I woke up thinking about focus, realizing why it can't be faked. The parts of us responsible for generating thought are as physical and subconscious as those responsible for making us breathe.
Breathing is a good comparison, I think, because we are aware of our breath consciously at times. When we are aware of it, it feels in our control.
I remember feeling a tinge of fear every time I'd practice breath meditation as an adolescent. By focusing on my breathing, it felt like I was consciously taking responsibility for its continuation. At the same time, I was aware of a need to let my focus slip past the doorway of breath if I hoped to touch the void I'd discovered lies beyond it.
I would often end up lingering there, in the doorway of breath, fearful that if I tried relinquishing control of my breathing, I might end up not breathing at all. Sure enough, I'd end up holding my breath as I struggled to slip past the door and into a deeper meditative state. It is an experience not unlike that which follows the choice to hold a door open for a stranger at Texas Roadhouse. Soon, you begin to wonder if this job is destined to be yours now, for the rest of eternity.
I woke up early this morning. As I write this first draft in my journal, the clock on the oven reads 5:25.
I've been waking up at 3:00 AM most nights this week, which, contrary to popular opinion, has nothing to do with witches and everything to do with stress.
The human body refills its cortisol stores while you sleep so that the reserves may deplete throughout the day, hopefully emptying by night. This is important because cortisol creates an unshakable feeling of alertness that is quite pleasant under the right circumstances. For people with a healthy circadian rhythm and managed stress levels, this process results in a full tank of cortisol ready to go promptly at 3:00 AM.
Unfortunately, as you may have experienced, if your cortisol levels are still a bit high when you go to bed, the tank can overflow. This results in what I truly feel would be the absolute perfect morning experience, if only it were happening three hours later.
I'm endeavoring not to fight it anymore when it happens. It's a stimulant stronger than Adderall. I figure I can make use of it.
This morning, when I felt myself overflow, I didn't even look at a clock. I already knew what time it was — 3:00 AM. Instead, I rolled over and gave my body one final opportunity for sleep. "This is it," I said to myself, "Use it or lose it."
After lying there, face down in my pillow for an imperceptible amount of time, I finally caved, rolled over, and peeked at the time on my phone. 4:00 AM. Shit.
This is still a tad early for me to consciously choose to start my day, so instead, I roll onto my back. Deciding to take the time to practice a little mindfulness meditation before I get up.
Mindfulness meditation is a different beast entirely from the kind of meditation I did when I was younger. There is little to no chance of me touching the void today, unfortunately. Instead, I'm focusing on the experience of focus itself — trying to spend some time becoming more familiar with how various things enter and eventually exit the plane of cognitive awareness.
If you've never tried this, just know, it's tricky. Not like a "rock a rhyme" kind of tricky, more like earnestly holding a conversation with yourself as if you're two different people while alone in a room, without letting the lingering realization that there might be something wrong with you creep in—kind of tricky. I think my mom would probably be good at it if she could sit still long enough to try.
All jokes aside, though, it really is difficult to find a decent explanation of mindfulness online, and it's such a subtle experience. Like learning to bend a bit of the energy every idea carries with it into its own little stage, without becoming one with the idea itself. It requires a light touch.
I find it helpful to try to cultivate a sensation of love while I'm doing it. Specifically, that kind of warm awareness and appreciation for the interconnectedness of all things in the universe that you feel while looking upon the face of a newborn baby sleeping peacefully in your arms for the first time, or while metabolizing a gram of dried psychedelic mushrooms.
Inside the multi-dimensional flow that is the conscious mind, I find that thoughts sort of pre-exist. They begin as an essence. You might say they're there in spirit.
Not every thought is there in spirit at any given time. That's important to recognize, I think. There are potential thoughts present within the flow, and those are all you have to work with in the present. You can, of course, wait a while if you wish, and the menu will likely change, but if your goal is to practice mindfulness, it's best to just pick the first thing you see.
This is because a key principle of mindfulness meditation is being non-judgmental of your thoughts, and the moment you start sorting through them, saying no to some and yes to others, you are, by definition, judging your thoughts.
When I "pick" the nearest thought, I give it body. In many ways, it feels like I'm holding an idea's audition. "Next!" I call, and a shadow of a form shuffles into the center of my mind. I take a breath to center myself and kick on the spotlights, giving him or her my full, undivided attention, if only for a moment. And in that moment, they. are. born! Fully grown, standing there on stage, basking in the spotlight, beaming with pride and excitement, ready to give it their all.
This is when you've got to be careful. It's important to come in openly with that lovingly earnest light touch. If they catch any indication from you that this is a sham audition, that you are not, in fact, taking this seriously and that they have no real chance of selling you on whatever it is they're here to pitch, well, then they'll die right there on the stage. Most of the time. Sometimes I can tell that they're not gone forever, just storming off the stage to pout before getting back in line.
You must be respectful. Give it its moment, and it will give you its routine. Maybe it's a comedian, or a singer, or a screenwriter. Sometimes it's a podcast host pitching an episode focused on a conspiracy theory it came up with.
Whatever it is, if you give it its moment to be heard before kindly thanking it, telling it you'll let it know, and sending it on its way, then it will leave graciously, beaming with joy and confidence.
It's a fun experience. Do it for a while each day, and you might just find a new perspective on life. It's especially helpful for those of us who struggle with taking their thoughts too seriously.
This morning, though, I attempted something new. I tried to put out an all-call for a specific role.
There is an idea that has been auditioning regularly over the past few days, improving its performance each time. It's obviously working because it's on my mind. So I think maybe I can take this time to try to give it my undivided focus. But alas, I can sense that it is unable to show.
It's almost like I can hear its agent speaking to me, telling me it would be happy to come back, but first, I must go to my office, remove all the physical distractions, and put a few focusing concepts on the board to manifest it.
In the process I'm realizing the agent is really exposing something deeper. He is explaining that my present ideas are related to my present physical experience. It's odd, but makes sense.
It makes me wonder if I can learn to purposefully initiate a particular focus by manipulating my environment and following a ritual.
I must give it a try and remember to report back!