The spiritual path of meditation, is a path by which we become fully human. This ancient ‘prayer of the heart’ is a way stillness, of stilling the mind. “Be still, and know that I am God,” sings the Psalmist (Psalm 46:10). We open to God not in words, but in silence. What does the practice we teach involve?
Meditation teaches us not to resist our distractions nor chase after them, but to lay them down gently—again and again—returning to the simplicity work of saying our prayer word and following our breath. In his Conferences on prayer, St. Cassian invites us to hold onto the prayer word with the mind: so that, after saying it over and over again…[the mind] has the strength to refuse all the abundant riches of thought. Grasping the poverty of this little word, it will come all the most easily to that first of all the gospel beatitudes, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3).
However strange it might seem at first, to let go of all “the abundant riches of thought” is to relinquish our need for control and turn to the stillness at the heart of all mental activity, to the still centre, which like the centre of a wheel remains still whether the wheel is turning or not: it is to turn to the silent wellspring of our life.
Meditation is a path of dispossession, of self-emptying (kenosis) and surrender. This is an essential aspect of the path by which we become fully human in the pattern of Christ.
“Be of the same mind, having the same love, being united in your soul and of one mind… Be of that mind in yourselves that was also in Christ Jesus, who, though existing in God’s form, did not consider being equal with God something to be grasped, but emptied [let go of] himself…” (Phil 2:27).
Many people today if they were asked to say something about prayer, might describe something quite different from ordinary daily life. They might be surprised to hear the great twentieth-century contemplative Thomas Merton say, “My God, I pray to you better by breathing. I pray to you better by walking than by talking.”
Something as ordinary as our breathing can become our prayer. Merton begins his advice to those seeking God with the words of St Paul, ‘Pray without ceasing.’ What might this mean?
How might we go about this? “It is really quite simple”, says Merton. “It is just as if Our Lord told us, “You must keep on breathing…”’
This ancient wisdom is a rich teaching for us today as we struggle to live well in our world of noise and distraction. The steady flow of our breath can become the steady flow of our prayer, the steady flow of a life which is becoming prayer.
The skilful use of the breath helps greatly with the deepening of our meditation, of silent prayer. Whether it is combined with the use of a prayer word or used simply on its own. the breath becomes a bridge which unites our whole being. It is the energy of concentration, of un-grasping, focused attention which facilitates the opening of awareness.
As our practice deepens, we find ourselves less entangled in the endless commentary of the discusrsive, chattering mind. We become less preoccupied with analysing or narrating our experience and more present to the simple reality of life, unmediated by our thoughts about it. Freed from the compulsive urge to interpret and control, we can meet each moment with greater openness, simplicity, and peace.
When we are with someone we love to be with, we can rest from thinking about them. We can simply enjoy being with them. We are both right here. And likewise with God, who doesn’t know how to be absent or anywhere else but right here. When we let go of our thoughts about someone we are with, we are simply with them. When we let go of our thoughts about God, all that remains is God’s unmediated presence.
Through the faithful repetition of our prayer word, we gradually move from being the reactive victim of our passing thoughts and emotions to being their awareness witness. We realise that we are not our thoughts, nor our feelings, but the spacious awareness in which they arise and pass away. This shift brings a growing sense of freedom, as we rest more deeply in the peace that is always present beneath the surface noise.
Meditation disposes us to the gift of contemplation—the gift of seeing clearly. It opens our eyes to the deeper truth of ourselves, others, and all creation. We begin to see the beauty, dignity, and interconnectedness that were hidden beneath our old patterns of fear and separation. Contemplation reveals that we are already held in the oneness of God, not apart from it.
The invitation of meditation is to discover that the deepest truth of who we are is the deepest truth of everything, to come home to the simple reality of life, unmediated by our stories about it. We are invited to deep communion. We do not come to this by a process of thought or analysis (though thought and analysis can help clear the path). We come to the truth of non-separateness, of oneness, through the practice of loving attention, through clearing a space for encounter.
One way or another, we have created a way of seeing which is dislocated and dislocating. But it doesn’t have to be like this. We can wake up. We can choose a new way of seeing, a new way of being.
The central lesson we are learning in meditation is to pay attention, to wholly attend. As we learn to be attentive, we become better able to see and hear those around us without our own preoccupations clouding the lens of our vision, without blocking up the ear of our heart. We discover ourselves becoming more present, more available, more compassionate in ways we might never have expected. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, God dissolves the barriers that trap us within ourselves and isolate us from each other.
Meditation is a school of community, a school of oneness, a quiet path to being fully awake and gratefully present. The simple practice helps open us to the peace which transfigures all that divides us and lays bare who we are – members of one family, living in one shared home.