The following text is an excerpt from the book Buddha in the Palm of Your Hand, by the Vajra Regent Osel Tendzin, published in 1982.

Connecting with the Earth
Disgust with samsara leads us to seek a discipline that will cut through habitual patterns. We look for a path, a teaching that is not based on accumulating further neurosis and confusion. The discipline that provides the framework for our entire path is the formal practice of sitting meditation. Meditation practice allows us to look at things clearly, and we begin to develop mindfulness. Mindfulness means paying attention to the details of our experience. Without mindfulness, we stumble, we get confused, we lose our way, and there is no possibility of proceeding. When we do not miss the details of our experience, we are awake, alert, and precise.

The practice of mindfulness is common to all Buddhist traditions. Although the techniques may vary slightly, the basic practice is the same. The meditation practice that cultivates mindfulness is known in Sanskrit as shamatha, which means dwelling in peace - taming the mind. The Tibetan term for that is shine. Peacefulness does not mean numbness or casualness, but rather feeling at home with the natural precision of mind. The practice of shamatha meditation is characterized by expanding rather than focusing on one point. Centralizing everything is a problem because it assumes that everything revolves around me," "myself." Clinging to the notion of self produces the pain of hope and fear. So shamatha practice is based on letting go of the tightness of self-involvement.

The technique of sitting meditation is very simple: it is the process of becoming one with the breath. It is very important to understand the difference between following the breath and becoming one with the breath. Following the breath involves some kind of witness or watcher, and can actually reinforce the sense of self or ego. Strictly speaking, becoming one with the breath does not involve any kind of witness. Breathing does not need a watcher; it is not self-conscious. The breath goes in and out very naturally. We do not consciously have to try to breathe. So working with the breath is not adding anything particularly new to our experience.

Traditionally, meditation is practiced sitting cross-legged on a cushion of some kind. Sitting on a cushion on the ground is a statement of our connection with earth; that is, we are not fantasizing. We are being realistic and practical. The first thing we do is simply to sit down on our meditation cushion. We relax and take a comfortable posture, upright but not rigid. Correct posture means sitting with our head, shoulders, and spine vertically aligned, but without tension. This posture expresses our wakefulness-we are not asleep or dreaming.

After arranging the proper seat, we rest our hands comfortably on our thighs, palms down. Our eyes are open, and our gaze is directed slightly downward. We do not have to stare fixedly at one point or blur everything into a fuzzy haze, but gently take in the immediate environment.

At that point we become aware of our breath going out. As we do so, we feel the actual physical breath going out-not just a mental picture of the breath. It goes to the end of its journey and dissolves into space. As the breath goes out, it has a particular texture and tone and outward movement. Sometimes it is ragged; sometimes it feels very smooth. Sometimes it is shallow, and other times it is deep or heavy. We should be mindful of the texture of the breath without trying to change it. When the breath dissolves into space, there is a gap. At that moment there is no memory of the meditator. The breath dissolves, there is a gap, and that is followed by the inbreath. The inbreath is not emphasized. It is simply a natural function: our lungs are filling with air. The breath just comes back; then it goes out again. Breath; out; dissolve; gap. That is precisely the process we are working with.

When we begin to meditate, we feel self-conscious. We have an exaggerated sense of ourselves as "the meditator." That is not particularly a problem. However, we should remember that what we are interested in doing is becoming one with the breath. The reason we work with the outbreath is because it has a natural sense of expansion and decentralization, of letting go and going out as opposed to focusing on "this," or "me." There is no one watching the breath go out. There is simply breath going out into space and dissolving.

This process is very important because it brings a sense of leaving this territory, this "I." The practice of meditation awakens the intuitive sense of egolessness. Breath goes out, dissolves into space, and comes back; goes out, dissolves into space, and comes back. By practicing in this way we are eroding the basis of ego. It is so simple that it does not involve any concept at all. In fact, when we say, "going out," "dissolving," and "gap," we are just pointing to how to practice. Individually, we find our way.

Generally speaking, when we begin to practice we think we should become an "ideal" meditator - someone who can follow the technique without being interrupted by thoughts. However, we have a lot of accumulated memories, and the thought process continually churns them up. What do we do with the thoughts that we experience? According to the traditional instructions, when a thought arises, we label it "thinking." It is not said aloud; we just mentally label, "thinking." We might ask, "Isn't that just another thought?" Labeling thinking is merely a reminder to return to the breath. The word "thinking" doesn't mean anything. It marks that moment of awareness when we realize we are thinking rather than being one with the breath.

When we are practicing, following the technique, it dawns on us that we are actually meditating properly. Then we become fascinated by that. In the process of becoming fascinated, we also become self-conscious and start to worry about whether we can maintain our experience of meditation. That immediately opens the door to discursive thoughts because we are again focusing on the notion of ourself as the meditator. We are inviting back all our memories, fantasies, hopes, and fears.

