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RF_DR.A_17_SUDHA

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INITIAL MEDITATIVE EXPERIENCES:
PARTI

Roger Walsh
University of California Medical School-Irvine
Orange, California

4

INTRODUCTION

*
This is an account of the subjective experiences of some two
years of Vipassana or Insight meditation. During the first year
this comprised an average of approximately one hour per day
and during the second was increased to about two hours, as
.well as some six weeks of intensive meditation retreats, usually
of two weeks duration. These retreats comprised about 18 to 20
hours daily of continuous walking and sitting meditation per­
formed in total silence and without eye contact, reading or
writing. While this amount of practice may be vastly less than
that of more experienced practitioners, it has certainly proved
sufficient to elicit a range of experiences beyond the ken of day
to day non-meditative living.

Vipassana, or insight, meditation aims at a simple nonjudgmental, noninterfering precise awareness and examination of
whatever mental or physical phenomena enter awareness
(mindfulness). Usually one object is observed at a time, the
object being selected by a process of “choiceless awareness” in
which the attention is allowed to settle effortlessly on whatever
percept is predominant. If judgments, attractions, aversions,
thoughts, etc., arise in response to the percept, then these reac­
tions are themselves allowed to become the primary object of
awareness. This differs from the usual state in which there is no
experiential recognition of the phenomenon of awareness per
se, of the distinction between awareness and the object of
awareness, and a greater number of reactions go unnoticed.

insight
meditation

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

151

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&

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training
participant
observers

In presenting this material I have several aims. The first is
simply to share these explorations with the hope that they^may
prove helpful for other beginning meditators, since there is
surprisingly little in-depth writing on initial meditative experi­
ences (Walsh, 1977b). I would also like to examine them in the
light of Western psychology, especially recent advances in
learning theory, state-dependent learning, altered states of
consciousness, behavioral self-control, and traditional psy­
chodynamics. I also wish to do exactly the opposite: i.e., where
possible to examine Western psychology within the light of
these experiences. While there are a number of poignant, rich
and courageous accounts of individuals’ experiences and in­
sights (e.g., Shattock, 1972; Lerner, 1977), they lack the pre­
cision and psychological background essential for scientifically
productive analysis. Thus there have recently been repeated
requests by a variety of Western psychologists (e.g., Shimano-& Douglas, 1975; Tart, 1975a; Globus, 1976), for indi­
viduals with extensive training in the behavioral sciences to
undertake the exploration of consciousness as trained partici­
pant observers. This paper seems to present an opportunity for
beginning a preliminary testing of such a paradigm.
While a number of things led me in the direction of meditation, the major forerunner• was clearly a year and a half of
intensive individual psychotherapy which has already been
described in some detail (Walsh, 1976,1977a). Certain features
of this therapy seemed especially conducive to meditation.
These included a markedly increased awareness of, and per­
ceptual sensitivity to, the formerly unrecognized stream of
inner consciousness and a heightened ability to discriminate
among altered states within this stream. There was also less
fear of, and more trust in, this formerly subliminal realm of
awareness and motivation, and hence a greater sense of trust in
myself, “myself” having now been expanded to include this
formerly unknown realm. In particular some of the states
which emerged towards the end of therapy were characterized
by feelings of peace, and a relative absence of thoughts, needs
and “doing.” These states readily became the objects of nonin­
terfering awareness, and it felt inappropriate to “work with
them” in a traditional psychotherapeutic way.

1 began meditation with one-half hour each day and during the
first three to six months there were few times during which I
could honestly say with complete certainty that I was definitely
experiencing benefits from it. Except for the painfully obvious
stiff back and sore knees, the psychological effects other than
occasional relaxation felt so subtle and ephemeral that I could
never be sure that they were more than a figment of my wishes

152

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

t

4

and expectations. Certainly had it not been for these expecta­
tions, prior psychotherapeutic experiences, and the encour­
agement of more experienced practitioners, I would never
have gotten beyond the first couple of weeks. The nature of
meditation seems to be, especially at first, a slow but cumula­
tive process, a fact which may be useful for beginners to know.
However, with continued perseverance, subtle effects just at
the limit of my perceptual threshold did begin to become
apparent. I had expected the eruption into awareness of
powerful, concrete experiences, if not flashes of lightning and
pealing of bells, then at least something of sufficient intensity
to make it very clear that I had “gotten it,” whatever “it” was.
What “it” actually turned out to be was not the appearance of
formerly nonexistent mental phenomena, but rather a gradual
incremental increase in perceptual sensitivity to the formerly
subliminal portions of my own inner stream of consciousness,
a process which had begun in therapy.

At first this was apparent as the occasional ephemeral ap­
pearance of a sense of peace or some other subtle, hard to
categorize affect interspersed among innumerable pains, itch­
es, doubts, questions, fears and fantasies which occupied the
majority of meditation sitting time. Usually one or more of
these “events” would be deemed important enough to divert
my attention from meditation. With increased practice the
disruptive nature of these breaks became more and more ap­
parent, and the stringency of the criteria for disrupting medi­
tation became progressively higher. Interestingly enough the
order in which the different kinds of distractions were given up
seemed to provide an index of the strengths of my attachments.
For example, I am an analytic, intellectually curious person
who loves to understand things. This predeliction runs counter
to the Vipassana process which emphasizes just watching and
observing the arising and passing away of all mental pheno­
mena, thoughts, feelings, sensations, without analyzing or
changing them in any way. Therefore, when something unu­
sual occurred in meditation. I may have thought, “Wow, I could
really learn something from that.” This thought was usually
sufficient to jolt me out of a relaxed meditative watching and
into an active analytic probing and changing of the experience.

a slow
process

a gradual
increase in
sensitivity

the strength
of attachments

FANTASY

“When one sits down with eyes closed to silence the mind, one
is at first submerged by a torrent of thoughts—they crop up
everywhere like frightened, nay, aggressive rats” (Satprem,

4

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I
%

153

a torrent
offantasies

1968, p. 33). The more sensitive I became, the more I was
forced to recognize that what I had formerly believed to be my
rational mind preoccupied with cognition, planning, problem
solving, etc., actually comprised a frantic torrent of forceful,
demanding, loud, and often unrelated thoughts and fantasies
which filled an unbelievable proportion of consciousness even
during purposive behavior. The incredible proportion of
consciousness which this fantasy world occupied, my power­
lessness to remove it for more than a few seconds, and my
former state of mindlessness or ignorance of its existence,
staggered me (I am here using mindlessness in an opposite
sense to the Vipassana term mindful, which means aware of
the nature of the object to which the mind is attending). Fore­
most among the implicit beliefs of orthodox Western psychol­
ogy is the assumption that man spends most of his time rea­
soning and problem solving, and that only neurotics and other
abnormals spend much time, outside of leisure, in fantasy
(Tart, 1975b). However, it is my impression that prolonged
self-observation will show that at most times we are living
almost in a dream world in which we skillfully and automati­
cally yet unknowingly blend inputs from reality and fantasy in
accordance with our needs and defenses. Interestingly this
“mindlessness” seemed much more intense and difficult to
deal with than in psychotherapy where the depth and sensitiv­
ity of inner awareness seemed less, and where the therapist
provided a perceptual focus and was available to pull me back
if I started to get lost in fantasy.

The pjesence of inner dialogue and fantasy seems to present^
limiting factor for the sense of closeness and unity with another
persom However, if I am with another person, and free of
dialogue and fantasy, and feeling an emotion, especially a
positive one such as love, which I know the other person to
be also experiencing, then it feels as though there are no
detectable ego boundaries; we are together in love. But if part
of my mind is preoccupied with dialogue and fantasies, then
my awareness is split; I know that my experience is different
from the other individual’s, and feel correspondingly dis­
tanced and separated.

the subtlety
and complexity
offantasies

The subtlety, complexity, infinite range and number, and en­
trapping power of the fantasies which the mind creates seems
impossible to comprehend, to differentiate from reality while
in them, and even more so to describe to one who has not ex­
perienced them. Layer upon layer of imagery and quasilogic
open up in any point to which attention is directed. Indeed it
gradually becomes apparent that it is impossible to question
and reason one’s way out of this all-encompassing fantasy since

*
154

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

the very process of questioning, thinking, and seeking only
creates further fantasy.

Meditation Exercise
Since the power and extent of this entrapment is so difficult to
convey to someone without personal experience of it, I’d
strongly encourage any non-meditator to use the following
concentration exercise (Goldstein, 1976) before continuing.

Set an alarm for a minimum of 10 minutes. Then take a
comfortable seat, close your eyes, and turn your attention to
the sensations of breathing in your abdomen. Feel the abdo­
minal wall rising and falling and focus your attention as
carefully, precisely, and microscopically as possible on the in­
stant to instant sensations that occur in your abdomen. Don’t
let your attention wander for a moment. If thoughts and
feelings arise, just let them be there and continue to focus your
awareness on the sensations.

Now as you remain aware of the sensations, start counting
each breath until you reach ten, and then start again at one.
However, if you lose count, or if your mind wanders from the
sensations in the abdomen, even for an instant, go back to one.
If you get lost in fantasy or distracted by outside stimuli, just
recognize what happened and gently bring your mind back to
the breath. Continue this process until the alarm tells you to
stop and then attempt to estimate how much of the time you
were actually mindfully focussed. As your perception sharpens
with more practice, you would probably recognize that you
have greatly overestimated, but this should be sufficient to give
a flavor of the extent of the problem. “Your mind has a mind of
its own, where do you fit in?” (Sujata, 1975).

focussing
attention
on
breathing

The impossibility of working or thinking one’s way out of this
multilayered, multidimensional fantasy, world into which one
falls, rapidly becomes apparent, even though it is very tempting
to try to do so. That leaves within the experiential meditative
world only the primary sensations, e.g., pain and breathing, on
which to focus as perceptual anchors. By focussing attention
back on the breathing it seems that the energy or arousal going
into the fantasy by virtue of the attention being paid it is
withdrawn, and it collapses under its own weight leaving only
the primary sensations until the next fantasy arises. This is
presumably an example of Tart’s (1975a) statement that cer­
tain mental structures are dependent on a minimum amount of
attention for their creation and maintenance.

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

155

Fantasy and Illusion

the background
ofdialogues
and
fantasies

the brain
as a
difference
detector

The power and pervasiveness of these inner dialogues and
fantasies left me amazed that we could be so unaware of them
during our normal waking life and reminded me of the Eastern
concept of maya or all-consuming illusion. The question of
why we don’t recognize them seems incredibly important,
but to date I have seen no explanations other than the almost
universal ones among the meditative-yogic traditions that
normal man is an automaton, more asleep than awake, etc.
Several mechanisms seem to be operating here. Firstly, the
dialogue-fantasy creations are completely congruent with the
current ego state and with what Gendlin (1962) and Welwood
(1976) would call the “felt meaning,” i.e., that affective back­
ground or context which we assay when we try to answer the
question “how do you feel right now?” It is the contrast
between the dialogues-fantasies and the background affective
state which makes the detection of their pervasiveness easier. It
is therefore interesting that I have not infrequently found that
when I am what initially appears to be dialogue-free, closer
examination of my consciousness reveals dialogue with which
I had been completely and unconsciously identified such as
“I’m really doing this well, I’m in a really clear place, I don’t
have any dialogue going. I’m really getting to be a good med­
itator, etc.” However, at such times a thought like, “I’m not
getting anything out of this,” stands out strongly and is readily
identified for what it is, yet another thought. This fits well with
the general neurophysiological principle that the brain is es­
sentially a difference detector which picks up differences
between stimuli or stimulus complexes rather than absolute
levels of individual stimuli. Other factors possibly accounting
for our inability or unwillingness to identify the extent of this
dialogue-fantasy may be the extent to which we have habi­
tuated to its presence. Furthermore, it is only when we attempt
to stop it that we become aware of its remarkable hold on us,^a
situation strongly reminiscent of addictions.
A further masking factor may comprise the process of “time­
sharing.” Usually we are able to switch rapidly between fo­
cussing on real stimuli and fantasy in a manner analogous to
the process by which a computer rapidly switches between
different terminals which may be feeding in input simultan­
eously. Thus for “normal” levels of external sensory awareness
and performance there may be relatively little functional im­
pairment apparent, especially since the vast majority of the
population is also functioning in this manner. It also rapidly
becomes apparent that these dialogue-fantasies may serve a
major (perhaps the major?) defensive function. If so then ob-

156

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

viously there would be major dynamics operating to prevent
awareness of them (perceptual defense).

9

It is clear that fantasy plays a major role in psychological
health and pathology. Obviously a full exploration of these
relationships is beyond the scope of this article, but it is clear
that meditation offers insights into the phenomena which may
extend far beyond current Western psychological under­
standing.

Traditionally fantasy has been seen as ranging from being a
source of creativity and pleasure in well-adapted individuals
(e.g., Offer, 1973; Offer & Offer, 1974) to a central hallmark
of psychopathology when excessive (Linn, 1975). When the
individual believes his fantasies to be real, and they are dis­
cordant with those of the majority of society, the fantasies are
called hallucinations and he is labelled psychotic. Also, when
the fantasies are especially painful and egodystonic, the indi­
vidual may experience himself, and be diagnosed, as mentally
ill, even though he knows them to be fantasies. Thus in Western
psychology, fantasies are seen as normal or even beneficial,
unless they prove especially painful or overwhelming.

However, a remarkably wide range of meditation and yogic
disciplines from a variety of cultures hold a very different
view. They assert that whether we know it or not, untrained
individuals are prisoners of their own minds, totally and un­
wittingly trapped by a continuous inner fantasy-dialogue
which creates an all-consuming illusion or maya.

fantasy
as viewed
traditionally

fantasy
as illusion

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we create the world.
The Buddha (Byrom, 1976)

“Normal” man is thus seen as asleep or dreaming. When the
dream is especially painful or disruptive it becomes a night­
mare and is recognized as psychopathology, but since the vast
majority of the population dreams, the true state of affairs goes
unrecognized. When the individual permanently disidentifies
from or eradicates this dream he is said to have awakened and
can now recognize the true nature of his former state and that
of the population. This awakening or enlightenment is the aim
of the meditative-yogic disciplines (e.g., Ouspensky, 1949; De
Ropp, 1968; Nyanaponika Thera, 1972; Ram Dass, 1974,
1976, 1977; Goldstein, 1976; Goleman, 1977; Wilber, 1977).
However, according to Tart (1975a), there is as yet considera­
ble resistance to this idea in Western psychology and psy­
chiatry:

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

157

A

We have studied some aspects of samsara (illusion, maya) in far
more detail than the Eastern traditions that originated the concept
of samsara. Yet almost no psychologists apply this idea to them­
selves. They assume . . . that their own states of consciousness are
basically logical and clear. Western psychology now has a chal­
lenge to recognize this detailed evidence that our “normal” state
is a state of samsara and to apply the immense power of science
and our other spiritual traditions, East and West, to the search for
a way out (p. 286).

Perceiving and Labeling Fantasy

quieting
the
internal
dialogue

With continued practice the speed, power, loudness, and con­
tinuity of these thoughts and fantasies began to slowly dimin­
ish, leaving subtle sensations of greater peace and quiet. After
a period of about four or five months there occurred episodes
in which I would open my eyes at the end of meditation and
look at the outside world without the presence of concomitant
internal dialogue. This state would be rapidly terminated
by a rising sense of anxiety and anomie accompanied by the
thought, “I don’t know what anything means.” Thus, I could be
looking at something completely familiar, such as a tree, a
building, or the sky, and yet without an accompanying internal
dialogue to label and categorize it, it felt totally strange and
devoid of meaning. It seems that what made something famil­
iar and hence secure was not simply its recognition, but the
actual cognitive process of matching, categorizing and labeling
it, and that once this was done, then more attention and reactiv­
ity was focussed on the label and labeling process rather than
on the stimulus itself. Thus the initial fantasy and thought-free
periods may feel both strange and distinctly unpleasant so tha£
we are at first punished by their unfamiliarit^. We have created
an unseen prison for ourselves whose bars are comprised of
thoughts and fantasies of which we remain largely unaware
unless we undertake intensive perceptual training. Moreover,
if they are removed we may be frightened by the unfamiliarity
of the experience and rapidly reinstate them. This is remini­
scent of the lines of a poem by Yevtuschenko, who on visiting a
Canadian mink farm found the minks bred in open cages from
which they never tried to escape despite the fact that their
peers were slaughtered in the adjoining room.

