In October I went hiking in Dalmatia, a region in Croatia. One day we walked among rocky limestone in Krka National Park (say it KUR-ka), then followed smooth boardwalks beside the wide blue Krka River toward the much-photographed Skradinski buk waterfall. Along the way, in the shaded, branching streams at the river’s edge, I noticed schools of 20 to 50 long brown fish. Illyrian chub, to be exact. The Greeks and Romans called this land Illyria and its people Illyrians.
The chub all faced one direction, straight into the current. From a few steps away they looked completely still. If you watched closely, you could catch the flick of a fin, or the barest bend of a tail, nudging a fish back into alignment. Every so often the flow pushed harder, and a fish would bend its whole body to reorient before settling into what looked like stillness again.
It reminded me of walking past the open door of a yoga class where, from a distance, everyone looks effortlessly still. What you can’t see are the steady micro-adjustments underneath.
Our attention is like that too. I saw the fish as teachers of aim and effort: facing the direction they intended, with just the right amount of energy to hover there, in the space between relaxed and alert. That balance is a moving target. When the streams run full and strong, it takes more energy. When they slow, as in late summer, it takes less to rest and stay put.
So what does that look like when we sit down to meditate?
When I sit down to meditate, I start by checking in with my body. I notice my unthinking way of sitting (I see you, curved back). Then I adjust, with intention, to be a little more alert while staying relaxed. Many of you will recognize the cue I give at the start of every sit: adjust your posture in any way that lets you be both relaxed and alert. Sitting, standing, lying down: each asks for a different amount of energy, so start with whichever fits what your attention needs that day.
Then we practice bringing just enough energy to notice what’s happening in this moment: thoughts, sensations, the quality of the breath. Too much, and we’ll end up agitated and fidgety. Too little, and I may just fall asleep.
Where relaxed meets alert, you are barely moving yet rarely still. With practice, we get better at judging how much energy the moment needs, in a way that’s easy and nimble, not harsh.
Some moments need a fin, and some need the whole body.