Jack Kornfield

The Bard Who Birthed the West’s Mindfulness Meditation Movement

My first meditation sit was with Jack Kornfield at his Spirit Rock Meditation Center in 1993. I’d stumbled on his book, A Path with Heart, in a Palo Alto bookstore and was taken with his vision of bringing spirituality to everyday life. I’d been diagnosed with PTSD, was riddled with flashbacks and fear, and was living in the thick of a trauma I’d recently experienced. I hoped that Jack and his approach to meditation could restore me. I needed a fix but I didn’t get one. Instead, I found a spiritual friend and the power of a well-told tale. 

Jack is a revered patriarch of modern Western meditation and a guide toward a kinder, gentler inner voice. As his 30-year student and a graduate of his teacher certification program, I respect all his accomplishments. But I contend that his greatest achievement is actually his storytelling prowess. He is the consummate bard. 

In the early 1970s, with a few friends and colleagues, Jack returned from study in Asia as an ordained monk. In short order, he disrobed and co-founded both the Insight Meditation Society and Spirit Rock. He’s best known for translating the Eastern practice of Buddhism and Vipassana (Insight) meditation into a digestible, practical, and accessible form. These messages could be dry or trite were they not wrapped up in countless, compelling yarns. 

There’s some irony to my adoration of Jack the raconteur. 

In meditation, therapy, and self-help we’re endlessly instructed to let go of our stories – the perpetual noise in our heads, often self-critical and anxiety-provoking. Stories are considered the enemy – the villain we must annihilate to achieve happiness, freedom, and enlightenment. 

I’m not contesting the truth in this. Thoughts aren’t real. Full stop. If we digest them whole cloth, as if they are real, they lead us down illusory paths and generate a good deal of suffering.

But there’s a flip side to “story” in which “story” is the protagonist – the most effective delivery route of valuable life lessons. In the same way that “a picture paints a thousand words,” a good story delivers a visceral transformation in a way that mere prose never could. 

In the 1990s, I attended gatherings at Spirit Rock, hid in the back, and rarely spoke. I cried in lieu of meditating. But I stayed for the stories. I couldn’t focus. But I could listen to Jack’s voice, carrying his personal tales of ecstasy and annoyance, pain and perfection.  

Today, I’ll share a few of my favorite yarns – the ones that most impacted me at each stage of my development as a student, teacher, and human. 

Where to Start: “A Path with Heart”

One of his early books, this is a perfect primer for mindfulness meditation and lessons on leading a spiritual life. It’s basically a compendium of every major human concern and Buddhism’s spiritual response and guidance.

Within the first few pages, Jack brings to life his difficult re-adjustment to the US following five years in Asian monasteries. He was to meet his sister-in-law at a NY City spa, arrived in full monk regalia, and sat down to meditate, cross-legged in the spa’s lounge while waiting. After several minutes, he heard laughter and loud voices exclaiming, “Is he for real ?” Upon opening his eyes, he discovered 

“women dressed in Elizabeth Arden ‘nighties’ (the gowns given them for the day) staring at me. Many had their hair in rollers or in other multiple fishing-reel-shaped contraptions. Several had what looked like green avocado smeared on their faces. Others were covered with mud.” 

He couldn’t help but wonder what strange world he’d arrived in. 

“[I] heard myself say, ‘Are they for real?’ From that moment, it became clear that I would have to find a way to reconcile the ancient and wonderful teachings I had received at the Buddhist monastery with the ways of our modern world.”

This mindful moment became Jack’s call to action – his lifelong mission.

I still remember my reaction to this little ditty. “I may seem weird with my flashbacks and fears but everyone else seems pretty weird, too. How do we make the world work despite this?” 

Another story made meditation possible for me and is an element of my beginner’s meditation course to this day. In “the puppy,” Jack teaches us to steady our attention – something that doesn’t come naturally and is rarely taught in our culture or schools – with warm-hearted self-compassion. 

