I remember the first time I meditated. It was before I even knew what the word pandemic meant, I think. And certainly before I had any personal meaning associated with the words quarantine or loneliness. I was a young eager ambitious curious young woman on a journey around the world (literally, I bought a Round the World Ticket as they were coined back then), and ready to test my limits in any way I could.
I was a solid 10 months and something like 16 countries deep at this point. My boyfriend at the time was with me, Michael, but we had already decided to split once we got back state-side. Our other best friend had just flown over to join us for a month on the travels. Easton liked to meditate. He was already into meditation against all the odds brought on by a Christian conservative Oklahoman, football-fearing, gun-toting rough and tumble upbringing had afforded us all.
I remember watching Easton meditate one morning. The three of us were sharing a hostel room, with three single cots in it. Easton sat on his own cot, cross legged in his bright orange pants, mala beads around his neck, eyes softly closed, silent. I remember tip toeing onto my cot, pretending not to stare. Then I realized he couldn’t tell if I was staring. Or could he? I stood there, watching him as he sat in silence, wondering how some day I could become good enough to do something like that.
The next day we found a meditation center in Bangkok where we could get a semi-affordable afternoon class. Michael was annoyed, at best. Easton was encouraging, maybe too much. I was ready to feign a coolness somewhere in between eager and expert.
It was vipasana meditation, and I remember this meaning something about the “right now” moment. It was also a walking meditation that went extremely slow. One step would take something like 3 minutes. We took the time to feel the way our ankles turned, the way the cold of the floor felt on the heel, then the palm, then the toe of my foot. Noticing the way my knee bent, the magical wonder that is my pelvis and hip joints keeping me upright. Realizing it wasn’t always this easy for the homo sapiens.
There were certainly times when my eyes creeped open, ego at the ready to see how distracted Michael was, or how many other foreigners had trickled in, or how the teacher with the dangly dress and flashy bangles was floating across the room, or any other way I could find to fill my desperate anxious mind. It was too distracting - and maybe too terrifying - to stay in the moment, how is that possible?
A few days later we took a little backpacking trip into the mountains outside of Chang Mai, and I decided the ample hiking was as good of time as any to test out these new super cool meditation tricks I’d surely mastered after my one class. I walked, mostly in silence, in the back, a little faster than the Bangkok excursion, but trying to slip back into that “right now” feeling. Now I’m walking, Now I’m breathing, Now I’m smelling (myself, among other things). Now I see this, and that, and so many things.
All that “right now” observation was pretty sweet. And it lasted a whole.… 3 seconds.
At the time, my 22 year old brain was particularly enthralled in the melodrama of my college boyfriend and my attempt at an “open relationship” - what did it mean? Was I “cool” enough to do it? Was he right that I was just a Giant ball of insecurity? Would I ever feel safe and calm in a relationship? What did I need to do to get it right? How can I be better, stronger, smarter, wittier, more interesting, more easy-going, more feminine, but not too feminine, but very very alternatively french-like hip and progressive enough to handle an open relationship and not care too much?
I was fascinated by how much stuff was in my brain. And I wasn’t even chipping the tip of the iceberg. A whole rock solid frozen chunk of other anxious bullshit was looming underneath. And even a whole lot of not anxious stuff either - a to do list mostly consisting of needing to find an internet cafe to Skype my Mom, a wondering if I needed to pee and how that would play out in the hills of Thailand, some wandering thoughts about that beautiful meditation teacher with the flowy skirt and flashy bangles.
Every time I became conscious to the slur of thoughts and how far I’d gotten off the path of the “right now” I’d say shit! And come right back to it. And then inevitably end up right back in the giant swirling spiral of an incredible amount of brain power.
It was both inconceivable and impressive.
Thirteen years (ish) later, here I am a 35 year old woman living alone in a pandemic, a little heart broken by a string of missed shots on the relationship court, in therapy and meditating like there’s no tomorrow. Yesterday was Valentine’s day, and my favorite Jeff Warren put on a great episode about love and caring - mostly for ourselves - on his aptly named Do Nothing Project. Man, I love that guy.
Meditating tonight, for 25 minutes, Is a whole different ball game.
My mind still wanders - there’s a lot to think about these days. I didn’t do a good job with work today, I wasn’t focusing very well. Who can focus when we’re 12 months into this hell hole of a pandemic-political-economic destruction of everything. Ahhh, return to the now, comforting myself, loving myself.
I kind of want to read my book after this, the Overstory, about trees. I love trees. That’s what I need to do, just focus on trees and my garden and planting things and ecosystems and building community. Ahhhh but right now I am here, comforting myself after a few rough days on the anxiety train.
I wonder how cold it is outside, a homeless guy literally froze to death outside my window last night. I’m so grateful for my home. But man, its a big home, and I’m in it all by myself.
Mostly, this is where my brain ends up. I watch it whirl up around some shame of being alone, again. Somehow, I’ve developed a very well-trodden path leading right to the doorstep of You’re Alone You’ll Always Be Alone What Happened to You?
But now, I am better at meditating. I’ve built some muscles in my brain since that first go so many years ago. I’m better at seeing these thoughts pop up - the todos, the shouldas, the whys - and each one is like a little soft cloud, like one of those thought bubbles in the cartoons. I see it rise, I see it fill up with some common thoughts I’ve thought before, and then I press my magic little wand and it softly poofs away. They’re here, they come, they’re present. But they’re not me. They’re passing clouds in my blue sky of cosciousness. I can maintain that concentration on the consciousness, the “right now” of this moment a little more clearly.
And what do I find there in that blue sky? Nothing. I guess that’s what Jeff Warren was hoping for. I find stillness. I find a rest for my brain. I find myself soothing and nurturing a very scared, hurried mind that is always thinking and finally finds a moment of - oh, ::sigh:: That feels nice.
It kinda feels like my brain just finished its second margarita.
Sometimes, some tricky stuff happens in my brain with this silence. Like visions of wide open plains and prairies, and something very sunny peaking through the grasses. Or sometimes I sense I’m floating upward, there’s a half moon of light up there. Or sometimes, I literally feel like I’m holding my hand, petting myself like I would Bufa, saying ahhhhhh. You’re okay
Weird, huh?
But also cool, very cool. Cooler than a French hipster in an open relationship. And tougher. I wonder if I’m the one cross legged in serene silence that I always wanted to be (minus the orange pants or the mala beads).
My anxious thoughts are not solved, that’s for sure. I still feel pain about being alone, especially during this isolating pandemic. And I still feel scared about when and how that will ever change. But my heart’s not beating out of my chest anymore, my body isn’t in fight-or-flight mode, that little voice inside my head I like to call Ronda isn’t quite as harsh as she was an hour ago.
Ahhh. That feels nice. I'm going to go read that book about trees now.
No comments:
Post a Comment