Every meditator experiences ebbs and flows in practice. There are times when awareness arrests us, engulfing us in crystalline stillness. Other times we brace against squalls of the anxiety. Sometimes our discipline is sharp and square; we practice without waver. Other times we are reluctant to drag ourselves to the sitting cushion, depleted by the duties of life. With enough years of practice, we come to see these fluctuations as natural movements within the life of practice. A living practice has a mind of its own. Like the expansion and contraction of breath, the waxing and waning of our practice is part of our interiority, an oscillation whose logic we cannot readily discern, but whose movement contributes to a greater wholeness.
Restlessness is a feature of the movement of practice. Sometimes I find myself barely able to sit. Fidgety on the cushion, I am stirred by ruminations. Sometimes, I am anxious to attend the day’s tasks, other times I feel compelled to move, my muscles twitching in anticipation. Discursive thoughts seem especially potent, impairing every attempt at concentration. Such disturbances may be difficult for the practitioner to handle, since restlessness and stillness seem mutually exclusive. However, because restlessness emanates from within, it is part of the living energy that pulsates within us. Without placing any evaluation on restlessness, we can feel its raw texture and vitality, thereby become better acquainted with the nature of the mind.
If we can catch ourselves riding waves of restlessness, we can inquire into the experience via the following three tacts:
Discern the somatic texture of the impulse: The moment we find ourselves listless, we can direct our attention to the body, notice the subtle sensations that compel our movement. What are our legs doing? What is my left knee feeling at the moment? Which muscles are tense? What is happening in my chest cavity? My abdomen? Are my shoulders tight? How rapidly is my heart beating? Once we attend to these physical sensations, we gently soften these areas, allowing them to relax and settle. Bodily reactions are integrated into our ingrained mental patterns. Noticing these somatic reactions provide a concrete entry point to altering our habits.
Track the raw energy that feeds restlessness: There is a force that compels us to move, to fidget, to stir in our seats. Our practice helps us trace this energy and watch it closely. Does it come from an ingrained response to discomfort and pain? Is it an aversion to boredom, which is really an aversion to stillness that reveals what we do not want to see? Is it a manifestation of a fundamental imbalance that calls for attention? When we learn to sit with and through restlessness, we learn that it is also part of our innate wisdom – it is pointing to something that we should attend to. We can proceed on the basis of trust, knowing that this raw energy is not something to ward off, but more material for our investigation, something that leads to greater insight and understanding.
Bring curiosity and humour into the practice: There is a temptation to be stern in practice, to treat restlessness harshly by reinforcing discipline. There is a risk with this approach; it attempts to impose too rigid a demand on what might be the natural rhythm of practice. Indeed, some discipline is required in remaining in our seats even when we cannot seem to sit still. However, this is not a white-knuckled, teeth-grinding discipline that insists on endurance against all inclinations. Rather, it is a curious and playful attitude that holds experience lightly while remaining with experience. When we find ourselves shifting and fidgeting, we can notice our impulses and say with a smile: look, here is restlessness poking around again, let’s see what it does next. As if to raise our eyebrows in wonder, our curiosity says: How amazing this reaction to boredom! Let’s see how it operates. By bringing a certain lightness to our practice, our sitting becomes less severe and more playful. Even if we fidget our way through a session, we shrug it off and continue without leaving a trace.
In meditation, every session is unique. The mind is protean, as fickle as the moving clouds. One listless session can be followed by another session of deep stillness and arresting concentration. Neither is better than the other; the latter is not more desirable than the former. We are not aiming for a specific experience. Rather, we practice being attentive to our lives, exactly as it is. Restlessness cannot be separated from the rich texture of this human life, so beautiful in its mess and madness. So we work with it as patiently and as skillfully as we can, without judgement or recrimination. Over the course of many years and decades, we can recognize this restlessness as part of the seasonality of practice, as indispensable as the storms that bring rain and sleet. Handled with skill and patience, restlessness becomes a trusted ally in our practice.