“Meditation is very much like training a puppy. You put the puppy down and say , ‘Stay.’ Does the puppy listen? It gets up and it runs away. You sit the puppy back down again. ‘Stay.’ And the puppy runs away over and over again. Sometimes the puppy jumps up, runs over, and pees in the corner or makes some other mess. Our minds are much the same as the puppy, only they create even bigger messes. In training the mind, or the puppy, we have to start over and over again.”

Concentration doesn’t arrive through force or cruelty. Jack asks, “Does it really help to beat [the puppy]?” Instead, gently pick up the puppy again and again and return to this moment, this body, this breath.

This is where meditation begins and ends. It’s nothing but showing up, over and over, with care and compassion in our hearts.

What’s next, after we learn to calmly and kindly return our puppy minds to our chosen anchor? The laundry, of course.

Letting Go of the Goal: “After the Ecstasy, Then the Laundry”

The relentless Western pursuit of happiness is futile because happiness isn’t stable. It isn’t an object that you locate and store. It’s an elusive state. 

The same is true for enlightenment. Oh, we may have moments of ecstasy. And the more we practice, the more likely and frequent those visitations become. But they aren't lasting states. And if anyone – beyond the Buddha himself – tells you that they’ve achieved Nirvana in any permanent way, you may want to scan for the nearest exit and run like hell.

Looking back, it’s obvious to me that when I first read After the Ecstasy, Then the Laundry I didn’t understand it at all. I’d never experienced ecstasy during meditation. I thought this book was simply about living life from a spiritual perspective. And, if that’s how you read it, you’ll definitely benefit. But it has so much more value to offer as practice deepens.

In my most recent reading, I see this text in a new light. I’ve had ecstatic experiences on extended meditation retreats and even during some short sits. And I’ve had psychedelic journeys that were life-altering – experiences that taught me to see the world and my place in it in an entirely different way. 

At these times I feel the fire to change the world. To share the sensation with everyone. But this ecstatic state never lasts and there’s real grief when it fades. We all need a wise teacher to walk us back and forth through the ecstasy and the everyday. The more adeptly we waltz through the wake of these fluctuations, the more grounded and centered we’ll be for whatever comes.

One of my favorite stories in this book is less about ecstasy or enlightenment than about their corollary: continual humility is required as we progress on the spiritual path. 

At a gathering of Buddhist teachers hosted by the Dalai Lama, 

“Sylvia Wetzel, a Buddhist teacher from Germany, talked about how hard it was for women, and feminine wisdom to be fully included in the Buddhist community...she instructed the Dalai Lama and the others…to close their eyes and meditate with her to imagine they were entering the room and that it had been transformed so that they bow to the 14th female incarnation of the Dalai Lama. And with her were many advisors who had always been female. And surrounding them were images of Buddhas and saints, all naturally in women's bodies. Of course, it is never taught that there's anything lesser about being a man. Despite that, these men are asked to sit in the back, be silent and after the meeting to help with the cooking. At the end of her meditation, the eyes of every man in the room reopened slightly astonished.” [emphasis added]

A Tibetan teacher went on to describe the hardships of devoted women, who are forced to live at the periphery of monasteries, 

“often without teaching, food, or support. And when she finished, the Dalai Lama put his head in his hands and wept.” 

While the Dalai Lama pledged his support to address this inequality, change has come very slowly.  

The message? Episodes of enlightenment don't dispense with bad behavior, prejudice, bigotry, misogyny, or any other social ills, because it’s a fleeting experience. After the ecstasy, the hard work of making the world a better place begins.

This story reminded me that I don’t practice meditation to become a better meditator. I practice to build increased capacity, so I may fight for change in the world, and do it in a respectful, inclusive way.

As a female programmer in Silicon Valley in the early 1990s, this story resonated with me to the bone. In what was arguably the epicenter of the most creative, brilliant, successful, and forward-thinking minds in the US, sexism and misogyny raged unchecked. At least there was an acknowledgment of this issue at the top of the Buddhist food chain. The story gave me hope that change was possible. 

Cultivating Joy in the Journey with No End: No Time Like the Present

Cultivating all the juicy goodness of the inner world is exactly where Jack leaves us in his most recent missive. Here, he focuses on deepening trust, connection, and joy while remaining authentic. Messages from the sage: Life is short. Be true to yourself. Follow your dreams. And love yourself and others at every step along the way.

