remains almost unknown. This statement may sound like an exaggeration, a pessimistic picture of such an existence, which, after all, is reasonable and pleasant. Maybe that's the way it is. But it is also true that we have largely lost the art of relaxation; and that which replaces—or in many cases has irrevocably replaced—the quieter pursuits of the old days does not require us to participate and bring us no peace. We become observers of the few, and those few become the masters who provide us with what we think we need. It is this observation of this or that performer and at the same time identifying ourselves with him that brings us harm. In cinema, we sympathize with the joy or anguish of the hero or heroine as if it were our own. During a football match, it is our feet that score a goal or kick past the goal. Once again, our emotions go out of control, and the adrenal glands are forced to react to these events as if we ourselves are participants in them. Anyone who pauses to think where such a lifestyle is leading, there is a strong desire to stop this excitement for a moment, to feel the refreshing power of calm and peace; to bring to your apartment in Chelsea the immeasurable tranquility of the mountains; to transfer the joy of a fragrant spring meadow into the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It is relatively easy to get on a plane and fly to the mountains and lakes of Switzerland; but it becomes more and more difficult to renew the feeling—too impersonal, wide, and all-encompassing to be called an emotion—that seizes our mind when we come face to face with the majestic beauty of nature. A plane ride cannot replace it; at best, it will only temporarily stop the process of disintegration. But, unfortunately, we think otherwise. In reality, the mind needs neither the mountains nor the sea in order to stir up its bowels or reveal its riches. And we forget about it; and if we do not help develop the ability of the mind to restore its strength, we will lose a sense of our own uniqueness and turn into an insignificant particle of the mass mind.
We need two things: cultivating a sense of detachment from the outer world and withdrawing into inner solitude, where security spontaneously arises, where power is manifested not in action, but in silent consent. We also need to develop a permanent isolation from the shocks and tensions of the modern way of life.
These thoughts constantly occurred to me throughout my life, which for the most part was energetic and active. However, there were many opportunities for quiet reflection - consider, for example, an officer of the watch on the bridge of a ship at night, away from busy routes; no worries break the silence of the long hours, and the only background for reflection is the sound of cut water and its splash against the sides of the ship. Also, sometimes returning from lengthy exercises in a sound aircraft over the sea, I was convinced that I needed to plan and consciously develop antidotes to the constant innovations around us that create constant tension, and I need to use these antidotes regularly. (But why not turn to religion?)
But why not turn to religion? Such an obvious question! And this question requires a convincing answer. The simple and honest answer will be the following: religion, as I understand it, express it and feel it, is not that! But this is my individual opinion, which in itself may turn out to be nothing more than an admission of failure. However, this failure is so general that its cause must be two-sided. For many people, the simple fact of dissatisfaction with Christianity is that it simply has not grown with the growing needs of the people. It still speaks in childish language; a significant number of his dogmas are found to be unacceptable, and some of them are simply incomprehensible. It has too much of what is made by people. And too little is done by Christ; and what people have added has been used to expand childish allegories or complicate simplicity. Even by the admission of its own representatives, it is imperfect, and some of the liturgical exhortations still contained in the prayer books echo the medieval torture chamber. I do not deny that it brings comfort to many people; it's a consolation is achieved by transferring one's burden and accepting what others think without using one's perfectly healthy critical faculty, which is our birthright as human beings. Do I really think so? Is this my own experience, or have I borrowed it from others and turned out to be so lazy or cowardly that I did not dare to discover whether their thoughts and beliefs could really be mine, confirming my experience? Religious prayer as an antidote is too formal; even if it is not formalized by habit, it remains too anthropomorphic - let's use this expressive, albeit ugly word! The technique of prayer, as we are taught, is immature. The mind of an adult Christian should be able to see beyond the concept of God as the Father or the infinitely wise Judge, and Christ as His Son. These childish allegories no longer satisfy anyone but a very few.
No, not religion! It is too complicated; and I felt I needed something less polluted than today's Christianity—preferably something with as few labels as possible. Nothing should prevent this new source from leading me to a deeper and more fruitful practice of my own religion, whatever they may be; however, it should be such a source that, as far as possible, is free from religious dogma. I have sought to avoid an approach that uses emotions as a means, or even as part of the process of acquiring the ability to capture moments of calm. The world is already suffering from a general overabundance of emotions, so that they can be the most unreliable, deceitful and dangerous driver. In addition, I would like my solution to the problem to be suitable for any person, and therefore it was necessary to stay away from everything that contains private religious beliefs. It was emotions that split Christianity into many religious movements and led it to such a shameful thing as the history of religious wars. Emotion kills tolerance. I myself might have been carried away by her immoderate conviction if I had not succeeded in learning to rise above her. (Which meditation I was looking for)
Obviously, a possible way to get to the source I was looking for would be meditation. But she remained for me a kind of nebulous undertaking that was associated either with yoga or with religious devotion. The word itself has a frightening meaning for some people, evoking in the mind the idea of ​​something that only holy and spiritual people are capable of doing. Of course, this impression is completely erroneous: our most spiritual congregations are daily engaged in a special kind of meditation, although almost unconsciously and, of course, without any control. When we think about something and at the same time exclude everything else from the mind, we are engaged in meditation. Prayer is sometimes meditation. However, simply repeating the same phrases is not meditation. Deep meditation on religious questions is a special kind of meditation, colored by emotional overtones. The Eastern religions and systems of spiritual development, especially Buddhism and Yoga, have a wealth of experience in the various stages of meditation available to a person engaged in daily work, as well as in its deeper stages, which we can penetrate step by step; there eventually the intellectual or emotional content disappears. It seemed to me that there is something worth considering, since meditation eliminates emotions and does not require religious affiliation.
The first thing that anyone who studies any system of meditation, one of those with which the East abounds, encounters is the need for such control over oneself, over one's mind, that far exceeds anything that the average Westerner is capable of. If this person begins to practice any of the simplest exercises, this fact will be very discouraging for him. Most likely, the practitioner, in despair, will give up everything in the conviction that our mind is different from the Eastern one, born for passivity and patience and having an infinite supply of time to use these qualities. But such a revelation of our fluttering mind should be considered a direct challenge to us, full of pride in our achievements in all branches of theoretical and practical science. Our mind is the most wonderful and powerful tool that a person has, and we do not consider it necessary to bother ourselves to get the maximum benefit from it. Only a few of us know how to use it effectively enough. In all likelihood we we use no more than ten percent of its power. We try to load the mind with all sorts of information, much of which needs to be corrected at regular intervals; but we make no effort to develop this marvelous machine to its full working capacity and efficiency. No industrialist would allow such a waste of energy in the machines of his factory as occurs in our mind, such inefficient methods of using these machines, such insufficient rest as our mind receives. When the machine is not working, it rests, the friction of the moving parts no longer causes wear and tear; it does not consume electricity, oil, water. But we do not know how