I’ve had a little bit of "monkey-mind" in the past few days, in the aftermath of the class plan due date. As Jennifer said the other night, "That thing was a BEAR!" Indeed it was. I’m surprised by how neurotic I’ve been about the whole thing. I’m still obsessing over it.

I feel like I should be working out my theme, since I didn’t flesh it out the first time around. As I stated loosely in my plan, my theme is going to center on evolution. But in what respect? I have to admit, Paul (my ex, who is taking Dhyana's teacher training) really raised the bar as far as I’m concerned, with his pictures of the universe and galaxies and all that jazz. He inspired me to really make something of my presentation. I’m satisfied with my sequencing, even excited about it, but what on earth am I going to say?

When I first began a regular meditation practice, I had the good fortune to be able to spend my lunch hour at a state park, which was right next to my office complex. I would find a fairly secluded spot, and spend at least an hour with my eyes closed. I would either lie in Savasana on top of a picnic table, or I would sit on a rock near a creek. I had no formal knowledge of how to meditate. But I did know that if I closed my eyes and listened closely to the sounds of nature, the churnings of my mind would come to a halt.

After a little while of just listening, of paying close attention to the distinct sounds of the external world – the birds, the trickling water, the wind through the trees – my perception of those sounds gradually morphed into something holistic. I was able to perceive the sum total of the sounds as a hum. If I could describe it in visual terms, it would be a glow. The sound had luster. And there was a certain freedom in that perception, a kind of bliss. Yet I knew this was not the bliss the ancient adepts had promised. It was too mundane – too gross.

Over time, my relationship to the hum changed. It gradually became an entry point into something new. But what? Now I know the hum led me toward sense withdrawal – pratyhara – but at the time I never heard of that term or concept before. Intuitively, it made sense, but I never know it was a specific technique to lead one to deeper states of consciousness.

So, when the senses stop engaging with the external world, they instead turn inward. But that is not even completely accurate. It’s more accurate to say that the senses stop engaging, period.

And then what happens? Perception still occurs. Synapses are still firing. We began to "see" and "hear" on the inside. We begin to observe more clearly the activity of our minds, when they are not engaged with external material. And what do we find? What have I found?

I guess I’ll save that for another day. All of this is so hard for me to express. But I’m just glad I’m trying. I trust that someday I’ll be able to get it all out in some coherent, relatable form.