Meditation in Chan practice isn’t an afterthought or a nice-to-have—it's the beating heart of the tradition. Picture a craftsman chiseling away marble until the hidden statue emerges; Chan meditation does something similar, revealing the Buddha-nature already present in each mind.

Daily sitting sessions (zuòchán) form the backbone. Practitioners leave behind the clamor of news alerts and social media scrolls, settling into silence. Nothing mystical happens instantly—just like mastering a skill takes time, steady dedication in sitting cultivates clarity and calm. Alongside formal zazen, working with a huàtóu (a “critical phrase” or “word-head”) keeps attention razor-sharp. This practice smashes through mental habits, offering flashes of insight akin to lightning across a summer sky.

Beyond the meditation cushion, Chan emphasizes “everyday mind.” Washing dishes or walking to the tea hut become opportunities to keep awareness alive. It’s very much in tune with today’s mindfulness craze—think Silicon Valley execs tuning into breath apps or athletes using guided meditation to boost performance. Yet Chan points to something deeper than productivity gains: direct, unfiltered experience of reality as it unfolds.

In modern retreats—from a mountain temple in China to an urban zendo in New York—meditation sessions still follow the rhythm laid down sixteen hundred years ago. Bells and gongs mark moments to stand, walk or bow, weaving silence and movement into a living tapestry. This holistic approach resonates now more than ever, as people seek respite from information overload and pandemic-induced stress.

Ultimately, meditation in Chan acts as both lamp and mirror: illuminating the path forward while reflecting the true nature already present. It’s the no-nonsense way to turn theory into living wisdom.