Unlearning Meditation: What to Do When the Instructions Get in the Way

by Jason Siff

  Calm states have a tendency to confound our expectations for them. Unexpected things happen in them, and happen afterward from our having been in them. There are some common patterns that I can illustrate for you, but here we are also entering an area where individuals generally have experiences that are particular to them.

  It is this unexpected and idiosyncratic aspect of certain calm states that can lead to wariness of them. We tend to doubt experiences that don’t match anything we have ever heard about, or act differently from the ideas we have about how they should be. For instance, you may believe that after being in a deep, calm space for a while in a meditation sitting, you should be relaxed and serene afterward. When you aren’t, you may be alarmed by that. Some people do experience a pattern of emerging from a calm state to find themselves anxious or restless.

  I have listened to many accounts of people having a calm meditation sitting in the morning, only to find themselves touchy, anxious, or angry when they get to their job or class or do their errands later. There are other factors involved, of course, but when these same individuals have switched to meditating in the afternoon or evening, some of the extra emotional vulnerability and reactivity they were experiencing during the day vanishes. It is often a difficult choice to decide not to sit in the morning when that is the best time for you, and especially if you tend to have calm or pleasant sittings then. Some people resist the suggestion to sit later in the day or at night because there is usually more mental activity and emotions from the day.

  You may wonder why I suggest breaking this pattern. On a retreat lasting a few days and nights, the vulnerability or agitation that can surprisingly come over you after these calm states can be gone through in an environment where you can sit with the experience and get to know it. Out in the world, especially at work or in a class, you are put in a position of having to suppress and manage the difficult feelings and anxiety, and your work, studies, and relationships may suffer on account of it.

  You may start to get the picture that arriving at calmness in meditation is not all that reliably pleasant. For a while it relieves pain; then, at another time, it seems to intensify our experience of pain. Here is an example of a baffling experience around physical pain.

  Several discreet points in meditation where I drop into a deeper place. I cannot describe it, but it is very clear in the meditation. I am fighting off an infection and do not feel very well physically. It is interesting to me that one time when I drop into a deeper place the pain is more acute, another time I drop into a deeper place I cannot perceive the pain. I see how I feel compelled to make up something definitive about what happens when dropping into deeper places and what happens with the senses. It is not definitive like that in my experience.

  When I read reports like this one it does make me question our ideas about, and attitudes toward, calm states of mind. This meditator would like to make a definite statement about what happens all of the time when she drops into a deeper place, such as, “pain always goes away,” but she can’t honestly do that when her experience won’t corroborate it.

  Exploring Calm States

  Exploring calm states requires us to think about them and to put language to our experiences the best we can. We often don’t think about what is going on when we are in a calm meditative state—we tend to go along with the pleasure, sinking more into it, rather than trying to activate our mind to reflect on the process. Sometimes we can’t think while in one of these states, as some of them are free from thinking. But our awareness of those kinds of experience can still benefit from some reflection on them when we emerge from them and can once again think. Then there are times when thinking about the experience interrupts it, and there are other times when it doesn’t. Here is a student’s exploration of a type of calm state he has become familiar with. He is exploring it in the sitting itself, but since it is being recollected in a journal after the sitting, there are also elements of discernment of the state after the fact.

  Most of the sit was very quiet with brief punctuations of thinking semiverbal thoughts (mostly random fragments very vaguely related to content, like the sit or people I know). These thoughts didn’t disturb the silence, but there was a general sense of observing them and wanting to look for connections to emotion or body, which did disturb the silence. Noticed several kinds of silence: (1) spacious nonvisual area in front of awareness, sometimes deep, sometimes very flat or shallow; (2) solid stillness that seemed frozen so much that this was a bit startling and threatening; (3) quiet random visual activity that was well delineated and detailed but more geometric than representational. Occasionally checked in with tingling, which was subtle, bright, and continuous—sometimes it seemed like the tingling around the face/head was correlated with quiet. Tried to characterize emotional state, but this seemed rather flat (peaceful, and maybe happy, but not dramatically so); curiosity seemed to be the dominant emotion, but questioned whether that is an emotion.

  He notices that the thoughts (random fragments) don’t disturb the silence, but the task of making connections within his experience does. He identifies three kinds of silence. The first, being spacious and deep, fits almost everyone’s idea of a what a silent state of mind would be. The other two are more unusual. The second is a kind of threatening frozen state of mind, while the third is accompanied by random visual images. These experiences arise while he is calm, and yet they have a more active quality. His exploration continues beyond a delineation of the silence to looking at his emotional state within the various calm states. He sees his emotional state as flat but on reflection wonders if it may just be peaceful or a low-level happiness. His question about curiosity being an emotion is a good one for meditators. It is a quality of interest in one’s experience, which carries with it a certain energy, so why wouldn’t it be an emotion?

  His exploration touches on many aspects of his experience, such as what he saw, how he felt, or what the experience meant to him. It is interesting to note that he looks at the nature of thinking, seeing two types of thoughts in this experience, one that is arising randomly and the other that is trying to make connections. This sort of experience is seldom explored, especially if there is a belief that the calm states you experience in meditation should be free of thinking.

