I have known people who have sat in meditation for years and remained, through it all, difficult to be near. 

Vain in the way that endures long, silent practice. Quick to anger when crossed, quicker still to explain it away. Genuinely uninterested in how their behaviour affects those around them. None of this makes them failures at meditation. Measured by concentration, by hours logged, and by the steadiness of the breath, they may have been rather good at it.

He gives what is hard to give. He does what is hard to do. He endures what is hard to endure. He reveals his secrets to you. He keeps your secrets. When misfortunes strike, he doesn't abandon you. When you're down and out, he doesn't look down on you. AN 7:36, NDB 1021-22

We imagine that we are listening to each other, to the world, to ourselves. But much of what passes for listening is not listening at all — it’s predicting, interpreting, defending, and preparing to reply. The mind, as Philip Glass so vividly puts it, is full of racket. The composer describes this internal noise as a "crowd of ninety-five lunatics" and a "tyrant-censor" standing guard, filtering and distorting whatever comes in. This is not far from what neuroscientists call the predictive mind.