The Valley of Samādhi

The Valley of Samādhi

Episode #562: “I thought there was something, but I didn't know there was a way to get there.” That sense of longing has shaped Eion Meades’s spiritual life. His father abandoned the family when Meades was around ten years old, leaving his mother to raise six children while working long hours as a cleaner. He drifted toward crime and bad behavior before leaving home at fifteen. He hitchhiked across Australia and New Zealand, then traveled through Asia. Not finding a clear spiritual path on his travels, be returned to Australia to join Chenrezig Institute, a fledgling Tibetan Buddhist community there. Meades became one of the earliest residents and builders of what later grew into a major Tibetan Buddhist center. The Buddhist community gave him structure, intellectual clarity, and a disciplined path toward awakening. “I felt, ‘Ah, this is it, I'm home!’” The commitment of the community to building the center inspired him. Over time, however, he sought more meditative depth than he felt Chenrezig provided, and turned to Robert Hover, an American teacher from the U Ba Khin Vipassana lineage. Under Hover’s guidance, Meades’s practice became an intense confrontation with fear, emotion, and altered states of consciousness. He describes Hover as almost shamanic, representing a more personal and experimental form of Vipassana practice. Another decisive influence came through Mary, an older psychic medium connected to the Tibetan Buddhist community. Through her, Meades encountered trance mediumship, spirit guides, visions, and other experiences that defied “rational” explanation. Mary eventually led him away from the security of institutional Buddhism and into a more uncertain but deeply personal spiritual path. Later, another U Ba Khin lineage teacher, John Coleman, became important to Meades because he was willing to seriously discuss experiences that seemed to blur the boundary between deep meditation and psychic phenomena. Meades came away feeling that some advanced meditative states naturally opened unusual capacities, even if Buddhist traditions often hesitated to speak openly about them. Through all his experiences, Meades never lost sight of awakening as the central aim of spiritual life. Looking back, he describes spiritual growth as a long process of integration and transformation. By the end of his reflections, he speaks less about institutions or psychic abilities than about what spiritual practice ultimately leaves behind. As he puts it, “the wisdom and love you gain in this life will never be lost.”

Limits of Leadership

Episode #561: The third episode in a three part series, this was recorded inside Malaysia’s Parliament during the final stretch of Malaysia’s ASEAN chairmanship. It sits where diplomacy meets consequence—non-interference, the limits of influence, and the reset button of rotating leadership. Beneath that is Malaysia’s lived reality: refugees arriving as people, not headlines, often in legal limbo and reliant on UNHCR papers. MPs speak of gaps in data, barriers to legal work and schooling, strained clinics, and the politics of backlash. The first guest is Zahir Hassan, a first-term MP for Wangsa Maju in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia’s most densely populated constituency. An engineer and disaster-risk advocate, he treats displacement as a systems failure that has turned permanent. Refugees were meant to be part of “a few months transition,” yet some families are now third or fourth generation in Malaysia. With no legal status, “they technically cannot work. They cannot earn a living here, [so] for them to survive over the years, they have got to work illegally,” he says. Hassan also warns that Malaysia can’t drift year after year without proper data, planning, burden-sharing, and serious leadership at regional levels, and that stronger action needs to be taken towards the crisis. Mohammed Suhaimi Abdullah, MP for Langkawi and a former two-term senator, describes Bukit Malut as a settlement that began in 1982 with about 12 Rohingya families, and has grown to nearly 15,000 today. Some residents, he says, “have got blue identity card,” adding, “when you have a blue card, you have to treat them like Malaysians;” despite this, he laments that much of the region is plagued by poor infrastructure and few schools. Abdullah rejects stereotypes, asserting that these Rohingya communities are “not poor people! They’re very hard-working,” and adds that this fact that has created resentment among local populations who are not willing to take on equally strenuous jobs. Finally, Hassan Karim is a MP for Pasir Gudang and a lawyer shaped by civil-liberties fights. Referencing his youth, he says: “We fought any attempt by the [Malaysian] government tosuppress the space for democracy.” Karim’s actions aligned with his words then, as he notes that he was arrested on sedition charges for protesting authoritarian tendencies. Concerning thecurrent influx of refugees, he calls out Malaysian society for not extending sympathy to those fleeing conflict. “This kind of humanism must transcend religions and race,” he insists. If Malaysians can mobilize around Palestinians in Gaza as a matter of human rights, he argues, they cannot practice moral compartmentalization when the persecuted are nearer, poorer, and politically inconvenient. As Karim ask openly, if Muslim solidarity is invoked loudly elsewhere, why is it so thin here? His harshest criticism, however, is for Myanmar’s military, adding that currently, “I feel pessimistic. I never heard or saw any tangible effort [of progress.]”

