Category: General

Meditation is often seen as a path to calm or insight. But for me, it’s something more personal – it’s a practice of becoming intimate with myself. When I sit down to meditate, I meet myself. I don’t meet some perfect version of me. Not some broken, shadowy version either. Just me – as I am in that moment.

Some days, I meet a restless mind that jumps from one thing to the next. Other days, I meet exhaustion, tension, doubt. And sometimes, I meet something quieter – stillness, ease.

Whatever shows up, it’s all me.

Meditation, to me, is a practice of becoming intimate with myself.

By intimacy, I mean feeling at home in my own skin – radiating warmth to whatever part of me is showing up, even if it’s anxious, angry, tired, or unsure.

It’s a bit like sitting in front of a mirror, but instead of just noticing what I see, I stay with it. I choose not to look away.

Of course, that brings up a big question: If I’m meeting myself, who’s the one doing the meeting?

This is where it’s helpful to conceive two aspects of us in meditation: the Ego-Self and the Observer-Self.

The Ego-Self is the part of us that’s full of stories and habits – how we define ourselves, how we make sense of the world, what we think we need to control or protect. It’s the part that says, I need to fix this, or I don’t like how this feels, or I need to prove something.

So when you’re sitting and making mental to-do lists, replaying a conversation, or imagining a better version of yourself, that’s the Ego-Self doing its thing. It’s not wrong – it’s just familiar.

The ego helps us function in the world. But when we are overcome with what I call Ego-Myopia – so caught up in self that we can’t see beyond it – we lose touch with the bigger picture. That’s when we forget there’s more to us than these old patterns.

That’s where the Observer-Self comes in.

Sometimes, in meditation, you’ll notice: My mind is racing right now, or There’s a tightness in my chest, or Wow, I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed.

The moment you see what’s happening instead of being lost in it, something shifts.

That part of us that notices? That’s the Observer-Self. It doesn’t judge or fix – it just sees.

I like to think of it like this: the Ego-Self is caught inside the storm, and the Observer-Self is the part that can stand outside and say, Oh, it’s storming. Shifting from being inside the swirl to being beside it is the blossoming of self-awareness.

During the pandemic I had a powerful experience of this very distinction. I was feeling intense anxiety, almost on the edge of a panic attack, to the point that I would wake up at 3am with damp sweat on my forehead. I felt an immensely compelling urge to escape – to move, distract, fix. But instead, on one such 3am witching hour, I left my bed and sat on the cushion. And I stayed with myself.

For just under two hours, I kept company with that anxiousness. I didn’t try to change it or talk myself out of it. I just stayed. Observer-Self activated, I met myself in that moment and stayed close.

And something shifted – not the anxiety itself, but my relationship to it. Staying put meant I wasn’t running anymore; I wasn’t hating or resenting the anxiety. After all, where can I run to, really? As I sat and met myself, I was there, with myself, and I felt the gap between me and anxiousness close. As the distance narrowed, the texture of my emotions changed, too. Where disgust and distain reigned, now trust and warmth arose, and my nervous system soothed.  

That’s intimacy. That’s the heart of this practice.

The awareness of the Observer-Self is powerful – but it’s not enough on its own. It’s like turning on a light in a room. You see what’s there, but you haven’t moved anything yet.

If I notice I’m being self-critical, and then immediately criticize myself for being critical, I’m just looping. The shift happens when I notice – and then stay. Gently. Without turning away. Accepting. Welcoming. Shunning the tendency to separate myself from myself. Becoming intimate. Integrating.

This is why I don’t subscribe to dissolving, killing, or getting rid of the ego. The ego isn’t a problem – it’s just not the whole of who we are. The problem is when we forget that we’re more than our ego story and we sink into our conditioned Ego-Myopia, and lose the space around it.

Meditation honors and cultivates that space. And in that space, the edges of the ego soften. Old habits loosen. And slowly, we find more room inside ourselves to meet all of us. We welcome us home to the intimacy of acceptance and belonging.

Over time, meditation has become less about doing it “right” and more about meeting myself fully, honestly, and with kindness.

So, keep showing up. Keep meeting yourself. Not to fix or perfect anything, but to be intimate with yourself – to become someone you know, someone you trust, and someone you love.

When you sit down to meditate, you’re meeting yourself – not some higher, purified version of you, not a shadowy, hidden self, just you as you are in that moment.

Some days, you meet a restless mind, jumping from one thought to the next. Other days, you encounter exhaustion, doubt, or frustration. And sometimes, there’s clarity and stillness.

But no matter what shows up, it’s you.

