Since the founding of the BMCM in 1961, thousands of lives have been touched and transformed by the teachings of Eknath Easwaran. Small but significant changes in these lives touch other lives and a gentle influence spreads through society. As Easwaran put it, we can quietly change the world.

Excerpted from the pages of the Blue Mountain journal are some glimpses of the lives we touch.

As volunteer director of a small foundation, a retired financier builds good will and trust in the midst of controversy.

“Redwood groves are being clear-cut, and our organization is trying to buy up big chunks of them so that they can be harvested in a sustainable way. In many cases, the people involved – landowners, environmentalists, timber industry workers, mill owners, truck drivers – have been in contentious relationships with each other for a long time. I’m trying to work with these various groups to help them come to an agreement on what can be done.

“When one party is digging in and won’t compromise on a point, it can be pretty aggravating, and at times I’ve found myself joining the fight. But just in the year that I’ve been reading Easwaran’s books and doing his eight-point program, I’ve learned so much about conflict management – and about myself. Sometimes I think, ‘I wish I had known this thirty years ago,’ but I’m glad to be discovering it now.”

Even among his organization’s board members, differences of opinion are common.

“A couple of months ago, we were locked in a fundamental disagreement over what we were trying to accomplish. The board was split – with me on one side of the divide – and I had come to the conclusion that it was just going to have to stay that way.

“That Tuesday, I went to the BMCM local program, and something in our discussion made me say, ‘I just can’t let the board be split. I can’t write anybody off, because I respect them all and I want to understand their positions.’

“During our next board meeting the following day, I realized that there was information that not all the members were aware of. I hadn’t consciously intended to hide anything, but I guess when I started feeling resistance from some of them, I went into battle mode. Working in the Wall Street trading business for many years taught me to fight tough, a skill I’ve slowly been unlearning.

“Without knowing how it was going to turn out, I released all of the information and explained how I felt and why. I was just going to let the chips fall where they may, I decided.

“At the end of the meeting, the staunchest opponent surprised me by coming over and saying, ‘I could cry. I can’t believe it. Thank you for opening up so much.’

“‘I never meant to be so closed off,’ I wanted to say.

“Since then I’ve found that when I try to keep an open mind, people really appreciate it and respond in kind. If I don’t dig in, they tend not to either. And on occasions when we’ve still not been able to agree, I’ve backed down and said, ‘Whatever the outcome is, I need your good will and trust.’

“Just being more giving and a little less self-centered has tangibly changed all my relationships. Everybody around me seems more at peace. It’s the flip side of the idea that violence breeds violence: kindness and love breed kindness and love. It’s really true. Even the cats and I get along better now.”

A new college graduate focuses on changing herself when a world-changing job isn’t an option.

“All I wanted was to do nonprofit work in a developing country, maybe the Philippines, where I was born.” While forming her plans over the next few months, she split her time between local nonprofit work and another part-time job to help pay the bills. Soon, however, the pressure of student debts grew heavier. She realized she needed to find a full-time job, and a fairly remunerative one at that. Her aspirations would have to wait.

When a company offered her an administrative position, she says, “It wasn’t my calling, but I remembered Easwaran writing that you can make spiritual progress in any job that is not at the expense of life.” Maybe changing the Philippines wasn’t to be for a while, she thought, “but I can work on changing myself.”

Her first days on the job were a bit rocky. “The atmosphere struck me as very competitive, and I didn’t feel I had much in common with my co-workers. They didn’t seem to care about the same things I did. Relating to them didn’t come naturally.”

Again, she remembered Easwaran’s words: “Describing life in a spiritual community, he says that people find themselves living and working with people they might not choose as friends. These arrangements, he explains, help people to gradually loosen rigid preferences so they can give their best freely under any circumstances.

“I was struck by Easwaran’s enthusiasm, by his belief that these changes could be made,” she says.

“I’m going to see my new workplace as a spiritual community,” she decided, “and try to rise above my likes and dislikes.”

If her morale began to sink, inspirational reading in the evenings restored it. “Spiritual reading is always a comfort, no matter what. It brings my life into a bigger perspective and reminds me why I’m making these efforts in the first place.”

Focusing on her highest ideals during meditation also helped. “The St. Francis Prayer is one of my favorite passages, and I use it often. Sometimes it would come into my thoughts during the day, especially the parts about seeking to console rather than to be consoled and to understand rather than to be understood.

