Beyond Thought

“In the absence of thought, you are immortal.”
— Rupert Spira

Every once in a while, when I sit down to meditate, there’s a brief moment when I’m just there. I’m breathing. I’m aware. And for a few seconds, I have nothing to say to myself about any of it.

Then my mind chimes in. Hey, look at you. You’re finally doing it. And just like that, I’m thinking again.

People tell me, “I can’t meditate. My mind won’t shut off.” I get it. Mine is like a computer running in the background. It’s replaying a conversation from yesterday, writing a speech for an argument I haven’t even had, and somewhere in there reminding me to take out the trash.

So let it run.

I used to think my job was to quiet the mind. Now I sit long enough to notice what it’s doing. It can feel like there are two of me in the room. There’s the guy having the thought and the guy who sees it happen. That second guy can watch a worry come up and let it go by without giving it the next twenty minutes of his life.

That’s where I begin to hear my soul. There’s no voice spelling things out for me. It’s more like the simple knowing that I’m here and God is here with me. For a moment, I can let that be enough.

I think about Pam Reynolds, who underwent surgery for a brain aneurysm in 1991. Her doctors cooled her body and temporarily stopped her circulation so they could repair the aneurysm. During that part of the operation, her EEG went flat, and the monitors stopped detecting the brainstem’s response to sound.

Afterward, Pam recalled watching the operation from above the surgeon’s shoulder. She also remembered moving toward a brilliant light and recognizing people she loved who had died, including her grandmother and her uncle. Pam remembered the whole experience as continuous, though exactly when she experienced the light and saw her family remains unknown.

The detail I keep coming back to is something Pam said about her hands. In that bright light, she held them in front of her face and couldn’t see or feel them. And yet, she said, she knew they were there. I wonder what it means to know something so directly that you don’t have to think your way to it. Could the mind be something like a receiver, picking up only a little of what’s there? I can sit with that question. The part I’ve experienced for myself is simple. When my thoughts fall quiet, I’m still here.

When Moses asks God what name he should give the Israelites, God answers, “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14, NIV). I think about how much time I spend adding words after I am. I am worried. I am behind. I am whatever I think the people around me need me to be. Then I sit with God for a few minutes, and those words begin to loosen their grip. I remember that He knew me before I ever had a word for myself.

Tomorrow morning, my mind will have plenty to say again. I’ll sit down anyway. If I get even a few seconds of quiet, I hope I can leave them alone long enough to listen.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10 (NIV)