by Robert Albrecht (from chalanteur.com)

It is no easy task to establish common ground between my two greatest passions: meditation and video games. One revolves entirely around observation and passivity, while the other is explicitly interactive. One asks for your patience and understanding, the other your motor skills and desire for agency and progress. And as far as I know, you don't get any hot chievos for being on the cushion for X amount of minutes. I consistently ask myself where my love for video games fits into my every day practice of mindfulness and intentional living and vice versa.The more ravens that surround you while practicing, the more you know it's working.

In truth, for most people consuming any form of entertainment based media, especially video games, it's generally an act of escapism. To be transported into a fictional universe, to have one's disbelief suspended in exchange for amusement and diversion is a practice as old as time. Meditation, at least as it is traditionally understood, could not be any further from that. The act of sitting and focusing on the breath, observing thoughts as they come, understanding them and letting them pass takes courage. Not the kind of courage displayed by Commander Shepard as he leads his crew on their suicide mission against the Harvesters, nor is it akin to the bravery and sacrifice of The Boss as she faces Naked Snake in that flowery field of fate. Meditation requires the courage to face one's self and accept it. It is diametrically opposed to escapism. It is the act of not allowing your mind to elope with any thought in particular, but to stay centered on a focal point and allow the terrors of the mind to get close enough that they brush shoulders with you before fading into nothing. Both involve facing nemeses of a sort, but despite several attempts, I will never be able to fully CQC my generalized anxiety and panic into submission.

To our modern, objective-based minds, this can be irritating. No matter how precise and masterful our muscle memory allows us to be, we cannot win the game of life. I am fully cognizant of the vast chasm between these two worlds I live in. On the one hand, when I'm playing games I tend to be a bit of a completionist. Earning every last trophy is an impressive feat, but I need to always be aware that no matter how many trophies or how much gamer score I accumulate, I will never be fully satisfied. No place are we taught this more than on the cushion. It's there we take a moment to focus our mind and observe just how voracious and insatiable desire can be.

You cannot vanquish a thought like you would a foe in a game. The more you struggle and wrestle with your emotions, the more they control you. Imagine a boss fight in which the enemy's only weak point is its ego and is defeated only by being disregarded. It sounds ridiculous and would make for a rather anti-climactic sequence, but that is precisely how a negative thought is bested. It must be deprived of legitimacy. The act of attacking an enemy in a game by definition demonstrates their worth to you. Perhaps they have something that you want or maybe their existence endangers the ones you mean to protect. As frustrating as it can be from the perspective of our very go-getting generation, a practitioner of mindfulness meditation should never sit with a goal or reward in mind. Expectations and aspirations have no place on the cushion. One must only be cognizant of stressors and avoid engaging them.

There is however, a common thread loosely tangled between these two activities. Any gamer who appreciates the quick access to a "Retry" button knows this first similarity well. Both meditation and video games are tremendously forgiving. Each time you miss the K in your S-K-A-T-E combo, you simply begin again. Now, the the "try" in retry is a bit of a dirty word in meditation circles, but the same principle applies to being mindful. Each time your mind drifts away with the breeze of an incoming thought, all one must do is smile, press Start and select "Retry Mission". There is an insubstantial nature to both activities. Sure, we've all thrown a controller at the screen following a failure, but rarely do games truly put us face to face with permadeath situations. ​There may be some backtracking and repeat encounters before you get back to where you were when you failed, but you'll get another shot. That is perhaps a point in favor of meditation in terms of being easy. Once you restart on that breath, you're already back where you were. You have unlimited lives, and the only decision you have to make is to keep selecting "Continue".

Meditation, being steeped in mystical and spiritual myth, certainly does make its appearances in video game fiction, albeit in vastly different contexts and levels of solemnity.

