In fact I will say still more, which sounds even stranger: I declare in all truth, by the eternal and everlasting truth, that this light is not content with the simple changeless divine being which neither gives nor takes: rather it seeks to know whence this being comes, it wants to get into its simple ground, into the silent desert into which no distinction ever peeped, of Father, Son or Holy Ghost. In the inmost part, where none is at home, there that light finds satisfaction, and there it is more one than it is in itself: for this ground is an impartible stillness, motionless in itself, and by this immobility all things are moved, and all those receive life that live of themselves, being endowed with reason.
— Meister Eckhart, the complete mystical works, pages 310 – 311
I sometimes "teach" beginning yoga teacher classes meditation; although, as I always explain to them, no one teaches — all anyone can do is guide you to discover your own work.
Last week, the senior teacher leading the certification class announced that I would be "giving" the meditation the following Monday, and I corrected her by saying, "no — there will be a meditation session for all of us on Monday, and I'll be there."
Anyway, we did get together; and at the end of the sitting, just before we stopped, I mentioned that I discover my Being in the stillness of my body.
This stillness is indeed in the inmost part, which is what inner yoga is all about. And that inner stillness is what the yogis mean when they say that the ultimate aim of yoga is not to keep the chakras spinning, but stop them. For there is a place, which Meister Eckhart mentions here, in which all things are still and perfect: and everything emerges from this stillness and this perfection.
Sometimes, people refer to this as the silence — and indeed, we see that Meister Eckhart refers to the "silent desert." Yet he also says this "simple ground" — and I do like this more. It is a simplicity that we seek; and it is not bereft of things. When we hear the word silent, perhaps we can hear the word presence, since presence needs no words, yet manifests completely; and when we hear the word desert, perhaps we can hear the word expanse, for the emptiness of the desert provides an endless space with no obstacles into which everything can expand. If it is a void, it is and not a void that terrifies, but one that invites. In avidity, we flee from emptiness out of fear; but in repose, we enter it with confidence. And this is the difference between all of the noise in us, and the stillness from which being emerges.
Perhaps it sounds too limiting to say that we discover our being through the stillness of our body; yet our body is the vehicle for sensation and experience, and we cannot encounter the stillness unless we encounter it within this vehicle.
It's pointless, I think, to get into complicated arguments about what is material and what is spiritual, what transcends and what is transcended; one simply enters the repose, the stillness, of Being. This spiritual food can be accepted without an argument, and without force; it does not need logic to explain it.
It brings what is needed for inner development as easily as bees bring pollen back to the hive; cooperatively, and with assurance.