A Mountain Meditation This meditation is normally done in a sitting position,
Either on the floor or a chair,
And begins by sensing into the support you have from the chair or the cushion,
Paying attention to the actual sensations of contact.
So finding a position of stability and poise,
Upper body balanced over your hips and shoulders in a comfortable but alert posture,
Hands on your lap or your knees,
Arms hanging by their own weight,
Perhaps like heavy curtains,
Stable and relaxed.
Simply sensing into your body,
Feeling your feet,
Legs,
Hips,
Lower and upper body,
Your arms,
Shoulders,
Your neck and head.
This poem from Rijin Namjal,
The Mountain in Me.
So here I am amidst the mountains,
Just the mountains in me,
For its grandeur like a potent wine flows through every rock,
Every pebble,
And through every grain of sand,
The mountains gaze at me like a king.
So when you're ready,
Allowing your eyes to close,
Bringing awareness to the breath,
The actual physical sensations,
Feeling each breath as it comes in and goes out.
I'm not trying to breathe in any particular way,
But just letting the breath be just as it is,
Allowing it to flow easily and naturally with its own rhythm and pace,
Knowing you are breathing perfectly well right now.
Nothing for you to do,
Nowhere to go,
Nothing to achieve.
And allowing the body to be still and sitting with a sense of dignity,
A sense of resolve,
A sense of being complete,
Whole in this very moment.
And with your posture reflecting this sense of wholeness.
As you sit here,
Letting an image form in your mind's eye of the most magnificent or beautiful mountain you know,
You've seen or can imagine,
And letting it gradually come into greater focus.
And even if it doesn't come as a visual image,
Allowing the sense of this mountain and the feeling of its overall shape,
Its lofty peak,
The large base rooted in the bedrock of the Earth's crust,
Its steep or perhaps gently sloping sides.
Noticing how massive it is,
How solid,
How unmoving,
And just how beautiful it is really,
Whether from far or up close.
Perhaps your mountain has snow blanketing its top,
Trees reaching down to the base or rugged granite sides.
There may be streams and waterfalls cascading down the slopes.
And there may be one peak or a series of peaks,
High meadows,
High lakes.
Observing it,
Noting its qualities and when you feel ready,
Seeing if you can bring the mountain into your own body sitting here so that your body and the mountain in your mind's eye become one.
So as you sit here,
You share in the massiveness and the stillness and the majesty of the mountain.
You become the mountain.
Grounded in the sitting posture,
Your head becomes the lofty peak,
Supported by the rest of the body and affording a panoramic view,
Your shoulders and arms,
The sides of the mountain,
Your buttocks and legs,
The solid base rooted to your cushion or your chair.
And seeing in your body a sense of uplift from deep within your pelvis and your spine.
With each breath,
As you continue sitting,
Becoming a little more like a breathing mountain,
Alive and vital,
Yet unwavering in your stillness,
Completely what you are.
Beyond words and thought.
Centred.
Grounded.
Unmoving.
As you sit here,
Becoming aware of the fact that the sun travels across the sky,
You are still.
The lights and shadows and colours are changing virtually moment by moment in the mountain's stillness.
And at surface teems with life and activity.
Streams,
Melting snow,
Waterfalls,
Plants and wildlife.
As the mountain sits,
Seeing and feeling how night follows day and day follows night.
The bright warming sun followed by the cool night sky studded with stars.
And the gradual dawning of a new day.
Through it all,
The mountain just sits.
Experiencing change in each moment,
Constantly changing,
Yet always just being itself.
It remains still as the seasons flow into one another.
And as the weather changes moment by moment and day by day.
There is calmness abiding all change.
During the summer there may be no snow on the mountain except perhaps for the very high peaks.
Or in valleys,
Crags,
Shielded from direct sunlight.
In the autumn the mountain may wear a coat of brilliant fire colours.
Browns and golds.
In winter there may be a blanket of snow and ice.
In any season it may find itself at times enshrouded in clouds or fog or pelted by freezing rain.
People may come to see the mountain and comment on how beautiful it is or perhaps how it is not a good day to see the mountain that it is too cloudy or rainy or foggy.
But none of this matters to the mountain,
Which remains at all times its essential self.
Clouds may come and clouds may go.
Tourists may like it or not.
The mountains magnificence and beauty are changed not one bit by whether people see it or not.
Seen or unseen.
In sun or clouds.
Boiling or cold.
Day or night.
It just sits.
Being itself.
At times it may even be visited by violent storms,
Buffeted by snow and rain and winds of unthinkable magnitude.
But through it all the mountain sits.
Coast Sociol struggle.
And spring will come.
As it always does.
Trees leaf out,
Flowers bloom in the high meadows and slopes.
Birds sing in the trees once again.
Streams overflow with the waters of melting snow.
And through it all the mountain continues to sit and moves by the weather.
By what happens on its surface,
The world of appearances.
It remains its essential self through the seasons.
The changing weather.
The activity ebbing and flowing on its surface.
So here I am amidst the mountains,
Just the mountains and me.
For its grandeur like a potent wine flows through every rock,
Every pebble,
And through every grain of sand.
The mountains gaze at me like a king.