There is of course the White Wolf, Gwynbleidd, also known as Geralt of Rivia whom is well known for his affinity for sitting with the breath. It has been a mechanic of the game of varying utility throughout all three installments. In the original, Geralt was limited in his ability to meditate by being near a bonfire or perhaps in the home of a friendly NPC. It was very much an act of restoration and preparation. It is here alone that Geralt is able to create potions, bombs, and allocate skill points. In a sense, meditating is the only time in which Geralt can take what he has gained passively in real life experience and fully apply it to himself. This is ironically almost the exact opposite of the role of real life meditation. We develop the brain power in a passive state while meditating to be able to face everyday situations actively and with equanimity. The application and productivity comes in the form of remaining balanced through your day to day tasks. I also imagine it would be difficult to brew potions with one's eyes closed.

In addition to his health and endurance being restored, he will also be cleared of any toxicity or intoxication. One quick note: if you've ever successfully meditated while drunk or hung over, maybe you should be out there slaying monsters rather than reading this. In Assassin of Kings and The Wild Hunt, the only real change is that Geralt is able to meditate anywhere as long as there aren't any enemies around. In the Wild Hunt specifically, it will automatically refill your potions, though at higher difficulties will not restore your health. Regardless of the actually utility of meditation in-game, the idea of sitting seiza style with two swords strapped on your back is straight up samurai shit.

Meditation is also found in many MMOs which feature monks or similar caster classes. In Everquest, for example, Meditate is a passive magic skill used by all casters to more quickly regenerate mana whenever sitting still AND increasing the speed with which they are able to memorize spells. There is a clear understanding by the developers of the equanimity, resilience and clarity of thought gained when one is deep in their practice! Or maybe it was just a convenient name for a skill to buff those glass-cannon casters. Who knows? Unfortunately for most MMO players, however, the requirement of standing still likely means they'll never feel the benefits as jumping incessantly is a common side-effect of Adderall and Mountain Dew usage.

Or maybe you'll remember Poo's Mu Training in Earthbound, which is perhaps the most accurate (if a bit terrifying) depiction of meditative practice in games. Mu ( 無 in Japanese, meaning nothingness or nil) is a special martial arts training in which Prince Poo must participate. Upon beginning his practice up on a cliff, he is bombarded with distractions and strange messages (mostly involving asking permission to remove his limbs and sensory organs) through which his focus must persevere. If you don't latch on to these crazy thoughts and images coming at you, you emerge victorious from this particular vignette. We should all learn to be more like Poo.

Meditation and Video Games are two very different things, but they both play incredibly important roles in my life. In the spirit of mindfulness, I believe it is of course important to always play games with an active mind, never simply absorbing them mindlessly to fill the void. There are times when I believe the imaginative world of electronic media could even be used to enhance our meditative practice. Especially with the increasing popularity and feasibility of virtual reality for the average consumer, it is interesting to imagine the sort of experiences one could design to perhaps teach about and visualize meditation through immersive experiences. Even still in the 2D world, as I planet hop aimlessly in No Man's Sky, for example, the constant assault of sentries on hostile planets evokes vivid parallels to the vociferous nature of our fleeting thoughts. If only there was a multi-tool with which to destroy negativity; unfortunately such devices are not currently in existence (well lobotomies and all that, but that's a real scorched earth policy, yikes).

So maybe it's not possible as of now to combine meditation and video games in any meaningful way. That doesn't mean we can't be MINDFUL and glean insight while we're playing. As long as we are always engaged in the activity at hand, we can deepen our understanding of the true nature of things from just about any activity--even playing the silliest of games. So keep playing and know that you're playing. Don't let it become just mindless escape for you. Love your video games and give them the attention they deserve.

When it comes to our mission to transcend suffering, the princess is ALWAYS in the other castle. Understanding and experiencing that is nibbana.

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By Robert Albrecht (from chalanteur.com)

It should be no great secret that Henry David Thoreau's economical and existential masterpiece was one of my greatest inspirations to begin on my journey of mindfulness and intentional living. I would go so far as to say that Walden: Or, A Life in the Woods was the straw that broke the camel's back for me, the match in the powder barrel, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I knew that floating through life without taking any roots in the present was not the way I was meant to live. There was also within me a latent desire to understand our capabilities as humans.