He who is born in a cage,
shall weep for a cage.
Presumably this labeling process must modify our perception
in many ways, including reducing our ability to experience
each stimulus fully, richly, and newly, by reducing its multidi­
mensional nature into a lesser dimensional cognitive labeling

158

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

framework. This must necessarily derive from the past, be less
tolerant of ambiguity, less here now, and perpetuative of a
sense of sameness and continuity to the world. This process
may represent the phenomenological and cognitive mediational basis of Deikman’s (1966) concept of automatization
and Don Juan’s “maintaining the world as we know it” (Cas­
taneda, 1971, 1977). It is a far cry from the perceptual end state
devoid of all this labeling described by the Buddha as “In
what is seen there should be only the seen; in what is heard
only the heard; in what is sensed [as smell, taste or touch], only
the sensed, in what is thought only the thought” (Nyanaponika
Thera, 1962, p. 33).
It also provides an explanation of the electrophysiological
finding that experienced Zen practitioners may exhibit repeti­
tive, non-habituating orientating response^to repeated stimuli
during meditation (Kasamatsu & Hirai, 1966; for a review see
Davidson, 1976). This is as would be predicted if they are in
fact responding to the stimuli themselves rather than to the
cognitive labeling process as described above. This also
provides an explanation for the “deautomatization” which may
occur with meditation (Deikman, 1966). One might also
wonder whether these Zen meditators and also self-actualizers
—who have been characterized among other things for their
ability to repetitively experience things freshly and uniquely
(Maslow, 1971)—display similar non-habituative patterns in
daily living.

This perceptual process might also provide support for, and a
substrate and an explanation of, constructional realism. This is
the philosophy which suggests that we do not simply learn to
recognize reality, but rather learn "to construct reality. This
philosophy has recently been rediscovered by researchers
in a diverse number of fields such as neuropsychology,
developmental psychology, philosophy, and consciousness
(Piaget, 1960; Pribram, 1976; Wilber, 1977). Although not yet
widely recognized, it may be that this philosophy should be
expanded to include the idea that we may construct a reality,
rather than the reality. In any event, the above phenomena
may provide an initial suggestion of the cognitive-perceptual
processes by which this is achieved.

developing
non-habituative
responses

constructing
our reality

THE FIRST MEDITATION RETREAT

The first meditation retreat, begun about one year after com­
mencing sitting, was a very painful and difficult two-week
affair. I had never meditated for more than an hour at a time
and so continuous walking and sitting brought me to a

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

159

a marked
hypersensitivity
to all
stimuli

vivid
hallucinations

160

screaming halt. Within three hours 1 literally felt as though 1
had ingested a stimulant, and by six hours there were signifi­
cant psychedelic effects. A marked hypersensitivity to all stim­
uli both internal and external rapidly developed, resulting in
intense arousal, agitation, discomfort, and multiple chronic
muscle contractions, especially around the shoulders. This
agitation was associated with an increased sensitivity to pain
which seemed like part of a more general hypersensitivity. This
was particularly apparent during the first three or four days
and any exercise such as running would result in extreme
tenderness in the corresponding muscles.

One of the most amazing rediscoveries during this first retreat
was the incredible proportion of time, well over 90 percent,
which I spent lost in fantasy. Most of these were of the ego
self-aggrandizing type, so that when eventually I realized I was
in them, it proved quite a struggle to decide to give them up and
return to the breath, but with practice this decision became
slightly easier, faster, and more automatic. This by no means
happened quickly since over the first four or five days the
proportion of time spent in fantasy actually increased as the
meditation deepened, and on days three through five of the
retreat literally reached psychotic proportions. During this
period each time I sat and closed my eyes I would be imme­
diately swept away by vivid hallucinations, losing all contact
with where I was or what I was doing until after an unknown
period of time a thought would creep in such as, “Am 1 really
swimming, lying on the beach?” etc., and then I would either
get lost back into the fantasy or another thought would
come: “Wait a moment, I thought I was meditating.” If the
latter, then 1 would be left with the difficult problem of trying
to ground myself, i.e., of differentiating between stimulus
produced percepts (“reality”) and entirely endogenous ones
(“hallucinations”). The only way this seemed possible was to
try finding the breath, and so I would begin frantically search­
ing around in this hypnagogic universe for the sensations of the
breath. Such was the power of the hallucinations that some­
times I would be literally unable to find it and would fall back
into the fantasy. If successful, I would recognize it and be
reassured that I was in fact meditating. Then in the next mo­
ment I would be lost again in yet another fantasy. The clarity,
power, persuasiveness and continuity of these hallucinations is
difficult to adequately express. However, the effect of living
through three days during which time to close my eyes meant
losing contact almost immediately with ordinary reality was
extraordinarily draining to say the least. Interestingly enough
while this experience was uncomfortable and quite beyond my
control, it was not particularly frightening, if anything the

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

opposite. For many years I had feared losing control if I
let down defenses and voyaged too far along the road of
self-investigation and discovery. This appears to be a com­
mon fear in most growth traditions and seems to serve a major
defensive function. Having experienced this once feared out­
come, it now no longer seems so terrifying. Of course, the
paradox is that what we usually call control is actually exactly
the opposite, a lack of ability to let go of defenses.

During moments of clarity a process occurred which seems
supportive of Coleman’s (1976) hypothesis of global desensi­
tization as one of the mediating mechanisms of meditative
effects. During this first retreat a lot of old, almost forgotten,
highly charged memories would arise into consciousness, re­
main for a moment, then slowly sink back out of awareness.
Not infrequently as they did so I would be aware that the
affective charge, e.g., anger, sadness, etc., which was originally
associated with them would tend to diminish while they were
held in awareness, and that they had not infrequently attained
a neutral status by the time they disappeared back into the
unconscious. It was also interesting that some of these mem­
ories ranged all the way back to age three or four, and to the
best of my recollection 1 had never recalled them previously
since their original occurrence. This phenomenology seems
highly consistent with Coleman’s proposed desensitization
mechanism.

the fear
of losing
control

the arousal
ofearly
memories

While a good 90 percent or more of this first retreat was taken
up with mindless fantasy and agitation, there did occur during
the second week occasional short-lived periods of intense
peace and tranquillity. These were so satisfying that, while I
would not be willing to sign up for a life-time in a monastery, I
could begin to comprehend the possibility of the truth of the
Buddhist saying that “peace is the highest form of happiness.”
Affective lability was also extreme. While more than 80 per­
cent of the time of the first retreat was sheer pain, there were
not infrequently sudden apparently unprecipitated wide mood
swings, to completely polar emotions. Shorn of all my props
and distractions there was just no way to pretend that I had
more than the faintest inkling of self-control over either
thoughts or feelings.
With continued practice and greater sensitivity 1 began to gain
an experiential sense for the meaning of a word which is widely
and loosely used within meditation-yoga circles, namely the
type of “vibrations” that I was experiencing. It appeared that in
any sensory modality at all, there is an endogenously generat­
ed continuous flux of perceptual-neural noise. Both figure and

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

161

greater
sensitivity
to
neurocybernetic
signals

ground, or signal and noise, are at least partially generated
by this process. What gets interpreted as signal or figure are
sometimes simply the larger fluctuations in neural activity of
sufficient magnitude to stand out effectively against the re­
maining background. During periods of agitation these “vi­
brations” appear stronger, larger, more frequent, and more
variable, whereas the reverse is true during periods of calm.
Presumably this simply represents a subjective correlate of the
neurophysiological activity and disturbance of the nervous
system. Since one of the aims of meditation is calm, this sug­
gests a basis for the advice given by several meditation teachers
to do that which “fines down the vibration” and avoid those
things which lead to “heavy coarse vibrations” (Ram Dass,
1976). Thus these subjective sensations can be used as a sensi­
tive self-guiding neurocybernetic signal to move one in the
direction of increasing calm and peace.

This also suggests a further basis for thejieightened sensitivity
of meditators, namely, the reduction in the magnitude of
background fluctuations or noise,. This would result in a
greater signaknoise ratio. It also raises the interesting question
of whether what is noise at one level of perceptual sensitivity
may not be signal at another more subtle level. Indeed this
leads to the ultimate question of whether there is in fact any
neural “noise” within the brain at all, or merely unrecognized
signals?

the
disrupting
power of
attachments

162

It soon became apparent that the type of material which
forceably erupted into awareness and disrupted concentration
was most often material—ideas, fantasies, thoughts, etc.—to
which I was attached (addicted) and around which there was
considerable affective charge. Indeed, it seemed that the strong­
er the attachment or charge, the more often the material
would arise, a fact which suggested that we may all be subject
to an at least partially conditioned hierarchy of attachments
as well as a more biologically based hierarchy of needs a la
Maslow. There was a definite sense that attachments reduced
the flexibility and power of the mind, since whenever I was
preoccupied with a stimulus to which I was attached, then I had
difficulty in withdrawing my attention from it to observe other
stimuli which passed through awareness. This is reminiscent
in a more subtle form of a phenomenon called “stimulus
boundness” which is found in brain damaged individuals who,
once their attention is fixated on a particular stimulus, exper­
ience great difficulty in transferring it to another object. Inter­
estingly enough, the attachment or need to understand, itself
proved a perceptual and information limiting factor. As long
as I needed to understand something it was necessary to keep

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

that something around in awareness until it was understood
rather than allowing it to pass away of its own accord to be
replaced by the next object, i.e., “to understand” my experience I had to retain and analyze it and thereby stop the
free-flow of awareness.
Paradoxically it seems that a need or attachment to be rid of a
certain experience or state may lead to its perpetuation. The
clearest example of this has been with anxiety, which I worked
quite hard to reduce in my psychotherapy with considerable
success. However, some six months ago I suddenly began to
experience mild anxiety attacks of unknown origin which
curiously enough seemed to occur most often when I was
feeling really good and in the presence of a particular person
who I loved. At such times I would try all my various psycho­
logical gymnastics to eradicate it since it was clearly not ok
with me to feel anxious. However, these episodes continued for
some five months in spite of, or as it actually turned out
because of, my resistance to them. During this time my prac­
tice deepened and I was able to examine more and more of the
process during meditation. What I found was that I had con­
siderable fear of fear and my mind therefore surveyed in a
radar-like fashion all endogenous and exogenous stimuli for
their fear evoking potential and all reactions for any fear
component. Thus there was a continuous mental radar-like
scanning process preset in an exquisitely sensitive fashion for
the detection of anything resembling fear. Consequently there
were a considerable number of false positives, i.e., non-fearful
stimuli and reactions which were interpreted as being fearful
or potentially fear provoking. Since the reactions to the false
positives themselves comprised fear and fear components,
there was of course an immediate chain reaction set up with
one fear response acting as the stimulus for the next. It thus
became very clear that my fear of and resistance to the fear was
exactly what was perpetuating it.

anxiety

the
perpetuation

fear

This insight and the further application of new meditative
awareness to the process certainly reduced but did not eradi­
cate these episodes entirely. Paradoxically they still tended to
recur when I felt very calm and peaceful. It was not until the
middle of the next meditation retreat that the reasons for this
became clear. After the first few days of pain and agitation I
began to feel more and more peaceful and there came a sitting
in which I could feel my meditation deepen perceptibly and
the restless mental scanning slow more and more. Then as the
process continued to deepen and slow I was literally jolted by a
flash of agitation and anxiety accompanying a thought—“But
what do I do now if there’s no more anxiety to look for?” It was

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

163

the paradox
ofanxiety

paring away
attachments

164

apparent that if I continued to quieten, there would be neither
anxiety to scan for nor a scanning process itself, and my need to
get rid of anxiety demanded that I have a continuous scanning
mechanism, and the presence of the mechanism in turn created
the presence of anxiety. My “but what do I do now?” fear had
very effectively removed the possibility of the dissipation of
both, and its occurrence at a time when I was feeling most
peaceful, relaxed and safe, of course explained why I had been
subject to these anxiety episodes at the apparently paradoxical
times when I felt best. Paradoxically then it appears that within
the mind, if you need to be rid of something, then not only are
you likely to experience a number of false positives but you
may also need to have them around continuously so you can
keep getting rid of them. Thus within the province of the mind,
what you resist is what you get.

Since the things which tend to preoccupy consciousness and
disrupt meditation tend to be those things with strong attach­
ment, it becomes apparent why the paring away of attach­
ments is one of the three aims of the triune path of puri­
fication (Pali: silya), discriminating wisdom (panna), and con­
centration (sammhadi). These three are said to interact in such
a way that the deepening and increasing of one deepens the
other two and hence the whole meditative process. It took no
more than a few days of the first retreat to make this painfully
obvious. Any time I did something which broke the rules or
consciously disturbed other people’s practice or well-being, I
found myself agitated and disturbed in a way which affected
my own meditation as well as other apparently unrelated as­
pects of my behavior. For example, one of the rules was that
we could shower only during two or three set times during the
day so as to minimize the possibility of disturbing other peo­
ple’s meditation. However, I soon found that showers were an
excellent, if only partial antidote to the intense agitation and
dysphoria that I was experiencing. Thus I was certainly not
about to let a minor matter like the disruption of someone
else’s meditation stand between me and my comfort, and so for
the first five or six days I averaged perhaps six showers a day.
However, by about the fifth day my meditation had deepened
to a point where I was more aware of the emotional reactions I
underwent during this transgression. What I eventually no­
ticed that I was doing was minimizing the effects on me of their
imagined discomfort by creating a psychological distance
between us. To do this I found myself creating feelings of
anger, separation, and superiority toward them so that the
discomforts which I imagined them to be experiencing, I could
now justify, defend against, and even feel righteous about. By
the seventh day this process had become too painful and ugly

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

to watch and I was forced to at least partially give up my
attachment to showers and to resign myself to showerless agi­
tation. This devaluation of people who are wronged is consis­
tent with cognitive dissonance theory, which is concerned with
the effects of incongruity between expectation and actuality
(Festinger, 1957; Malmo, 1975). If this process is generalizable,
then it obviously holds widespread implications for under­
standing the dehumanization which occurs with crime and
warfare.

Using the example above, and I could if necessary present
several others also, it has become apparent that greater inner
sensitivity reveals more clearly the multiple yet often subtle
ways in which we harm both ourselves and others by behavior
which is not marked by authenticity and integrity. Further­
more, the reason we act without integrity is to avoid confront­
ing and having to possibly give up our attachments. On the
other hand, if we wish to speed up the meditative process of
increasing concentration, insight, and reducing attachments,
then living with as much integrity as possible will bring us up
against the greatest number of attachments in the shortest
possible time. Although this will, of course, be uncomfortable,
it will afford, if we wish, the opportunity of most speedily
recognizing and letting go attachments and hence progressing
most rapidly. This provides a rationale for many of the ethical
precepts of most of the meditation-yogic traditions and seems
analogous to Don Juan’s concept of impeccability (Castaneda,
1971). It also fits with the hypothesis that the more mentally
healthy person will tend to be motivated by approach rather
than escape and avoidance (Walsh & Shapiro, 1978). Certainly
it is apparent that perceptual sensitivity and integrity are both
mutually interactive rate-limiting factors for this process.

living
with
integrity

BELIEFS

As with psychotherapy (Walsh, 1976), the limitations and
self-fulfilling prophetic nature of beliefs and models again
became apparent. Once again John Lilly’s (1972) statement
proved awesome in its power. “Within the province of the
mind what I believe to be true is true or becomes true within
experimental and experiential limits. These limits are further
beliefs to be transcended. Within the mind there are no limits.”
Usually it has seemed that my beliefs and models of who and
what I am seem to lag behind the changing reality and to be
closer to what I was than what I am now. In areas where there
is growth this can be especially limiting because I then find
myself fighting and dealing with an outdated chimera rather

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

165

than acknowledging the reality that is. Although at the present
time it is very subtle and often at the limits of my perception, at
times when I become aware that I have been operating out of a
model rather than out of the current reality, then I am able to
detect the following: Firstly that my awareness is split with a
major portion fixed on the mental model, some sense of repressing the awareness of the here and nqw^ and a sense of
lessening being and flowing and heightened active “doing” to
match the expectancies of the model.
Another limiting belief, derived in part from my Western
psychological and psychiatric training, is that I cannot change
my mental state—e.g., affect, state of consciousness—without
adequately working through all the intervening determining
psychological material; e.g., if I feel guilty, then it is necessary
to work through the determining factors before I can expect to
feel good again. A mere moment’s consideration will show the
inaccuracy of this assumption, but it’s amazing how often it has
caught me and others.

