Eyes OpenChapter 1 of 1716 min
What this is not
A note before anything else. They teach this course themselves, free, in over a hundred and ten countries, and if there is a centre near you, go there instead of here — or as well. Everything in this book is checkable against what they publish, and every chapter ends by telling you where to check it. That is the only authority it claims.
You have probably tried this before.
Most people have. They sat down, closed their eyes, waited for something, got an itch and a shopping list instead, concluded they were bad at it, and stopped. If that is you, the problem was almost certainly not your aptitude. It was that nobody told you what you were supposed to be doing.
So this chapter is mostly about what you are not supposed to be doing. There are four of them, and every one of them is a reason people quit.
The four things it is not
It is not the absence of thought.
This is the big one, and it defeats more beginners than everything else combined. The mind produces thoughts. That is the organ's function, and it does not have an off switch. Sitting down and waiting for your thoughts to stop is like sitting down and waiting for your pulse to stop. You can wait a long time, and the longer you wait the more clearly you will hear it.
A thought arriving is not a failure. It is not even an interruption. It is the raw material.
It is not doing nothing.
From the outside it looks like doing nothing, which is where the confusion starts. Your hands are still and your feet are still and you are not visibly achieving anything.
But something is being done, and it is being done deliberately. You are producing a particular kind of thought on purpose, and holding it. That is work. It is quiet work, and it is not strenuous, but you are not idling and you should not expect it to feel like idling.
It is not watching whatever turns up.
There is a practice — a good one, taught seriously elsewhere — of sitting and observing the traffic of your own mind without interfering. That is not this.
Here you are not a spectator of your thoughts. You are choosing them. The difference matters, because if you sit down with no idea what you intend to think about, you will think about whatever was loudest before you sat down, and you will get up with more of it rather than less.
It is not going blank.
And this is the one that disguises itself as success. You sit, you go soft and warm and vague, twenty minutes disappear, you open your eyes and feel pleasantly fuzzy and conclude that it worked.
It did not work. Something happened, but it was closer to a nap than a practice, and you will know it by its shelf life: it evaporates the moment the first difficult thing happens, usually before you have finished putting your shoes on.
The common thread in all four is emptying. Three of them try to empty the mind and one of them succeeds briefly. And this practice is not an emptying at all.
It is a filling.
That is the whole correction, and the rest of the book depends on your taking it seriously. You are not trying to get something out. You are trying to put something in, and the silence is not the point of the exercise but the condition that makes it possible.
So what is it
A working definition, and it is worth reading twice because it is deliberately flat:
Meditation is deliberately producing a good thought, and staying with it until you feel it.
Three parts, and all three are load-bearing.
Deliberately. You generate it. Nothing arrives on its own. If you sit waiting to be visited, you will sit a long time.
A good thought. Not any thought. Something true about what you are — and the next several chapters are about establishing what that is, because you cannot hold a thought about yourself that you do not yet have.
Until you feel it. This is where most descriptions stop short and where the practice actually lives. A thought you merely think is an idea. A thought you stay with long enough to feel is an experience, and only the second kind changes anything. The gap between the two is a matter of seconds, but you have to be willing to wait in them.
The two roots
The English word comes from the Latin meditari, and standing just beside it is a close relative that the tradition this book draws on uses as well.
Meditari is to turn something over, to go through it again, to consider. That is the thinking half.
Its relative is mederi — to tend, to care for, to heal — which is what gives us medicine and remedy. The two are not parent and child but cousins, grown from one root: med-, to measure, and so to take the right measures.
So the family the word belongs to carries, between the two of them, what this practice is supposed to be at once: going over something carefully, and treating something that needs treating. Not emptying. Not escaping. Attending to, and mending.
Why the mind is where you start
The order of operations in a human life runs one way and only one way.
A thought comes first. Then, sometimes, a word. Then, sometimes, an action. Then, over enough repetitions, something that is no longer an action but a disposition — the thing other people would describe as your character if they were being frank.
You will object that you do things without thinking, and you do. But without thinking almost never means with no thought. It means the thought went past too fast and too familiar to register, in the way you do not notice the road on a drive you have made a thousand times. It was there. You just were not looking.
