A week ago, I attended a meditation intensive. It was held in a cozy hall within a loft space only a couple miles from the tallest building in North America. I did not sit cross-legged in the shadows of a volcano in Costa Rica or next to a shrine in Gujarat. I know that deep meditation doesn’t require a passport or going on a seven-day fast. Oddly enough, it seems that sinking into the space of timelessness only requires TIME. And when you’re a busy 21st century sort of person, this kind of time seems hard to find.

From eight in the morning until almost six in the evening, I listened to some lectures, saw a video montage of spiritual masters who graced the planet last century, and chanted. I don’t know if I could describe to someone what I did for 10 hours. It probably would seem like I could not have filled 10 hours this way. Mostly, I SAT. I sat and I breathed. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? I could have cleaned my refrigerator or worked on organizing my taxes, or took in that new Phillip Seymour Hoffman movie. Somehow, I thought of the old line, “Don’t just sit there. Do something.” And here I was deliberating avoiding DOING anything except sitting. With my eyes closed, silently repeating a mantra to myself; periodically drawing my attention to the automatic in and out flow of my breath.

I didn’t have cataclysmic visions while my virtual Do Not Disturb sign hung on my forehead. But I was aware of odd and seemingly random thoughts passing through me. They filled me with emotion even though I could not interpret their meaning with much surety. At one point, I became aware of a thought, like hearing my own voice from some unfathomable place. It declared. “Every time you believe me, I feel my heart rising in my chest.” What was this supposed to mean? When the voice said “you,” was that supposed to mean me?

Like dreaming on steroids, thoughts passed through my mind, which I may normally have labeled strange, but under the intention to be with what is simply became metaphors begging interpretation, messages to take action on if I felt compelled to or just notions that were magically able to coexist with very different ideas I was attached to.

With my eyelids closed, I saw waves, indigo colored shapes, expanding and then retracting on the inner screen of my mind. I wondered if other people experienced the same thing in meditation then I let that thought go too.

After ten hours spent sitting in the dark, I felt the urge to try to validate how I spent the day. Did the steadiness of my breath or my mantra repetition improve? Did I get better at some important skill? What could I take from the experience that could help me meditate more often on my own?

In retrospect, I might say that the act of surrendering to whatever is represents a special gift regardless of what happens while in this state. At one level, I may have longed to have visions or hear voices during my daylong meditation intensive, but at some level I understand that prayers need not be answered with a thunderbolt as punctuation the moment they’re formed.

Simply taking a whole day to be quiet, to be with myself and look inward, to remind myself that I exist within timelessness and have a life beyond my activities – is incredibly meaningful.

Sitting still, without feeling a need to act, content with your wholeness, is no small thing.