Meditating is like looking in a mirror. If you tend to be anxious, that anxiety will reflect in your sitting. If you’re judgmental, that voice will echo back to you. If you’re prone to constant planning, your mind will do the same on the cushion.

So if meditating is meeting yourself, Who is the one noticing all of this?

When we meditate, we experience ourselves on two levels. First, there’s the Ego-Self – the mental framework that shapes our identity (who we believe we are) and perception (how we interpret the world). Then there’s the Observer-Self – the part of us that sees what’s happening instead of being swept away by it.

Critically, the ego-self isn’t an enemy. It’s simply the part of you that organizes experience – your habits, identities, and internal narratives. It’s the voice that chimes, I need to fix this, I don’t like how this feels, or I’m special and people need to see that.

When you sit down to meditate and immediately start thinking about your to-do list, replaying a conversation, or fantasizing about a ski trip, that’s the ego-self at work. It’s not a failure of meditation– it’s simply you being you in that moment.

The ego isn’t bad. It helps you function – handling responsibilities, forming relationships, setting goals.

But when we become caught in Ego-Myopia – so identified with the ego that we mistake it for our entire self – we lose the ability to step back and see clearly. That’s where the Observer-Self comes in.

At some point while meditating, you’ll notice, I’m thinking a lot right now, I feel restless, or there’s a pinching sensation in my foot.

The moment you recognize what’s happening instead of being consumed by it, something shifts.

This is the Observer-Self – the part of you that watches instead of reacts. It’s the difference between drowning in a river and standing on the bank, watching the water flow.

Paraphrasing Zen ancestor Dogen Zenji: Our thoughts are like clouds moving across the sky of Big Mind. The Ego-Self is caught inside the clouds. The Observer-Self watches from the ground. The sky is full of movement, but you’re no longer lost inside the storm.

This is a crucial shift in meditation – learning to toggle between ego-identification and self-awareness. But awareness alone doesn’t change much. It reveals what’s already there.

Awareness is like a mirror – it reflects what’s there, but it doesn’t change anything

If, for example, you notice a habit of self-criticism, awareness lets you see it. But if you habitually judge yourself for being judgmental (Ugh, why am I always like this?), you’re just adding another layer of ego.

Our evolution is fueled when we stop fighting what we see and instead allow it to be.

This is why meditation isn’t about getting rid of the ego. I hear people speak of trying to dissolve the ego or escape it, but that’s not how it works. The ego is simply a construct – a tool, not a trap. The problem isn’t that we have an ego – it’s that we become ego-myopic, completely identified with it.

To be clear, meditation doesn’t erase the ego – it makes it more spacious and gives us the ability to see our patterns rather than be dominated by them. Over time, this spaciousness softens the edges of the ego, weakens old habits, and creates room for change and evolution.

Meditation practice enables our shift from ego-identification to self-awareness. Then we can leverage awareness to do the deeper work of holding those patterns with compassion.

That’s where we go next: How does self-acceptance reshape the ego, rather than just witnessing it? Stay tuned for Part 2.

I began meditating out of desperation as my young life was spiraling out of control. And I was utterly convinced that I needed discipline, and that discipline meant force. I believed if I didn’t push myself, I’d never gain control of my mind or my life. So I sat rigidly, snapping at myself like a caffeinated drill sergeant who’s been stung by a Bee. The result? A practice filled with tension and self-reproach and dread. Meditation became something to endure, not something to return to.

On one particular chilly Wednesday night, my teacher said (for the umpteenth time), “Meditation is not about getting anywhere. It is about being here.” Maybe it was the cold, or my sheer frustration, but that evening his message penetrated. I treated meditation like a self-improvement project – something to endure, like a bitter pill, wincing as I swallowed it. I believed I was messed up and inadequate, and meditation was a means to fix something broken in me. But what if instead of wrestling my mind into silence, I simply sat with it – without acrimony, self-rejection, and forceful criticism? What if I brought some gentleness into my rigidity?

But was it OK to be gentle? Wouldn’t that be weak and enabling? So I peered closely at my thoughts, and realized that I equated self-criticism with self-discipline. I truly believed that if I didn’t push myself, I’d stagnate, falter, and fail to achieve anything. My inner critic was a harsh and demanding coach, but it was there to bring out the best in me; berating myself was the ONLY way to progress.

Does this sound or feel familiar? Am I the only one that concluded that I must be driven and pushed to achieve, to amount, to measure up, to reach my potential? Have you internalized this attitude and also believe that being extra stern with yourself is your ticket to success?

I admit that being disciplined is super important – it is key to an intentional and fulfilling life. But equating discipline with an inner beating generates more resistance and disappointment than peace and control. The more we criticize ourselves in meditation, the more aversive the practice becomes.