Of course, none of this is news. But the stories fashion the lessons into timeless wisdom. Let’s have a look at two of his tales:

A Short Story on Seeing

“In 2007, the Washington Post conducted an experiment in “context, perception, and priorities.” The newspaper had world-famous violinist Joshua Bell take his Stradivarius into a morning DC Metro (subway) station and play complex, gorgeous Preludes by Bach. A thousand commuters passed by, yet almost no one stopped to listen, except for a few children. 

The Post called it “the moral mathematics of the moment.” People were in a hurry and focused elsewhere, and Bell’s hat filled with a total of $32 in change, a portion of one ticket to his Kennedy Center performance the next night. 

How often have you or I rushed through life lost in thought, missing the violin and the simple miracles that are here in every moment? Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, stop. Take a breath. Freedom comes alive whenever you are present and not lost in thought.”

When meditation teachers talk about being present in the moment, this is precisely why. When you miss the moment, you don’t even know what you missed. 

Some of you have read my several odes to the ducks who visit, and sometimes accompany me, on my daily saunters by Chicago’s river and lake. They’re just ducks. Ducks are everywhere. And they crap everywhere, too. Some may see them as an annoyance, if they see them at all. But you, my readers, have experienced second-hand the joy they bring me. 

Something Jack said long ago comes to mind. He’d seen a sign on a gambling hall’s wall: You Must be Present to Win. It struck him that this is true for all of life. Me too. 

This is a plea: There’s only one world and it’s this one, this minute. Be alive in it. Be it joyful or painful, it’s your moment. 

“Freedom and the presence of love come alive in the here and now. Love in the past is a memory. Love in the future is a fantasy. The only place to truly love is just where you are.”

A Short Story on Authenticity and the Impact of Being Seen

“One seven-year-old went out with his family and neighbors to a nearby restaurant for dinner. When the waitress came to take the orders, Josh said he wanted “a hot dog and root beer.” His mother turned to the waitress and said, “He’ll have the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and milk.” The waitress finished taking the rest of the orders. As she left the table, she turned back and asked, “Do you want ketchup or mustard on your hot dog?” As she disappeared, Josh joyfully piped up and said, “She thinks I’m real.” [emphasis added]

When we’re mindful, when we’re fully present, when we see what is, others feel that presence. When our mind is directed toward their being, it’s a gift of outsized proportions. Those in our presence feel seen and that brings them joy and connection. We make the world a better place one mindful moment at a time.

There’s one duckie couple on the Riverwalk who are now special friends. When they see me strolling toward them, they jump out of the water, onto the riverwalk, and quack a very special ducky song that I don’t understand but appreciate. It’s so damn weird. We see each other. And it feels good enough to quack about. (BTW, I do not feed them – there’s a strip of grassland buffet available. So, it’s me they’re happy to see, not my treats.)

Another moral of Jack’s story is how easy it is to lose our spirit, authenticity, and sense of self as we move through life. Experiences large and small chip away. Whether an adult behaves as if a child has no voice by disregarding his preferences or an entire medical system silences children by medicating away their lively spirit (10% of US children are diagnosed with ADHD and 90% of them are treated with stimulant medication). 

In his plea for readers to work toward authenticity and self-acceptance – to fully see themselves even if no one else is able to – Jack continues:

“In addition to widespread addiction to prescription drugs, modern adults constantly email, text, speed, consume, drink, and misuse other drugs to keep themselves busy, to take the edge off. 

The garden door opens the moment we see the ways we are caught inside. Seeing ourselves clearly, unadorned, is the beginning of freedom.”

This, finally, is the answer to my earlier question: How do we make the world work despite ourselves – despite the fact that each one of us and the world that we inhabit is woefully weird?” 

Jack advises that we start with a simple question: “When do you feel most free to be yourself?”

Once you answer that question, cultivate that space and the feelings of authenticity that arise there. This is where freedom is found – the place where it’s easy to be present and, therefore, fully alive. Honor this space, use it as your north star, and build out from there.