These Traces 102

Apr 11

A decidedly divergent topic today: meditation.

Now, I don't pretend to be enlightened, or even moderately successful at meditating. I do try though, on a fairly regular basis, which is something I guess. Much of the motivation stems from this projected image of myself as content, free of demons incessantly gnawing at my psyche. Inner turmoil quieted, finally. The Buddha, smiling under his Bodhi tree. Wishes that remain aspirational but... well, there are worse things to aspire to.

On this journey, however, I fell into what I now consider to be a trap: I geeked out. Solidly. In 2019 I purchased the Muse 2, a meditation device that records biofeedback and uses the data to "guide" you through a session. Different soundscapes are offered, but the concept is similar with each one: when you're calm, birds will chirp in the distance to let you know you're on the right track. The more birds you hear, the more successful the meditation. The Muse device can scan your brain, heart, and breath, with specific types of sessions for each one. And, of course, you need headphones to enjoy the full experience—ideally Airpods or something equally non-intrusive. The entire premise was right up my alley, and I went all in. Eventually, I even bought a second device: the Muse S. Same idea, but designed around a cloth headband that can—theoretically—be worn while you sleep. I never did. (1)

Anyway, both have since become useless: individual sensors fail, Bluetooth will disconnect mid-session, or refuse to connect at all. At this point they're perfect devices for ramping up stress levels.

But here's the thing: even if they still worked as intended, I now consider the concept somewhat flawed. It represents the polar opposite of what meditation should be as I understand it: a deep connection to space, and moment. When the Muses began to crap out on me, I turned to using a timer and my Airpods Pro, with noise cancellation activated. I even built a shortcut for this.

I was repeating the exact same mistake.

“This afternoon I sat down, with nothing—no AirPods, no Muse, no music or noise. Just myself and the soundscape of our home. I used my iPhone to start a stopwatch...counting UP, not down. No alarm to tell me it’s enough, no deadline in the back of my mind, no wondering if I’m almost done. I just let myself drift for however long I wanted to. It turned out to be 10 min. So, I logged the 10 min.”

— Personal journal entry

There's a passage in Jon Kabat-Zinn's Falling Awake where he's describing a morning meditation, and the sounds he hears. He talks about his mind desperately trying to understand a beeping noise, stubbornly attempting to identify the source instead of simply accepting its presence, and moving on. In the end, he realizes the entire soundscape must become part of experiencing the moment, that there's no point fighting it, no point feeling annoyed, or stressed about outlier elements. It all weaves a tapestry. And the tapestry is the meaning.

Isolating myself was missing the point. A "perfect" meditation environment misses the point. Whatever reality we inhabit should suffice. Wrapping myself in quasi-cyborg gear? Boy was that a lot of unnecessary weight. I was creating artificial boundaries where none existed.

Awareness is hard, but ultimately simpler.
On to the links...

……………….

1: Was I supposed to wear headphones in bed? Get a pillow speaker? It never made sense.