Imagine if every time you went to the gym, your trainer berated you: “You’re doing it wrong. You’re so weak. You’ll never get this right.” How long before you quit the gym? Now imagine a trainer who says: “You’re showing up. That’s what matters. Keep going – one step at a time.” You’d keep coming back to being pushed and encouraged, wouldn’t you?

Meditation is no different. If you perpetuate self-judgment and criticism, why would you return to the cushion, to the scene of the berating? But when we bring gentleness – when we allow ourselves to simply be – meditation becomes a space of refuge rather than scrutiny.

Shunryu Suzuki, my teacher’s teacher, offered a Zen antidote to self-criticism, non-interference: “Leave your front door and your back door open. Let thoughts come and go. Just don’t serve them tea.” Instead of battling thoughts, emotions, or sensations, we take note of them. The mind wanders? Notice it. Self-judgment arises? Notice it. No need to fix, correct, or fight – just observe with a curious, accepting presence. This shift isn’t just theoretical; here are four ways to make it real in your practice:

1. Shift your inner dialogue – Instead of, “I’m so bad at this,” or, “I don’t have the discipline for this,” or, “why can’t I just focus,” try, “It’s okay. Everyone’s mind wanders.” Speak to yourself as you would a close friend.
2. Soften your focus – Rather than gripping attention tightly, let it rest lightly on the breath, like a leaf floating on water.
3. Reframe meditation as an offering, not a task – You’re not meditating to achieve something. You’re simply showing up for yourself, in devotion to your life.
4. End with gratitude – Before you open your eyes, take a moment to thank yourself for practicing.

A sustainable meditation practice isn’t built on force; it’s built on care. When we remove the weight of expectation and continuously meet ourselves as we are, meditation stops being a battleground and becomes a place of ease.

So next time you sit, try this: be kind and gentle with yourself. Allow that the mind wanders, allow that thoughts build up and then crumble; arise and dissolve. Be a witness, not a judge. In doing so, you’ll find that gentleness doesn’t make meditation passive – it makes it sustainable.

As Alan Watts gorgeously quipped, “You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.” Let yourself be as you are, moment to moment. That is an exulted discipline. The rest will take care of itself.

This intimate conversation was recorded live from Eric’s meditation temple built besides his house in Southern California.

Eric shares his journey from being kicked out of college to finding meditation and his early Adventures integrating psychedelics into his meditation practice.

I recall, as a young and earnest seeker, meditating intensely, my brows furrowed with determination, dreaming of iron discipline and unwavering commitment. I believed I had to forge myself into a spiritual warrior through sheer force of will. But I say to you now as a not-as-young seeker: this is not the way.

Imagine, if you will, a purple-headed flower pushing through the cracks of a sunbaked sidewalk. Does it force its way up with grim resolve? No, it simply grows, nourished by the earth below, rooted, and drawn by the light above, rising. This is the essence of a sustainable meditation practice.

Courage, not discipline, is the first key. It takes courage to sit with oneself, to face the cacophony of thoughts and emotions that arise when we settle down and get quiet. I had a friend named Doug who was a world-class mountain climber, yet he trembled at the thought of sitting alone with his mind for ten minutes. “I can’t do it,” he’d say, “I’m not strong enough.” But strength was never the issue – it was fear. When he redirected the courage it took to scale K2 and applied it to simply be present with whatever arose, his practice blossomed.

Self-respect is the soil in which this courage takes root. To meditate is to say to yourself, “I am worthy of this time, this space, this attention.” It is an act of profound self-love. I recall a dear friend of mine who diligently meditated each morning, but always with an undercurrent of self-criticism. “I’m not doing it right,” she’d lament. “I’m not progressing fast enough.” It was only when she learned to approach her practice with gentleness and respect for her own journey that she truly began to flourish.

And what of community? Well, this is the sunlight and water that nourishes our growing practice. We are not meant to walk this path alone. In the company of fellow seekers, we find inspiration, support, and the mirror of shared experience. I think of our crew that meets on Zoom on Mondays – busy professionals or recent retirees – sitting together, there’s a palpable field of presence that arises, even in the virtual venue. We lift each other up, celebrate each other’s insights, and hold space for each other’s efforts.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. Discipline has its place. It’s the trellis that supports the vine, the banks that guide the river. But discipline alone is a harsh taskmaster that often leads to burnout and self-judgment. It’s like trying to force a flower to grow by pulling on its stem – you’ll only damage the very thing you’re trying to nurture.

Instead, let courage be your compass. Have the boldness to sit with yourself, to face whatever arises with an open heart. Let self-respect be your foundation. Treat your practice, and yourself, with the kindness and patience you’d offer a dear friend. And let community be your garden. Surround yourself with fellow travelers who understand the journey, who can offer both challenge and comfort.

