Meditation, Phase II:
Today's class meditation we are only allowed to mark our
paper with three letters: F if our
meditation is interrupted with a thought about the future, E if out meditation
is interrupted by an evaluative or judgmental thought, or P iF we're thinking
about the past (or our workday) during meditation.
I cheat.
Of course I cheat.
Why on earth would I let a perfectly good thought get away? What the hell is the purpose of that? So I try to concentrate on my breathing, but
I am sneaky enough to move my notebook off the table and onto my lap, so the
professor cannot watch me cheat my way through the exercise.
When it's finally over, people around me have a small list
of letters: F, E, or P. My notebook is more of a stream of consciousness:
I hear chimes. Fuck,it's cold in here. Think of my feet? What the hell. Now all I can think about is the foot surgery
I had. Relax my shoulders? I haven't relaxed my shoulders since I was
three. A few years ago I had a shoulder
massage at an afternoon book conference, and the technician yelled at me to
relax my shoulders, and I yelled back, "I AM RELAXED!" My stomach is gonna grumble. It's going, I can feel it. Bruins are playing the Habs tonight. Hey, I have pea soup at home to have for
dinner. Damn, I worked out too hard at
the Y yesterday. I musta been pissed off
at someone. Uh-oh. I have to cough. I have to cough really bad! OMG there's a tiny scrap of paper stuck to my
boob. I shouldn't have looked down. My hands are so cold they're wrinkly. Shit, now my left eye is leaking. I really, really have to cough. Maybe this can be my blog topic. Gotta mail Chris's birthday card. When will this exercise end? What's that banging? Please, God, let it be the heat ….
Later we are told to create an entire page of disposable
writing about control and giving up control of our writing. Huh?
Giving it up? Writing something
that will be thrown out for no good reason?
I have a shocked expression on my face as I protest loudly. "I'm not doing that. You can't make me!" (Gee, talk about control issues.)
The professor makes me.
I spend the entire five minutes writing a protest, refusing
to allow my brain to have any interesting thoughts lest they get away from
me. I write such things as: Not
gonna happen. You can't make
me. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Mamma Mia, mamma mia, never let it
go! Dispose of this paper. No thoughts.
Not going to give in. blah blah
blah ooooommmmmmmmmm ooooooommmmmmmm….
Etc. etc..
My second session of the day goes better than the first
because I am able to fend off thought and inspiration. But wait -- wouldn't that make it a
failure? To the surprise of the entire
group, I am the first one to stand up, crumple my paper, turn my back to the
recycle bin across the room, and shoot backward over my shoulder.
"We're going to lock the door so you can't get back in
to find your paper!" the others taunt me.
"Not a problem."
"We saw you fill the whole page," they say
accusingly.
"No, really.
It's all cool. I cheated on the
first part, and I cheated on this, too.
No good ideas of mine are going in the trash."
I've a feeling they fish my paper out of the recycle bin (after
I leave the class) to see what I have written.
I hope they do because they will all see that I will not yield. No one can make me put my ideas into the
circular file, even if it means I have to endure mind tricks and torture
tactics to do it. I am relaxed by my
victory! Evil genius! I won!
I WON!
I'm pretty sure that's not the way meditation is supposed to
work.