Which is the practical reason the mind is the lever rather than the behaviour. You can spend years trying to change what you do while leaving in place the thing that produces what you do, and the usual result is a person with excellent intentions and an unchanged life.
What it is actually for, and what it will not do
Here is where books like this usually start promising things, so let me separate what is being claimed from who is claiming it.
What the tradition claims. That a settled mind produces a settled body: steadier blood pressure, easier breathing, less of the wear that constant alarm puts on the organs. That it slows some of the ageing that is not calendar ageing. That it improves concentration and memory. That it makes you better company.
What I will stand behind. Not that list. I have not measured any of it on you, and neither has anyone else. Treat those as the tradition's claims, and test them on yourself — which is precisely what it asks you to do and what the organisation's own written material calls running an experiment.
What I will stand behind is narrower and more useful, because it is the mechanism rather than the outcome, and you can verify it inside a fortnight:
A settled mind decides better, and most of what is wrong with a week is decisions.
The chain is short enough to check. Peace produces steadiness. Steadiness produces the capacity to choose, rather than react. And the capacity to choose is the difference between a day that happens to you and a day you conduct.
You already know this backwards. Think of the last decision you got badly wrong. The information was probably all there. What was missing was five seconds of stillness in which to use it.
And what it will not do, stated plainly, because the chapter is worthless otherwise:
- It will not make you calm. It will make calm available, which is a different thing and takes longer.
- It will not remove difficulty from your life. The difficult things will still arrive on schedule.
- It will not work while you are doing it and then stop mattering. If nothing is different in how you speak to people by week three, something has gone wrong, and the chapter on the four subjects will tell you what.
- It will not do anything at all on an irregular schedule. This is not a technique you deploy during crises. It is a practice that makes crises land differently, and that only works if it is running when there is no crisis.
The one idea you need on day one
There is a complaint that every teacher of this hears in the first week, and it is always some version of the same thing:
I sat down and the neighbours started drilling. It was silent all morning. The moment I sat, the noise started.
The noise did not start when you sat. You started resisting it when you sat.
This is worth more than any technique in the book, so here it is as plainly as I can put it. Your mind has two settings available in any moment. It can accept what is happening, or it can resist it. Almost all the distress in an ordinary day is not produced by events. It is produced by the second setting running against events that are going to happen anyway.
The drill is not making you tense. Your objection to the drill is making you tense. The drill is just a drill.
You can test this one today, without sitting down at all. The next time something minor goes wrong — the wrong train, a slow queue, a message you did not want — catch the exact moment your mind says no. Not the event. The no. That is the thing doing the damage, and it is yours, and it is therefore the thing you can actually do something about.
Which is why the practice in this chapter does not ask you to find a quiet place. It asks you to let the sounds be there and go past them.
What you need to bring
Four things, and none of them is talent.
Interest. Not enthusiasm — interest. If you are doing this because you think you should, you will be running the practice on willpower, and willpower is a small tank. Done with actual interest it returns more energy than it costs. Done as a duty it is one more item on a list that is already too long.
Patience. Your mind has been running its current habits for decades without interference. It will not reverse them in a fortnight because you asked nicely. Expect to lose your attention repeatedly. Losing your attention is not a failure of the practice; noticing that you lost it is the practice.
Regularity. Short and daily beats long and occasional, and it is not close. The whole thing works by repetition, and a single long session has no more effect on a habit of mind than a single long run has on your fitness.
Self-respect. The strangest of the four and the one people skip. You will do this badly at first. If you respond to doing it badly the way you respond to your other failures, you will add a layer of self-reproach on top of a practice whose entire purpose is to reduce that layer. Do not grade yourself. Just come back tomorrow.
One minute
That is the whole assignment. Not twenty. One.
One minute is chosen deliberately and it is not a soft start. A teacher who tells a beginner to sit for thirty minutes produces a student who manages eight, feels like a fraud, and quits by Thursday. One minute is small enough that you have no excuse and therefore no story to tell yourself afterwards. You either did the minute or you did not, and you cannot blame your schedule for sixty seconds.
Do it three times today. Morning, some point in the middle, and before you sleep.
