Meditation on Sounds

One practice that can deepen mindful reading of poetry is meditating on sounds. Because sound is such a vital aspect of poetry, meditation that heightens our awareness of sound can help us hear poems with greater openness and sensitivity. A number of poems in the anthology are explicitly about sound, listening, or silence: William Stafford’s “Listening,” Dick Allen’s “Listening Deeply,” Denise Levertov’s “Aware,” D. H. Lawrence’s “The White Horse,” Anna Swir’s “Our Two Silences,” Wei Ying-Wu’s “In the Depths of West Mountain, Visiting the Master” and Yosa Buson’s “Coolness.” You may want to read these poems before you begin this meditation, though it is not necessary. If you do read them, just experience them without thinking too much about them.

Choose a length of time for your mediation, set a timer, and place the anthology within easy reach. Once you have settled into your meditation posture, bring your attention to the breath. Simply notice the physical sensations of breathing: the rise and fall of the abdomen, air flowing in and out of the nostrils. Be aware also of whatever body sensations are present: a tingling in the feet, an ache in the low back, a tightness in the jaw, your contact with the cushion or chair. Just notice what’s happening in the body without judging, without trying to push away unpleasant sensations or to prolong pleasant ones.

Now let your awareness expand to include the sounds occurring inside and outside the room. Cultivate a wide open acceptance of whatever sounds appear: cars passing, crows cawing, appliances humming, a neighbor’s lawn mower, sirens in the distance, birdsong, the gurgling of your own stomach. These ambient sounds are sometimes referred to as “the ­Buddha’s orchestra,” the music of life.

As you sit in meditation, don’t go looking for sounds; just receive without judgment whatever sounds arise. If an unpleasant sound appears, don’t regard it as a disruption or an impediment to your concentration. Turn your attention to it and embrace it with interest and curiosity. Don’t get caught up in identifying or creating a story about the sounds you hear. Instead, notice their impermanent nature, the way they arise, last for a while, and then vanish back into silence. You’ll find that when you listen closely in this way, even sounds that seem more or less constant are changing in subtle ways. See if you can stay with a sound for its entire lifespan: from its appearance, through its changes, to its disappearance. After a while, your sense of a separate listener “in here” and sounds “out there” may fall away: hearing is just happening. If your attention wanders during the meditation, as it surely will, simply acknowledge that by noting “wandering” and return to a spacious awareness of sound.

When you reach the end of the meditation, open the anthology at random and read aloud the first poem you find. Bring the same attention to the poem that you’ve just been bringing to sounds. Close your eyes and see if you can enter the poem without thinking about it. Let yourself feel and hear and visualize it. Allow yourself to inhabit the space the poem creates: a little room opened by the words, or a boundless emptiness. Notice whatever feelings the poem elicits in you, whatever physical sensations and emotions arise in the meditative field of awareness. Read the poem again, this time silently, but attend to sound and rhythm especially. Feel into the mood of the poem, which is intimately connected to its sound, and let that mood color your own inner state like a drop of ink falling into a calm, clear pond. Don’t worry about what the poem might mean, or how to frame your reaction to it in words. Just sit with it in the light of awareness for a few minutes, or as long as the poem resonates with you. Listen to it, savor it, carry it with you throughout the day.