BEING AND DOING

The theme of allowing and “being” versus “doing” has been
a central and recurrent one for each and every retreat. It
gradually became apparent that the sense of doing actually
represents a form of paranoia, a readiness to correct the on­
going automatic process of being, for fear that it will be inade­
quate or suboptimal. This fear leads to hypervigilant surveil­
lance of both the present and anticipated situations and be­
havior, coupled with an emergency readiness to deal with any
shortcoming of being. We are thus continuously and need­
lessly on emergency alert, derived from a basic pervasive fear
that we will not be sufficient in any moment.

directing
attention
to the stimulus

166

‘ became
most forcefully apparent during
The process of doing
b<
the second retreat, by which time I was attempting to passively
observe as much as possible. However, if any stimulus, of
seemingly greater significance than others came into aware­
ness, then I would immediately cease passive observation and
go through a series of stages of first actively directing my at­
tention towards the stimulus, secondly focussing on it intense­
ly, thirdly attempting to identify it, and fourthly sometimes
to transmute it in some way, e.g., from fear to excitement.
However, by the end of the first week when my mind had
become more sensitive there was an almost continuous stream
of surfacing of “significant” awarenesses. So much so that I
was fatigued and unattracted to working with them and no

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

longer attempted to transmute them. Then with more time I
did not even bother to identify them, next could not even be
bothered focussing on them, and finally could barely raise the
interest to turn my attention towards them. This sequence thus
evaporated in accordance with the sequential loss of the links
of a non-reinforced behavior chain. This fatigue led to an
increased willingness to just be, to just watch, to surrender and
to recognize that I really did not have to do anything with the
contents of awareness. At first this type of trusting was very
difficult, but was necessary out of sheer fatigue, a situation
reminiscent of the spontaneous recovery of some neurotics
who literally wear out their own defenses and themselves. With
time, however, there was an increasing sense of letting go,
surrender, less need to react and to work to change experiences,
and a greater sense of just allowing them to be whatever they
were, e.g., it was ok to be scared rather than having to try to
change it.
One question of both theoretical and practical importance
which comes up repeatedly not only in meditation but in all the
growth disciplines, is whether thought and behavior patterns,
habits, conditioned responses, etc., are ever fully extinguished.
Learning and behavior theory suggests that they follow de­
clining asymptotic curves. My own experience suggests that
the same thing happens in meditahom As a behavior pattern is
eradicated at one level this in turn increases perceptual sensi­
tivity so that one is now more likely to become aware of it
operating at an as yet uneradicated and more subtle level. This
process can recur many times, each in a more subtle, sensitive,
exquisite, and more difficult to detect manner than the time
before.

different
levels of
behavior
patterns

At my next retreat, some five months after the previous one,
it should have been no surprise to me, although it was, to find
myself amazed and astounded at the amount of “doing” that I
was doing. Whether in fact I was actually “doing” more or
whether 1 was simply more sensitive to it, 1 cannot be certain,
though subjectively it felt more like the latter. In any event by
the second or third day of the retreat it was apparent that a
large proportion of my mental time and effort went into an
active, anxious doing attempt to change the mental contents to
fit a variety of predetermined models. Subjectively it seemed
that a percept, thought, feeling, etc., would arise and would
then be immediately anxiously scanned for its threat value and
to determine how well it matched whatever the relevant model
was of the way it and I should be. The most frequent model
was one of an idealized end state, e.g., happy, clear, perspica­
cious, insightful, aware, deeply meditative, etc. Whenever the

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

monitoring
an object
of attention

mental object of attention was found to be lacking in any way,
as surprisingly enough it not infrequently was, then immedi­
ately a whole series of corrective measures would be taken to
try to align it with the model. These corrective measures would
include all the psychological, mental, and meditative man­
euvers that I had learnt over the previous three years, e.g.,
relaxing, letting go, taking the energy up. attentional focussing,
etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseam, all within the space of seconds
or less. If the corrective actions were successful, then they
would tend to diminish, but if not then they would increase in
intensity and there would be a detectable mounting anxiety.
To complicate matters still further these corrective actions
would themselves in turn be contrasted with specific models of
the way they ought to be, judged, and modified in turn so that
there could literally be chain reactions cascading out in all
mental directions until something else became the focus of
attention.
It felt as though the process I was now witnessing was a faster
and more subtle version of the one I had seen in the previous
retreat where I had initially semiconsciously turned my atten­
tion towards and then tried to modify prominent percepts.
Now I was observing the same process at work on larger
numbers of more subtle mental events.

In the midst of this dilemma it felt as though any doing, any
volitional activity, involved an active modification or correc­
tion of what was, and only trapped me more in my own reac­
tivity. This raises the interesting question of whether doing, as
opposed to just being, is always reactive and therefore always
follows some stimulus, and therefore always adds more con­
ditioning and perhaps what might be viewed as karma. This
was certainly the subjective experience and if so would explain
the Buddhist and many other meditative teachings that it is
literally impossible to “do” anything to get oneself out of one’s
mental trap.

“doing
the
right
thing”

168

Similarly my attachment to getting ahead with and speeding
up this process became patently counterproductive. It became
apparent that periods of intense well-being lasting even only a
matter of several seconds, tended to elicit thoughts and con­
comitant anxiety along the lines of “but what if I’m not doing
the right thing?” The right thing was of course that maneuver
which would propel me forwards at the fastest possible rate
and which had to be constantly searched and selected for, a
process which could not continue if I was just sitting feeling
calm, peaceful, and happy.

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

Interestingly enough this achievement need also trapped me
in an endless treadmill. It turned out that one of the little
games I was playing with myself to supposedly speed up my
growth was to retrospectively negatively distort my self-image.
Thus the memories of myself and my behavior that I retaineH
across the years, and even across the duration of a meditation
sitting, were negatively tinged and biased. One of the beliefs
out of which this process sprang was that these negative mem­
ories would prove aversive enough to provide the motivation
to keep me working on myself as intensively as possible. The
only problem with this was that of course I spent years trying to
chase and correct chimeras, and chimeras turn out to be hard
things to improve, especially when all you have to go on are
negative memories of how poorly you dealt with them last
time. In rereading it, this description of the memory distortion
feels rather gross since the process itself was very subtle,
though not without pervasive effects, so subtle in fact that it
was only in the depths of a retreat that I became aware of the
operation of the mechanism at all. It does seem important,
however, since once having recognized the mechanism, I was
able to see how much of my current behavior is motivated by
beliefs about who I have been and hence am. The awareness
that those beliefs were subject to specific detectable distortions
was a powerfully relieving one.
Associated with doing and “doing the right thing” was, of
course, an incredible amount of judging. This thought was
good, that was bad, this feeling was ok, that was not, this
experience really shouldn’t be allowed into awareness, etc., in
an initially continuous and never ending process in which
things, e.g., thoughts, feelings, etc., actually felt good, bad,
right, wrong, etc. with increasing recognition of it, this process
became quite distressing, since it became apparent that I could
do, think, or feel, almost nothing without being subjected to a
barrage of judgmental reactions, and even judgments of judg­
ments. These so clouded my perception as to significantly and
continuously distort it. Now I could understand the words of
Sengstan, the Third Zen Patriarch (Clarke, 1975):

judging

When thought is in bondage, the truth is hidden,
for everything is murky and unclear.
And the burdensome practice ofjudging
brings annoyance and weariness....
Indeed it is due to our choosing to accept or reject
that we do not see the true nature of things.

With increasing mindfulness, however, an interesting change
began to develop in which I became aware of the temporal and

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

169

mental gap between the percept and the judgment. Thus a
thought which originally would have “felt bad” and possibly
ugly and painful was now experienced as “just a thought”
without any particular affect attached to it. Then a small but
detectable time after, there would be a wave of affect corre­
sponding to the nature of the judgment, e.g., distasteful affect
for a negative judgment, but this affect was now no longer
identified with the original percept. The original percept, e.g.,
thought, sight, etc., was just whatever it was, and in another
time and space there was an affect which represented a judg­
ment. With still greater mindfulness and the passage of time,
the strength of these judgments began to diminish and there
was a slight but detectable sense of things just being a little
more “what they are,” rather than being good, bad, etc.
The range and pervasiveness of this judging process is difficult
to convey, but there were times when I felt almost mentally
crippled by the constant checking, limiting, deleting, and pro­
scribing of whole ranges of thoughts and feelings, a process
which formerly had been below the threshold of awareness.

eff°rt
and
achievement

There are several other counterproductive factors involved in
efforting and achievement in meditation. Firstly these motives
seemed to produce agitation and anger, both of which ap­
peared disruptive and reduced sensitivity and insight. In ad­
dition the attempt seemed somehow intrapsychically splitting
since it had the feeling that “part of me is trying to push
another part which the first part doesn’t trust.” The result was a
subtle but significant sense of dissociation in which I felt aware
of the energy, agitation, and sometimes strength and power,
but also somehow felt very superficial as though I was out
of touch with my deeper awareness, a situation which would
follow, I suppose, naturally from the process of separating my­
self from it in order to manipulate it. This seems analogous to
the process of objectification which Bugental (1965; 1976) has
noted to be a common pervasive feature of existential numb­
ing.

If you determine your course
with force or speed,
You miss the way of the law.
The Buddha (Byrom, 1976)

PERCEPTUAL RECOGNITION PROCESS

The perceptual process of recognition, categorization, and
naming or labeling a stimulus seems to be important and
central to a number of psychological processes. The process

170

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

seems to be similar for both internal and external stimuli and
to be multiphasic. To date I have managed to identify the
following components. At the first awareness of the stimulus
there is an arousal and an orientation of attention towards it
coupled with an active attempt to recognize it. When the stim­
ulus is identified, there may sometimes be a sense of relaxa­
tion or alternatively there may be a fraction of a second of what
feels like searching past memories in order to decide how to
respond to it. At this stage more attention is focussed on the
category or label and less on the stimulus itself. This whole
process, however, is markedly susceptible to modification by
meditation and this modification is discussed below. The in­
teresting point is that once the stimulus has been identified and
labeled, then habitually most of the responses to the stimu;
lus-label complex are actually determined by the label rather
than the stimulus per se. Thus, for example, if I experience a
feeling which I label either correctly or incorrectly as fear, then
I will tend to respond to “fear” with all its connotations and
associations rather than to the percept itself, which may be so
mild as to warrant very little reaction or may actually have
been misidentified and not be fear at all. However, if it has
been misidentified, I will continue to react to it as though it
were fear unless I choose to go back and reexperience the
feeling directly.
Interestingly the extent of reaction to the stimulus itself as
opposed to the label seems to be a direct function of the degree
of mindfulness or meditative awareness. If I am mindful, then
T tend to be focussed on the primary sensations themselves, to
label less, and to react to these labels less. For example, there
was a period of about six weeks during which I felt mildly
depressed. I was not incapacitated, but was uncomfortable,
dysphoric and confused about what was happening to me
throughout most of the waking day. However, during daily
meditation this experience and its affective quality changed
markedly. The experience then felt somewhat like being on
sensory overload, with many vague ill-defined somatic sen­
sations and a large number of rapidly appearing and disap­
pearing unclear visual images. However, to my surprise, no­
where could I find stimuli which were actually painful. Rather
there was just a large input of vague stimuli of uncertain
significance and meaning. I would therefore emerge from each
sitting with the recognition that I was actually not experiencing
any pain and feeling considerably better. This is analogous to
Tarthang Tulku’s (1974) statement that “The more you go into
the disturbance—when you really get in there—the emotional
characteristics no longer exist.” It is also reminiscent of the
state of affairs in quantum physics. “Our conception of sub­

labeling
stimuli

becoming
more
mindful
ofprimary
sensations

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

171

stance is only vivid as long as we do not face it. It begins to fade
when we analyze it.. . the solid substance of things is another
illusion” (Commins & Linscott, 1969). Therefore, it may be
that appearances of solidity and stasis in both the inner and
outer universe are merely illusions reflecting the limitations of
our perception.

However, within a very short time I would lapse once more
into my habitual non-mindful state and when I next became
mindful once again I would find that a powerful regression had
occurred. That is, I would find that I had been automatically
labeling the stimulus complex as depression and then reacting
to this label with thoughts and feelings such as “I’m depressed,
I feel awful, what have I done to deserve this?,” etc. A couple
of moments of relaxed mindfulness would be sufficient to
switch the focus back to the primary sensations and the re­
cognition once again that I was actually not experiencing dis­
comfort. This process repeated itself endlessly during each
day. This effect of mindfulness or phenomenology and reactiv­
ity should lend itself to experimental neurophysiological in­
vestigation.

The subjective experience above of the perceptual recognition
process with its initial arousal prior to identification, identifi­
cation and sometimes concomitant relief and relaxation, may
represent the subjective analogue of the psychophysiological
phenomenon called the orientation reaction (for reviews, see
Lynn, 1966; Raskin, 1973; Pribram, 1975; Waters, etal., 1977).

the
orientation
reaction

172

This reaction is important at both behavioral and physiological
levels and has been postulated to be a mechanism media­
ting environmental effects on brain anatomy and chemistry
(Walsh & Cummins, 1975,1976a,b). As described objectively the
orientation reaction consists of a complex of behavioral and
physiological responses which orient the subject to a stimulus
and increase perceptual sensitivity. The reaction is most read­
ily elicited by stimuli which are either novel or of historical
significance to the subject. Sokolov (1960) has proposed a
neural matching model to explain this in which the stimulus
initiates a response in the cortex and this response is then
compared with cortical neural models of previously exper­
ienced stimuli. If the stimulus matches any existing neural
model, then the orientation reaction is blocked, but if no match
exists, i.e., if the stimulus is a novel one, then the reaction
occurs. With repeated presentation of the initially novel stim­
ulus, habituation of the reaction takes place. This would seem
to fit with the subjective experience above inasmuch as the
initial subjective arousal ceased upon recognition.

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

If the arousal prior to recognition is aversive, as indeed it is
sometimes felt, then an interesting situation arises which may
provide the basis for explanations of psychopathologies such
as paranoia and intolerance of ambiguity. It should be noted,
however, that Sokolov’s model does not explain the activation
of the orientation reaction by familiar but significant stimuli
(Lynn, 1966). Thus the finding as described above, that a major
portion of reactivity is in response to cognitive labels rather than
the percepts which elicit them, is especially interesting since it
would provide an explanation of this phenomenon.
In moments of special clarity it has seemed that the £ecognition
(labeling) of a stimulus is followed by an extremely rapid
process, of recalling how I responded to it in the past, and
choosing a current response. It may be that the existence of this
instant of choice represents a crucial demarcation between
different psychological models of man. Skinnerian behavior
modification at one extreme sees responses as merely choice­
less conditioned automaticity. On the other hand, psychologies
which emphasize the importance of cognitive mediating pro­
cesses in determining responses—from several branches of
behavior modification (Mahoney, 1974; Thoresen & Maho­
ney, 1974; Bandura, 1977a,b), all the way through to trans­
personal psychology—recognize and emphasize the existence
of this choice process even though it may normally reside
below perceptual awareness. However, it must be noted that
recognition of this choice process tells us nothing about
whether it itself is merely a conditioned choiceless stimulus­
response chain, but rather merely brings the level of observa­
tion and analysis to a much finer level.

the
stimulus­
response
chain

Subjectively it is clear that habitual interpretation of stimuli
according to expectations, mental set, etc., may lead to misi­
dentification. For example, during the anxiety episodes men­
tioned elsewhere which occurred most commonly while with
someone that I felt very close to, I initially labeled these as due
to a fear of intimacy. Having done this the process generalized
(stimulus generalization) to situations with other people which
I also began to label as fear of intimacy, where in point of fact
as detailed elsewhere, these episodes actually turned out to be
determined by a number of processes, none of them in fact
related to intimacy. The experiences described above all sug­
gest that unconscious labeling and conceptualization is a
highly significant process with far-reaching and pervasive
effects which when performed without mindfulness may cause
a shortcircuiting and misinterpretation of, and loss of contact
with, experience resulting in a limiting automaticity and ster­
eotypy. On the other hand, increasing mindfulness may per-

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

173

manently weaken and disrupt misinterpretation, automaticity
and conditioning. “Any label is entrapping, because labels are
limiting, they are finite, they have suffering connected with
them” (Ram Dass, 1977, p. 114).

