In an early morning hour when I sit in meditation, I can list how nearly a decade of practice has already altered my life; I’m more even keeled, not so reactive, naturally flexible in situations, and less likely to remain hung up on petty matters once I’ve had some silence to sit with them. Meditation has led me to a regimen of only a few glasses of wine on any night, and eventually took the place of substances in the past that messed with my brain.
It’s also allowed me to understand that life’s ride is notable in its collective moments, and how remaining in the present through sitting can be some of my calmest minutes of existence. In the ten-day courses I try to take every year, I’ve realized in silence that human beings are interconnected, that when it comes to our emotions we are very much alike. We’re made up of fear, excitement, joy, and pain, and it’s taken me eight years (and counting) to have a handle on this. Meditation, the least linear education I’ve participated in, is a constant mental ride of up and down, but the vicissitudes move more like a ripple now. It’s also made it tolerable to delve deep into the real me, beyond the limitations of my ego or my fears, and has enlightened me just enough to know that substances are no longer a requirement before I can let go on any dance floor. However, this holistic effort to maintain body and mind takes a daily practice, and in order to keep from traveling down the turbulent corkscrews of life’s roller coaster, I like to meditate at least one time a day. And while I can track the obvious benefits from being on my spiritual path, I’ve often wondered about the lasting effects of meditation on my brain.
Before meditation, I would tell friends that my brain felt like it had the Swiss cheese effect, which is what my brain resembled while memories slipped through self-created holes. I hypothesized that I had indeed done permanent damage to my brain, and the media seemed to confirm that. Friends would bring up past scenarios and conversations that I couldn’t remember, and when it came to my short-term memory, I felt like my grandmother at the end of her life. But after years of meditation, I started to notice an increased capacity for retaining information, as if my brain had become a vault for life’s minutiae. So was it possible that meditation had the ability to repair my brain’s Swiss cheese holes?
