Last night, our local meditation circle closed its doors for the final time.

Our format was simple: we would sit in silence twice, with a brief break for tea between sessions. Some evenings brought just two people; others welcomed as many as twenty. But the cost of renting our space eventually outstripped what our irregular attendance could sustain, and that was that.

Over the years, I watched countless people drift in and out of our circle. If I had to offer one observation, it would be this: most wanted something more than silent sitting. Silence, it seemed, wasn’t enough.

I began to see that despite embracing the space and company, many remained reluctant to embrace the practice itself. They sought something dressed up as nothing, whereas we offered simply nothing—plain and unadorned.

We fear the void. The irony is that no void exists to fear. What we actually fear is the idea of nothing, not nothing itself. When you sit in silence, the experience becomes the opposite of nothing—everything is there. Sights, sounds, sensations, thoughts, feelings—the full spectrum of being.

Meditation overflows with the richness of unconditional human experience. There’s no need to disguise this intimate encounter with yourself as something other than what it is—no need to make it more than the simple reality of what you are in any given moment.