Rohana Ulluwishewa, PhD is an award winning author and independent researcher and writer on Spirituality and Sustainability. His first book on the subject, Spirituality and Sustainable Development was honored as a Finalist of the International Book Awards, 2014, the second book Spirituality Demystified: Understanding Spirituality in Rational Terms won the, AWCT unpublished manuscript awards in 2015, the highest prize given to books on spirituality in New Zealand. (ResearchGate)

When we think of meditation, we often imagine sitting still in silence, cross-legged—perhaps on a cushion, eyes closed, focused inward. Practicing such a meditation requires a specific time and place away from ordinary life that is rarely available in today’s busy world. Therefore, for most people, meditation has become a luxury. This short article is an attempt to share a simple but powerful insight I have gained: one can meditate in ordinary daily actions by staying rooted in the true purpose of each task—the purpose beyond one’s self-serving, easy-to-see motives. The true purpose behind most of our daily activities is to serve humankind, or what we sometimes call the whole (සමස්තය: self + other + nature). When I focus on the true purpose behind what I’m doing, I notice that my thoughts, emotions, and actions become naturally aligned with that purpose. My mind settles into the present, and a quiet sense of joy and peace arises—even in the most mundane tasks.

For instance, let’s take cooking, an activity most of us perform daily. When I’m cooking alone, I find it easy to be meditative. I look into the true purpose: to prepare a nutritious and tasty meal that nourishes the whole—myself and others. We are all integral parts of the whole, and feeding ourselves is contributing to the well-being of the whole. This clarity keeps my attention grounded in the task. There is no room for self-centered thinking anymore. I’m not thinking about whether I’ll be praised or whether the meal will impress others who consume it. I’m simply doing, with full awareness. The action flows peacefully, and I feel at one with what I’m doing. The action and I become one and the same. My sense of self, or ego, disappears in the action I am performing.

But things change when someone else enters the kitchen.

Suppose another person is cooking alongside me—talking, moving things around, leaving the kitchen messy. Suddenly, the peace is gone. I become irritated. My mind protests: Why can’t they clean up? Why don’t they do things the proper way? What’s happening here?

At first glance, it seems the disturbance comes from the other person. But if I look more deeply, I realize something much more subtle and important: it is my self-image, or the ego, that is disturbed—not the act of cooking itself. My ego has an image of how the kitchen should be, how the task should unfold, how others should behave. And when that image is violated, it reacts—often with silent resentment, tension, judgment, protest, or shouting.

This is a powerful moment of self-revelation. The disturbance becomes a mirror that reflects the hidden demands of my ego—the desire for control, order, and affirmation. And this reflection gives me a choice: I can continue to react, reinforcing the ego’s narrative, or I can see the ego’s reaction for what it is—a conditioned pattern—and gently return to the true purpose of the action.

The moment I realize, “Ah, this discomfort is my ego wanting to control the space,” something shifts inside. I am no longer fully identified with the reaction. I don’t have to defend it or act from it. In that moment of clear seeing, a spaciousness opens up. I can now respond rather than react. I can cook with presence even amid the noise, mess, and disruption. The kitchen becomes not a battlefield, but a place of spiritual practice.

This insight has revealed something profound to me: conventional sitting or walking meditation may support meditative awareness, but interactions with others both test and deepen it. When we are alone, we are in control. But when others enter the space with their own programs and habits, our hidden attachments, expectations, and fears are exposed. These moments are not obstacles to our practice—they are the practice. They show us where we are still bound, where the ego still holds sway, and they invite us to release that grip.

In this way, meditating in action becomes a living process of self-discovery. Whether we are cooking, walking, cleaning, speaking, working, or attending professional meetings, every moment becomes an opportunity to observe the subtle play of desire, fear, and self-image—and to return again and again to the ground of presence.

So how do we actually practice this in daily life?

Here are a few gentle reminders that have helped me:
1. Return to the true purpose:
Ask yourself: What is this action really for? When I cook to nourish, clean to care, or speak to connect, I act from wholeness—not from my self-serving ego. This anchors me in the present moment.

2. Notice when you’re disturbed
Instead of blaming others or circumstances, turn inward: What part of me is reacting? Often, you’ll find that it is the ego—wanting control, recognition, or comfort.

3. See clearly, then return to the whole
The moment you recognize the ego’s reaction as just a mental-emotional habit, it begins to lose power. You can then return to the true purpose and act from a deeper intelligence.

4. Let each action be a meditation
You don’t need a special setting or ritual. Any professional duty at work or any daily household task—like washing dishes, folding clothes, or chopping vegetables—can be meditative if done with full awareness and the right intention.

In today’s fast-paced world, this kind of meditative presence is not a luxury—it is a necessity. It helps us stay grounded, responsive, and compassionate even when life gets chaotic. Most importantly, it reminds us that spirituality is not something separate from daily life—it is found within it, through every breath, step, and task.

The kitchen, the workplace, the street—these are our meditation halls. The people we live and work with are not interruptions to our practice—they are the very conditions through which it blossoms.

By Dr. Rohana Ulluwishewa – Palmerston North