FEAR

overinterpreting
and
mis­
labeling

Fear, in one form or another, was a not infrequent experience
especially during the earlier phases. However, during the sec­
ond retreat, the nature of this experience began to change
rather dramatically, and it became apparent that I had been
overinterpreting (misattributing) a number of emotional ex­
periences as fear. For example, after the first few days of the
retreat as my mind became a little more sensitive, it became
apparent that there was a whole range of emotional and so*
matic responses which were automatically mislabeled as fear.
For example, the sudden slamming of a door would elicit a
strong sensation in the abdomen and chest which I initially
assumed to be fear, whereas a closer examination of the sen­
sation revealed it to be an affectively quite neutral arousal
response.
Similarly it became apparent that many of my reactions, e.g.,
fear, sexual, came not out of an accurate identification of the
primary response but rather out of old expectations about the
way I would react. Thus, for example, a stimulus would elicit
the thought-feeling “I should be scared of that,” followed by
an emotional reaction which was initially labeled as fear but
which on closer examination had a different flavor to it and did .
not actually seem to be fear. This seems to represent a specific
example of the post-stimulus recognition choice point which
was discussed above. It also raises, together with the previous
discussion on depression, the question of whether the actual
sensations underlying any emotion are actually inherently
aversive or whether their aversive quality comes purely out of
the labeling and expectations that we ascribe to them.

the
fear
death

174

One of the major recurrent fears has been of what will
happen to me if I continue on this path. This has manifested
in a variety of ways and provides an interesting lesson in
psychodynamics. Fear of death has been especially prevalent,
especially the fear of death of a particular sub-personality or
personality complex, and this is described in more detail
in Part II. It seemed that this basic fear activated a variety
of more superficial ones in ways which interfered with my
meditation. Thus, for example, there was a period of several
days in which I had intense visual and somatic imagery of

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

having my toenails ripped off, a fear which had lain dormant
since an adolescent reading of Nazi tortures. For several days I
was unable to get past this fear until eventually I went into it
deeply and found myself suddenly experiencing terror that if I
continued with the meditation and did not heed the fear I
would die. A similar process occurred with a number of other
fears, and I gained the impression that a part of my personality,
or what would be called ego in Eastern terminology, was liter­
ally fighting for its survival. In doing so it seemed to be acti­
vating other latent fears in a way which would interfere with
the meditative process and therefore presumably abet its sur­
vival. This has also emerged in more subtle ways such as
procrastination, forgetting etc., suggestive of Freud’s (1914)
“psychopathology of everyday life.” For example at one stage
it became very apparent that to be optimally effective the
meditation procedure or mindfulness was going to have to be
continuous throughout the day. I therefore decided to draw up
a plan of how I could best attempt to work towards this. Some
two months later, after almost daily decisions to get it done that
day, I began to suspect that perhaps I might be exhibiting a
little resistance and so decided to do it that hour. Two days
later I felt pretty confident that I had been right about my
resistance since there was still no plan in existence. Having
decided to do it there and then, within minutes I was in the
middle of a full-blown panic attack and watched myself crying
“No, no, please don’t make me do it, I’ll die, don’t make me do
it, please, please.” At times like this the strength of the resis­
tance and defenses against awareness seem remarkably
powerful.

As more and more anxieties were confronted and the feared
catastrophies failed to materialize, there gradually began to
develop a deepening trust in the process. It gradually became
more apparent that fear was certainly not necessarily a reason
to avoid something. Indeed often it served as a useful signal
that here was something which needed looking at and exper­
iencing. In addition it became apparent that there was a certain
pattern to at least some of my fears of meditation. Particularly
clear patterns included the fear of becoming amotivational
without a desire to produce, achieve, or contribute to others.
This would come up especially whenever my striving, con­
trolling, and obsessional defenses were under examination.
Another factor which assisted this increasing trust was the
recognition that any experience could be used as grist for the
growthmill. Certain experiences were not necessarily any more
growth evoking than others, but rather what was important was
the way they were used. This was a recognition of one of the
major Vipassana precepts that it is the process of mindfulness

a deepening
trust
in the
process

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

175

which is important rather than the object, or experience, which
is being observed. This is reminiscent of Rajneesh’s (1975a)
statement that “the only sin is unconsciousness.”

allowing
things
“to betf

With lessening fear and increasing trust came a greater
willingness to allow things to be the way they are. This
transition represents an interesting example of interaction
between meditation and other inputs. Thus my third retreat
was marked by significantly greater “allowing things to be” than
previous ones, and this was almost certainly due to a conver­
sation the day prior to the retreat in which a close friend had
pointed out how much difficulty I had in “allowing things to be
as they were” without worrying, thinking, and planning how to
change them. This retreat was marked by a number of new
experiences which felt secondary to this thematic switch. There
was a considerable increase in feelings of peace and a height­
ened awareness of the incredible number of models 1 have of
how things should be, and the amount of judgment that goes
along with this.

Finally towards the end of the retreat there was a powerful
experiential recognition that I do not have to try to change any
part of my experiential process. All I need to do is to watch it.
The next thought to follow this was the recognition that to
some extent I had misused what I had learned over the previous
three years of therapy and meditation. 1 had taken the skills
and tools and used them to try to more adroitly change and
manipulate my experience. In terms of the approach-avoid­
ance model of health (Walsh & Shapiro, 1978), I had used the
information in order to more skillfully approach and avoid
rather than to transcend this dichotomy.

Paradoxically, allowing an experience to be rather than at­
tempting to change it, seemed to modify it in a beneficial
direction. Thus when a percept which I would formerly have
changed now arose and I allowed it to be as it was, e.g., anxiety,
I would not infrequently have a thought such as “this feeling
can’t be too bad if I don’t have to change it,” and as I did,
some of the aversiveness of the percept would be reduced and I
would feel less need to change it.
Several reactions to this increased allowing became apparent
over the weeks succeeding the retreat. There were occasional
eruptions of self-punitive anger and hatred (see the section on
subpersonalities in Part 11) associated with the idea that I had
given up striving and was thus weak and cowardly.

There was also an episode involving the eruption of a number
of what felt like formerly repressed fears. While sitting quietly

176

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

I began to experience a familiar fear, and rather than resisting
and attempting to change it as I was accustomed to doing, I
just allowed it to be. Shortly thereafter another fear also arose
and I allowed it also to be there. There then followed an
increasingly rapid eruption of fears until I felt myself to be
physically encased in them to the extent that my body felt stiff
and difficult to move, and I had the visual image of being
completely surrounded by them. It also felt as though it was
the allowing which made it possible for them to erupt and,
interestingly enough, also seemed to serve to minimize my
discomfort. For a while I felt surrounded by and physically
encased in the fears, but I also felt remarkably unperturbed
and continued to observe them with only minimal discomfort.
There was also a gradual but perceptible change in behavior
along the lines of reduced worrying about what people would
think of me. This was translated into action as a greater
willingness to say and do what I thought. This is reminiscent
of Rajneesh’s (1975b) assertion that “first change your con­
sciousness and behavior will change automatically.”

the
eruption of
formerly
repressed
fears

The increased allowing also resulted in a greater sense of
congruity between different aspects and levels of being.
Whereas formerly a percept might be created and then judged
and changed, and possibly the judging and changing mech­
anism in turn would be judged and changed, now it felt as
though these formerly disparate and warring factions were
more at peace and more closely aligned. This may be akin to
Rogers’ (1961) concept of self-acceptance and Bugental’s
(1965) concept of authenticity.

SURRENDER

These experiences have led to a greater understanding of and
willingness to surrender to the meditative process. In the West
surrender has connotations of succumbing or being over­
whelmed but here it is employed more in line with its use in the
meditative traditions. Thus with increasing experience I have
begun to surrender to the process in the sense of trusting,
following, and allowing it to unfold without attempting to
change, coerce, or manipulate it and without necessarily re­
quiring prior understanding of what I may be about to go
through or predicting the outcome. Thus, for example, one
of my major fears has been the threat of losing certain psy­
chological and intellectual abilities, e.g., of losing control, in­
tellectual skills, and scientific capacities. This seems reminis­
cent of Fadiman’s (1977) statement that one of the major
barriers to moving on to the next level is always the fear of
losing that which we have.

trusting
the
process

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

177

Thus although I need to make it very clear that this surrender is
far from complete for me, it has come a long way since first
beginning. The experiences which seem to have contributed to
this are as follows. First of all, to the best of my knowledge the
feared catastrophies have not eventuated. Thus, for example,
my intellectual and scientific skills seem to have remained
intact although there has been a shift in the major areas of
interest. In addition, meditation seems to have provided a
range of experiences, insights and developments formerly to­
tally unknown to me. Thus, to expect, demand, and limit that
which is novel to extensions of that which is already known can
prove a major limitation. This is similar to the statement by
both Bugental (1965) and Rajneesh (1975a) that growth is
always a voyage into the unknown. “Freedom has now become
Spinozistic, i.e., the freedom to embrace and love one’s own
destiny ... by the discovery of what and who one is, of one’s
Real Self (a la Horney), and of being eager to surrender to it.
This is to let it control; to choose freely to be determined by it;
this is to transcend the dichotomies ‘freedom versus deter­
minism’ or ‘freedom versus control’ ” (Maslow, 1966. p. 43).
Thus the fear of the unknown has diminished somewhat.

using
each
experience
for
growth

178

Furthermore it now seems clear that allowing experiences to
be as they are, and experiencing them without forcibly trying to
change them, is effective. This is especially true when viewed
with the recognition that any experience can be used for
growth even to the point of perceiving the experience as ne­
cessary and perfect for the process. Indeed, recognizing the
perfection and functionality of each experience appears to be a
highly productive perspective for several reasons. Firstly, it
reduces the deleterious agitation, resistance, and eruption of
defenses and manipulations which occur secondary to judg­
ment and negative perspectives. Secondly, contrary to my
previous beliefs, acceptance, and a nonjudgmental attitude
^towards an experience or situation does not necessarily remove
either the motivation or capacity to deal with it in the most
effective manner^ Thus my prior beliefs were that I needed my
judgments, aversions, and negative reactions in order to power
my motivation to modify the situations and stimuli eliciting
them. It should be noted here that the experience of perfection
is just that, an experience, which may say more about the
psychological state of the individual perceiving it than about
the stimulus per se, and may not necessarily in any way vitiate
the perceiver’s perception of the need to modify it. Finally,
there has been recognition that the great meditation teachers
really knew what they were talking about. Time and time again
I have read descriptions, explanations, and predictions about
meditation, the normal psychological state, the states that arise

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

with more and more meditation, latent capacities, etc., etc.,
and have scoffed and argued against them feeling that they
were just so removed from my prior experiences and beliefs
that they could not possibly be true. However, by now I have
had a variety of experiences which I formerly would have
believed to be impossible and have gained the experiential
background with which to understand more of what is being
taught. Thus 1 now have to acknowledge that these people
know vastly more than I do and that it is certainly worth my
while to pay careful attention to their suggestions. Thus ex­
periential knowledge may be a major limiting factor for intejlecfual understanding of psychological processes and con­
sciousness, and even highly intellectually sophisticated non­
practitioners may show a grossly deficient comprehension and
interpretation of such experiences {Deikman, 1977).

experiential
knowledge
as a
major
factor

It is interesting to note the changes in the nature of the pre­
dominant motivation at different stages of this journey. While
there has obviously always been considerable seeking and
exploring (approach), this seems to have increased with time,
while on the other hand the initial levels of avoidance of
various experiences seem to have decreased. Most recently
there seems to have been some transcendence of this dichot­
omy as I have begun to allow experiences simply to be and not
to do anything to myself or them in response. This is consistent
with the recently proposed hypothesis that the approach:
avoidance ratio provides a measure of psychological health
until it is transcended. At this point the ratio of reactivity to
nonreactivity provides a supplementary measure (Walsh &
Shapiro, 1978).

IDENTIFICATION

Another change which has occurred especially in the second
year has been a sense of less identification with and suscepti­
bility to, inner processes and experiences, e.g., affect, pain.
Thus, for example, the experience of physical pain during
meditation now tends to feel more physically distant, less in­
fluential, and less part of, me. Thus I experience a reduced
susceptibility to the motivational forces of these stimuli and
feel less identified with them. This phenomenon firsf became
apparent shortly after the initial experiences of allowing things
to be. This description of disidentification from, and dimin­
ished influence of, pain is reminiscent of the phenomenology
of pain reduction following narcotics where the pain is de­
scribed as still there but not so worrisome.

disidentification
from
pain

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

179

A further level of disidentification occurred as a result of
adopting the procedure of naming percepts and processes, e.g.,
“thought thought, feeling feeling, pain pain, etc.” The result
was a marked increase in disidentification from the internal
process and this was particularly noticeable with regard to
thoughts. For the first time I now had the experience of my
mind being extraordinarily vast and stretching in all dimen­
sions, and of thoughts passing through this vast space in a
relatively calm and nondisruptive fashion while I merely sat
and watched them. Clearly there was now a nonidentification
with some thoughts with which I would have identified pre­
viously.

disidentification
from
mental
content

180

In the light of these experiences it is interesting to consider the
role of identification in concepts of health and psychology.
Goldstein (1976) has suggested that the degree of disidentifi­
cation from the mind is a measure of psychological health
since disidentification is the primary process for extracting
awareness from the conditioned tyranny of the mind. In addi­
tion, Walsh & Vaughan (1978a,b) have proposed that differing
concepts of identification constitute a major differentiating
factor between transpersonal and traditional Western psy­
chologies. Traditionally the latter have recognized only
identification with external objects and have defined it as a
largely unconscious process in which the individual becomes
like or feels the same as something or someone else (Brenner,
1974). Recent views in transpersonal psychology and a variety
of Eastern psychologies on the other hand, recognize external
identification but state that identification with internal (in­
trapsychic) phenomena and processes is even more important
(Walsh & Vaughan, 1978a). Furthermore they state that this
type of identification goes unrecognized by most people, in­
cluding psychologists, therapists, and behavioral scientists,
because we are so involved in this process, i.e., so identified,
that it never even occurs to us to question that which it seems so
clear that we are. Thus contrary to other Western psychologies,
the transpersonal therapist may hold “disidentification from
mental content” as a major though advanced therapeutic goal.
Since, as described above, reactivity to nonidentified processes
is significantly reduced, this raises the interesting question of
whether nonidentification may be one of the major mechan­
isms underlying the attainment of the so-called free or uncon­
ditioned state. Supposedly in this state of consciousness the
individual is free from all past conditioning (Goleman, 1977).
This difficult to comprehend state is described in a variety of
traditions and so presumably exists as an at least phenomeno­
logically real state.

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

I

f

As I have gradually passed through an increasing number of
barriers over the last few years, there has developed a sense of
increased psychological flexibility and potential. Along with
this there has gradually emerged into awareness an increasing
perception of the power of intentionality. With fewer barriers
to its effectiveness there is a sense that simply intending to
obtain a goal may be sufficient for the mental machinery to
complete the task without additional efforting or strain. Thus
at this stage it is beginning to feel as though one of the major
limitations is the extent to which 1 can be mindful of and clear
in my intention. For example, meditation continues to be
marked more by mindlessness than by concentration and on
first examination it feels as though the problem is simply for­
getting to concentrate. However a more precise examination of
the process suggests that at least some of the time the
“forgetting” may be an active process in which feelings of not
wanting to concentrate and of wanting to direct attention
elsewhere arise, and then I identify with them and at this stage
actually intend to lose the initial focus of concentration.

the
power of
intentionality

An interesting extension of this is contained in the close ex­
amination of experiencing some unpleasant internal state, e.g.,
anxiety, depression. What I usually identify with is the experiencer of the unpleasantness and forget that I am also its
creator. When I try to change the unpleasantness, I some­
times find that I am blocked, and that subliminal (formerly
unconscious) mental maneuvers occur which keep me exactly
where I am until I am forced to the conclusion that I am
experiencing exactly what “I” (and here I mean an “I” identified
with a larger portion of consciousness than simply the experiencer of the unpleasantness) intend. Thus another perspective
from which to view this situation is that I am doing an incred­
ible job of creating exactly the experience that I want to create.