In Concerned Ape's unbelievable success Stardew Valley, our protagonist's experience is more or less the same. Their's is a story of awakening and understanding of what it means to be happy. It's a game touted as a spiritual successor to titles like Harvest Moon. But I believe this one man-team was able to create something which speaks to players on a much more profound level than a mere farming simulation. Perhaps it is truly the brilliance in concept and design, or maybe I just found Stardew Valley at the exact right moment in my life. Regardless, there is something to be said about this game which has granted it a place in my heart alongside a literary classic like Walden.

I named my character Ron after the actor who plays one of my favorite movie personalities of all time, Peter Gibbons, and I will continue to refer to him as such for our purposes here.

The game begins with an image of an old man, Ron's grandfather, ostensibly surrounded by his family on his deathbed. To Ron he bequeaths a sealed envelope along with a message breathed out with his final breaths: "There will come a day when you feel crushed by the burden of modern life, and your bright spirit will fade before a growing emptiness. When that happens, my boy, you’ll be ready for this gift.” Ominous though his final words may sound, it turns out that this final act of compassion would prove to change Ron's life forever.

The day his grandfather described would not come until much later in his life, however. On that fateful day, amid the monotony and soulless nature of his occupation, he reaches into the drawer where he kept that sealed envelope. Inside it was a letter informing him that he was to inherit his grandfather's ranch in quiet Pelican Town on the Southern coast, nestled in Stardew Valley. Judging by the rapidity with which the scene transitions to his bus ride there, it would seem Ron knew that it might do him some good to leave his modern, sterilized corporate environment to discover the simple, mechanical motions of life. He is afforded an opportunity to return to not only his familial roots, but to a simpler time not as convoluted with stipulations, middle men and cynicism. The quiet sea-side Pelican Town would seem to be everything Ron was missing.

To be certain, Ron does not benefit from the organic beginnings which Thoreau sought, that it would be better to be "born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf" than to inherit farms, houses, barns and tools. That has more to do with the extremity of Thoreau's two plus year experiment in understanding the rawness and core survival ability of the individual. Ron did not escape, or perhaps more aptly, play pilgrim to Stardew Valley with the same intent. He was seeking happiness and peace alone, whereas Thoreau fully intended on returning back to what he describes as civilization following his time in the woods.

In this way, it is perhaps our protagonist who more precisely embodies the lifestyle of which I am a proponent. By living intentionally, what I do not seek is to commit myself to anything arbitrary. I do not promote setting rules and adhering to any particular -ism. I simply want to see people living lives which bring them true contentment and eliminate unnecessary stress.

There is obviously a romance surrounding life on a farm: being awoken by the cock's crow, putting hoe to solid earth to expose it's fertility and robustness, the sweat of a hard day's work, and most importantly, and (forgive my Marxist undertones) directly enjoying the fruits of one's labor.

The idyll ringing in Ron's heart is quickly shattered when he discovers the overgrown state of Livingston Ranch, not to mention the dilapidation evident in his small farm house. There is clearly an inconceivable amount of work ahead of him before he even gets the ranch to an operational level. He does not, however, falter in his desire to commit to this lifestyle. He simply heeds Robin's words, the local carpenter who shows him the way to his home, to do his best to meet everyone in town. After tilling his first patch of soil and planting the parsnip seeds gifted to him, he does just that.

It is difficult to imagine the benefit of simply introducing oneself to as many people as possible without hope for a return. We view socializing as an investment of our time. Often times when offered options of Netflix or, to be completely fair, video games as a substitution, we are quick to latch on to whatever means will allow us to avoid human contact. Yet Ron decides to engage in his community. After all, there isn't much to distract him at the ranch save the mounds of work ahead of him. As is, his home is without a kitchen, contains no form of recreation to speak of with the exception of a TV that seems to have only have a weather and cooking channel available. There is simply nothing better to do for him than to meet the locals.

Thoreau speaks at length about his delight with the visitors who came to his cabin. Their meetings were not out of social obligation, but out of friendship and a longing for society. Like any good intentional liver, upon being visited by a caller, he was "ready enough to fasten [him]self like a bloodsucker to any full-blooded man that [came] in [his] way." In other words, when they came to see him, he made himself available to see them and to give them his full attention. You'll find that most locals of the valley are ecstatic to see you. Yes, this is a work of fiction, but it's certainly something to consider. When we remove ourselves from the constant, rushed flow of modern late-capitalist society and learn to enjoy the people who come into our lives, it can make a huge difference.

