Month: July 2026

Posted on by joseph mauricio

HOLDING THE COURSE

Why is it so hard to pay attention?

Our lives are so precious. Our time here so limited. And in that brief moment there is so much we might learn. So much to feel. So much to see. So much to understand.

We have so far to grow. And, in my opinion, we should never stop.

As we travel forward in time and space, deeper currents beneath the surface move us often unknowingly. And we are unconsciously fearful of deep feelings. Especially, as they tend to destabilize the “me” projection of ourselves we so cling to. So, we close our eyes and the currents to drive us as they may. As if we were piloting a ship, trying our best to keep on course while unseen movement inside is influencing our trajectory.

A ship’s captain has fairly tangible evidence of where the ship is heading and how to guide it toward its proper orientation. The currents move us to the left of our desired approach, so we tack against that and bring ourselves back on track.  The sea is a fluid situation, you might say. The ship’s captain doesn’t need to understand the reasons for the currents in order to steer the boat to keep it on course. The captain needs to be present and guiding the vessel with manual care and attention.

A good captain feels as much as they know. They see life as a dynamic.

Of course, it would be good to follow previous experience and maps of these currents. But maps are themselves just ideas, and the reality of the ocean needs direct engagement. When we study meditation, the nervous system and our own psychology we’re creating maps to direct our journey.  But maps are not the destination. Our study needs to take a back seat when we’re doing.  The surface reveals the port, or the destination. Looking at our life, we try to hold ourselves to a destination while ignoring the feelings beneath. And hence we are tossed off course.

The object may be our breath, but we need to visit Tahiti, argue with our family, and long to be anywhere else before we get there. Along the way, we judge our experience as failing since we’re not always with the breath. The ship’s captain is not fixated on the port. They orient toward the port and keep returning to the simplest, but rarely the straightest, trajectory. The process is one of coming back. We veer left and steer back. We do this to accommodate the currents beneath. There is no judgement about not maintaining an unattainable perfect experience.

We don’t need to understand the reasons for this inner turbulence to understand the dynamic between trying to keep ourselves present and forces constantly throwing up other possibilities. In meditation, we’re dealing with what is happening now. Yet what’s happening now is a deeper and more dynamic experience then we realize. Due to our fixation on the surface and accomplishing our journey or our destination we ignore everything else around us until something moves or unsettles us. The reasons may not be apparent, but our mind will move from the simplicity of beathing, toward complex fantasy or fixation.  

When we see this, like a good captain our executive mind simply steers us back.

Suffice to say, if the body is not settled the mind will not rest. And if our heart is triggered our body will find it hard to settle. Like a parent driving children fighting in the back  of the car we won’t necessarily engage in the logic of their arguments. We just want quiet so we can pay attention to the road. But  in the case of meditation, our mind just flits away from the discomfort. Our job is keep our balance through the turbulence enabling the executive captain to keep us coming back to the point.

And what is that point? Breath is life. And returning to our breath leads us to our life.

And being part of our life is the point.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

A WORKABLE MIND

Paying Attention to the Tool We Use to Pay Attention

Before I take my brain out in public, it seems only prudent to check the machinery. Before I unleash my normally passionate—and sometimes reactive—engagement with the world, I like to get in sync with my mind, and have some idea how I’m actually feeling. How I am feeling will influence how I’m doing.

This is called “mindfulness of mind.”

You’ve heard me say this before, but of all the things we’ve applied our minds to, all the things we’ve learned, assimilated, perceived, felt, tasted, touched, and thought about, the one thing we rarely investigate is the very tool doing the investigating. It’s as though awareness of our own mind lies behind a firewall that keeps us from seeing it’s machinery.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Similarly, when we sit in meditation, we often fail to notice the mind that is actually meditating. Instead, we seek relaxation, comfort, or elevated states of consciousness. YouTube is filled with guided meditations promising euphoria, deeper vibrations, heightened awareness, or awakened desire. Yet one of the greatest possibilities is often overlooked: learning to work with the mind itself.