THOUGHTS

During the last retreat I sometimes found myself experiencing
mind as a vast space in which thoughts could be observed to
materialize, move, and disappear. They would first be detect­
able as a physical sensation soon to be accompanied by a
visual image. To the physical sensations would soon be added
an affective tone and then also a body of information. At
my clearest I could watch thoughts materializing into con­
sciousness in the form of a visual image of a bubble arising
from the surface of some invisible material, arcing up into the
mental space, and then if not identified with, diminishing in

watching
thoughts

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

181

size and brightness and disappearing, sometimes back into the
material from which it arose. In some cases bubbles would
begin to form but then would merge back into the invisible
medium from which they appeared without breaking free and
reaching clear awareness. The image of an individual thought
appeared to be composed of two spherical parts of unequal
size and intensity. The largest sphere appeared dull and
amorphous, seemed to be composed of affect, and to be car­
rying a smaller sphere within it. The smaller one appeared
brighter, to be situated within the upper portion of the larger,
and to be composed of a highly compact body of information,
i.e., the cognitive component of the thought.

It seemed that the positionality of the thought in the visual
image was directly related to, and informative of, my degree of
identification with it. Thus thoughts which I was clearly ob­
serving without identification appeared to be in front and to
arise out of and return to unconsciousness below me (here I am
using “me” in the sense of the observer). However if a thought
arose and, after it had appeared, I identified with it, then it
seemed that in a very small fraction of a second my awareness
moved towards and centered in the sphere, and perhaps
especially the brighter information component. Thus I would
suddenly find myself in the middle of and surrounded by a
complex three-dimensional fantasy. On the other hand, if I
gradually became aware that I was already in and identified
with a formerly unrecognized thought, then that thought
would appear from behind and gradually separate from me.

the
relation of
thoughts
to
feelings

The nature of the thoughts which would arise seemed clearly
related to the affect which I was experiencing at that time.
Furthermore both would elicit further thoughts and feelings of
a similar kind. Thus, if I was experiencing anxiety, then anxiety
provoking thoughts would appear and elicit more anxiety in a
self-perpetuating stimulus response chain. In this case the
background affect, which might be very subtle, would com­
prise the “felt meaning between the thoughts” as described by
Welwood (1976) and would function as an “operator” (Glo­
bus, 1977), or context (Erhard, 1977) determining the nature of
thoughts and a perspective from which they were viewed.

What then is a thought? Usually we tend to think of thoughts
as being distinct from emotions but these experiences would
suggest that the demarcation is not so clear. Rather thoughts
appear to be comprised of both informational and affective
components. Subjectively it seemed that the affect acted as an
energizer or carrier wave to power the information component,

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The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

I

or signal wave, into awareness. Certainly at a grosser level it is
clear that affective arousal tends to increase the number of
thoughts, and this carrier wave-signal wave concept provides a
rationale for the meditative approach of reducing desires and
arousal as a means of reaching a thought-free state.
The obvious capacity of thoughts to act as components of
stimulus-response chains raises some extraordinarily interest­
ing questions concerning conditioning and identification. It
seemed that if I was watching as a non-identified observer then
one thought did not necessarily stimulate another. However, if
I did identify with it, then it seemed that there would very
rapidly arise multiple cascades of further thoughts so that I
would rapidly be buried within thoughts and fantasies within
thoughts and fantasies. That is, I would almost immediately be
back again in my multilayered fantasy universe. Thus iden­
tification with a single thought may be all that is necessary to
remove us from the here and now and to initiate stimulus
response chains.
During the brief (seconds at most) formless experiences free
of identifiable thoughts and feelings, another phenomenon
emerged. It seems very difficult to stay in these states appar­
ently because of the mind’s active radar-like searching for
stimuli. At other times when there is no shortage of stimuli the
searching seems to be for specific categories of percepts, e.g.,
threat, fear, etc., but in this state the sought characteristics
seem to be broader, i.e., form or differentiable stimulus of any
type as opposed to the formless. As previously discussed, the
searching process itself appears to generate stimuli and to thus
end the formless or stimulus-free period. This is consistent with
Ram Dass’ (1975) statement that it is ultimately necessary to
give up attachment to all form. Some of these states, as well as
others, may be extraordinarily pleasurable and may give one
the sense of being totally surrounded by, bathed in, and com­
posed of, such feelings as love, compassion, lightness, and
bliss. Indeed, the intensity of these pleasures may far exceed
the range of most nonmeditative experiences.

staying
in
thought-free
states

PERCEPTUAL SENSITIVITY

One of the most fundamental changes has been an increase in
perceptual sensitivity which seems to include both absolute
and discrimination thresholds. Examples of this include both a
more subtle awareness of previously known percepts and novel
identification of previously unrecognized phenomena.

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

183

Sensitivity and clarity frequently seem enhanced following a
meditation sitting or retreat. Thus, for example, at these times
it seems that I can discriminate visual forms and outlines more
clearly. It also feels as though empathy is significantly in­
creased and that I am more aware of other people’s subtle
behaviors, vocal intonations, etc., as well as my own affective
responses to them. The experience feels like having a faint but
discernible veil removed from my eyes, and that the veil is
comprised of hundreds of subtle thoughts and feelings. Each
one of these thoughts and feelings seems to act as a competing
stimulus or “noise” which thus reduces sensitivity to any one
object. Thus after meditation any specific stimulus appears
stronger and clearer, presumably because the signal:noise
ratio is increased. These observations provide a phenomeno­
logical basis and possible perceptual mechanism to explain the
findings that meditators in general tend to exhibit heightened
perceptual sensitivity and empathy (Lesh, 1970; Brown, 1971;
Upudua, 1973; Leung, 1973; Davidson et al., 1976; for a re­
view see Shapiro & Giber, 1978).

enhanced
sensitivity
and
clarity

Visual images during meditation constitute another example.
Visual images go through a process of appearing and then after
a variable period of time disappearing, or rising and passing
away. Thus when an image arises there is the possibility that 1
will become completely lost in and identified with it so that my
experience is of living in the fantasy and experience created by
the image. On the other hand, I may recognize the image for
what it is and be able to watch it without identification or
getting lost in it and forgetting that I am meditating. This
recognition may occur at various stages which seem to come
more rapidly with practice.

visual
images

the
changing
nature

of

experience

184

With increased sensitivity has seemed to come an increased
awareness of the continuously changing nature of experience.
More subtle awareness leads to finer and finer and more and
more rapid discriminations of change within what formerly
seemed to be a static experience. Thus, for example, during the
periods between thoughts the general background of aware­
ness may initially appear uniform and relatively constant, but
with a finer awareness each of the smallest component areas
seems to be in continuous flux. A useful analogy to this might
be the phenomenon of “flicker fusion threshold.” Thus, for
example, when a light is turned on and off more and more
rapidly there comes a point at which the flicker can no longer
be noticed and the flicker fusion threshold at which this occurs
is a function of perceptual sensitivity. Accounts by advanced
meditators suggest that this phenomenon of continuous

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

change ultimately reaches dramatic existentially threatening
levels at which the impermanent nature of all phenomena is
recognized and the individual is left with the realization that
there is nothing which can afford permanent security (Buddhagosa, 1923). This is reminiscent of progress in modern phi­
losophy and physics which now advances a dynamic ontology
of reality as an ever-changing process (Heisenberg, 1958; Ca­
pra, 1975).

This also raises the question of an interesting experiment to
perform with meditators; namely, determining the flicker fu­
sion threshold and tachistoscopic recognition skills at various
stages of meditation and comparing it with that of nonmedi­
tators.

One unexpected demonstration of greater sensitivity has been
the occurrence of the synesthetic perception of thoughts. Syn­
esthesia, or cross modality perception, is the phenomenon in
which stimulation of one sensory modality is perceived in
several, as for example, when sound is seen and felt as well as
heard (Marks, 1975). Following the enhanced perceptual sen­
sitivity which occurred during my prior psychotherapy, I
began to experience this phenomenon not infrequently, sug­
gesting that it may well occur within all of us though usually
below our thresholds (Walsh, 1976). Now during moments of
greater meditative sensitivity I have begun to experience this
cross modality perception with purely mental stimuli, e.g.,
thoughts. Thus, for example, as previously described 1 may
initially experience a thought as a feeling and subsequently
become aware of a visual image before finally recognizing the
more familiar cognitive information components. This mental
synesthetic perception has interesting implications inasmuch as
it lends support to Buddhist psychology which views mind as a
sensory modality analogous to vision and hearing (Buddhagosa, 1923).

the
synesthetic
perception

thoughts

Another novel type of perception seems to have occurred as a
result of a change in meditative technique in which I began the
process of naming mental phenomenon. As previously de­
scribed, this resulted in less identification with thoughts and
feelings, less active focussing of attention on them, and hence a
sense of being further removed from them and less able to
clearly identify their precise nature, e.g., anger, greed, etc.
However, with continued practice I have begun to find myself
gradually but increasingly able to recognize their nature with­
out close focused attention. This has resulted in an increased
recognition of affects, motivations, and subtle defensive ma-

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

185

neuvers and manipulations. Indeed these latter recognitions
seem to now constitute the sensitivity limiting factor since the
discomfort which attends their more frequent perception is
often sufficient to result in a defensive contraction of aware­
ness.

The following hypothesis is experientially derived and highly
tentative but may provide a useful model of growth through
meditation and be open to empirical testing. In both therapy
and meditation it feels as though the greatest potential for
change occurs during the moments of mindfulness. Further­
more, the greater the perceptual sensitivity, the greater is the
range and depth of experience. Thus the rate of growth may be
proportional to the product of perceptual sensitivity and the
proportion of time spent in mindfulness.

OTHER MEDITATIONS

meta­
meditation

All of the previous discussion has concerned insight medita­
tion, but there are two other varieties with which I have ex­
perimented briefly. These are the Buddhist meta-meditation or
loving-kindness meditation, and mantra. Meta-meditation
consists of the repetition of simple phrases such as the follow­
ing.
May I be happy.
May I be free of suffering.
May I be free.
May I be liberated.
As I am happy,
so may all beings be happy, etc.

This can be varied to emphasize family, friends, adversaries,
etc., and is then sometimes used in a progression from those
people for whom you have most affection to those for whom
you have least. For me this meditation has been of varying
effectiveness, but has certainly sometimes resulted in feelings
of intense love. The most outstanding example was when I
used it frequently during a one-week retreat and found it very
effective in eradicating long-standing feelings of resentment
towards a particular person. The technique of generating
feelings of love and then focussing in a hierarchical fashion on
people for whom one feels varying degrees of affection seems
analogous to the behavior modification procedure of syste­
matic desensitization (Hilgard & Bower, 1975; Rimm &
Masters, 1975), except that the state which is being conditioned
is love rather than relaxation. The use of such states may have

186

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1977, Vol. 9, No. 2

, <

considerable implications for the extension of behavior mod­
ification and suggests that the Buddha was familiar with the
principles of this science some two and one half millenia
before its official birth.

The second approach was the use of mantra, a single phrase
repeated for prolonged periods, e.g., days or weeks. For some
two months I attempted to maintain a mantra continuously
during all waking hours. For the first week I used an English
phrase, but found that it felt somehow discordant and so began
using the most common of all mantras, “Om mane padme
hum.”

using a
mantra

To date it has proved extraordinarily difficult to maintain the
repetition and I would guess that I was unable to do this for
more than about five percent of the time. The extent to which I
could maintain the mantra during various activities seemed to
provide a good index of how much attention they commanded
and how lost into them I became. Thus, for example, walking
and driving were relatively easy, whereas reading, writing, and
conversing proved very difficult.
However, even this small five percent proved sufficient to elicit
detectable effects. These seem to be of four major types and to
be mediated by a somewhat larger number of mechanisms.
The first effect was to increase the amount of time in which I
was mindful. This seems to result from prolonging an episode
of mindfulness because of having a clear perceptual focus for
it. In addition, during periods when I became unmindful, the
mantra sometimes continued unattended long enough for me
to recognize it and be reminded.

the
effects of
using a
mantra

A second function seems to be one of attitude change. Thus
while the mantra was going, I was reminded that my intention
was to use this present experience, whatever it might be, in
order to learn and grow, i.e., karma yoga, rather than just to
deal with the situation.
Thirdly, maintaining the mantra seemed to reduce my iden­
tification with, and tendency to get lost in, fantasies and emo­
tional reactions. Maintaining the mantra meant that part of my
awareness and intention must remain consciously focussed
and could not be swallowed up with consequent loss of mind­
fulness and self-awareness, by the emotions and fantasies.
Thus, their ability to motivate and compel was reduced and it
seemed impossible to become completely lost in them while
even a small proportion of awareness was under conscious
control.

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part I

187

9

Finally, the mantra seemed to provide a microcosm of my
relationship with everything else. Thus, there were times when
it sped up, slowed down, I forgot, I forgot again, and barri­
ers to continuing it arose as did all sorts of emotional reactions,
e.g., anger, frustration, embarrassment, etc. Thus, I found myself
having to give up my models of the way it is meant to sound, of
how long it should take to get it going, to let go my frustration,
etc. It thus seems a deceptively simple tool with far reaching
potential and one which I certainly intend to pursue further.
Part II of this discussion is scheduled to appear in the next
volume of the Journal.—Editor.

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INITIAL MEDITATIVE EXPERIENCES:
PART II

Roger N. Walsh
University of California Medical School—Irving
Orange, California
and
Mill Valley, California

Part II of this article concludes the author’s report on his ex­
periences and reflections during and after a series of Vipassana
(insight) meditation retreats. Part 1 of this article appeared in
Volume 9, Number 2 of the Journal—Editor.

I
It is the mind that maketh good or ill
That maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
Edmund Spencer

Mind control is not your birthright. Those who succeed owe their
liberation to perseverance.
Ramana Maharshi

SUBPERSONALITIES

During the meditation retreats, another major unexpected rec­
ognition was the existence of an identifiable subpersonality.
This seems to have evolved from an initially powerful and
integral component of my total personality into a weaker,
dissociated, and partially autonomous subpersonality-an evo­
lution which is still in progress. The recognition of a sub­
personality arose through a powerful self-anger and hatred
with which I judged myself whenever I failed to meet certain

evolution
of a
subpersonality

The author wishes to thank the Foundations Fund for Research in
Psychiatry which supported him with a fellowship during the period
in which this paper was written.

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. ,1

1

I

early
subpersonality
characteristics

standards, and which I also employed to motivate myself to
perform. In my teens I had deliberately cultivated it as an aid
to performance and achievement, and it certainly provided
powerful energy for these purposes. However, during therapy
it became apparent that this subpersonality had become par­
tially autonomous—it was running me as much as I was gov­
erning and utilizing it. This situation manifested itself in a
variety of ways, through overwork and a limited willingness to
allow myself to enjoy daily life. When it first began to erupt in
therapy, I would find myself livid with rage, swearing and
berating myself. At other times I would experience feelings of
an uncertain fearful nature, accompanied by images of being
beaten, mauled, smothered with feces, and stabbed, etc., by a
powerful authority figure. Some months after I had left ther­
apy, it became apparent that these images expressed a conflict
between a punitive component and my remaining personality.

