I have to admit that I am a bit uneasy when I tell friends that I “meditate.” The word is something of a put-off and I’m not even sure that it describes my experience. At least for me, it instantly conjures images from my past that sound New Age, look strange and smell like incense. My brief encounter with Transcendental Meditation may have ruined the word for me for life.
I’m ready to admit that I engage in contemplation. “Mindfulness” and “awareness” both give some idea to people who are more scientifically minded. “Contemplation” plunges me into the deep and mysterious realm, and I think that is what I do.
Contemplation is an action, a willful leap, a wild adventurous embrace of whatever. It begins with my body relaxing and, apart from aiming into an empty void, it is an unplanned and uncharted plunge. For me it is choosing to enter a dark and empty labyrinth. On a good day, I encounter nothing.
I am not so much lost in the labyrinth as I am absorbed. I have entered the castle with many rooms, all of which defy description. My movement is unguided, I take nothing with me. I walk out of time.