There once was a healer whose light burned quietly, steadily. They moved with tenderness, practicing wisdom, speaking softly, honoring boundaries—resting when they needed, even offering compassion to themselves.
But still… the flame within them began to dim. Not for lack of care. Not for lack of knowing. It simply dimmed, as if called downward by something no hand could touch.
For God, watching with ancient eyes, whispered among His friends: “This one must be stopped—not for punishment, but for protection. There is another kind of healing they must learn—one that cannot be found in doing.”
And so, with threads unseen, He bound the healer in stillness. No more running. No more reaching. No more doing.
It wasn’t rope, but illness. It wasn’t cruelty, but consecration. And the name of the rope was Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.
At first, the healer fought—kicking, bargaining, crying to be untied. But ME doesn’t bargain. It doesn’t shout. It sits like a stone in the lap of your soul and says: “You will rest now. You will learn the medicine of stillness.”
And so began the long apprenticeship— Not in temples, but in beds. Not in motion, but in surrender. Not in speech, but in silence.
Friends, We are all walking this path of unexpected healing together— Not by choice, but by calling.
“Discover how pristine mind meditation may offer a gentle, restorative state of awareness without the energy costs that often come with post-exertional malaise.”
Living with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome means every action, every exertion, has a cost. For many, even a few minutes of focus or effort can lead to post-exertional malaise—a profound worsening of symptoms that can last for days. But what if there was a way to rest deeply, to allow the mind to settle in a way that doesn’t deplete but actually nourishes? This is where the practice of pristine mind meditation comes in, offering an effortless awareness that exists beyond thought, beyond strain, and without the toll of traditional exertion.
Pristine mind meditation is rooted in the idea of simply being. Rather than trying to clear the mind or enter a specific state, it invites you to rest in pure, unaltered awareness. This isn’t an act of concentration or focus, but a gentle allowing—a way to let thoughts and sensations come and go without attaching or resisting. The experience of resting in the pristine mind is often described as spacious, calm, and effortlessly open. For someone with ME/CFS, this could mean a path to real rest without the demand on physical energy that so often comes with other practices.
Theoretically, because pristine mind meditation is free from physical or mental strain, it offers a way to access peace and stillness without triggering the kind of post-exertional fatigue that can worsen symptoms. It’s an invitation to explore a new way of being with chronic fatigue, where healing is not about doing but about resting in the quiet awareness that’s already within you.
This journey is a gentle experiment, a compassionate practice of meeting yourself exactly as you are. Whether you experience even a few moments of pristine awareness or simply rest in the intention, the practice becomes a way of honoring the body’s limits and nourishing the mind. Take this path slowly, with openness, knowing that each step is its own quiet gift.
If you’re curious, I invite you to join in this exploration, allowing yourself to simply rest in the pristine mind, noticing what it brings without expectation or need for change. This is a practice of ease, not of effort—a resting place for the soul amidst the demands of daily life with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
For those interested in going deeper, much of this understanding is inspired by the teachings in Our Pristine Mind by Orgyen Chowang Rinpoche. His book provides a profound exploration of this approach to awareness, offering guidance on accessing the clear, effortless state of the pristine mind. If this resonates with you, I’ll leave a link below to help you find the book and discover more about this gentle, transformative practice.
In the name of honoring my chronic fatigue syndrome, I’m experimenting with a different approach to healing. I’m trying out the idea that it doesn’t have to be complicated or effortful—that maybe simplicity and gentle choices can be enough. By tending to myself in this way, I’m exploring what it means to honor both my needs and my limitations, and I’m finding that this, too, might be a path to healing.
I don’t know all the answers, but I’m noticing that healing isn’t always about pushing or doing more. Sometimes, it’s about making a quiet, deliberate choice to conserve energy, to rest, and to be. This journey toward simplicity and ease feels like a step toward well-being, and I’m curious to see where it leads.
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