Why meditate?
The rise in popularity of mindfulness over the past two decades has allowed many people to discover meditation as a technique for managing stress and pain, among other things. But meditation is much more than that.
It is a way of being in the world and with oneself that does not aim to “improve” us but, on the contrary, invites us to rediscover and recognize within ourselves a luminous space of consciousness. A space of which we are made and which becomes glimpsed in those moments when we cease—precisely—to do, to manage, and to produce.
Like yoga, which has become disconnected from its philosophy since the 1990s to emphasize its postural aspect, meditation, by isolating itself from its spiritual context, can also be reduced to a tool that, rather than offering us a sense of openness, reduces our existence to a series of obligations to fulfill, obstacles to overcome, and identities to prove. It’s easy these days to confuse the means (mindfulness techniques) or the form (postures) with the end: an open expression of our living potential.
Like many, I initially viewed meditation as just another technique that could save me from myself, reshaping me into someone else—more perfect, less prone to doubt and dissatisfaction. What I found there was not another “me,” but rather the possibility of letting my ways of being dissolve so that a whole space of possibilities could emerge.
And that is what I strive to convey—not as an authority on the subject, but as a fellow traveler, with a trained eye capable of discerning the radiance of your heart beneath the kleshas (the veils of doubt with which we identify).
Let’s not be afraid of spirituality—it’s not a dogma, nor is it a religion. It’s not a set of beliefs but a curious and intelligent perspective on our human experience.
