Depression: weighed down by a story without hope.

Meditation looks at the structure of mind rather than its contents. A little like going to see a movie and realising that the fabric of the screen or the projectional process are far more interesting than the movie itself.

What is it that gets you out of bed in the morning? Joie de vivre, duty, habit, urinary urgency, the brats? For the good student, it's their wound, which expresses itself as a neurotic, obsessive desire to work.

Funny how society does nothing to discourage excessive screen time. In fact it seems to encourage it at every turn, probably because said screens render one docile, passive and unimaginative – easily controlled, easily led. And yet mind-expanding drugs like LSD, mushrooms, ketamine, are still highly illegal.

Comfort is a space – a buffer zone – separating one from reality – the rude, raw immediacy of the here and now. This space invariably fills with words of reassurance from the self: opinions, judgements, commentary, chit-chat. Meditation attempts to empty this space, enjoy the peace and quiet, and slowly allow it to shrink to nothing. Probably the most difficult task anyone could embark upon.

Ultimately, what separates a winner from a loser at the Grandmaster level is the willingness to do the unthinkable.

An acquaintance asked me what meditation is all about. I told her that one simply sits and allows the mind to quieten. She asked me to explain.

—In our head we have a voice that talks all the time. This voice we endeavor to quieten.
—But that's impossible. That voice is the mind. It only stops when I sleep.

And I realised then that one must already have had concrete experiences of non-self or no-mind to entertain its possibility. Such experiences usually occur in childhood during moments of extreme stress, stress that modern parenting shields the child from. And this is my point: by shielding our children (what I call over-mothering) we deny them formative experiences that later in life could become transformative. Over-mothering is an insidious form of control ensuring conformity.

Yielding: the art of turning enemy into friend. With emphasis on the turning.

There comes a point in the work when you begin to suspect that what your teacher taught you, or rather what you learnt, was incorrect, incomplete, misinterpretted. It can't reach you, not deeply, because of fundamental differences, basic blocks in your own development, whatever. It will feel as though your foundation is shaky, as though you’re missing something. This is the point at which you start to be a real student. And unfortunately you're now all on your own. So time to grow up.

People ask what my goal is. I don't have a goal.

Once, after a particularly inspiring class in which we covered a hell of a lot of new material, I told my teacher that there was no way I would remember most of what we did. His advice: "Go home, forget all about this class and do your practice as usual. If what we did here today has any truth and value then it'll find its way in despite you, not because of you." And sure enough, that's exactly what happened, but only because he taught with energy and spirit, not with body and technique.

The work, once you get down to it, is about working through karmic debt – paying your dues. And this means, in some sense, going through hell.

A teacher should have maximal authority, and minimal power.

Double-weightedness freezes the world by grossly reducing the body's potential for turning.

Every moment we are presented with a choice: double-weighted or single-weighted, close down or open up, control or spirit.

Every superhero has a unique costume. What’s yours? And this is meditation: sinking into true form, inhabiting destiny.

Falling victim to mood, be it good or bad, indicates self-pity.