When these three elements come together – courage, self-respect, and community – something magical happens. Your meditation practice ceases to be a chore, a box to be checked off your spiritual to-do list. It becomes a joy, a homecoming, a dance with the very essence of life itself.

We’ve been misled about patience.

We think it’s a virtue to cultivate – something to practice, to work on, to strengthen like a muscle. As an impatient and agitated youngster, my folks tried to teach me patience by “just hang in there.” Mom would tell me “keep your cool” and “give it time.” Dad’s favorites were “hold your horses,” and “Rome wasn’t built in a day. “

How many times have you been told that “patience is a virtue,” and that “good things come to those who wait.” And my ‘training’ in patience was to tell myself to be patient and to breathe through it.

And yet, have you noticed? When we try to be patient, it’s like stuffing raw impatience into a velvet pouch of virtue – hoping that, if we summon our ‘better self,’ it will smother the restless energy of wanting what we can’t have.

Unfortunately, this approach is neither sufficient nor skillful. Not only does it leave us impatient, it also fuels our self-criticism. It’s a failed approach because patience – legit patience – isn’t about forcing ourselves to hold back, stuff our feelings, and endure delays, frustrations, or discomfort with a better attitude. It’s about something far more radical: patience is dismantling the belief that reality should serve our expectations.

Impatience, when you really feel into it, is never random; it always has a center of gravity – and that center is the ego-myopic self – I, me, mine.

• “This shouldn’t take so long.” → The world should move at my pace.
• “Why can’t people just do their jobs right?” → Other people should meet my standards.
• “I don’t have time for this.” → My time is more important than this moment.
• “I hate waiting.” → I shouldn’t have to feel discomfort or boredom.

Notice the pattern? Me. My timeline. My needs. My preferences. My sense of control.

And when we sit to meditate, the ego-myopic self comes out to play:

• “How much longer do I have to sit here?” → My experience should feel productive.
• “Nothing’s happening.” → I should be getting somewhere.
• “Why won’t my mind shut up?” → Meditation should feel the way I expect it to.

The bubbling heat of impatience is the somatic friction between what is happening and what the self wants to happen instead. It’s the tension we feel when reality doesn’t shape itself around us.

Impatience is an ego trip. I call not seeing and managing the ego, Ego-Myopia. And our ego lives in time. It has a past to uphold, a future to secure, a schedule to keep. It believes that things need to be a certain way for me to be okay – worthy, safe, desirable, and comfortable.

Zen teachings offer another dimension of self – “big mind.” It refers to the boundless, all-encompassing awareness that transcends the limitations of the individual ego. Essentially, “big mind” represents the interconnectedness of all things and the underlying unity of existence. Whew.

“Big mind” is the seer behind the seeing, the listener behind the hearing, and the feeler behind the feeling. This version of us isn’t bound to time in the same way the ego is. It just exists. It doesn’t need this moment to be different. It’s not waiting for anything. “Big mind” is the dimension of impersonal Wisdom.

This is how I’ve come to learn that patience isn’t cultivated – it arises naturally as the illusion of a separate, time-bound self fades.

• When we stop believing that reality owes us speed, convenience, or comfort.
• When we stop insisting on being special.
• When we stop identifying with the part of us that feels deprived or slighted.
• When we stop fighting time itself.
• When we become attuned to Big Mind.

Patience isn’t something we do. It’s what’s left when we’re no longer centered in the self that needs things to be different. When we stop taking ourselves so seriously and expecting the world to cater to us.

So, you may ponder, if patience isn’t something we build, then how do we move past impatience? The way ahead is not through moral repression, it is through cultivating wisdom – this is how we correct ego-myopia

Kickstart your wisdom by contemplating that you are NOT the center of the universe. Life has a rhythm determined by innumerable antecedents, some concern you, and most don’t. My comfort, my opinion, my timeline, my control are the daily expressions of ego-myopic self-centeredness. This is why each moment of impatience is an opportunity to notice how much we are centered in ourselves.

Next time you’re feeling the friction and tension of impatience, try this:

1. Ask: What am I clinging to right now? (A faster outcome? More control? Certainty?)
2. Breathe: Give space to the discomfort instead of pushing it away.
3. Check: Can I allow this moment to be what it is, without needing it to serve me?

This is not as a trick to “be more patient.” I’m not putting forth a technique to “handle frustration better.” This is a practice for stepping back from the ego’s demand that life cater to it.

Patience isn’t about waiting well.

It’s about not waiting at all.

It’s about living from wisdom.