something and still not react. It's kind of like stretching because if you concentrate (stretch) too hard you cause too much pain and cannot maintain the stretch, but if you don't even try to stretch (concentrate) you'll never touch the toes (be more aware). The key is to know where you are, what you're capable of, and without ego do the best that you can. Progress is slow and steady.

It is an interesting question why the mind cannot naturally light on one thing and stay there. Most humans have a hard time concentrating on something for an extended period (in the sense of samadhi meditation). This inability to concentrate is an excellent indication that something is not right in the mind. To realize how uncontrolled the mind is is to realize how dangerous you are to others.

Another interesting question is: How much pressure does it take to unbalance the mind? This is an interesting question because it completely depends on your criteria. In non-meditation, it appears to take quite a lot to cause instability. In meditation, it takes hardly anything at all. As one goes deeper, the stability improves but the subtly of the pressure that can rock you also increases. The implication is that, in the non-meditative state, these small tremors are occuring all the time beneath concious thought. Somehow they are managed by the mind and do not overpower it to a degree which is grossly noticible. But the mind must work hard to prevent this, and eventually one of the tremors cannot be handled and grows.

These tremors all have at their base fear, anxiety, anger, hatred, or craving. If one can meditate properly, the black bubbles of anxiety are replaced by the golden bubbles of compassion and love. But all of this is just so much talk. The only thing that we can really talk about is objective reality, what our bodies sense. Anything past that is on shaky ground. The bubble metaphor will not be right for others, and it won't be right for me eventually, and indeed there should be no metaphor at all. The urge to describe and understand is strong, and one must weigh the benefit of caving in to that urge against the risk of suppressing the descriptive instinct.

It is hard indeed, when confronted with the physical reality of the moment, to not feel absurdly grateful that it can be experienced. There is a subtle but powerful joy in the mere fact of existence without commentary. While most easily sensed in mediation, we actually exist in every moment no matter what we're doing (like typing on a keyboard at a computer) and it is marvelous to feel it there, too.