In time, I began to feel less identified with this anger. When it
erupted into awareness during meditation, I found myself able
to watch it, rather than always being caught up in it. Concom­
itantly, the images changed and mirrored this evolution. The
attacker was now a vague, shadowy figure, which in turn be­
came an image of me. Over the months this image became
smaller, less forceful, less sadistic, and even distraught at the
damage it was doing. At the next stage, the image became a
small, black, frightened boy whose black coating readily came
off when rubbed gently.
I

transformation
subpersonality

2

At about this time there suddenly appeared in the images a
huge angel carrying an even larger spear of light. For some
months the angel remained as a silent bystander, who was
simply present while the small devil-boy continued to grow less
offensive and even friendly. Eventually the boy disappeared
from the scene for short intervals, though periodically return­
ing to goad or threaten me. Finally it became apparent that the
devil-boy was going to be absent as much as present, but he
assured me that he would be keeping an eye on me and would
“get me if I got out of hand.” At this stage the angel broke
silence, saying, “You don’t need me anymore,” handed me his
spear and disappeared into the sky leaving me with a feeling of
loneliness and bewilderment. The bewilderment was com­
pounded when a few days later there appeared on the imaginal
horizon a huge body of horsemen representing all the armies
of the world, who galloped up and announced that they were at
my service. More than a little surprised and puzzled, I watched
myself procrastinate, and dismissed them saying that I was not
yet ready to use them, and then, weary from the strain of
psychological processing and responsibility, walked into my
family’s house to play.

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

There followed a gap of some six months, until one meditation
where I deliberately chose to experience the angry personality
again. This time there erupted an image of a small, jet-black,
demonic figure with blazing cat’s eyes who maliciously in­
formed me that it was going to kill me if it was the last thing it
did, and that I was never going to be rid of it. The demon
seemed to epitomize evil, and it remained unchanged until the
thought arose, “That’s me.” In that instant it became apparent
that this figure represented all the aspects of myself which I
judged negatively and wanted to deny. Immediately the role
relationship between the images of the demon and myself
changed and I became the dominant figure. Instantly there
began an imaginal orgy of angry retribution in which I glee­
fully tortured it. Subsequently this image disappeared and to
date has only occasionally returned, and then in fragmentary
fashion. These fragments have suggested that while the process
is not entirely complete, much of the energy tied up in this
system seems to have become functionally available, providing
an increased sense of strength, energy, and will.

t

4

changes
in
available
energy

Paralleling these imagery changes there was an evolution in
the relationship between the angry component and my re­
maining personality. Initially the anger had dominated, in­
structing and berating the total personality—“You hopeless
cretin, what have you done to feel good about? I’m not going to
let you feel happy,” etc. This gradually changed in both tone
and content, from demanding to pleading, and then to a des­
perate entreaty in which it seemed that this subpersonality
was fighting for its very existence—“Please don’t enjoy this. If
you keep on meditating like this, I’ll die. I don’t want to die.
Please don’t.” Meditation itself became terrifying, as did other
growth experiences, since they were all apparently perceived
as ultimately leading to its death. The extent to which this
angry, punitive component was seen as a separate personality
can be judged from the fact that I began referring to it as “he”
and feeling quite compassionate for his terror.

The evolution of this process, which now spans some four
years, has been multidimensional. Projection onto authority
figures has given way to a recognition of them as a part of
myself, followed by a disidentification, with the apparent for­
mation of an autonomous subpersonality. This subpersonality
was initially dominant, but has become weaker, less frequent,
and more subtle. It is less controlling, more fearful, fighting for
its survival. Most recently, this sense of enmity seems to be
decreasing, and is being replaced by acceptance, and even lov­
ing coexistence.

weakening

of

subpersonality

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

3

conceptions

°f

subpersonalities

These experiences raise a number of fascinating questions
regarding the nature and genesis of subpersonalities. A variety
of disciplines have recognized their existence, although they
have been named in different ways. Thus while Assagioli
(1965) named them “subpersonalities,” Jung (1961) labeled
them as “complexes” and Gurdjieff considered them as “sep­
arate and distinct T’s’ ” (Speeth, 1975), and stated that “Man
has no permanent and unchangeable I” (Ouspensky, 1949, p.
59). Lilly (1972), using a computer analogy, considers them
subprograms, while Tart (1975a), using an altered states of
consciousness paradigm, might describe them as “identity
states” and considers them as practically universal, though
unrecognizable by the individual except when trained in
self-observation.
These descriptions raise the question of whether we may not all
have subpersonalities of varying strengths and salience, and
whether there may not be a continuum of subpersonalities,
with clinical cases of multiple personalities representing only
an extreme example. Interestingly, the secondary personality
in these cases usually possesses features which are quite unac­
ceptable to and repressed by the first (Nemiah, 1975). Thus, for
example, in The Three Faces ofEve (Thigpen & Clekley, 1957),
a highly voluptuous and psychopathic Eve Black would peri­
odically erupt out of the very prim and proper Eve White. It is
also characteristic of these cases that the primary personality is
usually unaware of subsequent ones, but the reverse is not true.
Furthermore, there seems to be a rapid all-or-none transition
between personalities as though there were some type of thresh­
old phenomenon operating. Therefore, strong subpersonal­
ities may develop, but awareness of them and their emergence
is strongly repressed until they are sufficiently strong enough to
overwhelm the repression and become, at least temporarily,
dominant. This raises the question of whether dissociation and
repression may represent the essential features for the devel­
opment of subpersonalities.

a
tentative
model

4

The question of how best to conceptualize the nature and
genesis of subpersonalities is a difficult one, but the following
may afford a tentative but heuristically useful model. The
essential feature of the model is its hierarchical organization of
components. These components may be considered to be
“programs” and “metaprograms” if one uses Lilly’s (1972)
analogue for the human biocomputer, or of “behavior habits”
if one uses a social learning theory of behavior modification
(Bandura, 1969). A personality would be constituted by a
higher order component, such as a metaprogram capable of
activating and programming components subordinate to it in
the hierarchy. A program which had either less power or was

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

J

slightly lower in the hierarchy might thus constitute the basis
for a subpersonality, while programs of approximately equal
strength and level, and which exerted a dissociative inhibition
on the other, might constitute the basis for multiple person­
ality.
The process described above, in which an initially power­
ful and sometimes dominant subpersonality weakened and
seemed to feel its survival threatened, might be represented by
a program whose lessening power reduced its influence on
higher levels yet still left it able to function relatively autono­
mously and activate lower programs, such as survival. (It
may be that programs such as this are structured to maintain
their own survival.) Thus the evolution of a subpersonality
may offer an analogue for the evolutionary changes that the
ego as a whole undergoes during meditation. If “ego” is syn­
onymous with “defensive doing” as opposed to simply “being”
(see Walsh, 1977; Globus, 1977, 1978; Walsh & Shapiro, 1978),
then the ego would represent the highest order of defense or
emergency metaprogram.

subpersonality
and
ego

The subpersonality described here as well as the examples of
multiple personality would seem to fit well with the Jungian
“shadow” which represents some of the unacceptable aspects
and components of the psyche. Although clearly incomplete,
the above description does suggest that meditation may speed
the integration of the shadow, a process which is usually
not complete until well into the second half of life (Elkind,
1975).

FATIGUE

*

One of the most clearly marked effects of an intensive medi­
tation retreat shows in altered sleep needs and arousal levels.
Usually for the first two or three days, I find myself feeling
considerable fatigue, but after that there is a dramatic drop in
sleep needs. At this stage usually about four hours suffice, and
even then I sometimes find myself going to sleep simply to
escape awareness. A similar but slower trend towards less sleep
has also been occurring in my daily life and has resulted in the
reduction of some three hours a night over the last three years.
At the same time my response to the experience of fatigue has
also changed. When I first observed fatigue closely, I found
myself reacting with discomfort, agitation, and avoidance. My
fears of sleep deprivation proved to be surprisingly strong, and
included beliefs that I wouldn’t be able to function, couldn’t
concentrate, would lose control and go crazy, and experience
extreme discomfort. While these fears still partially control me,

reduced
sleep
needs

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

5

they are no longer as strong as they were, and my reactions to
fatigue have changed considerably. Now there is less avoid­
ance, agitation, and discomfort, and fatigue is beginning to
feel like just another altered state in which I can learn to
experience and function as in any other state. This is consistent
with studies showing that short sleepers are less prone to worry,
and are less upset by sleep deprivation (Hartmann et al., 1972;
Meddis, 1977).

SPIRITUAL MATERIALISM

“using”
meditative
experiences

Although I have experienced many beneficial effects of medi­
tation, there have also been some deleterious consequences or,
perhaps more precisely, it is obvious that I have at times
misused the process for ego-gratification. Such a misuse is a
commonly recognized trap inherent in all meditation-yogic
traditions and probably in all growth disciplines. It has been
well described by Trungpa (1975) who labels it “spiritual ma­
terialism,” and who states that any and all techniques, exper­
iences, and insights are likely to be used by the ego for defen­
sive purposes wherever possible. Certainly my own experience
would seem to bear this out. I have seen myself—and others
have seen me—using meditative experiences for personal
achievement, social prestige and manipulation, and as a way of
avoiding unpleasant experiences. Most amazing of all is the
rapidity with which a phenomenon may be subverted. Thus,
for example, I may have a valuable insight, and within seconds
find myself scheming how I can best use it for egocentric
purposes. A special variant of this has developed since I began
writing this paper. Now I sometimes find myself judging in­
sights and experiences for their potential literary impact, and
this seems to increase my attachment to “insights,” with a
consequent occasional agitation and disruption of meditation.
Certainly there is always available the potential for “the awful
smell of enlightenment” (Kapleau, 1967), an exaggerated re­
gard for an experience. Thus, meditation is a tool which can be
put to a variety of uses, but the intention of the meditator may
be a prime determinant of the outcome.

IDENTITY

Undoubtedly the most fundamental question raised by the
practice of meditation is that of identity. Most commonly in the
West this question is framed in the form of “Who am I?”,
meaning, what kind of person am I? During the last six months
it has become apparent that intensive meditation raises the
much more fundamental question of “What am I?” Since

6

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

the experiences that arise within meditation are so inconsistent
with the concepts of identity which we usually hold, they call
into question our usually unquestioned beliefs and assump­
tions about who and what we are. The following paragraphs,
then, represent an attempt first to describe some of my exper­
iences and then to examine some of their implications for
different models of man.

The following experiences are described in the order in which
they occurred over a period of some six months, most often
while in meditation retreats. There is no clear progression, nor
is their precise relationship to one another clear.
The first experience occurred during a moment or two of
special clarity in which I was observing—in what 1 thought to
be a non-identified manner—the rising of thoughts. However, 1
suddenly noticed that I was in fact identifying with, and hence
unaware of, certain thoughts, mainly “I” thoughts, e.g., “I’m
not identified with any of these thoughts.” Having seen this
process, I was able to observe without identification at least
some of these “I” thoughts, although obviously I cannot say
what percentage of them, since identification with them
renders them impossible to observe. At this point there was a
moment of heightened clarity, and I saw that “I” thoughts
were somehow differentiated from others; they were somehow
grabbed by and absorbed into consciousness. It seemed as
though the “I” thoughts were recognized as belonging to a
special category and were then somehow grasped and incor­
porated by the awareness which had been watching them. In
the instant of recognizing this, the “I” thoughts ceased to be
differentiated and grasped, and then existed as “just thoughts”
without their former significance. Immediately there followed
a powerful awareness accompanied by intense emotion that
“I” did not exist, and all that existed were “I” thoughts fol­
lowing rapidly one after another. Almost simultaneously the
thought, “My God, there’s no one there!” arose, and my
consciousness reverted back to its accustomed state. It is diffi­
cult to convey the power of these seconds of experience, but it
was sufficient to activate “the awful smell of enlightenment”
and to disrupt my meditation for the next two days.
A further sense of the non-existence of the observer or “I” has
come from attempting to focus awareness on the observer. In
this procedure, concentration on objects, such as the breath, is
developed first, and then turned back on the observer. Due to
the limits of my concentration, my attempts have seldom lasted
more than a few seconds, but the experiences have all been
somewhat similar. Often there is identification with that which
is looking for the observer, the latter apparently having simply

identifying
with
(<I” thoughts

non-existence
the
observer

Initial Meditative Experiences:

Part II

7

switched positions. However, on those occasions when I have
been able to avoid this identification, I have had the experience
of looking into darkness and sensing that there is no one there.

Another, more frequent experience has arisen within the last
few months as a result of a change in technique in which
percepts and mental objects are named (as previously de­
scribed in Part I), e.g., thought thought, anger anger, etc. The
process of naming objects seems to reduce the risk of identi­
fying with them. Thus there have been periods lasting several
minutes in which I have had the experience of being a point in
a vast space constituted by my awareness, in which thoughts,
feelings, and percepts occurred, but which were separate from
and did not necessarily influence me. During and after these
states there is the feeling that what I usually identify with is the
mental content, e.g., thoughts and feelings, and that this “I”
represents a very narrowed, limited, and driven portion of
awareness which has lost sight of that which is much larger.
This progression from lesser to greater awareness seems to
begin with an initial identification with and a failure to recog­
nize thoughts, then a recognition of some thoughts and a
beginning awareness of the space between them which usually
had an affective quality attached to it, and finally a sense of
vast space or context within which these phenomena occur.

interspaces
between
thoughts

These interspaces between thoughts may represent the “tran­
sitive parts” of the stream of consciousness described by
William James (1890). He commented that “The great blunder
to which all schools are liable must be the failure to register
them (transitive parts), and the undue emphasizing of the
more substantive parts of the stream.” These interspaces often
possess an affective quality which may correspond to Welwood’s (1976) “felt meaning,” which he describes as “yet un­
differentiated and unarticulated meaning.” In my experience,
this felt meaning corresponds to emotion, which, as previously
described, is not totally distinct from thought, but rather ap­
pears to lie on one end of a continuum and to possess a high
ratio of affect to information. Both thought and felt meaning
appear to occur within the context of the vast space which may
correspond to the “big, big mind” described by Suzuki Roshi
(1970).

One particularly powerful experience occurred during a med­
itation in which I was having great difficulty extricating my­
self from identification with numerous fantasies. I would real­
ize that I was lost in a fantasy, bring my attention back to the
breath, and then rapidly get lost in yet another fantasy with
which I would stay identified for varying periods of time before
recognizing what was happening, and beginning the cycle

8

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

again. Over the course of a sitting, this process of disidentifi­
cation became more rapid. Eventually there came a point at
which I seemed to be recognizing the fantasies for what they
were almost as soon as they appeared, and I had a sense of
sitting behind them, letting go of one after another at a faster
and faster rate. This process seemed to speed up more and
more until at one instant I found myself looking at what ap­
peared to be another fantasy, and that fantasy was what I
thought 1 was. That is, I felt that my sense of identity—e.g.,
the person, the striver, psychiatrist, writer, worrier, achiever,
player, etc.—was just another fantasy, a creation of mine whose
illusion of continuity and permanence was derived from the
piecing together of salient patterns and behaviors, and that
who I really was was the awareness which had created—and
was now watching—this fantasy. In the next instant there arose
a visual image of a huge sphere of consciousness, on one side of
which was a small mask of a face called “Roger.” “I,” a sphere
of consciousness, was looking at the world through the eyes of
the mask, identifying with the mask, and forgetting everything
else that I was. Immediately there appeared a sense of awe,
followed by two thoughts: “Now I understand what they mean
when they say, ‘You are not who you think you are ’.” And, “I
already am everything I am striving to be—I just don’t recog­
nize it.”

identity
and
disidentification

A somewhat similar image arose during an experience of “big
mind,” as described earlier in Part I. The image was comprised
of a large clear sphere representing a consciousness overlaid by
an incredibly complex superstructure made up of desires,
fears, and anxieties, together with plans, doings, and strivings
aimed at fulfilling the desires. This superstructure was in cease­
less activity and of such incredible complexity that it was
impossible to figure it out or work one’s way out of it, especially
since any effort to modify it only fed more energy into it and so
was self-perpetuating and self-defeating. However, when this
consciousness turned its attention towards itself—towards the
big mind—and withdrew attention from the desires and merely
allowed them to be, then the whole elaborate superstructure
was drained of energy, collapsed, and disappeared. This image
is especially interesting because of Tart’s (1975b) observation
that states of consciousness are maintained and energized by
focussing attention on them.
Assuming that these experiences are, at least, partially valid
sources of information, what do they indicate about identity?
The one thing I am certain of is that I am not who and what 1
thought I was. The following represents an attempt to con­
ceptualize my experiences and current understanding of this
process. Clearly these experiences and concepts lie close to the

