How to meditate wrong
The ensō (円相), or “circle”, simbolizes enlightenment, emptiness, freedom, and the state of no-mind
If you have an interest in this subject, you may have heard a lot about how to meditate correctly according to one of the many traditions that employ meditation for whatever purpose. That is not the kind of advice I am prepared to give, but I will argue that meditating wrong can come in handy. Let's face it, most of us will never step into a monastery or enroll in a course that will enlighten us in perpetuity. Our lives are full of earthly commitments and impediments. So, sometimes, trying to do like our favorite monk is a recipe for frustration. The accumulated frustrations make us less committed to our practice. Everything is an excuse. "I cannot do a full lotus", "it's too noisy in here", "I don't have a zabuton", "I don't have a bell, or a sangha, or a beautiful and poetic Japanese temple". Etc. We tend to give up when our idea of perfection is unattainable.
I am reading the book The Empty Mirror: Experiences in a Japanese Zen Monastery, which recounts the experiences of a Westerner in a Zen monastery in Japan. On a regular day, they meditate for six hours or more. In that circumstance, sure, you need a lot of structure and discipline to support the practice of dozens of monks at a time. Monasteries also run on tradition — a lot of the things they do are not strictly necessary. But I am not in a monastery. In my home, I can be a little lazy.
In the Zen Buddhist tradition, the most common recommendation is to sit in full lotus. That means to sit cross-legged, with your left foot over your right thigh and your right foot over your left thigh. That position is uncomfortable to most Westerners. According to my monastic friend from Empty Mirror..., it serves to keep you completely stable even if you fall asleep — and monks seem to fall asleep all the time. That is because they meditate six hours a day, along with extenuous physical labor. But I am not a monk. I meditate thirty minutes a day, forty-five minutes at the most, and I don't have to cook rice or pull weeds from the garden for the rest of the day. To me, a half-lotus is perfectly fine. It is like the full lotus, but one foot is allowed to remain below the other thigh. It is much, much easier.
Another thing I don't do is the cosmic mudra. It is a position for your hands while you meditate. I understand and respect its symbolic importance, but keeping my hands in a very specific and delicate position breaks my flow. I end up worrying too much about it, trying to make it perfect. Besides, I meditate by myself. I am sure the universe gets my vibe without it.
The last thing I do differently is to put my back against a wall. I experimented doing like the monks, without any support. It is not too hard, but I don't see any benefit. I like being comfortable. I assume that being used to zazen (Zen meditation) without back support is useful for actual monks because there are simply too many of them and not enough walls.
There are, of course, justifications for all of this other than tradition or practicality. The whole package (full lotus, the cosmic mudra, and the posture) forces you to be very aware and intentional about your body. In theory, they make it harder to slouch. However, if you're a lazy bastard like me, making these things mandatory could make your practice disappear.
Another thing is time: ideally, you should have fixed times for your practice. That can be good for some people, but I'm a stay-at-home dad and my son is only 18 months. Due to ADHD, I also have a lot of difficulty following a fixed schedule, and it is generally a good idea for me to be flexible about my own expectations. If I have half a dozen tasks to fulfill in a day, and each of those has a time and an order, missing one or two appointments can put me in a spiral of failure. However, if I have five tasks that can be rearranged when needed, there's a good chance that they will be done. The same is true for meditation. Every day I meditate for 30 minutes, sometimes 45 minutes if I can. I don't know precisely when that will happen. Among other things, that will depend on whether my neighbors will randomly play loud music (Brazil is not a quiet country), when my kid will be asleep, when I will have finished my chores, and whether my wife requires my assistance.
But how exactly do I meditate? I follow the advice of Zen monks, but I do it wrongly. Thich Nhat Hanh is always a great read. Monja Coen (a Brazilian monk) has good advice on YouTube. I've read a few books about Zen. The Way of Zen, by Alan Watts, is dear to my heart. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind also influenced me quite a bit. But when it comes to the actual task of zazen, it is very simple.
First, you sit on a cushion. Your back should be straight. Eyes open, with a soft focus. This is not transcendental meditation; the idea is not to go beyond reality in any way. You sit and you feel seated. You are not going anywhere. You notice your breathing — that much is common to all meditation. You may count your exhalations. Breathe in. Breathe out — and count one. Breathe in. Breathe out — count two. Keep doing that until you get to ten, and then you restart at one. If you lose count, just go back to one1.
Thoughts and emotions are likely to arise. You must not push those thoughts and emotions away. You also must not hold on to them. Zazen is not about mulling over thoughts and emotions. You just let them be for as long as they exist. Until they are no more. Monks often use this metaphor: you are seated by the riverbank and watch the river in front of you. The river brings a log. You do not hold the log. You do not push it away either. You simply observe the log until the river naturally pushes it away. The log, of course, is your thoughts and emotions. To prolong the metaphor, I could say that the river current is your breathing, calmly allowing for your thoughts to emerge and to die of their own volition.
During the practice of zazen, it is said that you do not have a goal, as sitting itself is the goal of sitting. I can confirm that this feels very proper in my practice. However, outside the practice, it is impossible to avoid expectations about your meditation. If you let those expectations go wild, they will make meditation impossible. But if you do not have any expectations, you will not push yourself to meditate. So I guess it is good to have some expectations, but know when to let go of them.
The perfect is the enemy of the good
It is known that, oftentimes, doing something is better than doing nothing. To start running, you may think that you need an expensive running shoe, a T-shirt and running shorts of a particular brand, a beautiful water bottle, a smartwatch to monitor your vitals, and the best earbuds to play your favorite music. Although those are very nice to have, you shouldn't wait for all of those things to arrive when you can use what you already own and start running right now.
In similar fashion, I would like to recommend the practice of meditating wrong. You don't need a perfect cushion, a Zen garden, a master, or a monastery. You don't need to do it even remotely right. In fact, you will fail if you try it. However, I guarantee you that you will succeed at doing it wrong, with many of the same benefits as doing it right.
I don't think everyone should or need to meditate. However, because I have ADHD, zazen is incredibly beneficial to me. It feels almost like magic. The days when I meditate are completely different from the others. While I do take medication, it is like a knife that is only useful if you point it in the right direction. If I take Vyvanse and proceed to vegetate watching YouTube videos, it will only turn me into a more efficient couch potato. I may do things that feel productive, but not the things that need to be done. For example, I might spend hours downloading rare movies that I will never watch. I will be very efficient at it, but that is not productive. On those days, I do not feel present even for the things I enjoy. I may eat the most delicious foods without enjoying them, or watch a great TV show without paying attention to it. Meditating wrong helps me immensely.
Because an empty mind is a useful mind, zazen gives my mind back to me.
I am not entirely sure if counting is strictly necessary. I like to breath freely sometimes.↩