Meditation and Prayer: Two Paths to the Infinite

Meditation and Prayer: Two Paths to the Infinite—Or Just Different Ways to Talk to the Universe

Let’s start with a simple, rich truth: people meditate. They sit quietly, breathe deeply, and strive to think about nothing, often while paying a large sum for the lack of the experience. It’s the mental equivalent of hitting the pause button on a chaotic video game—an act of rebellion against the endless chatter of the mind. Some get so good at it, they can stretch that silence into minutes, hours, or even a lifetime. They seem deeper, more connected, as if they’ve cracked the code of the universe’s secret language—silence. And all along I thought it was loud math.

Now, contrast that with prayer. Ah, prayer—the wild, unfiltered cousin of meditation. Instead of silence, it’s a conversation. Instead of “nothing,” it’s “everything.” People pray to the universe, to God, to the grand architect of existence. They speak, they plead, they thank, they ask. And let’s be honest: society often labels prayer as a little delusional, a cozy fantasy that makes you seem safe, harmless even. Talking to “God” is sometimes dismissed as wishful thinking, like chatting with your imaginary friend—only this friend is the CEO of the cosmos. But the time isn't spent in "nothingland."

But here’s the twist: both paths are, in their essence, attempts to connect with something bigger than ourselves. Meditation is about dissolving the ego, emptying the mind, and harmonizing with the silence of the universe. Prayer, on the other hand, is about engaging with the universe actively—a dialogue with the grand architect, the divine code behind the chaos.

And yet, society often treats meditation as the “serious” route—deep, profound, maybe even a little mystical. Think of Sam Harris, the enlightened neuroscientist, who built an empire around the idea of thinking of absolutely nothing. His “Waking Up” app is a shrine to silence, a digital monastery where you can sit and simply be. It’s the ultimate “nothingness” experiment, and it works—if you’re into that sort of thing. Hey, I'm a lifetime member (long and tedious story), but I no longer see any of the thrill that Sam does. His depth into nothing is unparalled...

But I’m not done yet. Because I’ve realized that prayer, with my eyes open, is just meditation with a little extra spice. It’s communicating with the universe, not in the “silent, emptying your mind” way, but in the “Hey, universe, what’s up? Can you tell me about that theoretical physics thing I just stumbled upon at 3 a.m.?” kind of way. It’s asking questions that spark Eureka moments, that push the boundaries of what I think I know—and what I don’t. If insomnia gets its way, I'll study all day on things I don't know anything about. I can't afford to think of nothing like Sam Harris can!

And here’s the kicker: the smarter I get, the more brilliant God seems. Not a deity with a beard and a throne, but a personal, evolving concept—a reflection of my own expanding mind based on a concept whole swaths of our bloodlines fought to protect. I am fascinated with Russian Orthodoxy, I've found every angle of it to be more intersting than Catholicism-squared. But working in Russia and seeing an Orthodox Church full of weeping babushkas, in a land that tried to eradicate religion for 70 Soviet years, was a blessing, whatever the dictionary-term for "blessing" is.

The universe becomes a mirror, and every new insight is a conversation with its grand design. I’ve studied physics, math, and the thought-structures behind relativity—not because I have a fancy degree (I have no degree whatsoever), but because curiosity is my religion. I'm anti-degree. Which is convenient... Sometimes I dive into 20 hours of research, topics "I" chose, not assigned by a professor. Who else is reading theoretical physics white papers at 2am when the bars are closing? I'm fueled by insomnia and driven by the idea that understanding is the ultimate form of worship.

So, here I am, in a perpetual state of searching—searching for the next Eureka, the next “aha,” the next moment of clarity that makes everything click. Whether I’m sitting in silent meditation or shouting questions into the void, I’m reaching out. Because in the end, prayer isn’t a delusion; it’s a wild, clever act of cosmic conversation. And meditation? It’s the quiet acknowledgment that sometimes, the universe’s greatest secrets are whispered in silence. Or it's aka nothing. Here's a thought, before spacetime was created, there was nothing. No time for any space to move. So nothing happened. If meditating is aking to nothing and the Big bang came from "nothing," there is a harmony at play there.

Which path is better? Neither. Both are just different ways to talk to the universe—and maybe, just maybe, to ourselves.