Before we start with philosophical contemplation, we must prepare ourselves to encounter what is precious, profound, even sacred. We are going to meet inner reality – the Queen, so to speak – and before we enter her palace we should prepare our mind and heart and body. We must push aside our agendas and worries and forget our needs for satisfaction and entertainment. In the Queen’s palace, we must be serious – not serious as opposed to smiling, but serious as opposed to trivial, careless, unfocused, cynical or manipulative.

After all, in order to appreciate a Bach concert, you must push your everyday worries out of your mind, or otherwise you will hear only acoustic noises. In order to appreciate the magic of nature, you must open your mind to the silent beauty of the mountains, or otherwise you will see only geological facts. When you go to meet friends, you must open yourself to the possibility of togetherness, or otherwise you will remain cold and distant. Likewise, if you want to truly contemplate, you must open within yourself a space for the possibility of wonder, of awe, of preciousness. Contemplation is not just an intellectual exercise, it requires a certain inner attitude. When we contemplate, we stand in readiness to face the precious voices of reality.

Of course, you cannot force yourself to feel beauty or love or preciousness – these experiences cannot be forced. They have a life of their own. But it is necessary to be ready, receptive, to open the gates, to orient the heart. Contemplation requires a re-orientation – orienting yourself towards the precious, the profound, the sacred that may appear within you.

That doesn’t mean that we must meditate, or close our eyes and breath slowly, or chant sentences – these are no more than technical exercises. They sometimes help reorient the mind, but not necessarily. The important thing is not the exercise but the attitude – an attitude of inner openness: I am no longer the one who knows and determines and has opinions and is in control. I am no longer at the center of the world – not even at the center of MY world. In the Queen’s palace, I am at the periphery, a secondary character in the plot, an addendum to the main thing. When reality speaks, I am a fourth or fifth violin in the big orchestra.

That’s why contemplation gives wisdom – wisdom means that I take part in a world that is bigger than me. And that’s why contemplation gives a sense of expansion and self-transcending and freedom – the freedom of a flower who is glad to be part of the big field, a wave that is happy to be a drop in the ocean, a poet in the Queen’s great palace.