We teach a scientific method of concentration. A popular, ineffectual method of concentration may be depicted by this useless attempt: The scene is an apartment, about 2 P.M. on a wintry day. A lady enters, pulls down the shades, and hurries to sit in a straight-backed chair to concentrate. No sooner has her body touched the chair than she exclaims: “My goodness, this seat is too hard. Let me fetch a pillow.” Seated on the pillow, she suddenly discovers that the chair is maliciously squeaking and disturbing the beginnings of her concentration. So she transfers her pillow and her body to another chair. “Now, at last, everything is right for a delightful dip into the depths of concentration.” Only a moment passes and she is about to plunge within, when, “Ta, ta, ta, ta, tang, ta, ta, tang ” sings out the boiling radiator. In disgust, she chokes the radiator’s voice. In righteous indignation she now increases her determination to dive deep into the heart of meditation. A moment later, “Plung, ploong, ploong-plung ” goes the piano in the apartment next door. Annoyed, she thinks, “There goes that terrible piano again, just as I sit down to meditate. ” As her wrath calms down in the semi-darkness, she begins to think, “Well, that’s really a fairly good piano; it only needs a little tuning.” Then comes the memory of her dear grandmother’s piano in the sweet old days of long ago—her dear grandmother, who always protected her from the harsh discipline of her parents . . . and more loving thoughts of her grandmother. Suddenly, she jerks herself from her sweet reverie and remembers, “Oh, I must practice silence; I must concentrate.” So, with saintly dignity, her spirit rebuked for its restlessness, with rather battered self-control, she once more attempts to meditate. Her eyes have hardly closed again when “Gr Gr Grr Grrrrrrr —” crows out the telephone with impudent, patience-piercing pertinacity. She breathes to herself through grinding teeth, “I will not answer. Crow all you like, Mr. Telephone.” But “Grrrrrrr ” goes the impertinent bell with unimaginable persistency. “Well, maybe it is an important call. ‘Hello, there—What is it you want? This is Somerville 2924. . . .’” As she hears the soul exasperating answer, “Wrong number,” she slams the mouthpiece onto the hook . This terrible ordeal over, she musters enough courage to again try to concentrate, while her brain is seething with the thought: “I will break that telephone forever and ever. It will then disturb me no more.” With scissors in hand, she is about to cut the cord when she thinks of the inconvenience that might follow, so she changes her mind and puts a piece of cardboard between the hammer and the bell on the telephone. That accomplished, victorious, she sits once more on her throne of concentration. A few more minutes pass and she is half-dozing, due to her successive battles with piano noises, the telephone, and so forth. Catching herself sleeping, half-ashamed, she sits up straight once more to begin again to meditate. Immediately there arises a clamorous ringing of her doorbell. As before, she thinks, “I will not answer it.” The doorbell goes on ringing until she thinks again, “Maybe it is something important.” At the door she assumes a galvanized smile as she greets her three lady friends, who have all obtained a master’s degree in the art of gossiping, and she gushes, “How do you do? Come right in, you three darlings. I’m so delighted that you’ve come over.” Behind the forced smile lies the silent whispering, “Oh, you pests and gossips, when will you go so that I can concentrate? ” Three hours slip away as she merrily laughs at the folly of her three gossiping cronies. At last, the door closes behind their vanishing forms. Much relieved, the lady once more sits down to seek her lost throne of silence, but her attention is mobbed by memories of radiators, piano noises, telephone bells, door bells, and gossips. She looks at her watch and, with a resigned sigh, says, “I give up, dear Concentration. It seems that I cannot be with you today. I have to run now to prepare the evening meal.” The above experience is only a sample of what happens to most women and men whenever they attempt to concentrate. God tries to speak to His children through the voice of silence and peace in response to His children’s prayers, but His voice is usually drowned out by the ringing of telephones, sensations of touch, smell, taste, hearing, and sight, and by the rowdy noises of the sensation- and memory-roused thoughts. Sadly, God turns away.

Attributes: Paramhansa Yogananda

Struggle to find focus in a busy world? Learn how to steady your attention and overcome the constant interruptions of daily life.

Many of us face the same challenge: we sit down to work or meditate, only to be pulled away by external noises or internal restlessness. This visual reflection illustrates the common pattern of losing focus when our environment feels chaotic and loud. It is a reminder that the battle for peace often happens in the smallest moments of our day.

By observing these failed attempts at mental clarity, we can recognize our own habits of being easily distracted. Developing the discipline to maintain focused attention requires patience and a gentle return to the present. As you practice dealing with distractions, you begin to build a stronger foundation for your inner stillness, allowing you to improve concentration even when the world around you is noisy.

Tags: