The loss of words and the conditioned self
Over the years I had dabbled in mindfulness meditation. I practiced regularly enough, but the practice was short and often felt like the ever elusive mindful state was just out of reach. At times, it almost seemed as if I had reached the outskirts of it, my arms outreached but just falling short of being able to grasp onto anything tangible. The answer, which moments ago seemed so close, would grow distant, dim, and fade from sight. Moments like these would frequently be followed by a deep and thorough analysis, a revision of strategy and technique, and as dedicated as any conscientious student could be, I would promptly set out to plan the next practice, noting down any tweaks to implement the next time around. Next time would be different. Next time I would sit for longer, focus more. Surely, all I needed was more effort, will-power, and determination.
But the next time was the same. It was always the same.
I should admit, that it was not always this bleak. There were some meditations where I might have even experienced a truly mindful state for a moment, but as soon as I became aware of it, it faded. It was almost as if the awareness of the state prevented it from occurring. I should say that I did not find mindfulness meditation entirely unsatisfying or unnecessary. On the contrary, I found the meditation and its guiding principles deeply beneficial in my life. It was just that I had this knowledge of a state of mindfulness that had been described to me many times but one that I could not seem to experience myself — the state in which the self seems to disappear, just for a moment.
And then one day, when I had almost stopped looking for this state, it appeared.
We are often instructed, “be present, without judgment”, but what does this instruction truly mean? For a long time I believed this meant replacing negative words with neutral ones, and while perhaps this is one part of it, I have come to realise that to truly be mindful is to be entirely without words. Words can be useful. They help with classification, allow communication of information, and guide thought, but words can be incredibly limiting. They can strip that which they describe from its deeper meaning. They can turn ever changing, rich experiences into fixed and determined ones. If I want to taste an apple, no amount of adjectives can replace the actual taste of the sweet, crispy flesh. At the point at which I have given it a label or a name, it ceases to be anything more. It just is, the “sweet, crispy apple”. I label it as such and go on with my day. The depth and richness of the experience has been lost.
In the same vein, the instruction “be present” attempts to convey a meaning, which is altogether lost when compressed in such simple words. The present refers to the point in time that is “now”, yet the present is always changing. To think of the present, one must exclude the future or the past. Yet, in an attempt to remove any mental representation of the future or the past, one inevitably becomes aware of it. We cannot stop our perception of time and so we are hopelessly left floundering trying to “be present” yet constantly finding that we are slipping into the past, for as soon as we notice an experience it becomes a part of our memory, and so a part of our past. We are left bewildered and confused, feeling that no matter how hard we try, our experience just cannot match up to the word “present”.
So why is the consideration of words so important? When we are born, we do not have the capacity for verbal comprehension. We simply exist and experience. The world is new and we are in awe. But time is limited and if we are to become valuable members of society, we are required to put words to our experiences so that they are no longer novel or distracting. To put a word to something means to know it. When a child finally utters a word, he is met with praise. He feels wise. He feels right. His quest for more words is reinforced and he feels stronger and more knowledgeable of himself and his world with each new word. Words become more and more powerful. They become representations of truth, and truths becomes fixed and unchallenged. We become disconnected from the ever-changing nature of the world, preferring to see things as they had been, rather than as they are. It feels easier this way. The unknown becomes known, the uncertain becomes certain, and the future more determined. We feel safe, yet we are now restricted more than we know. These words, which have now become fully formed and deeply entrenched beliefs now govern how we see others, the world, and ourselves. It runs so deep that we do not even realise that we are governed by it anymore.
We do not experience purely anymore. We are overrun with words. But on that recent day, I got a glimpse of what it is like to reach that state in meditation where one is stripped of their conditioning, their beliefs, their words, and who they are. All the layers were removed. Experience was just experience. Things just were. Time passed, yet it ceased to be of importance and was in some ways easier to ignore. I came to realise that only representations of the future can exist in the present and that quite likely these representations are neither true nor accurate. When I do not hold an image of the future in my mind, I cannot feel fear. When I do not hold an image of the past, I cannot feel sadness or regret. Of course, I cannot feel excitement or nostalgia either in that moment, but that is not the purpose of this state. There is no purpose and any question of purpose only brings back a sense of self for whom a purpose could be designed.
It finally became clear that all those other times my mindful states could not last while I clung to words and explanations of my experience. You see, the moment I started trying to define my experience, it would suddenly cease to exist. The moment I tried to put words to the sense of nothingness, it became something other than nothing.
This experience, I know, is only a glimpse and I will not claim arrogantly to know exactly what it was but it is something that I am compelled to describe. I know that by putting this experience into words I strip it of most of its riches. The irony of trying to describe all this in those exact words that I spent the last few paragraphs devaluing is not lost on me. Nonetheless, it is an experience that that has allowed me to know, not with words, but truly know what it is like for just a moment to be removed from my “conditioned self”. It has given me the guidance that I so desperately needed and I feel surer of my path now.
For now, I can only try to mimic what I experienced then. My conditioning is strong and my desire to reproduce that state only shows more clearly my rejection of my current state and clinging to a better, more liberated one. But there is one thing that I did come to realise. We are human after all and our brains are vulnerable to conditioning. There will be times when we will be so deeply pulled by our thoughts and our beliefs that we will forget to question all of it entirely. Our words, thoughts, and interpretations will evoke emotions, urges, and desires, and we will be caught up in the stories that our mind produces so strongly that we will have forgotten completely that they are just one version or interpretation of the “truth”. It is impossible to forever be removed from our conditioning. It is impossible to be removed entirely from unpleasant thoughts and emotions. And so, as mindful and as aware of my conditioning as I may be, I must accept one truth that is likely to remain, and that is that I will continue to think in words and feel in response to them. But, if once in a while, I am able to notice the nature of my mind and its tendency to believe these words, perhaps then I will be freer to choose my next step. When I have remembered and awakened from this dream that seems so real, the path will be clear again, until as surely as the sun will set each day, I will fall back into my dream, to rest until I wake again.