Sometimes that fantasy world seems overwhelming and has the appearance of a private horror show of our own. The point is not to take it too seriously. Just look at it. It doesn't matter whether it is pleasing or not - it is simply "thinking." Labeling thinking is like a sharp knife, which cuts precisely but gently. When we label a thought "thinking," it is not a matter of pushing it away. At the point when we label "thinking," the thought process is cut, on the spot. By doing that, we automatically come right back to the breath.

Bodily sensations are also labeled "thinking." We could say that whenever we are not one with the breath, everything that arises in our practice is labeled "thinking." This includes the itch on our face and the pain in our knees. This does not mean that our posture must be absolutely rigid. If we are so distracted by a particular physical pain that we cannot follow the technique, it is sometimes necessary to adjust our posture.

The practice of meditation makes us very sensitive, not from the point of view of becoming touchy or irritable, but from the point of view of becoming sharp and precise. We become like a needle-very thin and clean, straight and pointed. We pay attention to everything that goes on in our life all the time. Mindfulness throws a spotlight on all our behavior. Since our actions are an echo or mirror image of our state of mind, every gesture is worthy of attention. We begin to see how our behavior affects the world around us and how each little move we make can create chaos. If we fail to see this, we push our way through the world, bumping into each other and stepping on each other's toes. We fail to notice where we are going and what we are doing. Our behavior is haphazard and chaotic, lacking dignity and intelligence because it is based on impulse. Through the practice of meditation we can become gentle and dignified human beings.

Although I have given written instructions on how to meditate, it is necessary not only to read and study the teachings, but also to receive personal instruction from a qualified teacher. It is necessary to have an ongoing relationship with one who has made this journey already. Since the time of the Buddha, meditation practice has been transmitted in this way, personally, from teacher to student.

The Clear Atmosphere
Shamatha meditation is very simple and direct: using the technique of working with the breath and labeling thoughts we begin to see that sensations, thoughts, and emotions are simple events. Things as they are, are simple, good, and direct. They do not need elaboration. In fact, we could say that the cause of chaos and aggression is our tendency to create unnecessary complications. So the more we practice, the more we understand a sense of great simplicity.

The practice of shamatha brings freedom from clutter, from the continual whirlpool of our thought process and our constant sense of anxiety, our sense of being chased by our own emotions and sensations. The introduction of mindfulness into our life is like good, fresh air. We see that it is not necessary to complicate our life. There is no longer any reason to believe in a fantasy of who and what we are. We experience our thought process, our body, our actions, and our environment directly, without having to invent a so - called ego. This freedom from complications brings the experience of unfabricated healthiness, wholesomeness, and goodness.

The discovery of simplicity brings delight in practice. When we first meditate, taking delight in our practice might seem artificial. But genuine delight is not an attitude that we adopt. It is a natural result of the simplicity that comes from mindfulness: seeing things directly and not having to invent a sense of identity is delightful. At the same time, it is impossible to discover such delight unless we have discipline. With discipline, delight in practice becomes a continual process, which regenerates itself and expands without effort. We need discipline to allow that state of mind to unfold.

As we continue to practice, delight and goodness naturally grow beyond the boundaries of simple mindfulness. Because of the basic wholesomeness of shamatha, we experience stability of mind and confidence in our practice. Because our state of wholesomeness is continuous and real, and because our practice is good and solid, we are confident of not falling again and again into a whirlpool of confusion. We have recognized that our thought process is not problematic, and therefore we can relax with our thoughts and emotions and bodily sensations-with whatever occurs in our practice.

Once we begin to relax in practice, flashes of insight occur. This is the beginning of vipashyana. Vipashyana is a Sanskrit term that means insight, or clear seeing. The Tibetan term for vipashyana is lhakthong. The clear seeing of vipashyana arises out of shamatha. From shamatha we learn that things are very direct: senses, body, thoughts. The experience of shamatha practice teaches us that things are just what they are; therefore we relax in our practice. Mindfulness naturally expands into vipashyana insight, and we begin to notice the atmosphere around our practice. This is called awareness. We begin to look out, expand, and insight occurs spontaneously.

With the insight of vipashyana, we recognize the elements of every situation as being without the bias of ego. We see that our world is a combination of factors that, in themselves, have no particular meaning other than what we attribute to them at each moment. This is the discovery of egolessness: realizing that things have no solid existence. This expansion of insight brings tremendous ventilation, freedom, a spacious attitude. At the same time, it cuts through any sense of nesting in feeling good and healthy. We feel sharp, tentative, precise, and spacious. Inquisitive mind is freed from the burden of ego-clinging, and we can actually see all the possibilities in a situation.

