I don't meditate.
That is, if I do something that appears to be meditation, I'm doing something completely different. Completely opposite.
The usual concept of meditation is the calming of the mind. The clearing of thoughts. A sort of simplification.
I don't do that. It's not that I can't do that, but I find the concept insulting to the very nature of the mind.
It's not that I can't meditate in the usual manner. Oh, I've meditated alright. My refusal can be summed up in five words.
Don't meditate in a thunderstorm.
Just don't, kids. A panic attack is not fun.
It is for similar reasons that I wear ear plugs when I sleep. Forgetting my intuition, I have hearing so sensitive that I hear through wax ear plugs.
When I say I do the complete opposite of meditation, I really mean it.
To understand, let me analogize to people's reaction to the dark. The common response to fear of the dark is to bring light. To burn it away. However, another approach is to embrace the dark. Step into it and let night vision awake. Become silent and observant.
The correct way to approach many problems is not to fight them directly, like bringing light into the dark, but to accept them, bend with them and embrace them.
I embrace the storm in my head. When I "meditate", I am an ego surrounded by a blur of thoughts. I am solid and separate from the winds which circle me, and yet they are a part of the whole of me.
I don't play pretend, where the "I" that is me is some separate "higher" thing. I am not separate from my body. I am a mind defined by a brain, trapped in a skull, trapped in a body.
People who want to clear the mind are taking the paintbrush away from a painter and telling them to use their fingers. They are hobbling the real power of an open, unafraid and alive mind.
I don't meditate.