‘Enter your Inner Room’

Most of us know the experience of coming home after a long day and realising how tired we are – not just physically, but inwardly. We feel depleted. We’ve been pulled in many directions, responded to many voices, many demands.

Imagine returning home on a cold evening and discovering that the door has been left wide open. While we were away, a strong wind has blown through the house. The rooms feel cold and unsettled. The first thing we naturally do is close the door and switch on a light or two. We turn on the heating and allow warmth to return.

Living with the door permanently open

Much of our exhaustion comes not from what we have done, but from what we have allowed to pass through us. Our senses are like openings through which the world enters — its beauty, its noise, its anxiety, its urgency. And if we live with the door permanently open, everything rushes straight through us.

We live in a culture that rarely encourages us to notice this. In fact, we are often encouraged to do the opposite: to keep ourselves constantly stimulated, constantly occupied, constantly distracted. Because of our conditioning, learning to still our busy mind can take a little getting used to. We might be apprehensive of silence. Many of us would rather endure agitation than face the unease we fear might arise if we were left alone with ourselves.

What we dwell in, we become

We tend to think of ourselves as solid and separate, as if the world merely brushes against us. But in truth we are, in many respects, deeply permeable. What we watch, listen to, dwell on, shapes our experience of life. If we remain for long periods in anger, we become angry. If we dwell in fear, we become fearful. If we steep ourselves in noise and agitation, our inner life begins to echo that same restlessness.

This is why meditation places such importance on the cultivation of attention, which quite naturally helps us become increasingly aware of how we react to what life is offering us at any given moment. The simple work of focusing our whole attention on saying our prayer word, following our breath, allows us to see how easily we are pulled away from ourselves. How quickly we lose contact with the body, the breath, the present moment. We discover that much of what disturbs us does not come from outside events themselves, but from the unguarded way we allow those events to pass through us, and react to them.

The practice of meditation is, in this sense, a practice of ‘entering the inner room and closing the door.’ Not shutting out the world, but learning that we can decide when and how to open ourselves. Recognising when we need to take care of ourselves, and taking time to rest in a more protected, gathered space.

What can we learn from Jesus’ prayer life?

The most emphasised aspect of Jesus’ prayer life in the Gospels is his habit of frequently withdrawing to a solitary place to pray. Jesus knew how to take care of himself, so he could take of others. And yet this wisdom practice of our teacher is largely overlooked today. When we sit in meditation, we are not trying to escape life. We are learning how to remain present without being overwhelmed. Sitting still, stabilised by our prayer word and our breath, we allow thoughts, sounds, sensations to come and go without following them. We allow ourselves to settle. We come home to the inner room. We close the door. The room warms. We discover that beneath the surface agitation there is stability. A quieter place that does not need to react to everything. A refuge of peace. This is not something we manufacture. It is something we remember.

For many people, it is helpful at first to practise this in relatively protected surroundings. Silence. Nature. A retreat. Most often a quieter place, a quieter time at home. Find a place and time to come away from constant stimulation. This is not a weakness. It is wisdom. Just as a seed needs the right conditions to help it germinate and grow, so too with the seeds of awareness and inner peace within us. Coming home to the inner room, taking time to rest in the refuge of our heart, we begin to feel restored, less scattered, more whole.

Cultivating a new relationship with life

Needless to say, life will not allow us to remain there. Most of us live in busy environments. We cannot simply remove ourselves from noise, responsibility, or complexity. The invitation and healing wisdom of meditation, of the contemplative path, is not about running away from life, to bring about some sort of permanent withdrawal, but to learn how to remain inwardly grounded wherever we are. We are cultivating a new relationship with life, with those around us, characterised by greater awareness, greater wisdom and compassion, greater peace.

We grow in discernment. Not everything that presents itself to our senses deserves our attention. Not every voice needs to be listened to. Not every stimulus is nourishing. Part of spiritual maturity is learning to choose what we expose ourselves to – not from fear or rigidity, but from care. We find it easier to ask ourselves simple, honest questions as we navigate our way through the day. Does this leave me more present, or more scattered? More open, or more contracted? More compassionate, or more reactive?

The path of Christian meditation

The path of meditation is certainly not about shutting ourselves away from life’s beauty. There are moments when the door opens naturally, and we will want it to remain open. To let the sound of birdsong flow through us. To notice the movement of trees in the wind. To let ourselves be touched by a piece of music that carries depth and tenderness. To enjoy a film or a book that reveals something true about the human condition. To enjoy the presence of someone. When awareness is rooted, we can open ourselves without being lost. We can enjoy what is beautiful and nourishing. We can remain present and take care of ourselves as we are touched by the world.

In the Christian contemplative tradition, this is sometimes described as living with an undivided heart. Not pulled apart by competing demands, but inwardly gathered, even in activity. Meditation trains us in this gathering. Each time we notice we have been carried away and gently return to the prayer word, we are practising a form of inner care. Over time, this inner care increasingly expresses itself in outer care, in our care of each other, in all the small activities of daily life. We notice sooner when we are becoming scattered. We recover more quickly. We learn when to step back, when to turn something off, when to seek silence.

‘Enter your inner room’

‘Come by yourselves to a solitary place,’ says Christ, ‘and rest a little’ (Mark 6:31). ‘Enter your inner room and close the door.’ If the idea of solitude was once worrying for us, we soon discover that the place of solitude is not an emptiness, but a fullness of presence. We discover that when the door is gently closed, and the lamp of attention is lit, we are not left alone in a barren room, but met. There is warmth. There is a quiet companionship, communion at the heart of our own being.

‘Come away to a solitary place and rest a little,’ says Christ (Mark 6:31). After resting, we can re-enter the world with greater peace. After taking care of ourselves, we are more able to take care of others.

More able to see. More able to listen. More able to love.