Letting the air breathe us: the mystery of relaxation in spiritual development

I remember perfectly the first instruction I received about the need to relax before undertaking, thinking about, or tackling anything worth the effort. A few months after coming across Buddhism, one day, in a disorderly and abstract way, I subjected it to an incessant avalanche of critical questions about this tradition, I would compare it with the concerns of contemporary Western philosophy and, above all, I confronted it with the social demands of a broken world. And at the end, I challenged the most honest Buddhist practitioner I had ever met with an anxious “So what? What does Buddhism propose?” And he, with a slightly mocking smile, in front of the gate of his house and just before letting me pass, said to me: “Then, relax.”

That same Buddhist would eventually become my spiritual teacher. But on that occasion, I did not consider it to be advice, nor an instruction, nor even a good idea. Of course, his answer did not satisfy me. How could it satisfy a mind emboldened, entangled in its own arguments, excited by the challenge of the discussion? He had in fact given me the antidote to that problem, although I did not conceive of it as such, so it took me some time longer to realise that this was an instruction for practice. And a very useful one.

Agitation is not a particularity exclusive to my mind. Unfortunately, it is not a problem for a few. So much so that we do not even need to console ourselves, since the problem goes unnoticed. One of the safest settings for that revelation to occur is the meditation cushion.

Whether our girlfriend meditates, mindfulness completes the appeal of our slightly alternative social persona, or the anxiety our boss causes us condemns us to insomnia…, any motive is valid to prompt us to begin meditating, because we will eventually come into contact with our mind and, thus, we will be able to realise the need to relax. Let us see what Allan Wallace, a seasoned practitioner of mental calm, scholar and populariser of the technique of shamatha (mental calm or mindfulness), tells us about the exercise of relaxing.

Want more lucidity? Relax!

Well yes, lucidity has relaxation as its prerequisite. That is what Wallace tells us, presenting and making very directly accessible the teachings of the classical practitioners of samatha, the referents of Tibetan Buddhism, such as Kamalashila. To paint a few broad strokes, he explains that the first quality of a lucid mind is precisely that it is relaxed. It is on this basis that we can develop stability and, finally, a penetrating understanding.

To emphasise this foundation, Wallace insists in various publications that meditation, the paradigmatic tool for gaining lucidity in any area of our life, aims to mature a “relaxed concentration”. “Relaxed concentration”: a genuine mystery, if not a paradox, for most of us, who either frown or are idly distracted. Above all, we must discard a tense state, so, by contrast, he explains:

“Although in the practice of samatha we are developing concentration, it is not achieved by force but through deep relaxation. It is not the stressful and ultimately exhausting concentration of a combat pilot who, after hours of extremely complex, skilful and demanding manoeuvres, needs at least twenty-four hours of rest to recover.”

Thus, Wallace insists that what we are seeking is a concentration that is not “forced, tense or directed, but something that allows awareness to rest in the field of tactile sensations, in the rhythm of inhalation and exhalation”. Evidently, relaxation consists in resting in the present and for this we use its best support: the body. In this case, we will not place the emphasis on the specific techniques for relaxing – which we are not going to reproduce – but on understanding better the purpose they pursue: the gesture of resting.

A fascinating lesson: the effort of not making an effort

I think that to all of us who strive to calm our mind daily it may seem surprising that Allan Wallace relates the discursive mind precisely to an effort: the effort of recalling, imagining, propelling oneself elsewhere, and getting distracted. Getting distracted as an effort? It is, to some extent, counterintuitive, given that we normally feel the mind is passively dragged along by discourse, emotions, desires, and so on. But this angle can be very useful for embracing meditation and its great ally, relaxation, in a kinder way, highlighting the opportunity for rest it offers us, understanding it, in Wallace’s words, as “a gesture of relief and liberation.”

From this we draw the first great lesson we learn as practitioners of relaxation: that of the effort of not making an effort or, better, of not setting anything in motion. And so we find ourselves obliged to re-evaluate one of the concepts, ways of being and of existing, most disparaged in our culture: passivity.

In this regard, I recall a very useful instruction given during a retreat. In the midst of several consecutive sessions of calm-abiding meditation, Lama Norbu, resident teacher of Casa Virupa, told us to let the air “breathe us”, becoming witnesses to a process that we did not have to actively promote, but simply observe. Wallace offers the same instruction in slightly different terms: “Do not suck in the air; relax as you inhale, and observe it passively, as if the body were ‘being breathed’.”. These practical guidelines point in the same direction: inviting the practitioner to rest passively in the experience, to take as discipline the act of ceasing to control, direct, manipulate or force whatever is happening.

