Sustainability Over Intensity: The Key to Meditation
When I was a kid, I used to really like the children's fable, "The Tortoise and the Hare." I'm guessing most of you have heard of this story, which has been translated into many languages and feels timeless. If you haven't heard of it, I recommend looking it up.
It's not only a wonderful children's tale, but I've found it to be a profound Dharma teaching—an instruction for life that I remember again and again. To shorten the story: it's a race between a rabbit and a tortoise. The rabbit is overconfident, thinking there's no way the tortoise can beat them. So the rabbit takes its time, meanders, has some side tracks, and eventually loses because of its initial intensity and subsequent lack of sustained effort.
The tortoise, by contrast, passes the rabbit—to everyone's surprise. "Slow and steady wins the race" is a phrase I've heard often, and while there can be arguments that this isn't always true, I've really taken this story to heart throughout my life. Sometimes, I feel there's a reason certain stories resonate with us so deeply.
How does this relate to meditation practice? I'm sure some of you are already connecting the dots. Slow and steady is often far more sustainable than quick and intense. I call this understanding how we work with sustainability in our meditation practice, and how intensity can often work against us.
Intensity can manifest in many forms. One form I often see is what one of my teachers, Pakchok Rinpoche, described as being like "burning plastic"—when you light plastic on fire, it burns very brightly and intensely, but it's quick and then it's gone. He would tell students who were gung-ho about the Buddhist path and wanted immediate enlightenment: "Don't be like burning plastic."
Another type of intensity is the constant desire to "get somewhere" or have some special meditative experience, instead of simply showing up each day and being with our minds. We project an image of an elusive meditative state or spiritual experience, constantly wishing we were somewhere other than where we are. While there's nothing wrong with such aspirations on a spiritual level, practically speaking, this creates an intensity that undermines sustainability.
I also see intensity in the struggle with confidence—a defeated attitude where practitioners feel they're "never doing it right" or wonder how they'll ever realize the Dharma. There's pushiness, an impatience with oneself and the practice.
The key is learning sustainability. Instead of overwhelming ourselves, it's about consistency—practicing every day, even if for a shorter time. I prefer breaking practice into smaller, more consistent sessions rather than occasional intense bursts.
We must root out behaviors that subvert our efforts at sustainability. Notice where you're bringing unnecessary intensity. If intensity comes from genuine perseverance and joy, that's different—that's not really intensity, but a natural spiritual energy.
My advice? Develop strategies to create more sustainability. Slowly root out forms of intensity that harm your practice and overall confidence. Learn to be patient with yourself, to show up consistently, and to approach your practice with gentleness and compassion.
I'd love to hear from you: What helps you create sustainability over intensity? How do you navigate the difference between harmful intensity and beneficial spiritual perseverance?
