24 minutes – I’m trying to remember that each thought is fleeting and I am not my thoughts. I’m screaming that calmly in my head.
I do the bus exercise from the meditation book*, imagining each of the characters driving the “bus” of my life. I observe them file off the bus onto my shady plain, describe them each in detail, and then watch them go back on the bus. The author wants me to draw them, but that’s not really my thing. Oops, that’s judgment and bad. Oops, another judgment.
24 minutes – Sitting on my couch, lying on my couch, sitting on my couch. My head feels heavy on my shoulders when I’m sitting upright. My soul feels like it’s pooled up in the bottom of each body part — in my lower back when I’m sitting, in the back of my head when I’m laying down, in my elbows and fingers. I’m a droopy puddle.
24 minutes – Sitting on my couch. My brain feels like it’s more aligned. It’s a bizarre, but hopeful feeling. I’m trying to show curiosity about my emotions and thoughts and body. I like the word curiosity to describe meditation. There is no right or wrong as long as you’re curious and can step back occasionally. Breathe in Boo. Breath out dah. Relax.
I peek with seven minutes left convinced I haven’t started the timer.
Meditation today was really good. I know that’s a judgment and I don’t care, dammit. I feel my brain getting healthier. My breathing doesn’t feel as strained. The 24 minutes went by smoothly, just noticing my thoughts.
You’re the sky and the clouds are your thoughts. Sometimes the clouds are dark and sometimes the clouds are wispy and fleeting. But everything passes. Nothing is permanent. The only constant is change. Even change could stand still for a bit. You don’t know.
The goal is not to empty your mind. If you do manage to do that for an extended period of time, you simply notice that fact curiously and watch it go by. That too shall pass.
Nothing is immortal. Not even god. Humans are always changing their ideas on what god is.
I counted today’s meditation, but I should not have. I was tired and I fell asleep almost immediately because I was laying down. The alarm most definitely woke me up. There was no paying attention to my breath or emotions or thoughts. There was only exhaustion.
So I’m counting it because there aren’t that many hours in the day and I still wanted to workout and write and be social. I’m invited to two parties tonight and I have a date beforehand and I don’t want to do any of it. I will, of course, because I’m an obliger.
I think I’d feel better about the day if I had properly meditated.
24 minutes. It’s always 24 minutes. I don’t ever plan on giving up on meditation because I understand the benefits on an intellectual level. But meditation is not always that pleasant. I don’t look forward to it.
Occasionally, I’ll go beyond and viscerally understand why meditation is helping. I’m calmer and more stoic. But in the moment? I don’t like doing it. It can feel like a waste of time.
I don’t get excited about meditating like I do about working out or reading a book I’m really into. I can get lost in the book and exercise moments pretty easily, but meditation can seem like a chore. The only time I like meditation is at the end. The only way out is through.
I like the meditations where I have enough willpower to not peek at the clock a single time. Peeking feels like cheating. Peeking feels like I’m not really meditating, just checking a box that says I meditate.
I know that’s not true and I’m being too harsh on myself. So what else is new?
I peeped at the timer with exactly two minutes left. Dammit! I just need patience. Patience, my friend. Meditation is teaching me patience, too. Don’t look at the clock. Don’t check to see how many minutes you have left. Instead, think about your breath. Count ten breaths in and count ten breaths out. When that’s done, do it again. But don’t look at the clock.
Sometimes I hit a certain spot when I’m meditating and know that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m breathing in and I’m breathing out and I’m reveling in the moment and I’m realizing that I’m not the voice in my head. The voice in my head is quiet and I’m still there, listening to the silence and the world outside of myself.
It’s a lovely, startling feeling. It’s peace, it’s comfort, it’s awe.
Unfortunately, it’s also brief and over before I know it. But I know it exists because I’ve stumbled upon it more than once.
Meditation was okay today. I worked out beforehand and my knee was feeling a bit temperamental, so I spent most of my energy sending my knee love and healing. I know that’s cheesy and frankly, I don’t care. It’s true and it feels like it works. I know my feelings aren’t facts and that feelings eventually fade and I still don’t care.
My nose is stuffed up. It’s harder to pay attention to your breath when it’s coming through your mouth hole versus your nose hole. I don’t know why.