Meditation is like a controlled burn that lowers the risk of wildfires

Ever heard of a controlled burn? It’s when forestry managers set small fires in forests to clear out leaves and undergrowth that would eventually lead to massive, out of control wildfires.

Native Americans performed them for thousands of years before colonization, and there’s almost always one burning somewhere in the U.S., usually out west.

Controlled burns fight fire with fire. And so does meditation.

All of us develop beliefs, habits, and aspects of our identity due to conditioning — our experiences, the way we were brought up, how society’s powerful treat our gender or skin color. We spend most of our days telling ourselves stories based on this conditioning, replaying the past or planning the future in our minds.

I spent the first ten minutes of my meditation this morning replaying an awkward but meaningless situation that happened at a political campaign meeting last night. A toddler I didn’t know got upset because I picked up a chair she had laid on the floor. Did I mess up? Does her mom think I hurt her? Am I bad with kids?

Our collection of beliefs, habits, and stories about ourselves suffocates our natural ability as human beings to be present and open. It leads us to believe — and even defend — a limited version of ourselves, an identity. I’m a nice person. I’m a man — I drive a Ford F250 with big wheels. I’m so spiritual.

The more we’re invested in defending our identity, the more we judge others who are different. That transgender snowflake just needs to man up.

We usually don’t see our identities as narrow and limited until a crisis hits — until the fire really burns. We might get arrested for a DUI, lose someone close, get fired, or worse. Some skirt through life rarely having to face their limitations, particularly those with more privilege. In his Supreme Court nomination testimony, Brett Kavanaugh came off like a wealthy, white man who had never heard “no” before.

In our lowest moments, which eventually happen to all of us, our identity is no longer enough. In fact, we learn that our beliefs and habits actually contributed to the crisis — made the fire burn much bigger than it should have. Getting drunk isn’t the most healthy way to deal with a broken heart, especially if alcohol was how we escaped having the tough conversations the relationship needed to stay alive.

But meditation can help — in fact, that’s what it’s meant for. Like a controlled burn, it reduces the heat and volatility of life’s inevitable fires. In a controlled environment, sitting, walking, or lying down, it removes our distractions, forcing us, in a small way, to simply feel our emotions — fear, anger, desire, happiness, etc. — instead of leaning on our habits and beliefs to escape them.

This morning I noted that even when I know I’ve done nothing wrong, I often still worry whether I come off as a nice guy. There’s nothing wrong with that, but seeing and naming it as a habit that contributes to my identity is useful information. It’s underbrush that I could do without when it comes to relationships with much higher stakes.

With the underbrush gone, or at least diminished, we have more access to presence and openness, more room to breathe. Instead of believing the stories in our heads, which often limit ourselves and rely on judgements about others, we have the space to be compassionate to ourselves and intimate with others. Twenty or thirty minutes of meditation a day gives us space and time for all that stuff that really matters.

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