The largest gypsum dune field on Earth is located in the Tularosa Basin of New Mexico. It’s been around for 7,000 to 10,000 years, and humans these days call it White Sands. These dunes are composed of gypsum crystals, from gypsum that washes down from the surrounding San Andreas and Sacramento mountains.

Within Zen Buddhism there are two main traditions, Rinzai and Soto. They’re kind of rivals.

Most sand dunes are composed of quartz crystals, not gypsum. Gypsum dunes are very rare, because gypsum is highly water soluble, and rarely has a chance to crystallize. But this gypsum is carried by rains into lake beds that have no outlet to the sea. And so it remains in situ, desiccating and forming large selenite crystals up to three feet long. These crystals are broken down by weathering into fine white sand crystals.

Rinzai Zen is a little strange, due to its recondite nature. It advocates achieving enlightenment through meditating on koans, and supposedly solving them. Koans are mystical riddles such as, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”

“Who the hell cares?” is my mystical answer.

You’ll get third degree burns on the soles of your feet if you try to walk upon quartz-based sand dunes in the summertime. But gypsum sand is inefficient at absorbing solar heat, making it possible to stroll barefoot on the sand on the hottest summer day. These are my bare feet on the first day of summer, with the outdoor temperature at 100 degrees.

Soto Zen is odd due to its simplicity. Soto Zenners think they can get enlightened just by sitting cross-legged on a zafu, letting go of their thoughts, and following their breath. For them it’s a gradual journey to enlightenment. It takes a long time, and can’t be stumbled upon suddenly by solving some occult riddle.

I prefer Soto Zen and kind of practice it, though I threw out my zafu years ago. And I wouldn’t dare sit cross-legged ever again. It’s bad for the knees. And it’s very hard to nap meditate when your knees are throbbing.

I like Soto Zen for its simplicity, just as I like White Sands National Monument for its plain whiteness. The simplicity appeals to my laziness.

All kinds of critters live on these dunes. These are the tracks of the Pogo-Hopping Desert Gerbil, a small rodent that hops about on a stick to avoid being eaten by sand crabs hiding just below the surface.

But for me, meditating successfully is difficult. Because I cheat a lot at it. I lay supine. I snooze. I scratch my nose. I shift my restless legs. I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I don’t always follow my breath, but instead follow more interesting things. Sometimes I try to solve problems instead of letting them go. And on and on I go, breaking one rule after another.

This gigantic Zen garden in southern New Mexico reminds me of all the tricks my mind plays upon me while meditating Soto style, both when I follow the rules and when I cheat.

There was a time when I followed the rules rigorously. Back in my less lazy days I could create stretches of sterile wordless peace within my meditative mind, just like the dry lake beds that break up the dunes of White Sands. But those lake beds are what actually produce the dunes. And so my mind would rebound, producing a gigantic array of words, just like the billions of gypsum crystals within a sand dune.

Lake beds like these catch the gypsum runoff from the mountains, and convert it into sand crystals. These alkali lake beds were first visited by Europeans in the 1500s, when Spanish miners drove ox carts here to collect salt. They used the salt to process silver ore extracted from mines in central Mexico.

These days, when I cheat, thoughts, strong emotions, and belly-burning motivations steal upon my mind like the white dunes that swallow up cottonwood groves. I forget that I’m meditating, and become lost in various fantasies. And then I remember that I’m supposed to be meditating and let go again. And the thoughts recede like so much swirling sand.

In this area of White Sands, the dunes have swallowed a grove of Rio Grande cottonwoods, that weren’t able to run away fast enough.

Or maybe I’m bragging. In fact, my mind is often like one of those unfortunate cottonwood trees at White Sands, that’s completely buried in the dunes. My mind is so distracted by all the cares and delights of the world, that attempting to meditate is futile. Just the same, I attempt anyway. Why? I attempt in order to attempt. Besides, cheating makes attempting easy.

Sometimes the cottonwoods are completely buried, and stand no chance of survival.

Other times a little mindfulness keeps me barely aware of my swirling thoughts. This is when my mind is like those cottonwood treetops of White Sands that poke out just above the drifting sand.

These cottonwoods gasp for life, with just their treetops able to reach above the surface of the sand.

And believe it or not, there are times when my meditative metacognition is stronger. And then my mind is like one of those White Sands’ cottonwoods that are half above the sand and half below. At these times I well know that I’m daydreaming even while I continue to daydream. My meditation is both lucid and lapsing. Disciplined and wild. Aloof and befouled.

This cottonwood has managed to free itself from much of the dunes’ suffocating grip.

And there are those rare times when I fool the gods and get away entirely with cheating. My mind is completely free, with all wandering thoughts swept away by the wind of my breath. Just like a fully freed cottonwood in all its verdant glory, shimmering in the breeze, having conquered the dunes of White Sands. At least for a little while.

This Rio Grande cottonwood has completely escaped the dunefield. It stands tall and free, at least until the next dune comes along.

A day will come when I’m no longer hagridden by the cares and delights of this world. Perhaps I’ll stop cheating and slip into an honest meditation as I float away. And all that I let go of will never return.

Perhaps then my mind will be like the cottonwood that stands free and clear from dunes of sand, but has lost its last leaf.

Rio Grande cottonwoods are very hardy. But nothing lasts forever except change.

Its only remaining cotton being a few ethereal white clouds, caught in its branches, only to slip free to dissipate in the sky.