Making peace with a passive attitude goes deep. On the one hand, it is not hard to see the benefits of no longer making our wellbeing and tranquillity depend on the impulse to control, dominate, possess and confront the experiences, emotions and people we encounter. But on the other hand, this apparent rest brings its own challenges. Echoing them, Wallace asks:

“can we pay close attention to something without feeling an almost irrepressible need to control it? Is this related to our need to control other areas of our lives?”

As it could hardly be otherwise, meditation mirrors a very familiar mental pattern, a much misunderstood activity that blocks our capacity to relax by bombarding us with projections, thoughts and emotions to pursue or avoid and, in any case, to control. This deeply rooted mental attitude may even be linked to our capacity, or our obstacles, when it comes to genuine benevolence: a sincere interest in something or someone without holding them captive. But, setting this reflection aside, this craving for control goes hand in hand with another major tendency, especially common in our times of speed and instantaneity: impatience with the fruits, or the demand for immediate results from each of our “investments”. This dynamic blinds us to the processes and timeframes of everything that needs to mature, to all the profound learning that can truly transform us and bring joy and serenity in the long term, because it leaves us illiterate in everything that requires patience, tenderness, perseverance and care. And our mind is among those things.

Obvious, but not so much: a starting point

So far, we have spoken of making room for a certain reconciliation and rest, for cultivating the sense that we are fine where we are, without needing to force our surroundings, accumulate experiences or chase goals. But this message needs some clarification.

Let me take up the warning Lama Norbu gave to the students of a study group. While enjoying the verses of the best-known work by the Indian master Shantideva, we came across stanzas that emphasise the virtue of patience, which encompasses, and goes beyond, much of what we have been discussing. Relaxation consists in sustaining our mental state without wanting to change anything, but giving ourselves a breather, finding a refuge and a place of rest within our present physical experience, enjoying the awareness of deliberate relaxation that refreshes our body and mind. Patience goes one step further, sustaining the adversities and complications of both our situation and our inner state without reacting; therefore, with a disciplined passivity. However, Lama Norbu warned that this gesture applies when we are already committed to the spiritual path, when we have honestly recognised the habits we wish to change for the benefit of ourselves and others, and when, of course, we have had enough courage to choose external conditions (work, friendships, etc.) that allow us to deepen our practice of transformation. It is upon that courage and determination that we draw on the virtue of patience, for however committed we may be to practice, change will not happen overnight and, so as not to become frustrated, we need to observe, passively and with trust, the processes we are going through. If, mistakenly, we invoke this commitment to passivity, rest and contentment too early, we may fall into settling into our old patterns: in the friction with our partner that means we attend our Dharma centre less than we would like; in the discomfort of the incoherence between your priorities and your aspirations…, without changing anything. Of course, all of this should unsettle us, it should wake us up! And once we have set something in motion, once we have planted and cultivated a field, then it makes perfect sense to accompany that growth with a relaxed and steady attitude.

So these recommendations can readily be made to anyone already committed to a path of spiritual or personal development; that is, to someone who already knows there is something within that is not working and has decided to get to work. But to remedy our attachment, our irritation, our indifference…, the first antidote is to stop problematising more and more, to stop getting entangled in our mental habits: we must relax, return to the body, and simplify our experience.

Relaxation is, ultimately, a starting point; it is by no means a point of arrival. That may reassure those who are ambitious about the spiritual path or, to say the least, anyone sensible enough not to fall into the naivety of believing that by breathing out deeply all our clumsiness, all our greed, all our jealousy or all our forgetfulness of death disappears. Because, let's be realistic: what service do we want to offer, what mark of existence do we intend to understand, what complete transformation do we aspire to achieve, with a mind that is crowded, wandering and anxious? Relaxing becomes the first of the disciplines, the most sensible of wagers, which clears the ground of our mind so that we can work with it and reap its fruits.

Works consulted:

Wallace, Alan (2018). Los cuatro pensamientos inconmensurables. Prácticas para abrir el corazón. Editorial Eleftheria. Sitges.
Wallace, Alan (2018). Soñar que estás despierto. El sueño lúcido y el yoga tibetano de los sueños para la visión y la transformación. Ediciones Dharma. Alicante.

Latest posts