If you don’t mind bearing with me through something that may seem a little unusual, take a moment, relax your body, and focus your attention on your breathing. Try to still your thoughts of all but the quiet observation of each in-breath and each out-breath. Just observe the ebb and flow of air as it moves in and out of your body. If you notice your mind distractedly leaving the breath and starting to hop about, then simply note that you are wandering and return to the breath. The critical moment of meditation is not the loss of focus, but the return to presence - so don't get frustrated when you notice a wandering mind - just come back to the moment. Please do this for a few minutes before continuing with this essay. It won’t take very long and will illustrate experientially what I am about to describe. 

	Was it difficult? For those of you who are not practiced in the art of meditation, my guess is that you found it terribly hard to simply observe without the interference of random thoughts. Over time this becomes easier, and the process is deeply rewarding. When I began meditating I couldn’t go ten seconds without my mind shooting off to some irrelevant subject. Sometimes I would suddenly realize that I had been thinking for many minutes before even noticing that I was thinking at all. This is natural. It is truly astonishing to realize how little control we typically have over our own brains. As one learns to meditate (which I wholeheartedly recommend), it is said that the process is similar to the taming of a wild stallion. At first it runs free, without any sense of a human companion, but over time it begins to settle, to tune its will to that of another. There will be moments of rebellion, of dashes into distant fields, but gradually those uncontrolled forays will grow shorter and more drawn apart. Ultimately, the union of horse and rider can parallel that of breath and consciousness - and then there is presence. 
	
	I have described how my relationship to chess is interwoven with my search in other aspects of life (see the introductory essay "Transitional Moments"). When I learn something about, or intensely experience something within, the sea or writing or the rain, I relate it to some aspect of my chess life. When I do a deep study of rook and pawn endings, I inevitably gain insight into my exploration of Tai Chi Chuan, philosophy, or relationships. Maybe the connection will resonate because of a common experiential feeling or a growing sense of what I perceive to be the nature of things; maybe a similar physical pattern will emerge, or I might notice a psychological tendency in myself that penetrates the barriers of all my pursuits. I do not so much search for these connections as stay receptive to them, and for years my study of chess, Tai Chi Chuan, and life has been nourished by this approach. I am currently working on a book that more deeply explores this vision of the learning process, but for now suffice to say that I have the sense that whenever one comes to the essence of, for example, a chess position, that the discovery transcends the specific field of study and can be applied elsewhere. There is no greater example of something that helped in all aspects of my life than my development around the theme of presence.

	How often do you get into a bad mood and snap at someone who really didn’t deserve the harsh treatment? How often do you spend hours or days pursuing the wrong direction in the attempt to solve a problem? How much time is spent in bad relationships, in jobs that make one miserable, pursuing something that you don’t really want at all? How much easier would it have been to realize you were angry because you needed to eat something and your blood sugar was low? How useful could it be, before years are spent wasted in a direction that would only make you miserable, to ask yourself what you really want in this life? Where do all of these questions collide? In the overwhelming need for presence, in the remarkable ease with which life can be handled when we are in touch with what really moves us, in the value of immediate introspective awareness.

	As I noted above, the critical moment in meditation is not the loss of focus, but the return to presence. Life is imperfect and will always throw us curveballs  -  we cannot avoid them all, but we can cultivate the ability to deal with difficult situations. For example, you will inevitably get into bad moods. If you gain the ability to understand that the world is suddenly enraging not because everyone around you is evil or persecuting, but because you are simply in a dark state of mind, then you can deal with your internal issue (return to the breath, so to speak) instead of rupturing relationships or other aspects of life by lashing out at those around you. In other words, if you are tuned into the real cause of a situation, as opposed to the conditioned or emotional result of that initial cause, then you can cut down on wasted or destructive time in the learning process, in relationships, and in any other pursuit. So cultivating the ability to instinctively root out the true cause of your moods is a parallel to returning to your breath in meditation, and going on a three day foul-spirited rampage because you don't even try to think about what is really bothering you is a direct parallel to the mind wandering off aimlessly before returning to the breath.

	How does this relate to chess? In every way imaginable. The chess struggle, like life, is a journey filled with ups and downs. Situations will often get chaotic - we cannot avoid all complicated positions, but we can cultivate the ability to be at peace with the unknown, to flow with the moment instead of being distracted by past baggage. The stiff competitor will fall apart when he can't hold everything together, while the malleable performer will rise to the challenge when all her plans seem to have fallen apart. What is the difference? Presence to the moment as opposed to attachment to what has already passed us by. Here are some chess examples:

 -  You have a better position, you make a mistake, and then your position is even. If you are present to the moment, you simply begin anew. If you are trapped in the memory of being better you will push for more than is there and thus the "Downward Spiral" that I discussed earlier. 

 -  You are in a slow strategical struggle that suddenly explodes into tactical mayhem before you had completed your abstract knight maneuver. Do you finish the maneuver or deal with the exploding tactics? This parallels the "Transitional Moments" discussion. I want you to notice how "Presence" permeates all aspects of this course.

 -  You are concentrating deeply in the critical moment of the game and someone is rustling a paper or whispering loudly in the audience. You get distracted, you get aggravated, and before you know it your entire being is consumed by the rustling of paper. I’ve seen world championships be lost by such trivialities. Let it go. Take a deep breath. Return to the moment and realize that the paper is irrelevant and you’ll be right back in the game. Concentration and presence are inextricably bound to one another. This example is remarkably poignant for people who have trouble sleeping. Many insomniacs tend to fixate on some tiny noise until it sounds like a freight train in the pillow. There is always the option of noticing that there are, in fact, no trains in the room  -  just a few crickets outside and then a peaceful night can ensue.

 -  Recall my game against Nguyen in the World Under-18 Championships in "The Psychological Connection" section. If I had surfaced, I would have easily seen his hanging rook, but my deep, misguided thought process took me too far away from the moment.

 -  You were in clear first place with two rounds to go but then you lost the last game and are now tied for first. Do you play that final game depressed about losing the last one or do you play like a champion about to blow the competition off the board? As an example of how these chess moments parallel other aspects of life, think baseball. When a great hitter is 0 for 2, does he obsess about striking out when down on the count on his third at-bat, or does he watch the ball leave the pitcher's hand? Does Michael Jordan think about his last missed free throw when he steps to the line this time? 

 -  You’ve been immersed in fascinatingly complex calculations and felt that you were on the verge of a brilliant tactical victory, but now the struggle has changed character and the game is locked down. You have the urge to sacrifice a piece to bust things open—is that the right move or are you being steered by a distant dream? How often are we governed by such illusions?

	These are just a taste of the countless examples of how enhancing your ability to return to, or maintain, presence can have a revolutionary effect on your competitive career, and as you will see in the coming game, one's ability to flow with the moment can be the defining factor in high level chess competition. But what is more essential is that cultivation of the return to presence can help with all the other aspects of your life's journey. I have long observed that the force of inertia is one of the most difficult to overcome, and most people, myself included, have the troubling tendency to get washed away by the momentum of life. Much of our world today seems to be defined by unchallenged personal values or beliefs, the scarcity of introspection, rampant materialism, and a propensity to a cycle of violence that could all be stopped if we just woke up. We seem to sprint ahead, even if our momentum is taking us in a direction that we can and would like to avoid. As individuals, our creative success and personal happiness are in the balance, and as a human race our precious environment and world peace are on the line. As a competitor I know that often the only blockage between clarity and befuddlement is the strange resistance to snapping into presence - is this not the case in other aspects of our lives? As individuals, as a nation, and as a world in perilous times, I feel it could do us all some good to take a deep breath, and come back to our senses.