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

9

limits of my present perception and understanding and, hence,
must be regarded as highly tentative.

as
mental
content

as
illusion

io

What seems clear is that who I thought I was represented a
product of identification with mental content: that is, I thought
I was my mental content. By identifying myself solely in this
way, I lost sight of the broader context which held this content.
It seems that what I identify with runs me, and it provides the
motivation and the context within which I interpret other
content, determine my reality, and adopt a logic. Thus, iden­
tification with mental content transforms that content into the
context which holds, interprets, attributes, and elicits other
content in a manner which is congruent with and reinforces
this context. For example, if the thought arises, “I’m scared,”
and I observe it as just another thought and do not identify with
it, then it exerts little influence on me. However, if I identify
with it, then the reality at that moment is that I am scared, and
I am likely to identify with a whole series of fearful thoughts
and to interpret any nondescript feelings as fear. Thus iden­
tification sets in train a self-fulfilling prophetic process. The
thought “I’m scared,” when identified with, constitutes a be­
lief, or in behavioral terms, a self-attribution. In the light of
this it is interesting to recall Lilly’s (1972) statement that,
“Within the province of the mind what I believe to be true is
true within experimental and experiential limits.”
It appears then that the two major (and to some extent mu­
tually exclusive) factors determining the sense of who I am
appear to be mindfulness and identification with mental con­
tents. Mindfulness of an experience affords the potential for
disidentification and for reducing context to content, and in so
doing minimizes its motivational influence. Awareness thus
becomes the ultimate context for experience. If the “I” or
observer, which is what I usually think myself to be, is also an
illusion of identification with mental content, then this leaves
only awareness and content and both are effectively devoid of
any “I”; that is, there remains just an impersonal flux of
mental phenomena and the awareness of them. This concept
seems analogous to the Buddhist doctrine of anatta or “not
self,” which states that both awareness and objects of awareness
exist as automatic processes devoid of any “1.” If this is true,
and at this stage I am forced to agree that it probably is, then it
provides an interesting solution to a long unanswered mystery
of neurophysiology. Researchers have been able to follow the
perception-induced train of neural excitation up the sensory
pathways into the brain, but have long been puzzled as to how
the excitation of the brain’s sensory areas is “observed.” Var­
ious types of observing homunculi, “the ghost in the machine”
(Globus, 1977b), have been hypothesized, but none have pro-

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

duced particularly satisfying explanations. Now it would seem
that the subjective experience of the observer is an illusion, and
the question becomes one of explaining the illusion rather than
explaining an observer. Presumably the illusion could be ex­
plained in terms similar to the “flicker-fusion threshold phe­
nomenon” as described in Part I. The extremely rapid frequency I
of thoughts and percepts would produce a fusion effect and the /1
illusion of continuity. Thus, this perception of continuity, (//
when identified with, would constitute the “I.”

In view of the above, it is interesting to speculate that one
definition of ego might be, “That which comes into existence
when consciousness identifies with anything other than itself.”
Since consciousness has the potential to encompass anything
conceivable, it follows that, in identifying with anything other
than consciousness, this potential will be limited. This limita­
tion might include the loss of awareness of the original poten­
tial, the assumption of properties of the mental content with
which it identifies, and control by this content. Thus, for ex­
ample, the thought “I am angry,” if not identified with, might
be merely observed without reaction to it. On the other hand,
with identification, one would, to all intents and purposes be
angry, lose awareness of any part of consciousness which might
remain unidentified and of the potential to disidentify at any
moment, and be powerfully motivated by this anger. The in­
dividual would thus, through identification, have committed
what is described in so many non-Western psychologies as the
primary error, namely, forgetting who he really is and forget­
ting that he forgot.
It is fascinating to speculate on the experience of an individual
who has disidentified from all mental content. Presumably, if
there is no identification, then there can be no dichotomy of
identification:non-identification, or self:non-self. Such a being
would presumably identify self with both nothing and every­
thing. Thus, the process of disidentification may provide a
mechanism which explains a variety of states of consciousness
in which perception is described as nondualistic, and the
individual may feel that he or she is connected with, one with,
or is, the universe. Such states may be the goal of a variety of
meditative disciplines (Goleman, 1977; Wilber, 1977) and are
often described as “higher” states in the sense of Tart’s (1972b)
description of higher states as possessing the potentialities and
functions of “lower” states as well as additional ones.

as
limited
consciousness

disidentification
and
states
Of
consciousness

We are dominated by everything with which our self becomes
identified. We can dominate and control everything from which
we disidentify.
Assagioli, 1965

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

11

As long as we are identified with an object, that is bondage.
Wei Wu Wei, 1970

As awareness becomes focussed on the mental contents in
meditation, identification and constriction of awareness are
reduced and other states of consciousness are experienced. The
sense of identity begins to shift from external to internal fea­
tures of reference, and from more conscious to originally subliminal features of awareness, until ultimately disidentification
is complete and there is no distinction between self and non­
self. Personal meditative experience, plus a variety of medita­
tive texts, suggest that unrecognized beliefs constitute the
operators or algorithms which mediate, instruct, guide, and
maintain the identificatory constriction of awareness. These
beliefs must first be recognized and opened to possible dis­
confirmation in order to allow growth and ultimate transcen­
dence. It may well be that beliefs are adopted as strategic
defensive decisions about who and what we must be in order to
survive and function optimally (see Walsh & Vaughan, 1978).

identification
and
the goals

°f

therapies

If identification represents a fundamental differentiating fea­
ture between traditional Western psychologies and Eastern
and transpersonal orientations, then it is interesting to com­
pare the goals of the respective therapies and growth disci­
plines. In general, the Western therapies aim at changing the
mental content with which we identify. Most commonly this
involves changing negative self-attributions (thoughts) to pos­
itive ones. The Eastern and transpersonal psychologies, on the
other hand, aim to foster self-awareness and to remove iden­
tification with any mental content, positive or negative. This
difference might be conceptualized in terms of first versus
second order change (Watzlawich et al., 1974), content versus
process, or content versus context change. Changing context
automatically leads to changes in content, though the reverse
may not necessarily be true (Erhard, 1977; 1978).

A person in the West, for example, with chronic recurrent
thoughts such as, “I’m just no good, I don’t deserve to feel any
better than this,” would be viewed as having low self-esteem,
poor ego strength, or negative self-attributions, according to
the psychotherapist’s particular discipline. If a psychodynamic
approach were employed, then the therapist might attempt to
determine the genesis of these thoughts. A “reality” approach
would have the client examine their reality, whereas a behav­
ioral approach might attempt to modify thoughts directly by
environmental change, differential reinforcement, and cogni­
tive approaches (Mahoney, 1974; Thoresen & Mahoney, 1974;
Rimm & Masters, 1975). Whatever the approach, the effective
aim would be to reduce the number of such thoughts, to re-

12

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

place them with positive ones, and thus to modify the client’s
belief about what type ofperson he or she is.

An Eastern meditative approach, on the other hand, would
view this problem as only one example of the many types of
identification with which the client would be unwittingly in­
volved. The distinguishing feature of this particular identifi­
cation would be merely that it caused discomfort of clinical
proportions. The meditative approach would involve training
awareness with the aim of disidentifying from all thoughts,
thus resulting not only in a different belief about what type of
person he or she is, but an alteration in the even more funda­
mental perception of what he or she is. A transpersonal psy­
chotherapist, on the other hand, might well employ both
approaches to varying degrees depending on the individual.
We might paraphrase Freud’s classic statement on the aim of
therapy: “Where id was, the ego shall be” as “Where context
(identification) was, there content shall be.” In practice, the
distinction between the use of these two approaches may not
be mutually exclusive, since a variety of meditation teachers
recognize the usefulness and even the desirability of content
changes as a sometimes necessary and facilitating preliminary
to intensive meditative practices (Kennett Roshi, 1975). The
two approaches may facilitate each other, at least in the early
meditative stages, but it would seem that, ultimately, the goals
of meditation extend far beyond and transcend those of tra­
ditional Western psychotherapy. This comparison is starkly
outlined by Wilber (1977) who states that Western therapies
help us prevent the dream from becoming a nightmare, while
the Eastern approaches help us to awaken.

RE-ENTRY

At the completion of a retreat the re-entry into the world may
provide quite an experience in its own right. In my case, for a
day or so I am aware of a heightened sensitivity, and this is
particularly apparent with regard to negative experiences. In­
deed, not infrequently I am dismayed at the amount of pain
and suffering in the world. On more than one occasion, I and
other meditators with me have experienced marked discomfort
during the first week. I can give one graphic illustration of this
sensitivity by describing my reactions and those of a friend to a
movie which we watched twenty-four hours after completing a
retreat. We had decided to view the inflight- movie on our
return flight home and to watch it as mindfully as possible for
half an hour as a type of meditation. However, we were unable
to complete it since this unremarkable police drama left us
both so shaken that by the end of twenty minutes both of us

the
problem of
heightened
sensitivity

Initial Meditative Experiences:

Part II

13

were sweating, unwilling to continue, and felt the need to
meditate to regain our equilibrium. Each picture of aggres­
sion, pain, and tension elicited strongly painful responses in us
which, in addition to being highly uncomfortable, made it
extremely difficult to remain mindful. With this degree of
sensitivity, it is perhaps not surprising that, on another occa­
sion when I left a retreat for one evening, this produced suffi­
cient agitation to require almost a full day of meditation to
return to the calm which I had previously experienced there.
Recently Otis (1978) has suggested that a significant propor­
tion of continuing TM practitioners experience negative
consequences, including anxiety. Perceptual sensitivity might
account for some of this.

hypothesized
re-entry
process

The re-entry process might be hypothesized to occur as fol­
lows. Meditation produces greater calm and perceptual sensi­
tivity, so that on returning to a non-meditative environment
one is effectively sensitized as in sensory deprivation (Walsh &
Greenough, 1976; Walsh, 1978). Formerly habituated stimuli
now elicit unaccustomedly large responses which, especially in
the case of negativity, may reach painful proportions. This
may be especially noticeable with negative stimuli which had
formerly been defended against. Invariably, there seems to be
some sort of asymptotic closing down or reduction of aware­
ness and sensitivity over the next few days which may reflect
both simple habituation as well as more complex mechanisms,
such as defensive repression, reduced concentration, and a
general reduction in mindfulness.

LIMITATIONS OF THIS PAPER

In evaluating any report of this nature it is essential to consider
the general limitations which are inherent in the approach
employed, as well as any limitations which are unique to the
particular project. However, since most of the limitations ap­
pear to be general and are related to the use of an introspectionist approach, they will be considered only in summary
form.

a
summary
methodological
limitations

14

It should be noted that this approach of in-depth phenome­
nological reporting by an individual is not without advantages.
First, it allows an openness to unanticipated phenomena which
is precluded by more objective questionnaire and nomothetic
approaches. This is especially important in view of the finding
that many of the major progressions represent discontinuous
and unanticipated second-order changes. A subjective account
such as this also affords the possibility of a finer sensitivity and

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

analysis of subtle perceptual shifts, for the essence of this
process lies in developing greater sensitivity to more and more
subtle phenomena. It also permits a study of the actual pro­
cesses at work, both moment to moment and long term. The
importance of examining the developmental process cannot be
overemphasized, since even the more sophisticated studies of
abstracted phenomena (Osis et al., 1973) render them static,
devitalized, and devoid of some of their significance. On a
long-term basis, it allows a longitudinal picture of the med­
itative process. Finally, the use of such an approach by
scientifically and clinically trained individuals allows the rec­
ognition and description of clinically relevant and heuristi­
cally valuable processes and potentially empirically testable
implications.

The first and most crucial question concerns the validity of
verbal reports on mental processes. This question is especially
critical in light of a resurgence of anti-introspectionism by
some cognitive psychologists who suggest that we may have
almost no direct access to higher order mental processes. In­
deed, there is no shortage of extreme statements. “It is the
result of thinking, not the process of thinking, that appears
spontaneously in consciousness” (Miller, 1962, p. 56). “Only
the products of cognitive and mental activities are available to
consciousness” (Handler, 1975, p. 245). “The constructive pro­
cesses (of encoding perceptual sensations) themselves never
appear in consciousness, their products do” (Neisser, 1967, p.
301). Nisbett and Wilson (1977, p. 231) conclude,

the
validity

of
verbal
reports

°f

mental
processes

There may be little or no direct introspective access to higher order
cognitive processes. ... It is proposed that when people attempt
to report on their cognitive processes, that is, on the processes med­
iating the effects of a stimulus on a response, they do not do so on
the basis of any true introspection. Indeed their reports are based
on a priori, implicit causal theories, or judgments about the extent
to which a particular stimulus is a plausible cause of a given
response. This suggests that though people may not be able to
observe directly their cognitive processes, they will sometimes be
able to report accurately about them. Accurate reports will occur
when influential stimuli are salient and are plausible causes of the
responses they produce, and will not occur when stimuli are not
salient or are not plausible causes.
On first sight this view seems to represent a serious, even
crippling, challenge to the investigation of phenomenology in
general, and meditative phenomenology in particular. How­
ever, closer examination suggests that the meditative exper­
iences reported in the present paper are actually in close
agreement with the conclusions of cognitive psychologists. In

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

15

addition they point to another possibility and solution to this
problem, namely, they agree that access to mental processes is
usually extremely poor and that the poverty and distortion of
this access is rarely recognized. However, they add to this a
strong suggestion that introspective sensitivity and validity
may be enhanced by training (long and arduous though this
may be) to levels not only unrecognized, but even unsuspected,
by Western psychology. An excellent example of this is the
superb cognitive psychological analysis by Dan Brown (1977,
1978) of the levels of concentrative meditation described in the
Tibetan Mahamudra tradition. This possibility holds an impli­
cation of the greatest importance for cognitive psychology:
the use of highly trained meditators as experimental subjects
might provide a wealth of formerly inaccessible information.
Assuming, then, that introspective data have some validity as a
source of knowledge, the factors which might limit this validity
can be listed under the headings of distortion of experience,
the limitations of memory, communication and generalization,
and of underestimating the effects of other interventions.

influence

expectation
dnd
belief

Of the factors which limit the validity of the phenomenology
itself, the strongest might well be expectation and belief
(Smith, 1975). These are powerful influences on any percep­
tual process and might therefore be expected to exert a sig­
nificant influence on the process of introspection, even when
that introspection is highly trained, as it is in meditation. In
light of this, I should mention that I did very little reading on
meditation during the first eighteen months of practice, and so
my expectations and beliefs, based on reading, were mini­
mized during this period. Other possible distorting influences
include the Rosenthal Effect (the expectations of others), and
the self-conscious production of certain experiences to gratify
ego needs. Also, the degree of conviction which accompanies
an experience or belief is not necessarily a guide to its validity.
The nature of the visual imagery which forms the basis for
some of the phenomenological part of this report deserves a
brief mention. These images often seem to be exquisitely
compact and detailed representations and projections of un­
derlying mental contents, and are typical of autosymbolic
phenomena (for a review, see Schacter, 1976). Some visual
images, as reported by Zen meditators, are said to represent a
hindrance to meditation (Kapleau, 1967; Deikman, 1977), but
their status and degree of importance remain uncertain. It may
well be that the attitude of the meditator is most important in
determining the outcome of this phenomenon. It certainly
seems reasonable that believing the images to be real in and of

