Why Meditate?

Stopping is the Key to Practice

Why do we meditate? Why must a monastic sit for meditation multiple times a day, sitting so still—what is the purpose?  A young person might ask the monastics, "Why do you sit so much every day? What is the purpose of sitting meditation?" How should we answer them correctly?

What is the purpose of sitting meditation? Of course, to answer, we must look into the mind of the one asking, not just answer from our own view.

In the past, there was a monk who meditated a great deal. Whenever he had free time, he would sit and meditate. Another monk asked him, "Why do you sit for meditation?" He replied, "I meditate to become a Buddha!" So, the answer was, "Meditating to become a Buddha." Hearing this, the other monk picked up a broken piece of tile and started grinding it. The meditating monk asked, "What are you doing with that broken tile?" The monk replied, "I’m grinding it to make a mirror."

"How strange!" said the first monk. "How can you turn a broken tile into a mirror?" The other monk smiled and said, "Then how can you expect meditation to turn you into a Buddha?"

This is a famous Zen story many people know.

So, meditating with the hope of becoming a Buddha is like grinding a broken tile hoping to make a mirror!

Meditation with the intention of becoming something is not true meditation. Because when we meditate with a goal, we are holding an expectation. And expectation goes against one of the three doors to liberation—non-expectation. In sitting meditation, I do not expect anything, not even to become a Buddha. This is the answer of non-expectation. Therefore, in the Caodong school of Zen, there is a phrase called Shikantaza in Japanese, which in Chinese is Chỉ quán đả tọa. Tọa means "sit." Chỉ quán đả tọa means "just sit" without any expectation. This is the essence of the Caodong school of Zen.

Can we do this? If we are sitting just to sit, then what is the purpose of sitting? Among us, there must be some who have tasted the joy of simply sitting. Sitting without expectation, with no goal. Just sitting means peaceful dwelling and peaceful seating.

Sitting still is a high art. In Upper Hamlet, we have the Cốc Ngồi Yên (Peaceful Dwelling), translated from An tọa. Sitting like this means no goal—no goal to become a Buddha, no goal to attain enlightenment, no goal at all. Because if we sit with a goal or a desire, we are not sitting—we are still running! This is something we have been doing for countless lifetimes: running, striving, seeking something. Now, we come to the monastery and are taught the practice of Chỉ quán đả tọa—we are told to stop, to sit, to not seek anything anymore.

To stop is not easy; it requires a lot of wisdom. Many of us come from poor families where we saw our parents working very hard, constantly busy. Even if they had a little time to rest, they would find something to do, not allowing their hands or minds to rest. This pattern has lasted for generations, so we no longer know how to sit still. Thus, sitting still is very difficult.

We wish to improve our lives, to improve our circumstances. We hope to expand our knowledge, to grow higher and higher. So, if we are not doing something, we are learning, and if we are not learning, we are working—always striving, never stopping. The idea of "building the future" is very seductive. We work for ourselves, for our children, because we love them, and we invest in their future. Because of this, most of us cannot stop; we are constantly running and seeking, and thus cannot experience the wonder of life in the present moment.

So, to sit down and do nothing is a great revolution, a deep opposition to the ancient tendency of society. Society is running, spinning like a top, while we, as practitioners, want to stop—both in time and in space.

If during meditation you are still struggling or working, you have not yet tasted the joy of stopping. If you cannot stop, you have not truly practiced concentration. Without concentration, the flower of wisdom cannot bloom. So, we must learn how to stop. This is why we have the phrase Chỉ quán đả tọa, “just sitting”. 

Perhaps we love the Buddha’s teachings and wish to establish a meditation hall, to gather practitioners to meditate together. We want to set up a meditation center, making use of our skills to create the hall. We have the meditation hall, the altar, the incense, the chanting bell. We’ve invited some friends to sit with us. Everything is in place. But the real question is: Can we sit in that hall? Or will we continue to strive to make the hall bigger, more beautiful, and have more people?

This is just one example. You might not be thinking about a meditation hall, but rather something equivalent to it. As long as we are still seeking, still wanting to improve or make things better, we are not able to stop. And if we cannot stop, we will never taste the wonder of life. We cannot touch the mystery of life in the present moment. Thus, the key to all practice is to stop—stop while sitting, stop while lying down, stop while walking.

