Awareness can be sudden, gradual, or incremental, and it may not match your expectations. That’s okay. As the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy reminds us—don’t panic.

 

By David Jones

It was just a normal day.

I was having arguments in my head with a frustrating family member. I had scooped the cat litter box. I had already eaten lunch. Laundry was once again failing to do itself. I needed stuff from the grocery store. My mind chattered as I loaded the dishwasher, thankful no one was watching me because I’m sure I was loading it “wrong.”

Then my mind went quiet. Completely silent. Completely still.

This disturbed me. I stood still for a moment or two, listening, barely breathing. Finally I went to my office and sat down, my mind peaceful. I ran an internal diagnostic. What just happened?

I mean, all those things I’d been preoccupied with were still there, but they weren’t trying to talk over each other. In fact, none of them were saying anything. This was Twilight Zone territory.

I sat still, acclimating myself. No mental chatter or static.

My diagnostic finished, and the results were baffling: the inner noise was just gone. My cognitive process was fine (after two strokes, I needed to rule out catastrophe first thing). My attic was silent and bright. This made no sense. I was doing dishes, not sitting in meditation. I wasn’t trying to quiet my mind. This happened on its own. It was suspicious, like when the kids in the other room suddenly get too quiet.

I had a quick chat with myself. “Okay, I don’t know for sure what’s happened, but remember: no clinging. It will last as long as it lasts, it will end when it ends. If it returns, greet it openly, bid it farewell when it leaves. It’s nice while it lasts, it’s fine if it doesn’t.”

Then I ran to ChatGPT. It’s been keeping me company as I journal all the things I’ve been learning and working through in my dreamwork, so maybe it knew something. I typed it all in, and it came back with an explanation: maybe it was exactly what it appeared to be. But how? I wasn’t sitting or meditating. Sudden quiet and clarity wasn’t supposed to happen apart from that, I thought.

So Chat started sharing accounts of The Sudden Silence from texts and traditions, even beyond Buddhism.

It trotted out mystics and zen monks, neuroscience and ego-deactivation events. Apparently this wasn’t unheard of.

All evening I caught myself saying “I don’t understand this. I need to understand this.” But that wasn’t true. I didn’t want to admit that I understood it just fine. Inside I needed to muddy the water, needed to make it harder than it was, because this moment was too simple, too uncomplicated. I had trouble letting go, clinging to the idea this shouldn’t be possible. I didn’t feel I deserved sudden clarity like this.

Bedtime, still all quiet up there. I could still think about stuff, but the only movement in my mind was what I chose to create. As soon as I stopped moving my thoughts around, they stopped. Meditation and prayers are so different when the mind is already silent. My dreams were normal.

Next morning, the noise was back, and sort of comforting. Everything was back to normal: thoughts slinging themselves around my mental mosh pit. I prayed, giving thanks for the experience, happy if it came back, happy if it didn’t. From time to time I’m aware the quiet is still up there, even if it’s in the background.

So I’d like to share a few thoughts:.

Awareness can be sudden, gradual, or incremental, and it may not match your expectations. That’s okay. As The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy reminds us—don’t panic.

Try not to cling, even to success or progress you’ve made.
Stay open and grounded to every experience.
Be patient and mindful in your practice, (whatever form that takes).
The moment isn’t about worthiness at all.

I want to normalize speaking about these moments of insight and clarity.

Talk to your teacher about your own personal moments. Speak with trusted friends or loved ones who are supportive and open to your experiences. Speak with a professional if you need to. I know there’s a taboo about sharing these things, but there doesn’t need to be.

I’m not sharing this as some kind of flex, bragging about what I’ve accomplished. I’ve accomplished absolutely nothing. No one should feel puffed up or defeated over what they have or haven’t experienced. But I encourage everyone to find some practice to enable spiritual growth. It doesn’t have to be meditation, or whatever your neighbor swears by. The best practice is the one that helps you.

As you grow and deepen your practice; it’s good to let others rejoice with you.

It’s good to talk about the scary moments. Embrace them all, then let them go. Always let them go. Even if you don’t know how to explain what’s happened, that’s okay; language isn’t designed to handle everything. (I used to think it was, but I’ve found out differently.) We at the Tattooed Buddha encourage your spiritual growth. There’s no need to experience it alone.

Be well, always.
Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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