Could you describe, blow by blow, what it's like when you meditate?

Hey I’m also interested in this. Great question. I had a similar one brewing in me.

Extreme boredom.

I can say that after meditation I feel refreshed and recharged, almost euphoric. The blow by blow thing is hard to discribe since during meditation I focus on a blue dot between my eyes and the blue gets bigger and deeper and then I can look into the deep, getting closer and closer to the edge. I’m no yogi and not that experienced, but I notice a definite difference in my life when I do meditate.

Why, oh why am I attempting to answer this?

All kinds of thoughts pop up- memories, current projects, movie bits, Fluther snippets, great ideas, self-congratulations, self-criticisms…the works.

All kinds of emotions pop up- fear, anger, elation, boredom, frustration.

In other words, all of the stuff that my neuro-circuitry generates when I’m not meditating keeps getting generated when I am meditating. The difference is that my attention isn’t directed at all that stuff while I’m meditating. What tends to distinguish the beginner’s experience from that of a more advanced meditator is to what extent the arising of all this stuff draws the attention away from the point of focus.

A beginner will see all these thoughts and emotions bubble up into consciousness, and will let them constantly pull his attention away from whatever he’s trying to focus attention on. The almost universal beginner’s experience is of a frustrating struggle to keep the focus on the breath (for example), losing that focus to a passing thought, realizing two minutes later that he’s been waylaid (again), struggling to reestablish the focus, losing it again, etc.

After many weeks or months of sessions like this, He’ll find that there are increasingly frequent and protracted periods when all those bubble-ups remain in the background, because his attention is firmly fixed on the breath. What typically happens then is that these periods of solid focus get undone by the thought “Hey, I’m doing pretty well here!”, which then spins out into a self-congratulatory ego trip, followed by the realization that “Shit, I’ve fallen for that ego crap again”, followed by a self-critical tirade, etc.

After many more months or years of sessions in that mode, one learns to treat all those self-evaluations just like all the other flotsam and jetsam of the mind, just letting it slip on by, and this is a big help. It means that your loosening the grip of the self-monitor, the inner commentator. That’s huge. When that obsessive drive to answer the question “How am I doing” weakens, the whole process becomes much easier.

At this point, though, it becomes very difficult to talk about what you, daloon are asking here. In the absence of the self-monitor, and with the attention firmly fixed, the thoughts, feelings and other sensations are disregarded as soon as they appear. What does that feel like? That question never even gets asked. There’s no one there to do the asking. The meditator is gone.

Thanks, Harp. That’s really helpful. I think if you were in that earlier phase, it might be easier to describe it. Talking about things you remember is more difficult because it isn’t as sharp in your memory.

I wonder if it’s possible to maintain a state of duality, where you are both not-there and there at the same time. I find that is what I have to do in order to report on the experience of dance and music, which also are impossible to describe, since the I that can remember is not there at the time of the experience.

Just as a side note. I’ve been doing this form of dance for more than twenty years, and now, stepping onto the dance floor, automatically brings that frame of mind on. Also, when playing music, I can settle into that frame of mind where I can pay attention to everything going on without thinking about it almost instantly.

It’s extremely difficult, however, to maintain that mind space when I’m in front of an audience. I keep thinking about what other’s are thinking, something that I don’t worry about when it’s just the band. I think about what they think, but it’s in a kind of musical way—what do we need now, not it a “do they like it” way.

Anyway, thanks for trying, Harp. It is pretty helpful.

Daloon, I can definitely relate to the difference between being in the flow in practice, and being self-conscious in performance. What kind of dance is it that you’ve done for so long?

please say polka… please say polka… that would make my day so much

It’s a kind of structured improvisation. We are given instructions over the course of the hour and a half that it lasts. These instructions come maybe at five minute intervals—it depends on how it’s going. It starts by getting us into our bodies and out of our minds with a meditation, and then we warm up our bodies, and develop a movement vocabulary (different each time), and gradually start moving more and more as a coordinated group. There are usually between fifteen and thirty dancers.

By the end of the evening, we are usually given a structure that allows us all to connect, and this is usually where we feel most euphoric. Sometimes we enact these rituals that seem to come from the deep past.

