In the traveling and teaching I've been doing lately, people have been asking questions about the meditative process itself, wanting to examine what happens when someone begins to practice, and then continues with meditation as the primary vehicle for the unfoldment of consciousness. It seems these questions focus on two things: whether or not it is possible to speed the process up, and where and how the process gets derailed.

Now, people tend approach the practice of meditation as a technique in the beginning. A method is learned as a tool for shaping consciousness in some way -- for more calm, for dealing with stress, for experiencing bliss -- for changing the way things are to something that is perceived as being different or better. This stage always seems to entail a certain struggle with the mastery of the mental technology. How do you do it? And then, how do you do it right? And then it's, "this one doesn't really suit me," or "it doesn't work," or "maybe I need another one . . ."

As one grapples with technique, two things arise: one is resistance, and the other, interesting experiences. Physical resistance manifests as pain or restlessness when someone used to moving whenever an uncomfortable sensation is felt tries to sit still for a period of time. Emotional resistance -- I don't like doing this (I'm afraid, I'm bored, I'm frustrated), the teacher doesn't understand me, this practice is wrong for me, I'm no good at meditation -- cycles through and can be studied profitably. Mental resistance is the skeptical bounce that wants proof. Throughout one's career as a meditator, resistances continue to manifest, and they get sneakier and more insidious as the years go on. We rarely recognize them the first time they arise, and sometimes not even the second or third time.

Years ago, when I was at home with my children, I used to regularly fall asleep every time I sat down to meditate. Now, I didn't sit down to meditate that often in those days, it just wasn't possible, but every time I did, I fell asleep. And it was literally years before I understood that this falling asleep was not fatigue (although I had good reason to suppose that it might have been) but was being just on the edge of an abyss where ego wasn't really sure it wanted to go and so . . . (snoring sounds) . . . took the safe way out. You can have very good reasons, logical, rational, emotionally fulfilling reasons for why you're not doing your practice. You can fully believe in them and you can perhaps even convince everybody in your world that they're true, until it dawns that ego has been having its way with you!

Next...