The Myth of Meditation Time and the Silence You Already Are

We often find ourselves caught in the trap of waiting for the right moment, carving out a specific **meditation time** as if peace were a commodity we could schedule. But who is it that is waiting? Who is the one sitting there expecting something to happen in the next second? When we look closely, we see a separate self that is always leaning toward the future, hoping that the next breath or the next ten minutes of quiet will finally deliver the prize of liberation. Yet, the absolute doesn't reside in the next moment. It is the very space in which the "you" and the "next moment" arise. There is a funny expression about searching for the donkey while you are already riding it. We spend years looking for awareness, for presence, or for some grand awakening, completely missing the fact that the very capacity to look is the thing itself. We are like waves in the ocean trying to find the water. Does a wave need to practice being wet? Does it need more **meditation time** to become the sea? The wave is already the ocean, whether it is crashing violently or smoothing out into a calm surface. The "perfect" and the "imperfect," the noise and the silence, the generosity and the greed—it is all the same totality expressing itself in different forms. We often talk about meditation as if it were a ladder, a way to put the "mental kitchen" in order. We think that if we clean up our thoughts and sweep away the distractions, the light of the absolute will finally shine through. But the sun is shining even when the sky is thick with clouds. The clouds don't create the sun, and their disappearance doesn't manufacture the light; they simply stop obscuring what has been there since the beginning. Even when you are distracted, that distraction is an expression of being. Liberation is not the liberation of the separate self; it is liberation *from* the separate self. It is the realization that the character in the dream—the one who is trying so hard to meditate—is not the one who wakes up. The dreamer wakes up and realizes they were never just that one character. They were the whole dream. When we sit in silence together, it isn't about achieving a state. If you try to fight the noise, you are just adding more noise. It’s like fighting for peace; the very act of struggle denies the goal. Instead, we might notice a small seed of ease that is already present. This isn't something we produce; it’s something we stop ignoring. Some might find that their thoughts slow down, becoming like a thin wire of glowing steel in a vast empty space, sharp and clear. This can feel wonderful, even genius. But even these "high" states, these deep silences of Samadhi, are not the point. If we use silence as a hideout from the messy parts of life, we are just creating another division. The totality includes the traffic, the headaches, and the boredom just as much as it includes the sacred stillness. The separate self is a function, a way the body-mind relates to its environment.