To do that, we first have to look at it. And what better place than the relative stillness of meditation?

Rather than trying to achieve anything, we can engage in what I think of as pure investigation. Captain Kirk referred to the Prime Directive issued from Starfleet Command – observe without interference. If we’re trying to force the mind into solving problems or elevate it to some higher state, we’re using the mind to do something instead of discovering what it already is. As necessary as it is to occasionally do things, the doing mind is not poised to see itself. Before we can know what the mind is capable of, we have to learn to simply look without creating any complication.

When we next sit in meditation, we can begin with a blank slate. “Blank” is in quotes because the mind is still full of thoughts, habits, and the momentum of our actions. But we can step back from the display rather than becoming caught in it. Each time we notice we’ve wandered, we gently return to the object of meditation—the breath, a mantra, an image, or a candle flame. That return creates space and perspective.

The technique is wonderfully simple. Follow it with patience and persistence. When we’re lost in thought, notice it, accept it, release it, and return. When we notice ourselves judging, planning, or reacting, do the same. Every return loosens the grip of the thinking mind and allows its natural openness to emerge.

In Vajrayana Buddhism it’s said that the space the mind encompasses is the same space the universe encompasses, and that this space is imbued with intelligence. That word can be misleading. This isn’t intelligence in the sense of being clever; it’s raw wisdom. In Tibetan Buddhism it’s called rigpa—the awake quality underlying experience itself. It’s easily overlooked because it is so simple and so open. And it is that openness that allows us the space to see clearly.

That bit of philosophy is really just background. The practice itself remains uncomplicated. Keep returning to the object of meditation and allow the mind to reveal the space to reveal the mind. The mind knowing itself is a process best kept prosaic rather than mystical. Scientists don’t get overly dramatic during the investigation.

What we often discover isn’t mystical at all. We might simply notice, My mind is very reactive today. Or, I’m exhausted. Or, I’m feeling needy. When those observations arise, treat them like any other thought: notice them, acknowledge them, release your grip, and return to the practice. One profoundly beautiful aspect of meditation is that this simple process creates space for flashes of insight. The temptation, of course, is to grab hold of them. Look how smart I am.

Trungpa, Rinpoche, described the proper relationship as “touch and go.” Appreciate the insight, then let it pass. We’re not dismissing it. We’re simply refusing to interrupt the mind’s natural capacity to continue discovering. Grasping, by definition, narrows the mind. Releasing our grip allows the space for the mind to have glimpses of itself. Over time these brief glimpses accumulate. We develop a more cooperative relationship with our own minds. Instead of being led around like an animal with a ring through its nose, we begin to stand beside this remarkable gift we’ve inherited through evolution. We gain the freedom to respond rather than merely react.

One final disclaimer: these glimpses are only the beginning. Here we’re talking about the relative mind—the mind we take out the door each morning to meet the world. Yes, there are deeper dimensions of awareness explored in contemplative traditions. And no, You Tube likely won’t get us there. But before reaching for extraordinary experiences, it’s wise to become familiar with the ordinary mind we already have.

In Vajrayana Buddhism they believe it’s the ordinary mind that reveals the mind’s magic.

It may be that one of the most profound things we can do is simply learn to work with that relative mind, presenting ourselves to the world in a functional, creative, and compassionate way—responding with intention instead of habit. In this way, everything is fresh.

Life recreates itself in every breath.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE IMPROBABILITY OF PURPOSE

Setting an Intention For Our Intention

We sometimes find ourselves off course in life. For me this stems from being off course with my mindfulness practice. If I’m not paying attention now, I’m likely not on track down the line. Without mindfulness intentions will to come and go.

Without grounding in Mindfulness successful outcomes are a statistical improbability.

Some of us have very … um … creative minds. Minds that move in many directions simultaneously and wanders back to the point whenever it gets there. Minds that avoid structure like some kids avoid broccoli. You might call this attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. My therapist for instance.