16

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

themselves, becoming overly fascinated by them, or being out
of touch with the cognitive affective state which projects them,
could render them a hindrance to progress.
Another limiting factor is that of memory. Presumably, selec­
tive memory must operate, and this might be of two kinds:
first, the category or nature of information which is remem­
bered, and second, limitations of state-dependent memory.
Subjectively, the things which are most easily remembered
are phenomena which can be readily labeled, such as ideas,
insights, and strong affects. On the other hand, nondiscrete
and subliminal affect appears most difficult to remember. It is
also apparent that there is limited recall across meditative
states, and it is not uncommon to desire to memorize some­
thing while in a deep state, be unable to recall it during the
nonmeditative state, and then to remember it during the next
deep meditation. Subjectively, it seems that what is most easily
recalled is that which is most readily labeled.
Communication also presents certain limitations, and what
gets communicated is that which is most easy to communicate.
Those things which can be most readily labeled, such as the
cognitive aspects of the experience, are emphasized, while the
flavor of more subtle, affective experiences may be lost. Lan­
guage also plays a role. By comparison with some languages
(e.g., Pali), English is very poorly developed for the commu­
nication of inner experience (Tart, 1975a). This comment may
illustrate the tenets of linguistic relativism: we create our lan­
guage, and then our language creates us. This means that the
paucity of language would tend to reduce the development of
experiential sensitivity in the population. “We dissect nature
along lines laid down by our native language” (Whorf, 1956, p.
213). Another major concern is that the states which medita­
tion seeks are beyond verbal description, a claim that is made
in numerous spiritual disciplines (Rajneesh, 1975b; Cole­
man, 1977).

limitations

of
memory

limitations

°f

communication

The receiver of the communication on the other hand may also
be limited by state dependency (the limits of state-dependent
communication have been well described by Tart, 1972a, b). In
addition, communication may be further limited if the receiver
has no personal experience of the phenomena being described.
The problems imposed by attempting to generalize the exper­
iences of one subject are so obvious that they need no elab­
oration. On the other hand, single case studies are now
recognized as an essential aspect of procedure in clinical psy­
chology and psychiatry (Davidson & Costello, 1969; Barlow &

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

17

influences

of

idiographic
and
nomothetic
approaches

Hersen, 1973; Hersen & Barlow, 1976). The decades-old de­
bate on the appropriateness for psychology of idiography (in­
tensive investigation of, and attempts to understand, the indi­
vidual) versus nomothesis (investigation arrived at determin­
ing general principles), still continues (Marceil, 1977). The
implications of this debate include not only the appropriate­
ness of different experimental approaches but touch on the
very nature of man. As the distinguished psychologist Gordon
Allport spent much of his life pointing out, our models of man
influence perceptions and the type of scientific evidence that is
gathered, in a self-reinforcing fashion (Allport, 1940, 1943). If
we are not to commit the cardinal sin of avoiding “the first
obligation of science (which) is to confront all of reality”
(Wirth, 1966), then it is clear that for a full examination of
meditation we need some form of synthesis of both the idio­
graphic and nomothetic.
Idiography cannot do it alone. It must have a preceding ground­
work by nomothesis. It is from the integrated use of the two
methods that we will make progress.
Beck, 1953, p. 359

The history of science is rich in the example of the fruitfulness of
bringing two sets of techniques, two sets of ideas, developed in
separate contexts for the pursuit of new truth, into touch with each
other.
Oppenheimer, 1954, p. 96

Indeed, the exploration of subjective experience may well be­
come more central to Western psychology in light of recent
trends, for example, the tendency to view the time-honored
split between subjective and objective as reflecting different
levels of a continuous hierarchy, rather than as a dichotomy.
Similarly, general systems theory suggests that conscious ex­
perience may represent a higher order emergent property or
system property of brain which might function as an active
causal determinant of neural function (Sperry, 1976, 1977).
Only further, intensive individual studies of subjective ex­
perience such as this, though more carefully controlled, plus
objective studies of the implications that arise from them, will
provide a firm empirical foundation for this area.
additional
limitations

18

Another difficulty with a report of this nature is that it tends to
emphasize progress and probably fails to convey a sense of
the vastness of the conditioning, automaticity, fantasies, and
mindlessness with which it is necessary to cope continuously.
In addition, it underestimates the impact of the many other
inputs which tend to accompany a meditative life style. These
include selective social groups, the adoption of advanced

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

practitioners as models, a variety of growth-oriented exercises
and workshops, and related reading. These seem to operate in
a continuously interactive and often synergistic fashion. Thus,
for example, an insight gained in meditation may render a
formerly incomprehensible teaching understandable, which
in turn may provide more motivation to meditate. Thus, it is
impossible to partial out the effects of any one component,
although it should be noted that this is an acceptable and often
necessary initial stage when a new field of investigation is
being opened (Maslow, 1966; Walsh, 1978b).

CONCLUSIONS

In view of the limitations discussed above, it may be necessary
to accept some of these conclusions with caution, but it seems
possible to make the following brief statements based on the
phenomena described in this paper.

If limited to a brief period each day, meditation is a slow but
cumulative process whose effects are largely subliminal at first.
However, with intensive practice, as in a retreat, the effects
may be extraordinarily powerful.

meditation
is a
cumulative
process

The effects, which initially occur with brief daily meditation,
appear not so much as de novo experiences, but rather as a
gradually deepening awareness of formerly subliminal pro­
cesses.
Initially, concentration is surprisingly limited, but trainable.
William James (1962) stated at the turn of the century that
concentration was limited to three or four seconds at the max­
imum, and Western psychology has more or less accepted this.

The extent to which consciousness is normally occupied by
fantasy is enormous. That this gross encroachment on aware­
ness has gone largely unnoticed, for example, by behavioral
scientists, represents a significant hiatus in Western psycho­
logy. Meditation tends to reduce the amount of this fantasy,
and initial fantasy-free episodes may elicit feelings of strange­
ness, unreality, and discomfort. Reduction in the amount of
fantasy, therefore, may reduce the sense of separation from
others. It may be impossible to think or work one’s way out of
these fantasies and, in fact, such attempts may even exacerbate
them. However, withdrawing attention from them and concentratedly fixing the mind on a neutral object may collapse
them.

fantasy
encroaches
on awareness

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

19

perceptual
sensitivity
may be
developed

It seems possible to develop perceptual sensitivity to limits far
exceeding usually accepted norms; for example,
—Synthesia across traditional sensory modalities may de­
velop fairly rapidly, and, contrary to traditional assump­
tions, may be a widespread, but usually subliminal phe­
nomenon.
—Synthesia may also occur with thoughts, and individual
thoughts may be seen in the form of visual imagery and as
tactile sensation.
— Increasing perceptual sensitivity results in an awareness
of the constant flux of changing perceptions.
—Mindfulness applied to judgments may result in the af­
fective charge being recognized as separate from and fol­
lowing the percept which is judged, so that the percept
itself may appear affectively neutral.
During the initial stages of intensive meditative practice, hal­
lucinations of a presumably hypnagogic nature may reach
psychotic proportions whenever the eyes are closed, and this
state may persist for several days. This phenomenon lends
support to Coleman’s (1976) concept of global desensitization
as one mediating mechanism for meditative effects. The in­
duction of specific states and affects, e.g., love, may be used
effectively for counterconditioning.

Attachments appear to at least partially determine the amount
to which specific stimuli emerge into awareness. They also
appear to produce a kind of stimulus boundness and to re­
duce mental flexibility. Intellectual analysis and the need
(attachment) to “understand” experiences tend to result in
manipulation and disruption of the flow of the stream of con­
sciousness.
Fear of, and resistance to, a certain type of experience may
effectively sensitize, exacerbate, and perpetuate it, whereas a
willingness to allow the experience to be, may result in desen­
sitization.

The sense of doing, as opposed to simply being, may be the
result of a vigilant readiness to correct the ongoing experien­
tial-behavioral process. Such doing may set in motion chains
of reactive mental events which may in turn become the stim­
uli for further reactive attempts at correction. It may well be
impossible to do anything other than be aware in order to
extricate oneself from this process.
Efforting, or striving for achievement, may elicit a variety of
counterproductive reactions including agitation, constricting
models of what is right, and judgment.

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The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

Labeling an experience tends to result in reacting to the label
and its connotations rather than to the experience itself. This
process may be inversely proportional to the degree of mind­
fulness.

Emotions, when closely examined, may be found to be com­
posed of stimuli which are largely or totally devoid of affective
quality. For example, under customary conditions of mind­
fulness and perceptual sensitivity, responses to stimuli may be
misinterpreted, and this misinterpretation may tend to be in
the direction of one’s expectations; e.g., a nonaffective arousal
reaction may be interpreted as fear.
The mind may function in a radar-like fashion searching for
stimuli of a predetermined type. This perceptual set may result
in a number of false positives, an example of the saying that
“The mind finds what it looks for” (Rajneesh, 1975). Where
the stimulus being sought is an emotion, then the reaction to
finding one may be a response to the same type of emotion.
Thus, for example, if the mind is searching for fear, then the
response to a positive finding, be it true or false, may be more
fear, thus setting up a self-sustaining positive feedback loop.
This may account in part for the relatively prolonged persis­
tence of affects independent of external simuli.

the
mind
may
function
like
radar

The perspective or attribution that each experience is func­
tional and perfect for growth and learning appears to be a
highly effective strategy, and contrary to popular expectation
does not necessarily result in deficiencies of motivation.
Allowing the meditative process and experiences to be as they
are, and to unfold naturally without attempting to change them,
may result in desensitization of charged mental contents, sur­
render to the process, and greater congruity and alignment
between different levels of consciousness.
Thoughts appear to be composed of both informational (cog­
nitive) and affective components combined in a manner anal­
ogous to the signal and carrier waves of radio transmission.
The demarcation between thoughts and feelings is not as clear
as it initially seems.

The evolution and dissociation of a subpersonality may corre­
spond to the Jungian “shadow.” As this subpersonality weak­
ens and loses effectiveness, it appears to activate survival
programs.
Intensive meditation appears to produce marked reductions in
sleep needs and affords the opportunity for the recognition of
aversive responses to fatigue.

»*

Initial Meditative Experiences:

Part II

21

Lack of experiential knowledge may represent a major unrec­
ognized limiting factor for the intellectual understanding of
psychological processes and consciousness. Thus, accounts of
meditative experiences, insights, and processes may be in­
comprehensible to one who has had no such experiences.
Intellectual understanding may be essentially inadequate for a
comprehension of the range and processes of consciousness.
The inner universe may not only be more than we think, it may
be more than we can think.

what
is
sought
will
probably
be
found

The mind seems capable of creating an infinite amount of
“relevant” mental content in response to any search for such
content. This has important implications for psychodynamic
theories and therapies, since any causative factor which is
actively sought—e.g., sexual libido, power, striving—will prob­
ably be found. Such findings have an obviously limited valid­
ity for support of psychodynamic theories. Because of this, it
may be that meditation, which does not seek any specific
mental content, may be inherently less productive of artifactual material. It also supports the Zen concept of continually
going beyond the current content, rather than getting caught
up in and attached to it.

Our “normal” state of consciousness may actually represent a
defensively contracted state in which awareness of the con­
traction and uncontracted potential are forgotten.
The process of judging and evaluating is extremely pervasive
and gives an affective quality to the percepts being judged.
This judging may hinder the meditative process.

The heightened perceptual sensitivity which occurs with med­
itation may be due to reduced neural and phenomenological
“noise,” thus raising the signal:noise ratio. As sensitivity in­
creases, what was “noise” at one level of sensitivity may be­
come comprehensible as “signal” at another. This raises the
interesting question of whether there is in fact such a thing as
noise, or whether all experience represents subliminal signals.
Deepening relaxation may be associated with reduced per­
ceptual noise. This, and the resultant signal:noise ratio,
may be the basis for the heightened perceptual sensitivity
which occurs. The amplitude and variability of this noise may
perhaps provide an index of neural activity and be used as a
self-guiding neurocybernetic feedback signal for deepening
relaxation.

*»
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The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

I

Wronging others may result in their being negatively evalu­
ated in a way which reduces feelings of guilt and cognitive
dissonance. These negative evaluations may be accompanied
by a variety of processes which impair meditation and distort
perception. This cognitive dissonance and resultant psycho­
logical perturbations provide a rationale for the high emphasis
placed on ethical behavior and “purification” in all medita­
tive-yogic disciplines, and allow an understanding of the ten­
dency to dehumanize and see as less than fully human those we
victimize.
Perceptual sensitivity and ethical behavior appear to be mu­
tually limiting factors for meditation. Increasing one seems to
increase the other in a positive feedback manner. Cognitive
models and expectancies may impair meditation, constrict
awareness, and lead to judgment and all its complications.

Mantra appears to be an effective tool for increasing the amount
of mindfulness in daily activities.
Re-entry into daily life after an intensive meditation retreat
may be a traumatic and labile experience, apparently due to a
partially transient hypersensitivity to normal daily levels of
sensory input.

*
•<
*

The outcome of meditation may depend at least partially on
the intentions of the practitioner, and it is certainly possible to
misuse meditation for egocentric purposes.

One of the major mechanisms mediating the effects of medi­
tation may be a disidentification from mental content. Iden­
tification appears to transform mental content into the con­
text from which other mental content is viewed, and to then
set in train a self-perpetuating and self-fulfilling process.
Identification with mental content may thus reduce awareness.
In addition to the question of who am I, meditative exper­
iences raise the much more fundamental question of what am
I, and it appears that our traditional identities are derived from
unconscious identification with mental content. A variety of
experiences suggest that the concept of an observer watching
the experience is an illusion, and that both awareness and
mental contents are devoid of any T,” that is, they are imper­
sonal phenomena. It may be that the observer arises as a
product of identification with “I” thoughts, and that total dis­
identification would result in transcendence of the me:not-me
dichotomy. The absence of an observer removes a classic
problem of neurophysiology, the inability to explain the neural

the
observer
may be
an illusion

» 1

Initial Meditative Experiences: Part II

23

nature of the observer. The flicker-fusion phenomenon may
represent a possible mechanism accounting for the illusion of
continuity of an observer.

identification
demarcates
Western
and
Eastern
psychologies

The recognition of the extent of identification represents a
major demarcating feature between traditional Western psy­
chologies and those of the East and transpersonal psychologies.
In the West the recognition of identification has traditionally
been limited to external phenomena, while the Eastern and
transpersonal orientations emphasize identification with men­
tal content as well as external phenomena.

Certain current limitations of Western psychology and psy­
chiatry reflect the use of normal, but by comparison with
meditative experiences, superficial, awareness of mental phe­
nomena which leads to an illusory misinterpretation of men­
tal processes. For example, Western behaviorism finds it
impossible to explain such conditions as paranoia and obses­
sive-compulsive neurosis, since they apparently run counter to
learning and reinforcement theory. However, a more discrete
and finer analysis of mental processes, as allowed by medita­
tion, shows that typical descriptions of pathological mental
processes are, in at least some cases, erroneous, and a more
adequate description may render these conditions explicable.
The laws of consciousness may be different from those of the
physical universe. For example, efforting and striving may be
effective in the world, yet quite counterproductive in the mind.
The range and depth of experiences and states of con­
sciousness during meditation may far exceed those of un­
trained awareness and span the entire spectrum from pain to
bliss. Though often uncomfortable, these states can at times
confer such remarkable richness, depth, sensitivity, insight,
and bliss to awareness, even while not practicing, that medi­
tation may prove an inherently beautiful and rewarding
process.

as
research
paradigm
meditation
has
advantages
and
disadvantages

4*

The use of meditation by scientifically and psychologically
trained participant-experimenters as a research paradigm has
both advantages and disadvantages. However, it does have a
potential for providing unique insights into a number of psy­
chological processes which traditional methods have not been
able to approach. If extended to include larger numbers of
subjects, tighter controls, and empirical testing of hypothesized
implications, the use of meditation may well prove an inval­
uable compliment to traditional paradigms. Certainly it is
capable of providing testable hypotheses which are open to
J 4

24

The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1978, Vol. 10, No. 1

4

disconfirmation, and this is the procedure by which science is
advanced (Popper, 1972).
The reliability, validity, and generality of the principles enu­
merated throughout this paper are as yet unknown, but most
are open to testing. Hopefully, in the not too distant future,
more precise descriptions employing groups of subjects, will
expand far beyond the limits of this account. However, if this
paper spurs the production of these more advanced reports, it
will have served its function as the preliminary testing and
reporting of a novel—but perhaps essential—experimental
paradigm. In addition to being only a beginning from a scien­
tific perspective, the same seems true for me personally, since
the more I learn, the more I sense that what I and many of us
have assumed ourselves to be, represents but the merest
glimpse of our true nature.

a
scientific
and
personal
beginning

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1

Communications with the author may be addressed to: Psychiatry
Dept., Univ. Calif. Medical School—Irvine, 101 City Dr. South,
Orange, CA 92668.

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