Posted: October 5, 2014 in Uncategorized




I enjoy meditation. I’ve been meditating for many years. Although I don’t follow any guru-based methodology, I find the act of sitting in a chair with legs crossed staring internally for an hour (plus or minus) very invigorating on many levels.

Meditation is different that being contemplative. Contemplative is thinking. It is an active world of imagination, thoughts, ideas, visualizations, and other symbolic representations that float through our minds. During the night in the midst of sleep we call them dreams. Yet, dreams are involuntary and passive reactions to the world around us. Contemplation maintains a semblance of personal control over the mind’s ideations.I felt a need to go into a deep meditation this morning after a bad health night. There are two main worlds in every person’s reality. One world is the external certainties of life. Most [people call this the real world, and for most people this is the extent of their individual reality. However, another inner world also exists. This is the world of the mind, body, and soul found exclusively in the quietude of silence.

Meditation is silence. It’s not passive because maintaining silence is a very active process, almost athletic in nature. Silence does not mean that ideation is absent. In fact, thoughts float the mind in meditation at first, but the idea is to control the thoughts, listen to them for a short time, then let them go. There are deeper realms to delve into, so the mind must remain diligent in its effort to regain its control of silence. Complete silence is where the action of the inner person takes place. Suddenly, from out of the darkness the Light begins to make its appearance. Undulating out the void are prisms of innumerable luminosities. This is indeed a rare event.

I’ve experienced very high levels of enlightenment over the decades of meditating. Yet, to maintain a state of enlightenment requires a rigorous commitment to its rarified state. Since my secular lifestyle with its incumbent burdens prevent me from living the life of an ascetic, I must wake up from my meditation after an hour and go back to the external turbulence of normality.

On this particular morning, I seemed predisposed to dive into the silent arena of mind. Business was rugged over the past few weeks, keeping me from my normal practice of meditation. When I sat down in my chair my initial intention was merely to rest for second before the start of the day. Then my body began to move on its own, outside of my mental control, into my meditation position, and then into the process I normally experience when I meditate. It seems my body needed some inner sanctum time and I was more than willing to cave into its demands.



I usually go through a series of exercises when I meditate, as I explore the various parts of my internal-self. Usually I am most proud of my Zen Monk persona that sits aloof from the material world, communing with The ALL, floating on ether and dancing with Bliss on the pillows of Heaven’s Gate. I also visualize with my Mind’s Eye, where I become an extremely powerful Czar and rule all of humanity with a benevolent firmness required for a great world leader.  With my Mind’s Eye as my superpower source, I create laws without any need for legislation. I am a complete dictator of the world, and the world loves it. In fact, in this state of mind, civilization honors me with bouquets of rare flowers from all over the world, delicate foods and an occasional beautiful virgin who acts as my power muse. The world becomes a better place, and everyone is happy with me as their dictator. However, I cannot daddle on being a powerful dictator of the world. More is in store for me as I continue on my meditation.

I begin to change my state of mind to that of an artist. Creativity is king in this palace. Of course, I have many talents when I zero in on my artistic-self. I paint great painting, carve great statues, write works that everyone in the world reads, always landing me on the top of the New York Time’s Best Seller List. I dabble in poetry, and write sonnets for fun. I cook meals with exotic names, and garnished with abstract swirls. I create dishes that makes sugar obsolete and booze a thing of the past. The mere taste of my creations sends the eater into hallucinatory rapture.

Then suddenly, I transport my meditative being to the source of love. Here, I feel how heaven and earth are joined in a teenage romance, always smiling, forever walking through spring meadows with small baby deer bouncing with their mother does by the forest’s edge. Fields of flowers go on for miles, angelic trumpets play Miles Davis jazz, but in a less foreboding style. I run in perpetual slow motion toward an oncoming celestial virgin also running in slow motion with her hair bouncing up and down, and petals of flowers floating into the air as she crushes the flowers below her feet. We never meet of course, but getting their is the goal, not arriving.

In an abrupt shift, I find myself in a small village begging for a bowl of rice. It seems to be 500 B.C. and I’m sitting under a a Bodhi tree. Amazingly, a rather husky and big-boned fellow by the name of Siddhartha is sitting next to me. I call him SidHa as I nod my head and he smiles in gratitude. He seems locked in deep meditation, so I don’t bother him beyond my short hello.

