Meditating because there’s nothing else to do
You get to the point where there's nothing else to do.
You've cleared out everything else.
You've done what you need to survive. You’ve eaten, you've slept, and you're not rushing to do anything else. You're not rushing to fill the void.
It's quiet around you. It's still around you. You're just sitting there and there's nothing else to do.
If you just sit there and you're not putting more in, then you have no choice.
You start to meditate, whether you want to or not, because all you have is your sensory experience and the thoughts in your head.
The only trap left is secondary thought and secondary emotion. You have a thought, and then that leads you to have another thought about the thought, or that leads you to have a feeling about the thought.
And then you're going off on a tangent, away from reality, away from what is.
But if you stay seated back in that higher seat of consciousness where you're just watching it all, just observing it, not so much affecting it as observing it, and you just sit there and it all just happens. It happens around you, it happens inside of you, but you're not doing it. You're not making it happen.
You're just sitting there and watching it all happen.
This is different than how I've done meditation during busier phases of my life when I’m trying to stop everything for 10 minutes and cram it in.
In a way, it's the exact same. You're observing what's going on around you—your thoughts and feelings and sensory experiences.
But it has felt different when I've encountered meditation, kind of stumbled upon it by accident, as an inevitable state of being.
Once you’ve done everything that needs doing, there's just nothing else to do.
Then it’s not so much something you do as something that just happens.
