The Neurological Art of Simply Being
Theta, Gamma, Delta and the States of Mindful Being
Doing nothing is an art—a skill that some revere— yet some may also see it as a complete waste of time.
Call it meditation, mindfulness, or simply being but it feels nearly impossible unless we train for it. Monks spend years, often decades to master the art of being still.
As to be comfortable entirely immersed in a moment without anything—not even a single thought, imagination, or mantra to interrupt that peace of simply being is an art that demands mastery.
Isn’t it funny how doing nothing—and I literally mean absolutely nothing is one of the most difficult skills to master?
At the last session, on the very last day of a three day meditation retreat in the remotes jungles of Pai, a few hours outside of Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand, I caught myself in a moment—mesmerized—sitting with eyes closed as I sat next to a warm crackling fire.
With the flicker of flames entertaining a plea to find something to focus on, I sat silently still, as my mind’s eye reminisced on the picturesque minutes moments before: I’ve always wanted to release air lanterns into the skies.
The images of the brilliance of that evening’s full moon, glowing beyond the swarm of white, gentle, and rounded marshmallow like forms floating away into the night’s sky lingered. Until, I suddenly found myself distracted by the brief brisk of cool air sliding across my face as the pops of fire wood reminded me of where I was.
With eyes remaining closed, yet illuminated by the escaping flickers of sputtering embers from the dancing flames facing me, I found myself entertaining a new state.
Amongst the shelter of stars, engulfed by the sweet smelling forestry, next to those flickering flames—what I felt was pure elation.
A level of mindfulness and of being, that was new— where the entirety of myself—my brain, mind, body, soul (and being)— were for the first time one; together, in one place yet fully conscious, aware of one another, and intentionally at one time and space.
While I used to question whether meditation is for everyone, over time, as my mind’s eye repeatedly revisits those moments—again and again— the question I ask instead is what are we really saying to ourselves if we can’t make time to spend time with ourselves?
To be still—alone, present, and aware— undistracted and entirely one with all of ourselves, without a thought, imagination, or mantras to interrupt.
Why do we struggle to feel comfortable being alone with ourselves? Why is it so damn hard to allow ourselves to simply be?
Whether I am enduring the sweltering heat of a sauna, resisting the urge to tremble in a freezing cold plunge, or softening fascia with the rhythmic pounds of my Hyperice Hypervolt, we each have our favored rest and recovery routines.
Yet, those brief days spent in the mountains, meditating for six hours a day are the memories my mind keeps returning to. Especially in those final minutes under the stars which has persisted as some of my most unexpectedly significant moments in my life, imprinted a permanent mark on my consciousness forever.
