Brigid Delaney, The Guardian Monday 19 October 2015
Each week my group meditation class grows. New faces arrive, mostly young women in their 20s whose refrain is the same: they can’t sleep properly at night, frequently worry, find themselves constantly overthinking.
It’s standard low-level anxiety stuff for which a doctor might prescribe a mild sedative, or put you on a mental health plan. That’s if you see a doctor. Most people just muddle through, thinking that the feeling of always being slightly on edge is just part of the modern condition.
That is why many of us gather together in the house, meditating together. We hope that mastering this ancient thing and doing it twice a day will deliver that elusive feeling of peace. No need to take any drugs; just sit quietly, detach and let your thoughts drift across your mind like clouds.
Last year meditation hit its peak. It was Arianna Huffington and her book Thrive. It was Ted talks on mindfulness, clogging up Facebook feeds. It was meditation making the cover of Time magazine. It was the New Republic calling 2014 the Year of Mindfulness. It was meditation mantras on corporate retreats and Zen buddhists on the speakers’ circuit.

