“The Stone in the Lake” is a mindfulness meditation that I stumbled across while reading Growing Up Mindful by psychologist and psychotherapist Dr. Christopher Willard. In this meditation, the meditator imagines the scenery of a “beautiful lake, preferably one in a climate with four seasons.” Once the lake is clear, the mediator imagines a pebble thrown into the lake and watches as it falls slowly, resting still on the bottom. Then the scene unfolds through different weather and seasons as the surface changes but the stone is still, resting at the bottom, underneath the chaos. The ultimate comparison is that we are like the lake itself, with various external conditions affecting our surface, but always able to have the inner calm, the unmoving stone, at our center.
This meditation resonated with me for a variety of reasons, but none so much as its connection to ancient philosophy. Stoic advisor Seneca talks about “getting away” as a waste of time in Letters from a Stoic, saying:
“All this hurrying from place to place won't bring you any relief, for you're traveling in the company of your own emotions, followed by your troubles all the way.”
Marcus Aurelius says it a little more firmly in his Meditations:
“People try to get away from it all—to the country, to the beach, to the mountains. You always wish that you could too. Which is idiotic: you can get away from it anytime you like. By going within. Nowhere you can go is more peaceful—more free of interruptions—than your own soul.”
The concept of the “Inner Citadel”, coined by eminent historian Pierre Hadot in his Meditations translation of the same name, pervades the teachings of these philosophers. The inner citadel is your mind or your soul, a place where comfort and stability lie and are untouchable by any external occurrence. With training, it is a place where one can retreat to find clarity and true rest.
The connection here between mindfulness and Stoicism is clear: the stone in the lake is where the inner citadel resides. By meditating and visualizing this concept, it becomes much more tangible. The surges of water on the surface, the external realities that bear down on the stillness of the lake, the churning of the depths of the water while the tempest blows, all leave the stone unaffected. The opportunity to retreat into the safety of the citadel always remains.
Mindfulness is the bridge between Eastern philosophy and the West, but the concepts of stillness and inner strength pervade Stoicism. The connection here, in the lake of our mind, is as compelling a connection as there could be. As I study and learn, it becomes more and more apparent that many different philosophies, religions, and belief systems are stacking on top of universal truth. One of these is the truth of stillness, the present, and mind-body connection.
There is no stillness without the body, which is why mindfulness meditations frequently begin by finding an anchor in the present, typically breathing or a physical sensation, both of which are locked into one moment in time. Stoicism does not explicitly explore this mind-body connection, but the implication of its necessity is clear. There is no right action in the present moment without a connection between mind and body.
Let the stone in the lake be a guiding reminder that stillness and relief are always close at hand, and that no external influence can dislodge us.
Edited by Jeremy Harr and Abigail McKay Cherry