At the end of this chapter
Study
Go and check this against the people it comes from, before you take my word for any of it.
Read the Brahma Kumaris' own page Experience Raja Yoga, at
brahmakumaris.org/concepts-and-conversations/experience-raja-yoga. It is short. Notice how much of
it is about ruling your own mind and how little is about serenity.
Notice what it refuses, on the same page: you are not your mind; you are not your body. You have a mind and you have a body. We will take that apart in chapter two.
If you want the whole thing in one volume, the organisation published its own — The Story of Immortality: A Return to Self-Sovereignty — which is the written version of the course this book follows. It is better looking than this book. It is sold through their own shops.
And the real check: find your nearest centre. They teach this course in person, free, over about seven sessions, in over a hundred and ten countries. A book cannot ask you a question. If you can get in a room, get in a room.
Practice
One minute. Three times. Today, and every day this week.
Sit with your back straight and the rest of you loose. A chair is fine. Do not arrange your legs into anything that will start hurting in forty seconds; the posture is supposed to disappear, not to be an achievement.
Keep your eyes slightly open, resting on one spot a little below the horizontal. This will feel wrong for a few days. The reason is given properly in chapter seven, but the short version is that closed eyes produce more thoughts, not fewer, and a practice you can only do with your eyes shut is a practice you can only do while you are not living your life.
Then, in order:
- Let your body go. Ten seconds, top to bottom. Nothing elaborate.
- Listen to whatever is around you — traffic, a fan, someone else's television. Do not shut it out. Hear it, as if you were in the audience rather than on stage.
- Come inward in stages, not in one jump. The street. Then the building. Then this room. Then your breathing.
- Then one sentence, held: I am a peaceful being. Stay with it long enough to feel it rather than merely hear it. That will be most of the minute.
Also this week, and it takes no time at all: catch the no. Once a day is enough. Something minor goes wrong and your mind objects — just notice the objection as a separate thing from the event. Do not try to stop it. Only notice it.
Meditate
To read slowly, or record and play back. Pauses where the line breaks.
I am sitting here, and for this minute there is nowhere else I have to be.
I let the body settle. The shoulders. The hands. The jaw, which has been holding something all day.
There are sounds around me. A room. A street. Other people living their afternoon. I am not shutting any of it out. I hear it, and I let it be exactly as loud as it is.
Now I come in a little. Past the street. Past the room. To the breath, which has been going on without me all day and will go on after I stop attending to it.
And here, where it is quiet enough to put something down carefully, I put down one thought.
I am a peaceful being.
Not I should be. Not I am trying to be. Peace is not something I am going to import from somewhere. It is the condition underneath the noise, and the noise is the recent part.
I stay with the thought. I do not argue with it. I let it get as far as the chest.
I am a peaceful being.
And when I get up, I take it with me. Not the stillness — the stillness stays here. The awareness goes with me.
What this should do for you, and by when
By the end of the first week, nothing you would notice from the inside. Expect this, so that it does not stop you. What should be true is only that you have done it most days. That is the entire success condition for week one.
By the end of the second week, one thing, and it is small and specific: you will catch yourself starting to react slightly before you react. Not every time — once or twice. A fractional gap will appear between something happening and you responding to it. It is a very small gap. It is also the only thing this practice does, and everything else in this book is built on it.
By the end of the first month, the gap widens enough to be useful, and someone who sees you often will say something. In my experience they do not say you seem calmer. They say something like you have been different lately and cannot specify it.
What will not have happened by then. Your temper will not be gone. Your sleep may or may not have changed. The situation that was difficult before you started will be exactly as difficult. If you expected those, you were sold something else.
How to tell it is not working. One test, run at the end of a day:
Did I spend today mostly in acceptance, or mostly in resistance?
If you are a month in and the honest answer is still resistance, all day, every day, then something is wrong — and the most likely cause is not that you are doing it badly but that you are only doing it while sitting down. The practice is sixty seconds. The work is the other twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes, and chapters ten and sixteen are about nothing else.
And a word on the schedule above. It is drawn from what the tradition claims and what I have seen, and it is not a guarantee. Some people get the gap in four days. Some take two months. If you are slower than the schedule, the schedule is wrong, not you.