In the beginning, meditation was an attempt to alleviate my suffering. In a regular dose, repeated again and again and again, it was an antidote to confusion and a troubled heart. I think it worked, but not like I expected. It didn’t take away the pain but taught me to sit quietly with it. It eliminated the unnecessary fretting and showed me the beauty of how things come and go—empty, as the masters would say. It showed me that there is more to life than my thoughts about it, that my feelings weren’t the full truth, and that existence is vast and interconnected, including far more than I imagined.
By Diane Musho Hamilton, excerpt from her book, The Zen of You and Me.
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