There was a time not so long ago I decidedly would not have gone out of my way to sit in a room full of strangers, say nothing, drink tea, and then say some more nothing for half an hour, this time with the lights dimmed.

Why? I would have asked in response to the suggestion, as if there were no answer and I knew it. I would have turned away.

Those were the days. And they're over. Now I do exactly that two Monday evenings of every month, when a friend leads a Buddhist meditation at the Episcopal Church in Waterbury, Connecticut.

Why? I don't know why. I have no idea. I know only that being in the company of people who are doing the exact same nothing and want to as much as I do makes me a heck of a lot more mindful when I am doing something elsewhere and with the lights on.

I don't need to know why. Not anymore. And that's new, too. I'm good with the mystery of this meditation, which is about mindfulness, which is about paying attention to everything right down to breathing, every aspect of the experience of the tea in the cup from the heat and fragrance to the flowery flavor, and specifically not hunting around for answers like a hamster making the nighttime rounds through the Habitrail.

I've learned to sit back, be silent, and let things be as they should. I discovered the times I am anxious or angry or upset or hurt are the times the world is out of sync with my hopes or expectations. Far easier it is to let go of the expectations than to try to reorganize the entire world.

The nothing that leads to mindfulness is this week's blessing. So far it has made me aware of the sound of the wind, the smell of the thawed earth, the heat of the sun on my back on even the coldest of days....And how good it feels to wake up.
Wisdom is knowing I am nothing,
love is knowing I am everything,
and between the two my life moves.
(Nisargadatta Maharaj)