Rising… Falling…Appearing...Disappearing

Last Sunday, after meditation, I attended a Dharma talk. Ajarn Bryan spoke about mindfulness, awareness, right effort, and hindrances. One point stayed with me: without awareness, I may recognize a hindrance and still remain trapped in it. Awareness is not just noticing. It’s seeing clearly enough not to be carried away.

During meditation, I focused on the breath, rising & falling, to stop my mind from wandering. The moment I try to observe it, I begin to control it. The breath becomes stiff and forced. My conscious mind grabs the steering wheel. It feels like I’m fighting against something that has always functioned perfectly on its own.

Perhaps my brain, with its survival instincts, hijacks the rhythm back. After all, breathing is not something I truly manage. It manages itself. When I try to hold control for too long, something resets. My body knows how to breathe. My system knows how to survive.

So the question becomes: how do I observe the breath without controlling it?

This feels like a meditation paradox. If I try not to control, that effort becomes another form of control. If I force myself to relax, I’m still forcing. It’s still control, just in a subtler way.

Maybe the answer isn’t in winning a tug-of-war between mind and body. Maybe mindfulness isn’t about taking charge. Maybe it’s about leaning back and just paying attention. Instead of fighting the impulse to control, I can notice the impulse itself: “Ah, here’s the urge to adjust.” And then let it be.

There’s something subtle here: the habit I bring into meditation is the same habit I carry into daily life - the impulse to shape reality to fit my goals. In meditation, I stop controlling my schedule and start controlling my breath. The object changes, but the habit remains.

Why does my mind believe it’s better to control than to let the body lead? Is there fear underneath? Fear that if I don’t manage the process, I’ll drift into distraction. Fear that nothing will happen. Fear of letting go.

Can I trust my body to breathe and awareness to know, without constant supervision?

Last week I reflected on equanimity, the last factor of awakening. Perhaps equanimity here means being able to watch the mind attempt to control, watch it fail, and not become frustrated. To stay steady, even as the part of me that wants to control rises and falls, just like the breath.

Today a yoga teacher asked the class, “What is your truth right now?” I’m still pondering this. In the context of mindfulness, truth may not be a fixed anchor. It may be the willingness to see clearly what’s happening in this moment.

My truth right now is that I have a strong habit of analyzing and overthinking my life. I examine everything. I dissect experiences. But perhaps what I need is not more analysis. It’s observation! Not solving, but seeing.

The ultimate truth I see in meditation is impermanence. The breath changes. The impulse to control changes. Even the controller is not solid. Rising… falling… appearing… disappearing...

Maybe my truth is simply this: everything is moving and changing. And I am learning, slowly, to watch it move without trying to own it.

What is your truth right now?

Buddha Image with sun rising behind