But, our mind is what we have to work with. And I’ve found it rewarding to do the work. To that end mindfulness became very important to me. I had been ashamed of the way my mind didn’t easily conform to social convention. In time, I found my way into the practice by learning that I needn’t force myself into a boxlike arbitrary stillness in order to be present. While my version of present experience might be more fluid than someone else’s both myself and those theoretical someones need to each find our way to working with our minds.

Working with my mind I realized the importance of being present in order to be present in my life. However, I need to find a way to stay present without feeling as though I’m being tied down or forced into someone else’s brain. The truth is, despite years of meditation training, encouraging my mind to rest in the present remains an ongoing practice. It’s less an accomplishment than an application. A daily manual application.

One technique I find helpful is to encourage my mind the time to have my brain feel its way into the present. Not necessarily emotionally. I mean literally feel. Making mindfulness less a mental exercise than an embodied experience. Through repeated practice, presence becomes less something I remember to do and more something my body begins to recognize and remember. Mindfulness in muscle memory, you might say.

This applies throughout the day as it occurs to us. When opening a door, I can feel my hand on the doorknob. Walking across a room, I can feel my feet making contact with the ground. These small moments of embodiment gently interrupt the momentum of distraction and restore a sense of presence. And presence is reassuring. It reminds the fearful part of the brain not to worry because we’re here.

However, it’s not practical to be locked into this. Mindful presence isn’t something we force or hold onto. It is more a place we can return to. We learn to move naturally through our day while remaining grounded in our experience, by coming back as we need to our feet, our hands, our intention.

Until the mind wanders again, that is.

That’s not failure. That’s what minds do. And we can see it as an opportunity to further embed mindfulness into our neuro-stream. In this case we’re embedding full body purpose. The practice is to recognize when we’ve drifted, accept that and remember to return. With patience with our brain we’ll rewire it to recognize, remember, and return. Then our mind can rest more easily where it is placed.

At this point, I should mention that I’m designating our neurological experience its wiring at the “brain” and our ability to establish a purpose in life and experience a spiritual and creative fullness as “mind.” The brain needs to be rewired to remember to return to the tactile present so thye mind can feel calm and clear.

Over time, this embodied mindfulness begins to translate into everyday living. We don’t have to meditate every waking moment. We simply touch base from time to time by reconnecting with the body in throughout our daily life. Lifting our head from the laptop. Feeling our feet in the earth. Remember we’re human and need encouragement as well as purpose.

I’m referring to this as applied intermittent mindfulness. Or, you might say AIM. And the AIM is to flowing through life with ease. Therefore, just as we are seated in our experience, we can be seated in our purpose. You see, the qualities of unconvention make it easy to drift astray for our purpose. How often do we wake up as if out of a dream wondering, as David Byrne notable asked “how did I get here? … Is this my beautiful life?

Our intentions, no matter how noble, are surprisingly fickle when they exist only as thoughts. We think we can do it. Hahaha the “road to hell” and all that. One reason why we can’t keep on track, go off the diet, or forget to get to the meditation cushion is that it’s only an idea. And an idea without a corresponding action is just a thought. If our intentions are only thinking, no matter how well intended, they will change.

Our intentions become reliable when they’re more deeply rooted in the body. Feeling the breath, the feet, the hands, even for a few seconds, gives our purpose somewhere to land. Instead of chasing lofty ideals, we inhabit them. Mind, body, and intention begin working together, and our aspirations become less theoretical and more lived.

We don’t simply intend to be present, compassionate, or wise—we embody those qualities, grounded in one ordinary moment at a time.

In that way, we build a mindful life.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

OFFERING

Making Space For Life

I think we all feel that we have enough on our minds. Maybe too much. I remember the cartoon of the school child raising their hand, “ma’am can I be excused, my brain is full.”

