Back when I attended ten-day silent meditation retreats, I once met a man named Matt.

Matt was a young man but an old student, experience which earned him a cushion at the front of the class.

A newer student at the time, I sat in the back.

I remember peeking around the Great Hall during a particularly difficult morning session and seeing Matt. I couldn’t believe it and almost burst out laughing.

You see, the thing about Matt was that he sat with his posture leaning noticeably to the right. And I don’t just mean slightly. The man sat like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. While everyone else sat up straight, Matt leaned to the right. Among the sixty or more other students, Matt stood out like a purple cow in a pasture.

I thought it was the strangest thing at the time. I was worried he might topple over. But Matt understood something I didn’t.

Never once did Matt move during meditation. At least, not that anyone saw. We’d sit for multiple three-hour meditation sessions during those ten days. No one witnessed the guy adjust even an inch. With this posture, Matt possessed the equanimity of a great oak tree.

Often in life, we are told that there is one way of doing something. Typically, the way that everyone else goes about doing it. We’re told to adopt a position and we forget about posture. We learn to mimic the objective and forget to feel the subjective.

Matt sensed his body. He couldn’t care less about what other people thought about him. He knew this position worked for him.

After the ten days were over and the oath of silence was lifted, I wanted to get to know Matt. I found him wandering alone on the sidewalk by the pasture. I approached him, prepared to ask him questions and discuss practice.

Matt paused for a great deal of time before he spoke, and when he finally began, few words left his lips. His word economy was unrivaled in its pointedness.

I understood Matt. He didn’t care to discuss meditation. The words to him were superficial, removed from the experience. Matt just wanted to practice.

I think Matt’s living in the woods now. I’m not sure exactly. But sometimes, I think about Matt. His story is special to me. Matt didn’t need to speak to share his message with the world. He carried it around with him, especially in the way he sat.

Wherever Matt is today, I know he’s listening to his heart, leaning in whichever direction he pleases.