Returning to Stillness

Good Evening, Dear Reader,

This evening, I came across these words from the Zen poet Ryōkan:

“The water of the mind, how clear it is!
Gazing at it, the boundaries are invisible.
But as soon as even a slight thought arises,
Ten thousand images crowd it.”

At first, I did not understand what those words meant.

I understood the image of clear water. Most of us have seen a pond or lake so calm that it looks like glass. An infinity pool can create much the same impression, seeming to merge with the sky until the boundary almost disappears.

What made me pause was the line: “But as soon as even a slight thought arises, ten thousand images crowd it.”

What I had overlooked was the power of a single thought. Left unchecked, it can quickly lead to a whole stream of others.

For example, a friend might make a small comment about something I am doing—such as skipping regular meals and eating salads instead—and suddenly the door opens to ten thousand more thoughts.

They may begin with trying to remember the last time I sat down to a full meal. Was it yesterday, or was it last week?

Before long, I am no longer remembering what was actually said. Instead, I am replaying what others have said about my eating habits: “I do not know why you go out to dinner when you hardly eat anything. It is not worth the money.” Then I recall something similar from years ago.

Next, I begin questioning my self-image. I hear words no one is saying, ask questions no one is asking, and relive experiences that began long ago but still feel present today.

By then, the original thought has disappeared.

Ryōkan continues:

“Attach to them and they become real,
Be carried by them, and it will be difficult to return.”

That may be one of the clearest descriptions I have found of what an undisciplined mind can do.

A memory becomes disappointment. Disappointment can become resentment. Resentment can become evidence that life is unfair. And sometimes the story ends with the conclusion: There must be something wrong with me.

A fear about tomorrow becomes something I begin suffering from today.

An event that lasted only a few minutes can occupy the mind for hours, days, or even years.

I am not imagining this; I have lived it. Before recovery, I often believed that because I thought something, it must be true. If I felt insecure about my eating habits, I could quickly turn that insecurity into a judgment about myself. A thought became a conclusion, and before long I had internalized it as truth.

If I felt hurt, I believed someone had hurt me. If I felt rejected, I believed I had been rejected. If I felt afraid, I believed there must be something to fear.

My mind could take a small disturbance and build an entire world around it.

Alcohol once provided a temporary escape from that world. It quieted the noise for a little while.

But eventually alcohol became another part of the noise.

Recovery began teaching me something different.

·         I did not have to believe every thought that entered my mind.

·         I did not have to follow every memory wherever it wanted to take me.

·         I did not have to rehearse every resentment.

·         I did not have to solve tomorrow before going to bed tonight.

Alcoholics Anonymous gave me practical ways of returning.

Sometimes that return begins with a simple inventory:

·         What actually happened?

·         What part of this belongs to me?

·         Is there something I need to correct?

·         Is there something I simply need to release?

At other times, I return by speaking honestly with another person. Sometimes the return comes through making an amends. It has also come through helping others.

And increasingly, for me, it comes through prayer and meditation.

The Psalmist wrote:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10

I used to think stillness meant finding a place where nothing disturbed me.

Today, I understand it somewhat differently.

Stillness can exist even when thoughts continue to come. The change is that I no longer have to climb aboard every one of them.

I can notice the resentment without feeding it.

I can remember the mistake without becoming the mistake.

I can acknowledge fear without allowing fear to choose my direction.

I can recognize yesterday without moving back into it.

And then I can return.

Return to this moment.

Return to gratitude.

Return to prayer.

Return to the person standing in front of me.

Return to the next right thing.

For me, this is where recovery and spiritual development meet.

Recovery teaches me to recognize the thoughts that carry me away.

Spiritual growth teaches me where I want to return.

Not simply to an empty mind, but to a mind redirected toward God, service, gratitude, compassion, and truth.

Paul described this as being:

“transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
—Romans 12:2

Renewing does not mean that yesterday disappears. It means yesterday no longer has to determine today’s direction.

The water may become disturbed. Old memories may rise. Resentments may return. Fear may appear without invitation.

But I do not have to keep stirring the water.

I can become still long enough for clarity to return. And when clarity returns, I often discover that the next step was there all along.

Today I need not follow ten thousand thoughts.

I need only recognize where I am, remember whose I am, and ask God to help me take the next right step.

The mind may wander into yesterday.
Grace continually invites us home to today.

With gratitude.

  🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️