It is not couple dancing. It’s more like a village ritual kind of thing. There are musicians there, and they are improvising, using the instructions and the dancers as a score. It is a very synergistic relationship, as we use the dancers to tell us what to play, and they play off of sounds we make. (I play music sometimes, and dance other times, and when the leaders aren’t around, I’ll lead it).

It is an incredibly healing thing. People come in with their unique experiences and emotions, and the dance provides a way for them all to express themselves individually, while creating a collective experience as well. For me, it is one of the tools I use to facilitate my healing, and it has the power to pull me out of depression—although it’s more powerful if I dance, instead of play music.

sorry bodyhead—no polka

Wow, thanks, Daloon. Sounds awesome.

Daloon, if I was looking for something like that in my area, what would I look for?

Where are you, Mizuki?

If you’re in New England, try Dance New England. Other places, you might have Barefoot Boogie San Francisco or Barefoot Boogie New York. They seem to be in many other places as well. Unfortunately, they seem to be aimed at ecstatic dance, and they use djs. They aren’t focused on creating a deliberate collective consciousness. It’s more about getting off on your own. I’m sure some collective stuff does happen, but it won’t be the same as what we do. Which only happens in Philadelphia area—West Philly, Princeton, Wayne and Mt. Airy.

Here goes:

Let me say for starters that sitting meditation (vispassana) was something that was really difficult for me. I haven’t done it for a while, and I suspect that it may be quite different now; but there was a period of my life that I made myself do it regularly in the mornings.

The reasons I did it first thing in the morning was that I found out that was the best way to get myself there: to do before my mind came up with excuses.
I use a timer, I pick a time. Say: 45 minutes. Or 65 minutes.
I sit. I stuff cushions to support myself.

This is what usually happens.

The first twenty minutes is my comfort zone. My feet tend to get numb, sometimes there is the feeling of disproportional limbs.
Then, there will become a point where suddenly, the senses become very clear. In fact, it is so clear that I will open my eyes. Breathing will take on immense clarity.
And then I will encounter resistence; mental resistence to the sitting.
I will come up with 101 excuses for getting up, wanting to being anywhere but here. Emotionally I don’t want to be sitting.
Then this coincides with physical pain. In fact, the more I concentrate on breathing, the more painful it seems. In fact, I can’t concentrate on anything other than my breathing. My limbs are screaming: let me out, let me out.

And then in a certain moment, it will subside; and there is space.
It is what I think of as “little peace”...
The pain and ultimatum will recede. As if I have broken through something.

And then gradually, it will return; not full force, but as a familiar friend. Hello you, again. And it cycles.

Often my resistance is the greatest 1–5 minutes before whenever I set my clock. So if I set it 45 minutes, my “screaming” will peak at 43. If I set it at 60 minutes, it’ll start at 56. It’s so consistent that I know that it is mental.

And then when I release my feet they often are numb. There is this sudden contraction after the blood flows back in.

At some point in my practice I realised the difference between the sensation (what is), and the emotional judgment (it “hurts”). And I realised that I could choose to let the sensations be exactly what they are. I think that has really helped me in life; to find that place of equanimity…

Maybe I’ll talk about my movement experiences some other time. That one I have more experience in and is therefore a more complex journey…

@lifeflame: Then, there will become a point where suddenly, the senses become very clear. In fact, it is so clear that I will open my eyes. Breathing will take on immense clarity.

I don’t know if you can do this, but could you get more into the idea of clarity? What does it do for you? What does it feel like? What does it mean to you?

It’s a heightened sensation, as if all my pores are opening up.
In fact, because of this, it feels unnatural to keep my eyes in their usual half-closed state.
Because of this in-rush of stimulus, my mind focuses.

I’d say that it’s a bit like that moment in the movies when boy sees girl in the crowd and the whole world stops. However, at the same time you simultaneously become aware of the surrounding sounds, smells, etc. ..
There is that sense of stillness and heightened awareness of the present.

I don’t particularly attach a meaning to it, as it is a fairly consistent landmark. When I get to it, it’s more like, “oh, we’re here. I know you.”

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Does this help?

yes, thank you very much