R. Elimelekh instructs us to bring sustained, concentrated attention to our "movements". By this, I believe he means our embodied experience, from moment to moment. Hasidic teachers from the Baal Shem Tov onward taught that when one practices devekut one perceives how God is present in all things, even our selves, and that ultimately even our bodily movements are initiated and carried out by that divine presence. But, "movements" could equally apply to the stream of thought running through the mind (and indeed, the divine, or divine sparks, are present in thought as well). Thus, in this instruction we are directed to concentrate our attention on our thoughts and bodies. This focused attention may steady our attention, may even still the flow of thought and all voluntary movement in the body. Yet, as R. Elimelekh claims, we quickly learn how many thoughts arise unbidden in the mind, and how many subtle, uncontrollable movements run through our body.

In mindfulness meditation, the instruction in concentration practice is to let go of these thoughts, to resist attachment to them, to avoid having our attention claimed by them. This seems to be what R. Elimelekh describes as well. His process is to pay the thought no mind, to avoid attachment to it - and to push it away. This last element differs from mindfulness meditation, which instead teaches that we allow the thoughts to pass away on their own; to let go, without attachment, and bring the attention back to the point of focus. Sarah does not do so. She actively pushes the thoughts away, and denies them any significance. Yet, it is precisely this aspect of the practice, as experienced by Sarah, that is the core of R. Elimelekh's teaching and the nature of her "failure".

Sarah thought that her laughter, a passing thought which she rejected and pushed away, was insignificant. She figured that thoughts arise and pass away all the time, and that this one was no different. It took flight unbidden, and she allowed it to fly away, without interest or regret. But, in fact, she pushed it away. This last act is what ultimately tripped her up. When we sit to practice concentration, our intention is to hold our attention steady in the breath or some other neutral object; to allow thoughts that might arise to pass away so that we can hold our attention steady in the object of focus. Our attitude toward those thoughts (or movements of mind or body) should be neutral, unconcerned, without judgment. To respond to the appearance of thoughts with anything other than gracious welcome and non-attachment is actually to invest interest and energy in their arising. We may think that we are letting the thoughts go, but whatever emotional or psychic reaction we have to them - "Who asked you to come?" "I don't want to think you" "That's interesting but I'm not supposed to think you" "Stop thinking!" or the like - is to turn our attention away from the point of focus to the passing phenomenon. We may be sitting, and we may eventually (if even only after a moment) return our attention to the point of focus, and we may think that we are meditating. But, we will have been distracted for those moments or minutes we are engaged with, "pushing away", the stray thought. We will not, truly, have been meditating.

I believe this is what R. Elimelekh wishes to teach through this incident with Sarah. She was practicing concentration, devekut, as do all tzaddikim. She was actually pretty good at it. But, she failed to recognize the subtle flicker of thought and her reaction to it for what they are: pulses of energy from the "back-side". This is not to say that she should allow herself to be distracted, nor that she should let go of her concentration. Rather, their appearance needed to be acknowledged, and not "pushed away". Something prompted the thought to arise, and perhaps that needed recognition. Or, the thought may have been random, but its content and valence was significant. In either event, pushing the thought away was an act of denial, a failure to accept and note the truth: I laughed.

The denial of the passing presence of that phenomenon is what tripped Sarah up, and it can trip us up as well. We are not to be in contention with the thoughts that arise, nor with the fact that they do pop up. Noting their presence without attachment, and without self-judgment, frees us to place our attention where we wish. The practice of noticing the thought, grieving its presence (or noting whatever reaction we may have), bringing compassion to the suffering of that moment and returning the attention to the breath is a purification process. Over time there is less friction with the thoughts that arise, and less personal attachment to them. In time, we may develop a steady, open awareness that is undisturbed by the passing of thoughts - as there will be no disruption of our awareness, like the Tzaddik. In the meantime, may we tell the truth, with compassion, and not get caught like Sarah.