我踏马而来

My experience with meditation at Mount Emei gave me a new understanding of serenity. A dozen of us sat cross-legged, and the master said, 'Fifteen minutes, quiet down.' The first five minutes, everyone was serious, but when the sixth minute arrived, someone downstairs started cleaning up tea sets, making a racket that wouldn't stop. As the sound reached us, I felt the people around me start to get restless. Some changed positions, some breathed heavily, and some sighed lightly. I thought to myself, 'Who's going to make them quiet down? We're meditating upstairs!' Those ten minutes felt so long. The more I tried to block out the noise, the clearer it became. The more I tried to calm myself down, the more chaotic my mind became. When the fifteen minutes ended, the master asked, 'How do you feel?' Someone sighed and said, 'Tired.' The master smiled and said something that shocked me: 'Downstairs is indeed noisy, but have you ever thought that the noise in life is always there?' He said that the true meaning of meditation is 'peace' and 'wisdom.' But many people think that peace means eliminating all the chaos outside – making everyone quiet, making everything go smoothly, and having no unexpected events or interruptions in life. That's wrong. True peace is not about eliminating the chaos in the world; it's about learning to surrender to it and accepting that it's there. That's what meditation is for: you sit there, the world is still noisy, but your heart can stay calm. At that moment, I suddenly realized why people are so self-destructive. It's because we always try to control things that are beyond our control. What our boss said today, how others look at us, why things didn't go as planned... Our brains are filled with hundreds of thoughts, each one trying to grab our attention, solve problems, and turn things around. The more we try to control, the more chaotic we become, and the more anxious we feel. But the master said something that day that I've been thinking about ever since: the more you resist something, the more it clings to you. The more you accept something, the more it will leave you alone. This made me think of a phrase I read in a book – this planet can rotate on its own, a seed can grow into a towering tree, and a small wound can heal on its own. Everything has its own rules, far more precise than we can imagine. But we always try to use our small brains to decipher the universe's secrets. After the master finished speaking, I tried again. I sat alone in a room, closed my eyes, and didn't think about anything. I just breathed. Thoughts still came – about work, anxiety, and memories of certain people and events – like dust particles dancing in the air, dense and numerous. I tried not to grab onto them. I just watched them come and go. After a few dozen seconds, something magical happened – the thoughts slowly settled down, like dust finally falling to the ground. I didn't chase them away, and I didn't resist them. I just allowed them to be, and then let time take care of them. They disappeared on their own. At that moment, my heart became very calm, calm like a pool of water. The happiness that serenity brings is not excitement or agitation; it's a light, relaxed feeling. This is probably the greatest gain I've gotten from meditation – many things, if you don't try to control them, will naturally go where they need to go. You think you're helping others, but everyone has their own karma to follow; you think you can change the situation, but many situations are determined by time. All we can do is put our hearts at peace and let go of our attachments. Let things come and go as they may. Allow chaos to exist, allow things to not go as planned, and allow ourselves to not be able to solve any problems sometimes. When you really let go, you'll find that the things you thought would collapse aren't going anywhere. And all you'll lose is layer after layer of anxiety. This world has always been complex. But the switch to serenity has always been in your own hands.