Samadhi
There were 60 or 70 of us sitting on the floor of the simple auditorium at a meditation retreat in rural Missouri listening to a lecture by a yogic monk. A young Chinese woman sitting near me was meditating. Suddenly, with a moderately loud gasping sound, she was flung backwards and lay still facing up.
“Oh, she is in samadhi [deep meditation],” I thought and returned my attention to the speaker. Samadhi is a meditation state in which the concentrated mind has become inwardly absorbed. The mind is composed of a number of layers that cover one another much like the petals of a flower. Through meditation, when the cruder outer layers of the mind are absorbed into the subtle inner layers, the practitioner experiences varying states of inner bliss, depending on the level of absorption.
There are different stages of this experience and not everyone will fall over as this woman had done. In the less advanced stages, the practitioner remains remotely aware of their surroundings and excess stimulation can prematurely break their concentration and end their experience.
“Call a doctor,” a voice called and someone ran from the room. Apparently, not everyone shared my perspective on the situation. Perhaps I was mistaken. Being a doctor, I stood up and went to take a closer look. I knelt over her, gently felt her pulse and looked into her face. Her eyes were pulsing rhythmically upwards behind closed lids. I was familiar with this and, having seen the whole event, it was easy for me to recognize that she was in a state of deep meditation.
“She’s OK,” I said and returned to my seat so as not to disturb her. A number of people looked at me skeptically. Then another doctor ran into the room with a medical bag, knowing only that he was responding to an “emergency.” He frantically began checking her pulse and respirations, attempting to assess her status. His concerned manner was compelling and a small crowd gathered around. The lecturer continued to speak.
When the other doctor began to pry open her lids and shine a light in her eyes, I thought, “Enough is enough,” and walked back over.
Kneeling next to him I whispered diplomatically, “I guess its good to be thorough, but I think she is just meditating.” He paused and looked at me, considering. Then the well-trained doctor part of him took over and he continued his exam, though in a gentler and less invasive manner. Unsure what to do and not wanting to further disturb the lecture, I returned to my seat.
Then a yogic nun ran in with a glass of warm milk and, joining the crowd, knelt next to the woman. This was really too much! I hopped up and walked over. “Didi [sister],” I whispered. “She is just meditating, leave her alone.”
The nun looked at her and, grasping the situation, said apologetically, “I didn’t know. Someone just said there was an emergency and to bring warm milk.” She left, taking her milk with her.
At this point all of the attention in the room was focused on this drama and no one was listening to the speaker. Annoyed, and understanding the situation, the speaker said, “Would some of you please carry her outside and let her get some fresh air?” He then made some comments about different states of meditation before continuing his lecture.
We carried her outside and placed her on a blanket in the shade outside the door to the auditorium. I explained to those sitting nearby that she was meditating and no one should disturb her. They seemed to understand. Even the other doctor was now convinced and left. I went back inside to hear the lecture.
As I sat down, I turned and looked back out the window. Another crowd of concerned people was already gathering around the woman. I ran back outside. A holistic health practitioner with an air of urgent purpose was kneeling over her. He was holding one of her nostrils shut with his left hand and reaching down to hold her toe in his right hand while someone else held an open remedy bottle under her other nostril.
“Leave her alone!” I barked in exasperation. “She’s meditating!” They immediately stopped, but looked at me somewhat reproachfully. I sat down next to the woman to prevent more attempts at saving her life and strained to hear the lecture through the window.
A minute or two later the woman sat up with closed eyes and continued to meditate in a normal sitting posture. Relieved of my duty, I went back inside to hear the remaining lecture.
As you progress in your meditation, you come to realize that your spiritual goal is not far away; in fact, it is hidden inside you. Like a wave on the ocean, your every thought and feeling is a dance on the body of infinite consciousness. This infinite consciousness is not something separate from you; it is a part of you. Or, perhaps, it is better said that you are a part of it.