Meditations on Meaning

(this is part two of a ten-part story about a recent meditation retreat. You can connect to the project on Avanoo here.)

The girl with the cute British accent drank every night for a week before attending the meditation retreat two years ago. And she did the same before this one too. Which is why she’s tired. And why she thinks it’s “so cute” that I didn’t drink and actually practiced meditating these past two weeks.

I don’t think it’s cute. I think it’s essential. I’m so awful at sitting in one place that my first grade teacher thought I had diabetes… because I’d ask to leave the classroom every ten or fifteen minutes to pee.

I didn’t have to pee. I just had to wiggle my arms and legs. And I didn’t think she’d let me go if I asked to be excused just to wiggle. And I was right. Because after the tests concluded that I didn’t have diabetes, she stopped letting me leave the classroom. “Just pee in your pants,” she said.

But my incessant wiggling became such a distraction for her and the rest of the class, that she soon started writing “wiggle notes”, which permitted me to stand outside the classroom and wiggle until I felt like I could sit down again.

Almost two decades later, not much has changed. Even during stationary activities, like writing, there’s a good chance that I’m also pacing… or doing push ups… or standing on my head… or walking to the bathroom to pee (even when I don’t need to).

*****

Two weeks ago, I set a timer for thirty minutes. Then I closed my eyes for a first practice meditation session. And adjusted my posture. And adjusted again. And again… every few seconds for the next four and a half minutes. Until I opened my eyes and decided that this was a good first try.

This morning, before driving to the meditation center, I meditated for twenty-three minutes and only wiggled twenty or thirty times. Which I thought was impressive. Until this moment, when I learn about about “Sittings Of Strong Determination” from the woman with the cute British accent.

“For three hours each day, you can’t move. Not even to crack your neck or adjust your posture. You look frightened, Dan. Don’t worry… it’s easier than you think!”

*****

For the first two days of the retreat, I am instructed to spend my fourteen formal hours of meditation focused on my breath. Watching inhalations and exhalations. Trying not to let my mind wander. Bringing it back when it does sneak away. Without judgment. Instead with awareness that this is how my mind works.

As I watch, for hours at a time, it becomes clear that I am not the mind I’ve been identifying with for the past twenty-five years. Instead, this mind is a scattered mess of obsessions and judgments and attachments and other junk… and I am whoever is observing it all.

My mind, I come to realize, is just a tool that I can use to experience and exist in the world. And for the first time I’m learning how to observe it… and to not identify with it. So that I can use it with dexterity and without attachment.

But right now it’s still a mess…

*****

It’s wandering to my hunger pangs… and to the woman eight heads across and two rows down… and to the itch on my left butt cheek. Oh the itch. So I wiggle. Wiggle more. Flex. And wiggle. Ack! Go away itch…

The man meditating next to me loudly sighs. As if I’ve committed a grave sin. As if he doesn’t sin. Because he sits still without moving for hours. Which is fine and great and dandy… except that he farts while sitting still. Long, slow, airy farts. Which I think are much worse than my wiggling.

Because when I smell his defilement, I want to die. Or laugh. Or put my shirt over my mouth and hyperventilate loud enough to let him know that he’s disturbing my peace. But I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I wiggle. And hope… pray… that he stops eating those fucking garbanzo beans.

*****

My meditation practice advances rapidly. I notice, after the fourth day, that I’ve been anticipating and implementing the next day’s instructions in the current day’s meditations. I don’t know if this is because the instructions are the logical next step in the practice. Or if somehow I’ve tuned in.

Sitting still becomes easier too. On the fifth day, I’m asked to begin “Sittings Of Strong Determination”. And I smile. Because I’ve already been sitting still during full meditation sessions for over a day. Since I learned that when I sit still, sitting still becomes easy.

Because wiggling satisfies my desire to wiggle for a few moments… until I feel the desire to wiggle again. And then I have to wiggle. But when I observe my desire to wiggle, and don’t get involved with it, the desire quickly fades. And I can again focus on my breath…

Which has been taking me to this new place where everything is white and tingling and peaceful and so far from a physical world that has dominated my life experience until these past few days. Here – wherever this is – I can observe my breath, my mind, and the sensations on my body for hours without getting involved. Here, I can just be!

*****

By the eighth day, I’m watching energy build in different areas of my body, and following the energy around it in free, flowing motions. By the ninth day, I’m harnessing that energy – whatever it is – and using it to send love and compassion to friends, family, strangers… and even enemies. Especially enemies!

After a few hours of sending love and compassion, I focus again on my breath and laugh. Not a laughter that others can hear… because I don’t want to awaken the garbanzo bean gas factory to my left. But a laughter that starts and stays somewhere inside of me.

Silently laughing because ten days ago, I wouldn’t have spent even one moment sending love and compassion to people like David T. Who thirteen years ago told my seventh grade girlfriend that I said she was a bad kisser. Which was a lie. But she believed it and broke up with me. And start dating him two weeks later.

Ten days ago, I believed he needed to be punished… not loved. But now I think he and the rest of us can use a lot more love… the kind of love that I feel like giving right now. Because our punishments have continued for too long.

*****

When I finish this meditation session, I don’t run outside and hug a tree. Because that’d be going too far. And if a former wrestling buddy saw me hugging a tree, he’d probably punch me in the face and say something like, “I can’t believe you’re a fucking tree hugger.”