Learning How to Levitate: On My Meditation Journey
There he was: suspended in the air, hovering, his simple saffron robes obscure despite the bright colors favored during the time in my small corner of the world. He was an aged man, gnarled, head shaved, and demeanor calm. I thought of myself as a skeptical child, but though I stared hard at the photograph in my mother’s book, I could not detect strings or manipulation of any sort. News of photo doctoring hadn’t reached my ears, but on the other hand, Buddhist monks take precepts forbidding deceit as the text explained. I was intrigued and wondered how someone could defy gravity and take to the air. The book further explained how the Tibetan monks used meditation and other ascetic practices to gain mastery of the body to the point where they can regulate their temperature at will, allowing them to survive relatively unscathed through prolonged exposure to freezing temperatures. I pondered if meditation might help me if I ever became ill again (even at such a young age I was no stranger to being sick). The larger factor, however, was wonder, and my sense of wonder was deep and hopeful. If human beings had it in them to change their consciousness so much that they could physically ascend, that meant there was a chance I could do it too. This revelation hinted that so many other mysteries of life may also be true.
Though I was young, around 7 or 8, the photograph and article about floating, meditating monks in Tibet had captured my attention so much that I became determined to learn how to do what the monks could do. My mother was supportive. She is a well-read individual, so she instructed me on what I should do: sit with spine straight, nearly close my eyes, clear my mind, let go of thoughts, and simply be. I appreciated her teaching even if in retrospect I wonder if it wasn’t a clever ploy to get me out of her hair for a while. If it was, it was most virtuous trick I’ve ever encountered. In addition to her instruction, the article in the book along with other texts from my mother’s library provided information about meditation technique, but I was frustrated. When I sat down to clear my mind, thoughts would always arise, even if they were simply thoughts about not having thoughts. Sometimes the thoughts would bubble under the surface so subtly that I would be taken by surprise when I realized that my mind wasn’t actually clear.
Some of you may take it in stride that a small child was interested in meditation, but others may wonder how a child would be able to meditate at all, especially because it is challenging for many adults. My response would simply be that everyone is different, and some children may be inclined and able to meditate and some may need more time to grow into their minds or have interest. For me, meditation seemed like a perfectly sensible use of my time, especially since my mother’s books explained all of the benefits that came from the practice. My inclination was also influenced by other factors: I was an only child for my first eleven years; my parents believed that not constantly scheduling children’s free time in extra curricular activities was a good thing; and I was used to quiet activities due to the weeks I had to spend in bed when I was ill.
Nevertheless, the process, as you might imagine, was slow, but after I came back from school and finished my homework, I had nothing else to do really. Similar to what most people experience, it was incredibly difficult clearing my mind. As the old saying goes, my mind was like an unruly mule: it worked for me but was challenging to direct. I had to figure out how to clear my mind, which seemed like conscious effort, yet at the same time, I had to let go of conscious effort. A mental trick that worked for me was realizing how repetitive and unurgent most of my thoughts were. Then I would try to see what I could notice or more accurately how far I could notice without consciously trying to notice. I would listen to the cars, dogs barking, doors slamming, neighbors chattering, dogs singing, the leaves rustling, and then I would let my mind hear even more. If I could maintain an inner silence, I told myself, then I would be able to hear more than I usually do, and I did. In the beginning, my meditation sessions were short. Even then, my back would ache after sitting for a long while. Sometimes, I would even doze off. However, I was determined. I knew I would never levitate if I could only meditate for ten minutes. One technique I found helpful was clenching and releasing each body part. It revealed where I was storing tension in my body and helped me relax for the meditation session. My meditations grew longer and longer still. I started meditating every day. Most of the time, I would sit in the yard and begin at the first hint of sunset and stop when the first star of the evening rose. As the months passed, I would meditate for an hour or two straight. I knew this because I would check the time before I started and after I finished. The changing of the light was time keeper enough, but without verification, I couldn’t be 100% sure. Still more months passed, and I read about more advanced meditation techniques. I wasn’t levitating, but I figured if I was going to make progress, I had to try more challenging things. That was how I started doing meditations with visualization. I would visualize a white light going up one side of my body and then down the other side of my body. The book I consulted, still on my mother’s bookshelves somewhere, discussed a type of meditation where the practitioner visualized the light being sent out of the hands and back up into the body. I enjoyed these meditations immensely. I also did some meditations with breath work. Although I found the breath work challenging both physically and emotionally, the practice benefited me during later asthma attacks.
After years of practice and no physical levitation, the multiplicity of life offered me more activities to do and I meditated less and less, only coming back to meditation periodically for ritualistic observances. I have recently rediscovered daily meditations, but like many people, I find it challenging to meditate for long periods of time. Because I have spent so much time meditating in the past, I know it is within me to do longer meditations in the present. Meditation allows me a measure of control over my bodily experience and an easy, safe way to transcend some of the effects of stress. As I began meditating on a daily basis, I found myself calmer when facing life’s challenges.
As I’m writing this, I can’t help but think of levitation as a symbol of inner-lifting. It’s about transcending the small stuff and what we think we know about our own limitations. In the Buddhist scriptures, levitation and other supernatural abilities are discussed in connection with the Buddha and Buddhist practices, but you don’t need to be a practicing Buddhist to benefit. Meditation connects all of us with the totality, allowing us a broader perspective of what it is to be and how we are intertwined with all emanation. Learning about how we can impose quietude on the intensity of the mind and the senses allows us to recognize our own inner strength, to recognize largess of spirit. At the same time, it is humbling. It helps us recognize that Will is something that needs to be built and that where we think we may be strong, we may discover we are in need of more practice. The wisdom to be found in the experience of practice is what is elevated. While the average person’s meditative practices most likely won’t compare with the dedication and discipline of a Buddhist monk, it still can provide us with a deeper connection with Truth. In addition, anyone can do more advanced meditation, but it takes time and patience. Still, the simpler forms of meditation are enough to help us rise above our circumstances even if for five or ten minutes. With meditation, we are all able to levitate: within.
