Vikram har laget en norsk podcast som er løst basert på boka: Meditasjon med Vikram. Finn og følg den der du lytter på podcast.

This meditation includes sitting, breathing, listening, sensing and loving, and draws on various meditations from the previous episodes. The meditation was part of the book launch of 'Becoming Buddha' on Buddha Day, 7 May 2020, a day when many commemorate the birth, awakening and death of Gautama Buddha. With awareness, any day can be Buddha day, and a moment of awareness is a Buddha moment. For more about the book, go to www.Mohini.no

I read a story about a Buddha statue. In 1955, the large concrete statue was to be moved from one place to another in Bangkok. On the way, an accident happened and the statue was damaged. But only the surface was damaged. And the damage revealed what was inside: gold.

We are lying in savasana, the corpse pose. Dan has been guiding us both in yoga, accompanied by songs from a playlist on his phone. Now we have reached the end, the most difficult pose, letting go. I become aware of a mantra playing on his phone. It’s the same mantra I got from Ba.

It's Friday evening and we have the weekend off. Dan asks me what I want to do. ‘I don't know.’ I ask him. He doesn't know either. I get annoyed. I want him to suggest something. He suggests we can go on a trip to the mountains if I want to. ‘I don't know.’ I come with counter-arguments. He suggests something else. ‘I don't know.’ I feel childish. I feel angry and sad without knowing why and what to do about it.

Dan is reading something on his phone. He finds it interesting and shows me. I glimpse something about immigrant problem. I’m a man with immigrant background, mamma is an immigrant. ‘Am I the problem? Is mamma the problem?’

EXPLICIT I wake up with a hard-on, an almost bursting sensation in my cock. I look at the clock; it’s early, but not too early. Buddha is awake on the windowsill. I look over at Dan. He is on his side, turned away from me, and I see his naked back. I move closer to him.

I post a picture of myself on Instagram. Smiling. Fit. Wearing only swimming shorts. I get a lot of likes. I check again. Even more. I check again and again. More and more likes. But it’s not satisfactory. I stop posting half-naked pictures of myself. I stop following people I hardly know, people mostly posting half-naked pictures of themselves. I post a quote by Buddha. Someone comments on it with a green heart.

Alone, I’m moving restlessly around the apartment, as if I can move away from the discomfort in my chest or find another man here somewhere. At some point, I find myself in the bathroom in front of the mirror. Maybe I have peed and washed my hands. Now, during a moment of awareness, I look at myself in the mirror. And I remember. I remember that all situations can be used to increase awareness and to awaken. ‘This is loneliness and longing,’ I say to myself.

I'm rushing. I have an idea of the place I'm going, where, who, what. But am I present on the way there? The way is a big part of life, if not all of it. I remember this and come to my senses. I notice the yellow flower growing through a crack in the sidewalk. I smile and slow down.

I sense some internal pressure. I tense the pelvic and sphincter muscles. I get up and go to the bathroom. I pull down my trousers and briefs and sit down, sensing the coolness of the toilet seat against my butt cheeks.

I bring Buddha an orange. I place it next to him on the windowsill. Buddha and the orange glow golden in the morning sun. I look at them. I think of the components making up the orange: sunlight, rainwater, air, nutrients in the soil.

I love like Buddha loves. I start with myself. I put a hand on my heart and wish myself well. ‘Vikram.’ I remember Ba, her smile and tone of voice when she said my name. ‘May you be happy, Vikram.’ I repeat it gently a few times.

A mantra emerges spontaneously in my mind. And along with the mantra: a memory. In the morning, before the others got up, I went to Ba’s room. I looked inside. The old woman was sitting on her bed. She held a mala in her right hand, mumbling something. Then she noticed me. She looked at me and smiled, inviting me in.

I smile like Buddha smiles. A welcoming smile. I remember that this being human is a guest house. Guests keep arriving. Now a joy. Now a sadness. Some are expected, others are unexpected. I meet them at the door smiling and invite them in. Some stay for only a moment, others stay longer. When they are ready to leave, I follow them to the door. And I smile.

‘Why should I write a book? There are already many good books on meditation. Who do I think I am?’ I realize I've been lost in thought for a while. ‘Thinking,’ I say in my mind, this too a thought but a helpful one, a conscious thought, a thought in the service of increasing awareness.

I sense the body like Buddha senses the body. I move the attention from the top of my head down to my toes, slowly through the entire body, then back up, and then down, again and again. First I notice only strong and gross sensations, tension in the shoulders, itching on the upper lip, a kind of burning sensation in the buttocks. Then it becomes subtler, the sensations like ripples.

I listen like Buddha listens. I hear sounds close to me, my own breathing, in and out of my nostrils, sounds that are more distant, the humming of the fridge and the fan in the kitchen, and even more distant, a car that starts on the street outside, then driving away with a vroom,

I breathe like Buddha breathes. I focus on the area where the air touches the nostrils. I sense my chest filling and emptying. I sense the breath as a bodily sensation.

I sit like Buddha sits. I just sit. It’s simple. Just sitting means not doing much, not chasing after anything. I can simply be, rather than constantly doing something. It's simple, but not easy. I need to practice. I need to practice just sitting.