“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.
Reminder: If reading this post becomes tiring, remembert to pause and rest. Pacing applies to all activities, even the ones we love, like reading and learning. Come back to this post later if you need to. Practicing pacing, even in small moments, is an essential part of living well with chronic fatigue syndrome.
Introduction
There’s a rhythm to living with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), one that demands a delicate balance of energy. Most of us who live with this condition become intimately familiar with pacing—learning how to manage our energy, smoothing out the hills and valleys of our strength. Through pacing, I’ve learned to minimize the crashes that come when I push myself too far. But even with this practice, there are moments when I consciously decide to overdo it.
Sometimes, there’s a powerful desire to break out of the limits that CFS imposes. It’s a rebellion, a brief escape. I know when I’m pushing too far, but I choose to embrace life fully for a day or two. I let myself feel that temporary energy, even though I know I’ll crash later. It’s a conscious decision to say, “I’m going to enjoy this moment, and I’m willing to pay the price.”
For anyone with CFS, this might sound familiar. We know pacing is vital to managing our condition, but there are times when the joy of overdoing it feels worth the consequences. And yet, when the crash comes—and it always does—the body demands recovery. This is where the real work begins, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
The Second Arrow: Witnessing the Mind’s Reactions
When I crash, the body does what it needs to do to heal, and I’m forced to stop. But I’ve learned over time that what really intensifies suffering isn’t just the crash itself—it’s the mental and emotional turmoil that can follow. This is where the teachings of vrittis and pratyayas have been so transformative for me.
In simple terms, vrittis are the fluctuations of the mind—the rising and falling thoughts and emotions. Pratyayas are the seeds that drive these mental fluctuations, often based on past experiences, memories, or attachments. Together, these create the mental chatter that, when left unchecked, can deepen the suffering of any crash.
Buddhist teachings describe this extra layer of suffering as the “second arrow.” The first arrow is the unavoidable pain—whether physical, emotional, or otherwise. But the second arrow is the mental suffering we add on top of that pain: the self-criticism, the frustration, the inner dialogue that says, “Why did I overdo it? I knew better.” This second arrow is where much of the suffering lies.
But by the yogic practice of witnessing the vrittis and pratyayas, I’ve learned to avoid that second arrow. I observe the mental fluctuations as they come and go, without attaching to them, without allowing them to define my experience. I become the seer—the witness—and in doing so, I find that even during a crash, there is peace to be found.
Pacing and the Conscious Decision to Overdo It
Pacing remains the cornerstone of managing chronic fatigue syndrome. It’s about knowing your limits and respecting them, smoothing out the ups and downs of energy. But what happens when pacing fails? What happens when you make the conscious decision to overdo it, knowing full well that you’ll pay for it later?
For me, the key has been integrating this practice of witnessing into every stage of the process. I allow myself to live fully in those moments of overindulgence, embracing the joy of activity and connection, knowing that a crash will follow. But when the crash comes, I don’t add layers of mental suffering by blaming myself. Instead, I use the crash as an opportunity to practice witnessing—the vrittis and pratyayas are just thoughts and mental patterns, not realities. By observing them, I stay free of the second arrow.
This approach allows me to live with chronic fatigue syndrome in a way that feels less restrictive. Yes, I pace myself. Yes, I’m mindful of my energy. But even when I choose to push past those limits, I know that I can find peace in the aftermath through this practice.
The Impulse to Finish, the Practice of Letting Go
As I write this post, I feel the strong desire to finish it, to post it immediately so that it can be available to those who may benefit from it. It’s an impulse I recognize well—a pratyaya, a desire that drives me to push beyond my limits, even when I know it’s not in my best interest.
But just as I practice witnessing during a crash, I also practice witnessing this impulse. I see it for what it is—just a thought, just Mara, just another fluctuation of the mind. I don’t have to follow it. I don’t have to act on it. Instead, I can pause, rest, and come back to this post when my body is ready.
In the same way, I encourage you, as a reader, to pace yourself. This post is long, and if you find yourself feeling tired, take a break. Reading is an activity that requires energy, and pacing applies here, too. Come back to it later if you need to. Take care of your energy, just as I am doing with mine.
A Soft Rebellion, a Path to Growth
There is something liberating about the moments when we choose to overdo it, to embrace life fully despite knowing we’ll crash later. It’s a soft rebellion, a decision to live in the moment, even when we know the consequences. But with the right mindset, even those crashes can become opportunities for growth and practice.
The teachings of witnessing the vrittis and pratyayas have shown me that even the difficult moments—the crashes, relapses, pain, dysfunction, and discomfort of those moments, days, or weeks of low energy—are fertile ground for inner growth. By avoiding the second arrow, and simply observing my mind without attaching to the fluctuations, I can find peace even in the midst of discomfort.
For anyone living with chronic fatigue syndrome, I hope this reflection offers some comfort and guidance. There is no perfect way to navigate this condition, but there are practices that can help us find peace, even in the most challenging times. Whether it’s through pacing, or through the practice of witnessing, or simply by being gentle with ourselves, especially in moments of overdoing it, we can find a way to live with greater ease and acceptance.
Take your time, pace yourself, and remember that every crash, every moment of overdoing it, is a new opportunity to practice and grow. We are all on this path together, and in that, there is a kind of peace.
Facing the Storm: An Urgent Reminder to Pace and Witness
As I write this, there is a real storm brewing, both within and without. The image below is a weather map of the hurricane that may soon hit my area, forcing me to evacuate. As someone living in an RV, evacuation is usually mandatory in situations like this, and so I find myself facing the possibility of having to leave my bed in the middle of a crash caused by overdoing it.
The threat is very real, and so the importance of pacing is now at a level that I can’t ignore. I must prioritize rest and recovery immediately, because no matter what state I’m in, I’ll have to get out of bed and go to the hurricane shelter at the church next door if an evacuation order comes.
This situation has made it even clearer to me how crucial the practice of witnessing vrittis and pratyayas is. Without that practice, I would be overwhelmed by anxiety and fear right now. The mind wants to run wild with worst-case scenarios and worries, but I have been training myself to simply witness these thoughts as they arise. They are just thoughts—just mental fluctuations. They do not have to define my experience. I can stay present, calm, and clear, ready to deal with whatever comes.
So, after I finish writing this post, I’m going into massive rest and be prepared mode. The practice of pacing has never been more critical. This is an extreme red-flag situation, and I hope it serves as a reminder to all of us with chronic fatigue syndrome: sometimes, the urgency of rest is not just about avoiding a crash; it’s about survival.
Take a look at the image below—it’s a reminder to me, and hopefully to you as well, that life can throw storms at us both literally and metaphorically. But with the right practices, we can remain centered and grounded, ready to face what comes with a steady mind and a rested body.
As we face the storms within and around us, may we find peace in the stillness of our hearts. May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. May all beings experience happiness and the causes of happiness. May we all find safety, strength, and well-being on our journeys, no matter how turbulent the path. May we be guided by wisdom, anchored in compassion, and find harmony in the unfolding of each moment. And in these times of uncertainty, may we remember our interconnectedness, and may we all be held in grace and peace.
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