There's Harvey the doctor, Pierre who runs the general store, Marnie who sells livestock, Demetrius the scientist and his wife, the aforementioned Robin, and many, many more, each with their own distinct personalities and specialties. Though we may be tempted to chock the intriguing nature of these folk up to the fact that they are characters created by a writer, it also serves as a poignant reminder of how much we may be missing in our real lives by failing to know our neighbors. Each individual we come across has a story to tell, and one that will unfailingly enrich your life in some way. I am perhaps the most guilty person of this, and I'm working to overcome whatever hangups I have on making those unknown to me known out of sheer curiosity.

In Pelican Town, a place with an estimated population of about thirty people (including Linus the Hermit), it would be rude to NOT introduce oneself. Perhaps this is why we are hesitant to get to know our neighbors in more densely populated locales; there's no hope of us meeting everyone, so why bother at all? This would of course reflect our obsession with completionism, which is always a losing battle. Community and interdependence are the heart of Pelican Town--or at least it once was.

In an ironic twist, the corporation with whom you were employed prior to your Southward journey has recently opened a mega-mart in Pelican Town. Joja Mart represents the looming threat of modernity over the happy people in the valley, and Ron is given the option to support its existence by purchasing a membership or to forsake convenience for the continuity of togetherness in the town by working tirelessly to collect resources to rebuild the local community center. To us, this may seem an easy decision. Who needs the local blacksmith when you can just buy the newest mass-produced pickaxe, and more importantly, who needs to farm when you can simply fulfill your dietary needs with the individually packaged goods at Joja mart? It's also important to note that Pierre could never compete with their prices.

This for me is where we find the heart and soul of Stardew Valley. We choose to live on the ranch not because it's easy, not because it's convenient, but because it affords us intangible peace and purpose in our lives. It would be safe to assume Ron was making a much better living employed by Joja. He could have reasonably purchased whatever his heart desired with his salary. But this comes at a cost. It's a cost I believe no person would pay if they truly understood how simple and meaningful each moment of our life can be if we slow things down. In all fairness, not all of us will have an opportunity at attempting a simpler life as obvious as Ron; even Thoreau had to simply hope for the best and build his cabin as a squatter. But this initial hurdle to making drastic lifestyle changes should not prelude us from adopting small things each and every day.

This could be any number of things. Instead of going to the same chain restaurant you always do, try a family owned one in your neighborhood. Instead of buying everything in your house from Ikea, see if there's a local carpenter or furniture maker in your town and get to know them. Don't get me wrong, this is not about altruism and the blind mantra of "buy local". In the time of Thoreau, he really had no other choice. I see this engagement with one's community to be an entirely selfish endeavor. I want to be part of a community like that of Pelican Town because it makes life happier and more interesting. Mass production is convenient and by definition tremendously economical, but that's the danger in always thinking about the bottom line: we aren't machines. We are sapient animals with desires, curiosities, ambitions, moments of great joy and times of profound sadness. By living blindly in a society concerned only with what is efficient, we are depriving ourselves of what is fulfilling. In Thoreau's conclusion, he says, "there is an incessant influx of novelty in the world, and yet we tolerate incredible dullness". There is so much life to live and we are doing ourselves a disservice by buying into that dullness.

Stardew Valley is not a perfect game. There are many ways in which it fails to hit the mark in terms of the spirit I am lauding. The lack of any sort of hunger mechanic, for example, makes indefinite survival without anyone's help entirely possible (but hey, that's what we have modding communities for). But in a sense, it's exactly that my mind automatically jumps to this criticism that we all need our own version of Pelican Town in our lives. Why am I concerning myself with what is theoretically the most efficient means of survival? To simply survive most economically is not a happy life, but I feel as if we as a society place too great an emphasis on that materialistic philosophy. As pursuers of greater meaning, we seek to form community, we seek to form lasting friendships, we seek meaningful work not because we wish to continue living, but because we want to live happily. ​