I look around and understand that suffering is everywhere on earth, and it is my duty to cure their misery. I was never good in biology, and it’s too late to be a pre-med student and go to medical school. The only alternative left for me is healing with my hands. I start walking through the country side healing everyone with an ailment. The blind can see, the lame can walk, the diabetic reduce their insulin intake, and Colin Farrell  learns to act. I grow long hair and a beard, and pick out approximately 10 / 11/ 12 or so dudes as my posse. Suddenly we are chased by the Sheriff of Nottingham, so I need to skip to another channel … and fast.

Over an hour passes and it’s time for me to wake up from my meditation and go to work. Precipitously, I look back at all the levels I’ve been through. It’s getting late and I feel I must make my final choice of inner being before my wife starts screaming at me to stop goofing off. I scan the horizon. All my inner beings become streams of  of brightly lucent colors. I touch each strand and each thread makes a unique tone.



One of the most captivating aspects of the meditation process, at least for me, is the transformation of chaos into serenity. Everyone must admit that the world is a very chaotic place by nature. In fact, those who believe in science and the modern world are more apt to believe that everything around us is based on probability and not guided by divine inspiration. That means the probabilistic world is doubly chaotic since everything is attempting to find its place to fit in … or, if not, then face ultimate destruction.

My meditative world is slightly different in nature. I do believe in an ideational force, something akin to the force of gravity, that guides ideational notions and vicissitudes. Love for example is an invisible emotion. Sure, it has physical by-products, but the “notion” of love is aesthetic to a large degree. Aesthetics is merely an undiscovered force, expressed by a yet un-devised mathematical equation. In other words, it’s ideational.

When we experience chaos, we are experiencing ideational realities that go beyond our immediate, real world comprehension. Reality is flying around us at the speed of sound, hurling on different planes and non-symmetrical orbits.  Our mind experiences mayhem, turmoil, upheaval, puzzlement and uncertainty. We stand flatfooted and stupefied.

Meditation takes chaos and begins magically morphing it into nothing. That’s right, a nothingness, a naught-ness of chaos. I mentioned that chaos becomes serenity. This is not absolutely true. Serenity is an active feeling of bliss and joy. A lack of chaos is the null set, a void, an absolute zero of turmoil. Ordinarily, I feel thrilled when something bad goes away. That’s because bad is replaced by something. In other words, one active force is replaced by another active force. For me, this is not true in meditation. Something gets replaced by nothing. It is the true meaning of the phrase “Silence is Golden”.



finally revealing a truly awesome thought. It dawned on me that “The ALL includes everything”.

As I attempted to find my essence, I couldn’t put a finger on the best and highest point. Intellectually I knew that reaching bliss was ideal in ascetic circles, but this morning I was pure plebian, so that didn’t fly. I darted around my inner sanctum, finding bits and pieces of my being hovering in all manners of repose. I felt they should stand attention as I walked into the room, saluting me as they would a 5-star general. They nonchalantly kept doing what they were doing and didn’t even bat an eye when I fanned my hand in front of their eyes. As I looked around, I realized that it took a sense of priority, a fuller commitment to a state of being to capture a particular zone’s attention.

If I wanted to be a Zen Monk, then I needed to commit more fully to the state of being of a Zen Monk. I couldn’t do that at this particular time, because it is October and the MLB playoffs are in full swing, and the NFL is in mid-season, and they take their own special focus and attention. I also just lost a client after 8-years, and I’m going through separation anxiety. For some reason we retain our production clients for years, when most production houses have a high turnover rate. I attribute it to our fear of losing revenue, and prostituting ourselves in deeming ways, performing despicable acts to keep a client from bolting. I don’t talk about it in public, which allows me to keep face among my FaceBook friends.

Anyway, this is a particularly difficult time to commit fully to any one persona inside my being. Work is tough, professional football and baseball need me this time of year, I have to re-do my website to find a new client, and I have to find something to wear for my kid’s wedding that’s coming up at the end of the month. I haven’t worn anything but black shorts and an ensemble of black tee shirts in various styles for over 15-years. Not to mention that the legacy dress-up clothes I have in my closet are hopelessly out of fashion since I purchased most of them when I actually visited client’s onsite … over 25-years ago. Admittedly, men’s fashion change slowly, but they do change. Either I could have my kid wait another 10-years to get married, at which time my legacy clothes will become fashionable again, or I have to invest into an updated pair of grown-up pants and matching shirt. I believe my underwear and socks are still solid as a rock.




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