The Day the Music Died

Episode #560: “We have to get rid of this military dictatorship. Otherwise the whole country and the coming generations will be in a really troubled situation.” Mun Awng, born in 1960 in Myitkyina, Kachin State, is one of Myanmar’s most iconic protest singers and a lifelong advocate for democracy. Raised by a teacher father and nurse mother amid conflict between the Burma Army and the Kachin Independence Army, he learned early about danger and resilience. Music became his refuge — “We only had shortwave radio that I could listen to, so that was my main source of knowledge about music,” he recalls. The Beatles and Western pop inspired him, even as such influences were banned under General Ne Win’s regime. By the 1980s, Mun Awng led the band The Rhythm, known for original songs that defied the trend of copying Western tunes. His 1984 debut album 8/82 Inya became a sensation among students and marked a new era in Burmese music. But as censorship tightened, he grew disillusioned and joined the 1988 pro-democracy uprising, where he witnessed deadly crackdowns before fleeing into exile. At the Thai-Myanmar border, Mun Awng joined the All Burma Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF) and began composing revolutionary songs. “We believe that armed struggle is the only way we can remove the military dictatorship,” he says. His revolutionary anthems — Battle for Peace, Tempest of Blood, and Moment of Truth — were smuggled into Burma, hidden under luggage and buried underground, eventually becoming rallying cries for generations. Granted asylum in Norway in 1996, he has continued performing for the diaspora, reminding audiences that “music can do that” — bridge generations and renew hope. Today, Mun Awng remains devoted to his cause: “We have to unite… we have to give our life for the country… until we achieve the ultimate victory.”

Comrades in Arms

Episode #559: “Comrade,” Renata says, when asked how she would like to be remembered. A member of the People’s Defense Force and a former political prisoner, she uses the word to name what sustains her in Myanmar’s revolution: loyalty to those who have suffered, fought, been jailed, and died. Before the 2021 coup, Renata was a law student who describes her life as centered on study and office work. Following the coup, she hesitated initially to take part in direct action, and instead chose to participate online, calling herself a “keyboard fighter” then. But as the crackdowns intensified, she joined street protests, and then learned to make Molotov cocktails and small bombs for her brother and his friends. In June 2021, she was arrested with her mother and four-year-old sister, who became the country’s youngest political prisoner. Renata was sentenced to three years with hard labor but freed after four months upon signing a pledge not to participate in revolutionary activity. She describes prison as lasting trauma. After her release, she joined the PDF in northern Shan State. Jungle life revolved around food and water scarcity, physical endurance, and evading airstrikes and landmines. For young people anxious to join the resistance, she says they must prepare physically and mentally for hunger, discrimination, sleeplessness, and trauma; women, she adds, will face additional burdens. Her own ability to sustain herself through these challenges is rooted in her relationships with her comrades and her dedication to defeating the junta. Yet Renata still allows herself to imagine a peaceful future after this long struggle. “Please keep on watching our revolution!” she pleads to the international audience.

Life is Meditation

Episode #558: “I've always had a certain resistance to the over-institutionalization of anything,” says renowned meditation teacher Delson Armstrong, who argues that one of the deepest obstacles on the spiritual path is attachment to the very systems intended to help people become free. Meditation methods, lineages, institutions, and teachers can all be valuable, yet they can become objects of clinging when practitioners mistake the tools for the goal. Throughout his reflections on meditation, tradition, and authority, Armstrong returns to two principles: liberation requires a willingness to continually examine and release attachment, and genuine understanding must be grounded in direct experience rather than inherited certainty. Armstrong's perspective emerged through a long exploration of contemplative traditions. Raised in a Catholic environment, he later studied yoga, Vedanta, Sankhya, and a range of Buddhist systems, including Dzogchen, Mahamudra, and Theravada practices that emphasized deep concentration. Over time, however, he became dissatisfied with approaches that seemed more concerned with achieving meditative states than understanding the causes of suffering. A turning point came when he encountered Brahma Vihara practice and later Tranquil Wisdom Insight Meditation (TWIM), associated with Bhante Vimalaramsi, which emphasizes relaxation, observation, and the gradual unraveling of mental conditioning. Armstrong argues that concentration can suppress disturbances without transforming the conditions that create suffering; relaxating into practice, by contrast, allows practitioners to directly see how craving, resistance, and identification operate. Armstrong maintains that practice should be judged by how people respond to ordinary life rather than by what happens during retreats, even in very challenging situations. “Meditation is life; life is meditation,” he says. He warns against turning traditions, attainment maps, teachers, or institutions into unquestionable authorities. Useful frameworks become dogma when they stop being questioned. Teachers can guide, but they cannot replace personal understanding: “The map is one thing, but your journey is your own.” Ultimately, Armstrong presents spiritual development as an ongoing process of inquiry rather than certainty. His guiding principle remains simple: “Do not just take my word for it, do not take the word of the lineage for it, do not take the word of tradition for it. But see for yourself!”