Could you imagine being someone on the other side of the palace walls, watching as Siddhartha climbed over with his friend, Channa, in nothing but a beggar’s robe, stealing into the night?  What would an ordinary man think, walking in the night, trying to figure out how to procure a fraction of the wealth the prince had in order to provide for himself and his family, seeing Siddhartha throw it all away?

I think that I  would be frustrated, probably a little angry too.  I spend more and more time these days counting coins, keeping track of my spending, mitigating debt, questioning purchases- all to afford a rather basic life, as Western first-worlds go.  So to see a man with everything just up and walk away, if I was older, had kids, had a wife, a house?  Damn right I’d be annoyed.

But that only lasts until you consider what he went out to do, and what he went through. His studies and investigations led him to do one of the most difficult things that any one person may attempt.

He sat.

This is meditation’s first requisite, and it’s most basic form.  Just sitting, that is what it is, and that is what Siddhartha Gautama, who would one day become the Buddha, set out to do.  Now to be fair, there is significantly more to what he did than this.  He went through all of the major schools of Hindu thought at the time- spoke with many gurus and sages and anyone who thought they may have a cure for… well, life.  Eventually he left all of these intellectuals behind, with their yogic practices, and hung out with some hardcore ascetics for a while- guys who would eat only a few grains of rice a week, and would stay standing for days without sleep, all in an attempt to break their minds from the here and now.

But in the end what Siddhartha did was sit under a tree.  Sat, thought, and breathed.

A typical introduction to meditation goes something like this- sit comfortably, back straight, eyes either closed or half-closed, hands folded in your lap with thumbs together, focus on your breathing.  Counting breaths helps, or focusing on a point just in front of your nose, or in the center of your chest.  Basically you want to try to focus on that and nothing else.

No, don’t think about meditating, or about that annoying guy at work, or about what you had for dinner, or that movie you just saw, or about how you’re not focusing.  Eventually you will forget about your breathing, your mind will default to what it normally does in this situation. When it is left idle it will wander- it will ruminate, reminisce, wonder.  And then you will remember what it was you were trying to do, and come back to your breathing.  No, not that song you have stuck in your head, not about your plans tonight, not about how terrible you are at this.

Not that.

Not that.

And not that.

Don’t worry, it’s impossible.  No one gets it right the first time, our heads aren’t built this way, were aren’t trained to be this way, they really, really really don’t want to be left with nothing to do.  Yet this is the kind of thing that Buddha did, for days.

And it isn’t like it remains impossible.  Yesterday I had my first meditation session, at a local Buddhist centre.  Not my first one ever, but my first in a while.  We meditated for about 20 minutes, had a half-hour talk, and then another 20 minutes of meditation.  It was guided meditation, so the monk leading us would drop little reminders to relax and let go of our thoughts, or to think about the topic at hand, but the overall goal was the same- to clear and focus the mind.

All it took was those brief sessions to remember why I like meditation.  It makes me feel good.  I rode a steady wave of contentment and clear-headedness for at least an hour after that.  I was zen as a mother fucker.  And all it took was sitting and meditating poorly for less than an hour.  At one point I’m pretty sure I dozed off.

That is one side of the spectrum of meditation, one side of a tradition and practice that existed before the Buddha, and continues on, enriched thanks to his teaching and the experience of all the Buddhist monks, nuns and laypeople that came after him.  On the other side of this spectrum, we have Thic Quang Duc.  He was a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, who died on June the 11th 1963 while protesting the persecution of Buddhist monks in Vietnam under the Ngo Dinh Diem government.  You will probably know him better as “the burning monk.”

This is one of my favourite images, because it demonstrates, totally, and without question, the results of the Buddha’s mission.  This monk burned himself to death, and during the process, which lasted about 10 minutes, he did not move and he did not cry out.  Thic Quang Duc made no sign that he was in any pain whatsoever.  He was able to completely bypass how any normal person would react to such a situation, close his mind from his body, control exactly how he would react.

These are the fruits of meditation.  From the briefest of encounters, you can leave feel elated and contented, and if you give your life to it, then you can burn to death and be fine.

All from just sitting.