  And How Is All of This Useful?

  I often get asked about the value and use of allowing these calm states to continue, and I reply with what I have observed as the virtues at the time and the benefits seen afterward. At the time, there can be freedom from your ordinary thoughts and cares. Whatever anger, fear, or craving may have been on your mind, it is generally absent in these states or is but a whisper. There is a way your mind slows down and your body relaxes that can be pleasurable and restorative. And when lights, colors, images, sounds, or sensations come into awareness, your mind may be able to focus on them with sharpness and clarity.

  Afterward you might feel refreshed, without pressures and worries. You may feel a bit lighter. Sometimes you may feel a bit spacey and disoriented. Still, you might notice that your mood has softened and that you are less reactive.

  You don’t need to take my word for it. You can test it out for yourself.

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  Drifting to Absorption

  I am going to introduce a new term, the Pali/Sanskrit word samadhi, to discuss the states of mind that develop out of this process of drifting off and waking up. In John Grimes’s Concise Dictionary of Indian Philosophy, he gives multiple definitions of samadhi from both the Hindu and Buddhist traditions. He starts with a general definition: concentration; absorption; a calm, desireless fixity; a unifying concentration. The Hindu tends to elevate samadhi, considering such states to be “superconscious,” “transcendent,” “inexpressible,” and at times, “free of thought and mental activity.” The Buddhists will tend to agree with this assessment for the more refined and developed samadhi states, called jhana, but will also use the term samadhi when talking about calm states of mind within the reach of most individu
als. Thus there are preliminary samadhi states, which would not be called samadhi by Yogic practitioners but are nonetheless necessary for people’s minds to move into the more developed and purified jhanas.

  These preliminary samadhi states, unnamed in the Pali Discourses of the Buddha (though they are later designated by the name of “access” samadhi in Buddhist commentarial literature), are aptly described in progressions such as the following:

  “Having seen oneself overcome the five impediments [to calmness of mind], joy arises within one. From feeling joy, there is a quiet elation. With one’s mind elated, one’s body becomes peaceful. Being with the peacefulness of one’s body causes an experience of profound happiness. One’s consciousness experiencing such happiness enters samadhi” (Samannaphala Sutta, Digha Nikaya).

  Such descriptions leave out the “drifting off” side of the drifting-off–waking-up experience and place it under the impediment often archaically translated as “sloth and torpor.” By highlighting the wakefulness found in experiences of joy, elation, peace, and happiness, many people have assumed that the preliminary samadhi states have to be entirely wakeful and that any sleepiness gets in the way. But that is actually not the case, according to a prior passage in this same discourse: “When abandoning laziness in one’s body and mind, one sits with laziness in the distance; and while perceiving inner lights, with awareness and discernment [of one’s experiences], one cleanses one’s mind of laziness.”

  Here we have the drifting-off and waking-up experience rather succinctly described. It is a preliminary samadhi state, what I will be calling a pre-jhanic state. The Buddha says that one has a perception of inner lights, which are used as a means to overcome laziness and thus produce more wakefulness. Focusing on such lights and images is the direction the Buddha himself endorsed, rather than trying to stop the hypnagogic state from forming.

  Hypnagogic States

  Hypnagogic (or hypnogogic) states are generally experienced during the transition from waking to sleep. But they may not necessarily occur every time we fall asleep. They also may occur but leave no memory, as they tend to be difficult to recall afterward. There are times when we are more aware, more conscious, in these hypnagogic states, and when that occurs we may experience certain phenomena.

  The visual imagery often consists of random speckles, geometrical patterns, and representational images, which may be monochromatic or colored, still or in motion, flat or three-dimensional, but are usually fleeting and given to rapid changes. There can also be other sense-door experiences in the mind. Verbal thoughts are generally incomplete sentences that don’t make much sense, though there can be wordplay or poetry that appears to convey meaning. Sometimes the thoughts are in one’s own voice, while other times the thoughts are in other people’s voices. And of course, one can hear music, bells, and other common sounds. There can also be odors, fragrances, tastes, and bodily sensations, such as tingling and numbness. The external sense objects that would normally be a part of such sense experiences are absent, though at times the experience seems so real that people feel a need to know if there is, for instance, light shining in their eyes, bells being rung outside, or real flowers or incense in the room.

  There are a few other features that are quite common meditative experiences. One is the often disconcerting experience of perceiving your body to be larger than it is or losing the sensation of a certain part of your body. Another is the rather pleasant feeling of floating or moving effortlessly through space. And yet another is the experience meditators often have of falling forward and returning to awareness with a full-body jerk.

  As you can see, there is a good deal of similarity between the phenomena experienced in hypnagogic states and some of the states described in the journal entries of those who are drifting off and waking up in meditation. Hypnagogic states have been used in modern times to develop out-of-body experiences and lucid dreaming, and yet here we are using them to develop tranquillity and insight in meditation. As pre-jhanic states, hypnagogic states are developed differently than they would be to achieve specific ends like out-of-body travel, lucid dreaming, or psychic abilities. It is interesting to note in this context, however, that the Buddhist teachings on psychic abilities, out-of-body travel, and other paranormal feats state that they can come about through practicing the jhanas.