At first when insight arises, we do not know how to handle that experience, except by labeling it "thinking." But at the same time we feel the urge to go further. Going further does not mean abandoning the discipline of mindfulness. The simplicity of mindfulness is like an anchor: it connects us with the direct and precise experience of our basic wholesomeness and goodness. Going further means going beyond the idea that everything must have a purpose, including our practice. When we experience that our practice has no purpose, our awareness and sensitivity to the environment become acute. We begin to realize that awareness is present in the environment itself; therefore it needs no purpose. It is not our awareness; it does not depend on the reference point of ego at all.

At this point, awareness is seen as intelligent, self-existing, and continuous. This realization is based on true insight, that is, the direct knowledge of things as they are. That knowledge is not limited to a mere description or an accumulation of data. When inquisitive mind is liberated from the bonds of ego, we see the egoless nature of ourself and phenomena; therefore we realize that we do not have to struggle to survive. We do not need to speed or rush in order to accomplish a good and wholesome life.

Stepping Through an Open Doorway
In order to practice vipashyana properly, we should understand the attitude of accommodation. Accommodation refers to our ability to hear the dharma. If we are motivated by what we think we can get out of our practice and study of the dharma, then we cannot actually hear the teachings, nor can we take them to heart and practice them properly. In order to hear the teachings, it is necessary to remove the obstacle of personal goal orienta-tion. Our state of mind must be free from aggression. The attitude of nonaggression, of not practicing for personal gain, is the accommodating attitude of vipashyana.

The basis of vipashyana is the experience of shamatha, which is marked by simplicity, precision, and accuracy. The practice of awareness naturally unfolds from the discipline of mindfulness. In fact, the two are inseparable in the sense that the experience of one leads to the experience of the other. So the practice of sitting meditation is still the basic discipline that develops awareness.

It is possible, however, that our mindfulness practice may become too tight, too goal-oriented, or too directional. When that happens, we need to develop a further sense of accommodation, of loosening up and feeling comfortable. When our strict approach to discipline opens up, a transition is taking place in our practice. We awaken to the environment around us, and we begin to feel space more than technique. This does not mean that technique is no longer necessary; it means that we no longer have to prove to ourselves that we are doing it. Relating to the literalness of the technique provides precision; but only when we relax and relate to the expansiveness of the environment does our centralized notion of a self start to dissolve.

When we are sitting, practicing the breathing technique, and labeling thoughts, we experience lapses in our practice characterized by drowsiness, agitation, or laziness. We become captivated by our thoughts, memories, fantasies, and so on, to the point that we become lost in our mental world. Suddenly, we experience a flash. In that flash of awareness there is no ego, no watcher.

We can make use of the flash of awareness in this way: when we become aware that we are not practicing the technique, we can allow ourselves to come back to the breath with a sense of accommodation and naturalness, without feeling good or bad, without struggling to get back. Generally, we say to ourselves, "I'm not doing the technique; I should be doing the technique." We feel tense and try to force ourselves to come back to the breath without effort. Usually we return to the breath when we remember that is what we are supposed to be doing. But as we progress in our practice, we begin to feel that coming back is not due to memory at all. The actual flash of awareness happens before we attach a description to it.

The experience of this flash of awareness brings the spontaneous awakening of prajna, discriminating awareness. Prajna is fully-liberated intelligence: it does not depend on the confirmation or feedback of ego. Therefore prajna is able to discriminate that which liberates us from that which binds us to confusion. Because it is egoless, prajna brings together intuitive experience and intellect, and allows us to completely identify with the teachings of the Buddha. It is prajna that enables us to contemplate egolessness, impermanence, and suffering, and penetrate the teaching of the four noble truths.

The intellect of prajna is the discriminating aspect of mind, which ultimately leads to wisdom. Ordinarily, intellect is regarded as an analytical process that makes distinctions and puts things into categories. Intellect is usually associated with logic and some notion of proof: it provides confirmation for ego-centered experience. All this arises from the misconception that the function of intellect depends on a knower, a centralized basis of intelligence. However, intellect is fundamentally not dependent on ego. Neither does our intuitive perception need ego to function. Through vipashyana practice, both intellect and intuition are liberated from the bonds of ego.

Vipashyana frees us from grasping and ego-clinging. With the dawn of vipashyana we feel inspired to leave our confusion behind. It is like stepping through an open doorway, into a cool breeze of fresh air. For a long time, we have protected our confusion and hesitated to step through that doorway. But now we feel drawn to walk through, with full appreciation of what we are doing. This is the entrance to the bodhisattva path, to a wider vision and deeper commitment to practice. It is the birth of buddha mind, awakened mind.