From Restless to Peaceful Mind

Just last week, a new student came to me "I come out of a meditation sitting more frustrated than I went in," she said, "and then I get even more frustrated that I failed at one more thing."

I've had this conversation so many times over the years. Each time, it reminds me of why I love teaching meditation—not because it's easy, but because these moments of struggle are actually doorways to understanding something profound about how our minds work. Here is an anecdote from a Buddhist teaching.

There once was a young man who was absolutely beside himself about his meditation practice. He went to his teacher and said, "Master, my mind is like a wild horse that refuses to be tamed. Every time I sit for meditation, a thousand thoughts assault me. I'm clearly hopeless at this."

So , the Monk smiles not in a dismissive way, but with genuine understanding. Then he handed the student a pot filled with muddy water and said, "Here, shake this as hard as you can."

So the poor guy starts shaking this pot vigorously, and of course, the water becomes more and more turbulent. The mud is swirling everywhere, and you can't see through it at all.

"This," the monk said, "is your mind right now—what we call Kshipta. Agitated, unclear, chaotic. But now, just set the pot down and watch."

They both sat there, just watching this pot of muddy water. And slowly—so slowly you could barely see it happening—the mud began to settle. The wild swirling calmed down. Bit by bit, the water became clearer until finally, it was completely transparent.

"Your mind," the teacher said gently, "naturally wants to be this clear. It will become clear, just like this water, when you stop constantly stirring it up.” 

So, we cannot expose ourselves constantly to the things stirring our mind like social media notifications, hustle culture, brash entertainment and expect to feel peaceful.

Now, Patanjali—this ancient sage who basically wrote the handbook on yoga and meditation— understood something crucial about how minds mature. He said there are five stages every practitioner goes through:

From Kshipta (scattered) to Moodha (dull) to Vikshipta (swinging) to Ekagrah (focused) to Nirodha (completely at rest).

Stage One: The Rude Awakening

We all start at Kshipta—the scattered mind. But here's the thing most people don't realize: before you started meditating, your mind was just as scattered. You just didn't know it because you weren't paying attention.

Think about it. You were living your life, going through your days, and your mind was constantly jumping around—from your to-do list to that conversation from yesterday to worrying about tomorrow to wondering what's for lunch. But you were so caught up in the stream that you didn't see the stream itself.

The moment you sit down to meditate and try to focus on your breath, suddenly it's like someone turned on a floodlight in a room you thought was empty. "Where did all these thoughts come from?!" you wonder.

They were always there. You're just finally seeing them. And as overwhelming as this feels, it's actually a huge victory. You've become aware of your own awareness. That's the first step toward freedom.

Stage Two: The Great Escape

But this awareness can be intense—sometimes painfully so. All those thoughts racing around, many of them repetitive, some of them anxious or negative—it can feel unbearable.

So what does the mind do? It tries to escape. This is the Moodha stage—the mind becomes dull, foggy, or seeks distractions. You might find yourself suddenly very interested in reorganizing your bookshelf instead of sitting quietly. Or you might feel sleepy every time you meditate. Or you might throw yourself into Netflix binges or endless social media scrolling.

 It's completely natural. Your mind is protecting itself from overwhelm the only way it knows how. I've seen students beat themselves up for this, thinking they're lazy or weak. They're not. They're just human beings whose minds are doing what minds do.

Stage Three: The Pendulum Dance

If you keep showing up to your practice—and this is the key, you have to keep showing up—something beautiful starts to happen. Your mind begins to swing like a pendulum.

It goes out to thoughts, gets caught up in planning or worrying or remembering, but then it swings back to your point of focus. Out to distraction, back to the breath. Out to that argument you had last week, back to the present moment.

This swinging back and forth—this is what the tradition calls abhyasa, the practice. Every time you notice you've been lost in thought and gently return your attention to your meditation object, you're strengthening something. You're training your mind in the art of coming home to itself.

In this stage, you start getting glimpses of real clarity. They might last only seconds at first, but there are these moments where the mind feels genuinely still, genuinely peaceful. These glimpses are like little tastes of what your mind is capable of when it's not constantly stirred up.

Stage Four: Finding Your Center

As you continue this practice of returning, of gently bringing your attention back again and again, the pendulum starts to slow down. The swings become less dramatic, less frequent. You find you can rest your attention on one thing for longer periods without getting pulled away.

This is Ekagrah—the focused mind. There's a stability here, a sense of being grounded that wasn't there before. It's not that thoughts stop arising—they do—but they don't carry you away as easily. You can witness what's happening in your mind without being overwhelmed by it.

Stage Five: Coming Home

And finally, there's Nirodha—the mind at complete rest. This isn't about forcing thoughts to stop. It's about reaching a state where the mind naturally settles into its essential nature, which is clear, aware, and peaceful.

Some traditions call this the natural state, others call it the conscious state or the blissful state. Whatever you call it, it's not something you achieve through effort. It's something you discover by allowing the mind's natural tendency toward clarity to express itself. It's almost like a gift you receive for keeping up with the practice. It cannot be chased, nor can that experience be replicated. 

It's like coming home to yourself.

A Different Way of Seeing

Your meditation practice isn't about perfecting some technique or achieving some special state. It's about trusting that your mind, like muddy water, knows how to become clear when you stop constantly stirring it up.

So next time you sit down and encounter that familiar storm of thoughts, remember: you're not failing. You're becoming aware. When you feel dull or want to distract yourself, you're not weak. You're moving through a natural phase. When your attention swings back and forth between focus and distraction, you're not inconsistent. You're practicing.

And when you touch those moments of genuine peace and stillness? You're not just lucky. You're glimpsing the true nature of your own mind.

The journey from restlessness to peace isn't about battling your thoughts or forcing your mind into submission. It's about patience, gentleness, and trust in the natural wisdom of your own awareness.

Just like that muddy water in the pot, your mind knows how to settle. It just needs the space and permission to do what it naturally wants to do.