While walking, we stop. But if someone is sitting and their mind is wandering, they are running even though they are sitting. When we sit, we must stop. Similarly, when we walk, we must stop. Stability and ease cannot arise if stopping does not happen. Therefore, it’s incorrect to say the teacher only teaches stopping and not contemplation. Because when we truly stop, wisdom begins to bloom. But to stop, we must have some wisdom. We must see something clearly in order to stop. So, in stopping there is already contemplation, in concentration there is wisdom.

What is wisdom? First, look at your own life and see that in so many lifetimes, we have been rushing, striving, and seeking. We have never stopped. To see this is already wisdom. To see this in our parents, our ancestors, and ourselves is wisdom. When wisdom arises, we feel compassion, and because of this great compassion, we can stop. This is wisdom giving rise to stopping.

We don’t need to take high vows to be happy. Whether we take novice or full ordination, happiness is already within us. We don’t need to wait for the New Year to shave our heads to be happy. As soon as we are informed by the ordination council that we are accepted and can shave our heads on the first day of the New Year, happiness is already overflowing. Even the day before, before the council has met, we should not think that we will only be happy if they approve us! Why wait for their approval to be happy? Why not enjoy the present moment, the steps, the smile, the breath right now? If we can enjoy our walking, our smile, and our breath, then it doesn’t matter if we shave our heads or not. If we are able to rest in the joy of breathing, walking, and sitting, then it’s certain that the ordination council will say "Yes" to us. They only have the power to say "No" if we cannot do it. But when we can do it, they cannot say "No!"

Thus, the important thing is to stop expecting anything. The key is to be able to rest in the present moment. To rest, we must stop.

Therefore, when sitting for meditation, do not say, “I sit to achieve this or that.” No! Sit just to sit. If you can sit like this, in that moment you have already become a Buddha. Sitting and stopping, and realizing that you are sitting in the lotus position on the earth, fully present in this moment, is already a great realization of a Buddha.

Tomorrow, when we meet our ancestors or teachers and they ask:

"Did you sit still while you were on the earth?"

We will not be able to say, "No, I was always waiting for the bell!"

Peaceful Sitting, Peaceful Walking

Sitting for meditation is an opportunity to stop, to touch the mystery of life. Sitting in the lotus posture on this earth, knowing we are present for our ancestors, for ourselves, for our future generations—just sitting like this is enough. If we can sit like this, the insight grows deeper, and the happiness increases. When walking in meditation, we should walk with the same spirit. Each step is a miracle. As Zen Master Linji said, “Walking on the earth is a manifestation of spiritual power.”

In a talk on happiness, a nun said: "I am a nun, and I am very happy to be a nun. I do not need to be a novice, I do not need to be a teacher, I do not need to be an abbess." This is correct. When we accept ourselves, when we see the mystery of life in ourselves and around us, we no longer need to run, to seek, or to strive. We can rest and be at peace. Because of that, when we sit, we can sit still, and when we walk, we can walk peacefully.

When we sit in peace, it is called an tọa. When we walk in peace, it is called an hành. To walk with ease and joy is a deep practice. And to practice here means to live. We don’t practice in order to become something. We practice to truly live the present moment that life is offering us.

During meditation, the energy of concentration, samadhi, helps us sit peacefully and taste the joy of stillness. We touch the wonders of life in each moment we are fully present.

So during sitting meditation, we don’t struggle and don’t strive. The purpose of sitting is simply to sit. To be 100% alive in that moment. No one can ask anything of us at that time. We are free to simply be. Our concentration supports others around us, and uplifts the whole Sangha. The quality of our sitting can bring happiness to everyone—including ourselves.

When the Sangha comes together to sit, it is a powerful Dharma assembly. We sit to offer our presence—to the Sangha, to ourselves, to our ancestors, to the Buddha. To truly be there. And to truly be there, we must stop.

We can stop through our breathing, through contemplation. When we stop, both body and mind come to rest. Our speech becomes gentle. And that peaceful energy brings healing and transformation. The quality of our life—and of our sitting—naturally deepens.

During Dharma sharing, let us offer our experiences:
How do we sit in a way that brings joy to body, breath, and mind? Whether alone or with the Sangha, we must generate that joy. Otherwise, we are just polishing a tile. And no matter how many lifetimes we polish it, it will not become a mirror.

Let us sit in the light of the Pure Land—not in the darkness of striving. Let us sit in the light of our true home.