Van Duong shares insights on meditating with distraction, and interbeing with Mother Earth.
By Van Duong on
Just as I was beginning to settle into my cushion, my thoughts slowing down to sync with my breath, I heard the sudden sound of my electric toothbrush glitching in a rhythmic sequence of pauses and buzzes. With each buzz came a jolt of thoughts snaking their way into my mind,
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Van Duong shares insights on meditating with distraction, and interbeing with Mother Earth.
By Van Duong on
Just as I was beginning to settle into my cushion, my thoughts slowing down to sync with my breath, I heard the sudden sound of my electric toothbrush glitching in a rhythmic sequence of pauses and buzzes. With each buzz came a jolt of thoughts snaking their way into my mind, seemingly growing longer, hissing with frustration and exasperation.
What is it that I have forgotten? How can breathing help me to remember?
Before my journey into cultivating mindfulness, I might have stomped angrily over to the object of my distraction while muttering curses under my breath, then violently hit it against the counter in a futile attempt to fix it, only to find myself too worked up to be able to sit and focus on my breath after it all. Or equally likely, maybe I would have chased existential thoughts on the ever-increasing encroachment of technology closing in on the small vignette of childhood memories of climbing trees and collecting leaves—before iPhones and Google, before the world was bombarded by CDs advertising the infinite network of the Internet—and what it all means for the future of children today.
During these moments of distraction, whether big or small, I find myself visualizing an important and simple reminder—breathe and remember.
When I first encountered these words etched on a rock, nestled along the fragrant hiking trail of lilac bushes and sage in the chaparral surrounding Deer Park Monastery, I was confused and perplexed. “Breathe and Remember.” What is it that I have forgotten? How can breathing help me to remember? But when I made my way up to the top of the mountain, sitting in meditation with the Sangha and breathing in the light and air of the orange sunset, I understood then that, for me, the answer is something felt.
Meditation and conscious breathing opened my eyes to another realm of feelings. It is the feeling of floating on water as I breathe out the weight that I didn't know had clung to my body like barnacles. It is the feeling of Earth’s support beneath me, and the life-sustaining air surrounding me. It is the warm and comforting feeling that I have been here before, and the feeling that I will be here again, whether as rain from a cloud or a bird flitting from tree to tree. These feelings help me remember that my connection to Mother Earth is deep and powerful; I come from a long line of ancestors who have tilled her soil and drank from her fresh streams so that I may experience the miracle of life today. As I breathe, I remember that I am the embodiment of thousands and thousands of years of genealogical DNA intermingling with Mother Earth’s resources coursing through my veins. As I breathe, I remember that I keep my ancestors alive in the present moment by continuing the sacred tradition of meditation.
In a sense, meditation helps anchor me to the essence of life and reminds me of the liberating power within me. I have the power to step back and observe intrusive thoughts before getting caught in the mind’s whirlwind. I have the power to wade through the distractions of the digital age and onslaught of misinformation to touch the ultimate reality—to realize that we are all interconnected—humans, animals, and plants who are all living, breathing, and sustaining ourselves on this Earth, like our ancestors before us. Rachel Carson, an environmentalist, once said, “In nature, nothing exists alone.” So I hope to live in a way where I can exist outside the constraints of my mind and body—to see Mother Earth as one breathing organism, where all living beings existing on her soil are the embodiment of millions and millions of years of her genealogical DNA coursing through her veins, her oceans, her skies. And in understanding this, I can perch myself on top of one of her mountains, look upon her sunset, and touch true peace and happiness in the here and now.