“Whenever I started feeling like a victim, thinking no one understood me, those words helped a lot. They inspired me, if I found myself dwelling on things I didn’t like about the office atmosphere, to try to put my attention back on my work or on how to help my co-workers. I don’t have to be a doormat, I’d tell myself, but I don’t have to compete either.” Gradually, she began to adjust, and the days got easier for her.

For her co-workers, however, things were about to get harder. “Our unit went through a tough time, with lots of stress and interpersonal flare-ups. One person who at the beginning seemed unpleasant was going through the worst of it. I just kept trying to be there for her – listening and helping her out in small ways.

“That phase was very stressful,” she says, but also fruitful. “Attitudes really changed after that. We started to work much better as a team, and our workflow became very streamlined. If one person was stressed out, someone else helped carry the load.” Counting her own attitude as one that had shifted, she says, “I realized that the people in my office valued teamwork after all.”

Ironically, just as a team spirit emerged, the management announced that their unit was to be consolidated and relocated to another city. The sole person to agree to be transferred, she was soon saying goodbye to her workmates. “On my last day, it hit me how much had changed.” She found herself surprised by her own tears. “I had ended up forming really good friendships with people I didn’t think I had anything in common with, and I realized how much I would miss them. Everyone was trying to make jokes so they wouldn’t cry too.” Her supervisor and co-workers told her how much they valued her generosity and work ethic. “You’re so nice, you could probably get along with anyone,” they said.

“If it weren’t for my spiritual practice, I really doubt things would have turned out that way.”

The untimely death of a family member draws a long-time meditator deeper into her spiritual practice.

One Sunday morning two years ago, she received a phone call that her brother had died unexpectedly of heart failure. “My brother and I were so close in age; we had gone through elementary, junior high, and high school together,” she says. “Not getting to say goodbye to him – it broke my heart.

“My first reaction when I got the news was to go for a very long mantram walk. I called on the mantram more than I ever had.” Countless past repetitions, she says, gave her a firmer hold on the holy name. “The waves of emotion were pulling me back and forth, but the mantram was like an anchor for my mind. When I came back from the walk, I knew what I needed to do immediately and could focus on it: going to be with my family and taking care of the funeral arrangements.”

It wasn’t until after the memorial service, when her life had outwardly returned to normal, that the finality of it all began to sink in. “And yet I had to get up and go to work. I had to interact with people.”

As she recovered from the initial shock, she was able to identify three causes of her grief. “First, I didn’t know what death was like for my brother and I was very worried about him. I didn’t know where he was or if he was okay. Second, I was sad that I wasn’t there to say goodbye. And third, I had some regrets.”

For one year, she resolved, she would keep a special notebook in which she would write the mantram for her brother every day. Just coming up with that plan gave her a sense of relief, but she realized its success would depend on her being able to make that same decision over and over again, no matter what. She made her notebook like a diary, with a space for each day. In the months ahead, as her life resumed its normal course, whether she was traveling on business or had a long, hard day at the office, this inner dialogue would often take place:

“It’s time to write the mantram.”

“Oh, I don’t want to. I’m tired and I don’t feel like it. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Well, we’re committed to this, and the book is going to show a day missing . . .”

“That’s true. Okay, I’ll do it.”

Then, once she had pen in hand, she knew how to melt the resistance. “One of the things I’ve learned about giving power to the mantram is that it’s really a heart thing. So I try not to let my mind drift, not to say, ‘Okay, I’m going to do this, but my thoughts are elsewhere.’ As much as possible, I rivet my attention on the letters or on repeating the mantram to myself silently. When I wrote it that way for my brother, with my whole heart, I felt I wouldn’t have to wonder if it helped him or not.

“And I saw that it helped me, too,” she says. “That was me being able to say goodbye.”

Slowing down and paying attention help a busy doctor make every minute count.

His 2:00 o’clock appointment has been waiting for 10 minutes, three people are lined up outside his office, and his message light is blinking with two urgent requests. He has been having days like this since he started practicing medicine in 1983, and not only does he love his work, but he consistently receives high ratings from patients and fellow workers alike. How is this possible?

“Around the same time I started my clinical practice, I started my practice of Easwaran’s eight-point program. It’s all woven together.”