In truth our minds are capable of accessing astronomical amounts of information. It’s simply that the part of the mind we believe is ourselves sits in a narrowly defined space without much processing space. I imagine a cluttered desk in the corner of a dark room. With the curtained windows revealing the beautiful grounds if we only had time to look up fro our work.

Borrowing an analogy from computers, when our RAM becomes overloaded we might move files to an external drive or into the cloud to free up space. We’re not really losing anything; we’re creating room for the system to operate more efficiently. The result is greater fluidity of mind and better access to the life outside our windows.

Our brains can stand in on an episode of hoarders. Meditation is a step in clearing the space just enough for us to access our own heart. Just enough space to recognize ourselves in the crowded room.

One of the oldest spiritual principles, found in many traditions, is the practice of offering. We might think of offering as a kind of information offloading. Whether we imagine it as uploading, downloading, or simply making space we’re creating room for the mind to function more freely.

In recovery traditions we speak of turning what we cannot change, but need to accept, over to our higher power. Whatever we believe about god or not god, the operative point is that we are offered a means to free up space. We just need to offer it.

From a materialist perspective, offering can feel like loss because we’re conditioned to believe that having more means being more. In traditions shaped by guilt, we may even feel that an offering must hurt—that only by surrendering something precious can we earn the favor of a deity or satisfy a reward-and-punishment version of karma.

This isn’t the Buddhist view.

To punish ourselves by giving things away simply because we want them is just another form of ego. We create a story of sacrifice that proves how good, pure, or virtuous we are. The Buddhist understanding of offering is much simpler. It is the gradual relinquishing of whatever we’ve mistaken for ourselves. It is opening. It is letting go. Our aim is to strip me down to our essential being without the entrapments of the world.

In this regard, offering need not be punitive because punishment is a form of aggression. Reward and punishment belong to the larger samsaric cycle that keeps us trapped in habitual patterns. Buddhist practice points instead toward freedom from those cycles, which is why the Middle Way avoids both indulgence and self-denial.

So I don’t think it’s cheating to begin by offering the very pain we don’t want. If we’re honest, we may discover that beneath our pain lie the attachments keeping us bound to suffering. What are the things weighing us down? What continually pulls our ship off course? What in my life am I still carrying that no longer needs to be carried?

Why? Because suffering begins when we mistake impermanent things for permanent ones. We believe our identities, possessions, opinions, relationships, and even our thoughts possess an enduring solidity that reality simply doesn’t support.

Emptiness, on the other hand, allows for the spontaneous creation of new realities. The Buddhist path can be understood as progressive stages of letting go, progressive stages of opening, or, as Khenpo Tsultrim Gyatso Rinpoche beautifully described it, “progressive stages of emptiness.”

Perhaps offering is best understood as relaxing our grip.

If our grip is too tight on the things we love, we’re likely to strangle them. Love cannot flow where control dominates. Letting go becomes our love language. We release our fear. We loosen our grip on our children so they can become who they were meant to become. Above all, letting go means allowing ourselves to see what is actually here rather than clinging to our fantasies about what should be.

Ultimately, every act of offering is practice for the greatest letting go of all.

Death is the one appointment we are certain to keep. Of the many appointments we scurry to make throughout our lives, this is the only one guaranteed.

If our purpose were simply to live life as fully as possible until that moment, we might relax into the unfolding of the process. Instead, we apply the brakes. We turn the wheel. We try to swim upstream. We cling to memories. We cling to grievances. Yet none of those things is happening now. Even when we imagine ourselves stepping backward, time continues carrying us forward.

According to Buddhist tradition, when death arrives the body returns to the elements from which it arose. Our ordinary, RAM-like mind falls away, while the deeper continuity of mind proceeds according to the momentum it has cultivated.

That isn’t heaven. It isn’t salvation. It is simply another opening.

If we stop holding on, we release ourselves from the weight of imprisonment and become available to whatever comes next. And if we resist the temptation to name it, define it, or expect it to conform to our wishes—if we remain genuinely open—we may discover that the journey itself is far more extraordinary than any destination we could have imagined.