In Defense of Bad Meditation
by K. D. Battle
First things first: forgive yourself. If you’re not quite sure what for—maybe everything? And then, when you’re ready, forgive yourself for your bad meditation practice, the days, weeks, or years it’s been since you last sat and listened to the pulse of the universe. The hum of the Dao* is inside you.
Second things second: sit down and stare at the wall. The kids can wait, the phone can be thrown in the trash, and the scrumptious morsel of lukewarm bagel on your plate can grow stale. Maybe you’ve never repurposed a pillow for meditation, but that’s okay, because you’re going to find one now; place it under your bum and feel the cushion press against your gluteus maximus. Take some time to get comfy! Don’t be afraid to whiff out a fart or find another pillow because your bony bottom is digging into the hardwood floor. The monks told you to imagine the spine as quarters stacked in a roll, but you haven’t seen a roll of quarters in years—the posture simply needs to beckon awareness, so a chair is as fair as the floor.
It doesn’t matter how to hold the hands, dogmatic dharma bums be dismissed. Left over right, right over left, hands on knees, knees on hands, it doesn’t matter as long as you can forget about the hands entirely—they need a break too. Stare at the wall and let the mud of the mind settle. Silence. Hear the ring of the void, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the grating sound of automobiles clogging the aural space. If the wall is too distracting, seal the eyes shut and let the blackness within blackness beckon the inner wisdom. Some modern monks say that we must learn to shed the blanket of darkness too. Forget about them: they can practice their perfect paradigm in the temple. You’re out here carving time from the deluge of samsara,* so you can sit and stare however you want.
Why would meditation be any different than a sport or skill like hockey or French cooking? Why would meditation—the one surefire connection you have to the spirit—be easier than endlessly doomscrolling?
By this point, perhaps another thought has arisen. Fantastic! Thinking about sex? Work? Something regrettable you said whilst inebriated? Consider letting that feeling go, even if you keep coming back to it. Grasp it, name it, let it go. Notice and move on. The Buddha called this papancha. Consider drawing that idea into an impossible balloon and letting it float downward, upward, outward from perception. Instead, focus on the breath and carry away the attachment; narrow your attention down to a singular point of the nasal cavity, how the breath pushes inward, outward, elseward, moving the entire universe cyclically.
Maybe another other thought has arisen. Fantastic! That means you’re on the right track—you can practice even more! Those dang itches and aches scream and flare when sitting in your underwear. Did you feed the dogs today? What was that delectable aroma wafting from the bakery down the road? Return! You’re here to practice, even if poorly. Balloon your distractions, and let them float away. To the breath, return again and again. Eschew your frustrations, because this is exactly the point of meditative concentration. Allow yourself a growth mindset and grace.
Let the mud fall and settle, the balloons float, and foster an unwavering commitment to returning to the breath. Forgive yourself for wandering and find the pinprick point of nasal navigation—100 times or 100-million times, it makes no matter: you are making progress. Why would meditation be any different than a sport or skill like hockey or French cooking? Why would meditation—the one surefire connection you have to the spirit—be easier than endlessly doomscrolling? Ah, but come back to the breath; all these thoughts are distractions, yet they help our skills to grow.
Notice, grasp, name, let go, and return. Voila! Awareness without attachment.
And that’s about it. Congratulations on growing in skillfulness, on committing to your practice. Do not think that this is the only Way, but one certain Way of betterment—at living, at loving kindness, at… maybe everything? As you develop a regular routine, sit for ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty to thirty—you need not meditate any longer than that in this beautifully busy existence, but why not if time presents itself? Sit every day and stare at the wall in an unbroken chain, and watch the pain dissolve down the drain, spiritual gain like warm rain on the windowpane of your soul, illuminating.
So, first things last: remember to forgive yourself, in meditation as in life. Papancha: to notice and let go, of both the righteous and the woe. Because bad meditation is still meditation, and so long as you sit and try to find the darkness within darkness, awareness inside the absence of thought, you are growing. Don’t just take my word for it—sit your Buddha-booty down to come and see for yourself. Ehipassiko, the monks might say, but that’s a lesson for another day.
*The Dao is a general term for “The Great Way,” a euphemism of the universe as physical thing, transcendental entity, and path of enlightenment. Naturally, the Dao defies narrow classification, laughing at our love of tidy boxes.
*Samsara refers to the cyclicity of all existence, and, especially in Eastern religious traditions, is understood as an eternal cycle of rebirth and reincarnation. Samsara is the ultimately hollow reality to which we presently inhabit.
K.D. Battle is a multi-genre writer and teacher living in Kalamazoo—he's a father, Navy submarine veteran, and a composer of musical theatre, and more. Battle's poems, stories, and essays have been published in anthologies and literary journals like White Wall Review, Line of Advance, and Vita Poetica, and he recently won the Wright Memorial Writing Award. He earned his MFA from Western Michigan University, where he is now pursuing a PhD and serves as the nonfiction editor for Third Coast. Battle is a Buddhist and invites you to walk the Dao with kindness, humility, and grit.