Using these points, particularly slowing down and one-pointed attention, he has developed a systematic way to respond effectively to all the demands on his time. Whether he’s at the clinic attending to 25 to 30 patients a day or at the hospital seeing to the needs of 12 women who are in labor simultaneously, he rarely gets overwhelmed. “I have excellent days most of the time, thanks to the eight points.”

He spends most workdays at the clinic, where, like his fellow doctors, he is allocated 15 to 20 minutes with each patient. Running over that allotment for one patient puts the rest at a disadvantage, yet there is much to be accomplished in that limited span of time. “The fact that I am under constant time pressure,” he says, “is all the more reason to slow down enough to give every task my full attention, one at a time.”

He applies the same methodical approach to each visit. First he prepares himself mentally. While walking briskly from his office to the examining room, he gathers his attention by repeating his mantram. “Once I get to the exam room, I make a point of slowly – unusually slowly – opening the door. Not only is it a physical reminder to myself to slow down in my encounter with the patient, but it’s also a safety precaution: sometimes a small child will be standing right behind the door. The gesture catches the patient’s attention and says, ‘This doctor is definitely not in a hurry.’

“After I enter the room, I make eye contact, greet the patient, sit down, and make eye contact again. Then I simply ask, ‘How can I help you?’ or ‘What brings you in?’ At that point I close my mouth and listen very attentively.”

In recent years, hard data measuring the effectiveness of this approach have supported his resistance to rushing. “We doctors get graded very analytically on many things, including the patient’s perception of the quality of care they receive. I get excellent scores, thanks to the eight points.

“Once when the chief of my department was reviewing these figures with me, he smiled and asked, ‘How do you get such high marks on patients saying you spend enough time with them? We all have the same amount of time.’

“The answer is that the perception of time isn’t constant. If you’re very focused, you can accomplish a lot, and patients believe they’ve spent a lot of time with their doctor, even though it was just the standard amount. Maybe because receiving undivided attention is increasingly rare, my patients respond deeply. I think that interaction is very satisfying for both of us.

“Of course, my main responsibility is to provide the standard medical care for the problems my patients present, and I take that very seriously. But those times of deep connection are the special part of my job – the part that I most enjoy and thrive on. I credit my spiritual practice for helping my love of medicine to stay fresh over the last twenty years and to keep growing all the time.”

A daughter discovers how to put her father first during his final illness.

“My dad was diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only two months to live. I wanted to be with him, and since I had just retired I was able to pack up my house and move right away. Without my meditation practice, I doubt I could have made this decision with such a clear mind and acted on the desire to share this time with him. A few years earlier I probably would have said, ‘There’s no way I can go home to take care of Dad.’ Or maybe I would have done it, but with a feeling of martyrdom.

“When I arrived, I took some time to explain to my dad about my morning and evening meditations. Since his memory was failing, I also left notes to remind him. When I would go into the next room to meditate, I’d leave him with a bell to ring in an emergency. But he was struggling with a lot and could be pretty demanding, so invariably after a few minutes he’d be ringing the bell for some small thing. I was getting more and more exhausted trying to meet his demands.

“Finally, I sat down with him and said, ‘Dad, we’re not going to make it unless I get my meditation in. I really need that for both of us.’ That was when I began to say no and he began to understand that I had needs too. Things got much better after that.

“My dad lived for two years after I arrived. With all of the love and attention he was receiving, he really bounced back. It was amazing to watch. What an incredible experience to be with him – it was the closest we’d ever been.

“I never would have believed that I could be there for him without trying to hold on to him – to support him in whatever he needed and then let him go. For the first time I felt what it was like to be lovingly detached. I’d always tried to put others first, but he helped me find a deeper understanding of what that means.

“That experience of being with my dad, especially in those final hours, which were so tender and positive, strengthened my belief in meditation and the disciplines. Sometimes I look back and wonder, ‘How did I do all of that?’ I know it was my practice.

“Now, even though I live alone, I have opportunities to help every day. I can be there for a friend who’s raising her six-year-old grandson and who needs a break or a sympathetic ear. I have a friend whose brother was very sick and she needed someone to comfort her. There is a ninety-year-old man down the street who I’ve noticed is by himself all the time, so I’ll walk by. It’s all those little things.”

The Blue Mountain Center of Meditation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit corporation. A contribution to the Center is deductible from state and federal income tax.