In October of 2025, feeling perhaps that I had let my contemplative life slide further away from the center than was comfortable, I made myself a commitment to begin on the first of November with some serious attention to my meditation practice, and on Halloween morning of 2026 I sat down on the cushion for the 365th consecutive day of practice. I feel compelled now to say something about that, not to brag, I hope, but to see if I can illuminate for myself and for anyone else who might be interested what I see as the results or the benefits of that practice and this milestone.
First off, I don’t think I’ve yet reached enlightenment. I don’t think I was under any illusions about this when I started. I suspect that many folks far more experienced than I am with meditation practice might say they have never “arrived” at full enlightenment, despite years or decades of practice. I don’t think I could even tell you what that means. What is enlightenment? Could it be about finding contentment, about reaching a level of equanimity about literally everything, a cessation of suffering perhaps from mental and/or emotional attachment, from grasping and from struggle, an acknowledgment of one’s own buddha nature?
I’m just spitballing, but if I am anywhere near the mark with the above questions, I wonder: how am I doing? The short answer: not well, or at least, not great. While I think of myself as a relatively happy guy, I have been less content over the last year than I have been in a while. I have not reached equanimity about literally everything–hardly anything, more like. I’ve been suffering like a champ, especially over the last several months, and I have serious doubts about my buddha nature. And yet, there are clues that I am, as they say, on the path, the path toward an awakened state. And there are some things manifesting in my life that feel related to, if not caused by, the greater meditation project.
I think it’s true that a certain amount of awakening can cause one to suffer a little bit (or a lot) before one becomes “at peace.” If one of the goals of meditation practice is to understand the true nature of reality by shedding personal illusion and by letting go of attachments, I have been in the process of waking up, and it has been painful. I am beginning to doubt the veracity or the value of things I took for granted. I am asking difficult questions of myself. I am reexamining what it means to be me in this present moment, November, 2026. While painful at times, or often painful, I think all of this is to the good. Meditation practice does not answer these big questions for me, but it gives me an opportunity to sit with my mind, to watch it do its thing, to observe its workings with compassion and without judgement, and to see whether I can, by focusing on the breath, to shut it the fuck up, at least momentarily.
If I understand anything about meditation, though, I understand, contrary to the most common assumptions about it, that the goal of meditation is NOT to stop yourself from thinking, but rather, to be fully aware of that thinking, to be able to look at it dispassionately, to be able somewhat to understand thoughts as something separate from “self,” as if they were spiders, or birds, or better still, clouds. I am not my thoughts, but I can see them floating by, and maybe some of them pass almost without notice, and others are telling me something, like maybe there’s something there that needs my care and attention. Either way, I notice this, and, if I can, I come back to the breath. I must admit, though, that sometimes I can’t get back to the breath; I get stuck on the thought. Sometimes those thoughts beat me up pretty good. I’ve spent a full twenty minutes on the cushion once or twice over the last year just weeping. But again, it’s all part and parcel of the practice. I have come to the belief that the only bad meditation is no meditation.
In addition to the deep relaxation exercise of the mind, of the mental state, I have found that my meditation practice has also coincided with a number of very practical benefits in my life and in my health. Whether there is any kind of cause and effect happening here, I can’t be sure–except for this: the discipline itself. Have I ever in my life deliberately done anything I believed to be ostensibly good for me 365 days in a row, a practice, one that is optional, unrelated to my day to day survival? I do not think that I have. This last year, my dedication to daily meditation has reached an almost religious adherence. And on the very few days on which my morning routine was so thoroughly interrupted and changed as to make the morning ritual impossible, I have committed myself to finding another time and/or another place in the day to get it done. And I think that commitment has spread into other arenas of my life, for example, has made my dedication to writing practice more rigorous than it has been in years. It might be safe to say that I write something every day, some of which can be seen here on the blog. Would I be as productive as a writer if I were not meditating every day? I don’t know. I have a hunch, though, that I would not be.
I’ve lost 20 pounds over the last several months. I can tell you with some certainty that this is not a direct consequence of sitting on a cushion with my eyes closed for twenty minutes every morning. It’s because I have been watching what I eat and exercising. But insofar as meditation has made me mindful about how I feel in my body, I think it is safe to say that meditation has had an influence on how I choose to take care of myself.
Perhaps the most beneficial of all the possible outcomes of meditation practice is a daily experience with and full appreciation for silence, silence sandwiched between two bells. No music, no screens, no text, no conversation. If the windows are open, the birds are there, cars drive by, leaf blowers raise their ruckus, but this stuff slips away with minimal effort after a while, and if the outdoors cooperate, or if the windows are closed, or if the space is well-insulated, the only sound is the breath, or the thought (which is not a sound), unless it is uttered, which in my case, it sometimes is. But overall, it is a time I have deliberately carved out for the silence that I believe is most needful . With as much noise as 21st century Americans live with on the daily, or even minute by minute, a regular, intentional place for quiet and solitude seems to me absolutely crucial for well-being. At least, it is for mine.
I will continue. I might do two years in a row. That remains to be seen, but I would be very pleased if I could do that, and I predict that if I can, next November I’ll probably have different things to say about the endeavor. Let’s find out. I think I am on to something.