  This is certainly a different way to develop jhanas than found in more traditional teachings, which advocate concentrating on a single object, such as an image or mantra, and warn against letting the mind drift. It sounds contradictory that by allowing fragmentation and wandering, the mind eventually becomes focused and concentrated. But that is how it is. Having developed these states in meditation over the years, I and many of my students are able to rather quickly pass through, or even bypass, the hypnagogic imagery, disconnected thoughts, and perceptual distortions and move into a more wakeful steady state. There can even be alert, wakeful transitions into the more steady and aware samadhi state, as it no longer requires the experience of drifting off in order to occur, though there is still a shift of attention, accompanied by an experience of letting go of your previous state of mind and being drawn into the newly arisen calm state.

  Visuals in Pre-jhanic Samadhi States

  The function of visual images in these pre-jhanic samadhi states, whether they are lights, colors, or pictures, is to draw your attention toward them. Sometimes an image appears in our mind and we move toward it, like a zoom lens bringing an image closer. At other times, an image fills our mind and we are in it, like seeing a painting or mural up close and being absorbed in it. Then there are those times when images and colors move and change, and our attention follows them.

  Here is an example from a woman who is quite familiar with these experiences, having experienced them for many years in her practice.

  I become aware of two flashlight-type beams way in the distance. The beams are moving around, and I have a sense that they are looking for me. I feel a friendliness and sweetness about them and keep looking at them. The searchlights continue toward my position and become bigger with the continued sweeping effect of the lights. When they get so close to me that they almost fill the field, they easily morph into my familiar swirls of colors, and I know I’m back home in familiar territory.

  It may be difficult to avoid trying to find some kind of meaning in visual images and lights. If you are someone who interprets symbols and sees meaning in colors and shapes, then you will tend to do that with the visual imagery. You may just have to let that go on in your sittings and not try to stop it. Who knows, you may get some kind of insight from your interpretation of an image. But in the process, you might also find that you have stopped the preliminary samadhi state from going further.

  It is quite common to have certain progressions of visual experience. One such progression is seeing a light or color and then seeing a picture that features the same color or radiance. The following journal entries are from a woman who has extraordinary recall of visual images in her sittings.

  A bald-headed man dressed in white, in a white room with very bright sunlight pouring in. No contrast, a bit like a whiteout. He was blowing on a suspended white paper cup that was in front of his face.

  In this instance, the image of a bald man and the white paper cup arises with a white room with light pouring in. As the meditator describes it, there is nothing but whiteness in her visual field. In my own experience, I would often see a white expanse of light and then an image form within it as I stayed with it. Sometimes the image would be of clear, radiant water, while at other times the images would be of a more random nature, akin to this bald man dressed in white blowing on a white paper cup.

  There does appear, in meditation circles at least, to be a bias against these random, unusual images and a preference for images that can be found in certain texts or teachings on meditation. I believe dividing images in this way creates judgment about your experience, as if the truth of the experience lies in the correctness of the image an
d not in its other significant qualities. If you feel genuine peace and joy along with mental clarity from having been absorbed in a bizarre image, then that is a valid experience of peace, joy, and clarity. To then devalue it because it wasn’t a “correct” image from your tradition is giving far too much weight to the meaning of the image over the beneficial aspects of your experience of the samadhi state.

  In these pre-jhanic states, the images that draw us in are the ones that interest us at that moment. Such images can’t be decided on beforehand. We only know that we are interested in them when they appear to us. Some people have a tendency to see the same types of recurring images, while others may experience a tremendous variety. The person with the journal entry of the bald man is one of those who tend to experience unusual images, many of which appear to be based on memories. Here is an example of the development in a meditation sitting of an image that came from the same person’s memory.

  My two younger sisters are turning the rope for double Dutch. I was trying to teach a friend how to jump into the two ropes with the timing of one rope down on the ground and the other rope in the sky. It was too confusing for my friend to do it this way. I showed her how to stand in the center of the two ropes and jump each time a rope touched the ground—it was about following a certain rhythm. I suggested she move to the left and to the right—and feel that meeting place between two worlds. She still could not feel the rhythm. My grandfather came and said, “Just listen to the sound of the rope and do not watch it.” She started jumping, and we all started to cheer.

  At first glance, this type of experience can appear to be a relived memory. The meditator’s mind is using a memory that has arisen of its own in order to find something to focus on. The two ropes are moving in a rhythm, alternating up and down, the girl is moving left and right, but at first that movement is not coordinated with the rhythm of the ropes. Then an idea arose in the guise of a memory of the meditator’s grandfather, to focus on the sound of the ropes and not the image of them. The sound is another rhythm, as is jumping rope, and so there was a way it all came together for her. This seems to have produced a type of rhythmic imagery that could come up again and carry her into a more absorbed state in a later sitting.