Late in 2012, Allan Lokos, who founded the Community Meditation Center in New York, had to put his meditation and stress-management techniques to the test in a dire situation: The plane on which Mr. Lokos, his wife and 69 other passengers were traveling crashed in Myanmar.
The crash and his recovery are detailed in his book, “Through the Flames,” published this month by Tarcher/Penguin. I had the opportunity to talk with Mr. Lokos about what effects two decades of meditation has had on him, and how it aided him in extreme crisis. The following is an edited version of our conversation.
Where do you think you would be after the crash without your years of meditation training?
Probably dead. When the plane crashed, everything became chaotic. I was fully aware of the danger, but I was not caught up in it. I was calm. My wife was calm. We were then engulfed in this thick, black noxious smoke. Still we didn’t panic. I looked over to the side and there was an emergency exit, but it was already engulfed in ferocious flames. The only way to get out would have been to jump through the flames.
After pushing your wife through the fire and out the exit, you tried to follow, but your foot got caught on something and you were stuck there for some time.
I was scared, even terrified, and I knew that I was. At the same time, it was as if I could turn binoculars the wrong way and see a bigger picture. In other words, you can be right in the middle of something chaotic, and still see the bigger picture. The bigger picture was very clear — I had to get out. I was in the fire. Not close to it, but in it, and that was a terrifying thing. Yet by remaining calm and present, I was able to tear myself free and jump from the plane. I was seriously burned, but I was alive.
What was the most unexpected effect on your meditative practice after the crash?
I expected to rely on my meditation practice as soon as I got home from the hospital to begin healing and recovering. But I wasn’t able to meditate because of a combination of physical pain and a very active mind, mostly dealing a lot with me wanting my old life back.
This was unexpected to me because I’d never been through anything as serious as this as far as affecting me physically, mentally and emotionally. I was unbelievably weak. My hands were so sensitive and tremulous I couldn’t touch anything. I had an iPad and I thought I’d play a word game on it, but I couldn’t even touch the glass. On the positive side however, my ability to relinquish and to let go was kind of unexpected.
By relinquish, do you mean adopting a kind of neutrality about your life?
No, not at all. Meditative practice actually encourages effort and determination. Just the fact that each day you’re going to sit down and spend whatever time you’ve decided to commit to it takes effort and determination. At the same time, it also teaches acceptance of what is coming up in your practice and if what is coming up is not acceptable — for instance unwise, destructive thoughts. The first step is to simply accept that.
We learn that we don’t have to act on our anger. We can simply become aware that anger is there and address it without punching someone out because we don’t like what he said.
Mostly, what I had to relinquish was wanting my old life back. When I was able to let that go, I could begin to experience my new life which, while somewhat different, has proved to be quite wonderful.
Is your daily routine or practice different subsequent to the accident?
For years I would sit first thing in the morning for 45 minutes. Occasionally I would extend it, but I would never do less than that. Since I spent most of the rest of the day writing, I’d take little breaks from the computer – focus on three deep breaths — perhaps 10 times throughout the day.
Today my day begins with tai chi, which I practice to help me with my balance. The tai chi form I practice ends with a meditative pose. So, the form takes 10 minutes, and I spend another 10 minutes in that final pose. Then I’ll do another 30 minutes of formal sitting. I still do the practice of turning away from the computer screen throughout the day.
You stopped teaching meditation after the accident for about five months. Has your brush with death changed the way you teach?
People tell me that I’m teaching differently. I may be. I also wonder if I am being heard differently. I’m no longer someone who is only sharing the words of the great teachers who have preceded me. Now, people look at me and think, “This man has been in the fire.”
How has meditation met, exceeded or failed to live up to the expectations you had when you began practicing in the mid-90s?
I don’t remember ever having expectations, short term or long term. I tried meditation because I thought it might be of some benefit, but looking to achieve something can be counterproductive. Yet, I think the potential to achieve a great deal is there. It’s almost a dichotomy.
We humans tend to be result oriented. Why sit down and put in even 10 minutes a day if we don’t see a reason to do it? At the same time, if we focus on the reason to do it, we’re likely to retard our progress.
Over time, the benefits begin to become evident until, all of a sudden, one day, you say, “Wow! I just handled that situation much better than I would have handled it a year ago.” One day you feel more at peace, you notice that you are happier. While I never spent my practice preparing for a plane crash, it turned out all of that work came in very useful.