I remember once, when my kids were much younger, I had an unusually overwhelming and stressful week. I insisted that I attended Sunday Mass alone. I needed the hour to recenter myself without having to worry about anyone else’s needs. During the service, I massaged my own neck and shoulders, like you would if you were suffering from a migraine…or a car wreck. I was trying to ease my uptightness with the grace of my environment and ability of my fingers during this one hour. I listened and stood up and kneeled when I was supposed to…participated in the Eucharist and probably sang along to a few songs. Afterwards, while walking through the narthex, before heading back out to my car and back home to my Mommin’ duties of 5 kiddos, an elderly lady touched my shoulder. She started with something like, “You aren’t going to want to hear this…” and she was indeed correct. She went on to say how my movement was distracting to the other church members and wasn’t reverent enough for Mass. I’m sure my eyes narrowed, and I can’t even imagine my expression. I don’t recall if I mumbled anything or just walked away in utter shock of the nerve of this lady. While she may have a point that a church pew isn’t the ideal place for neck and shoulder relaxation techniques, empathy to an apparently struggling woman would have been more expected given the situation (you know, in that good ol’ non-judgmental, loving, Jesus way.) Â
That church experience wasn’t a defining moment that nudged me away from attending Mass, nor was interacting with people who offered peace and a handshake in the sacred building but cut me off in the parking lot directly afterwards. I don’t want it to seem that I have a disdain for church. I actually cherish a Mass led by children. Visiting cathedrals in different towns is breath taking. Weddings and baptisms are truly special. I know that a focus on giving should be in my heart while attending service. I also know, though, with my heart in the right place, that my closest moments with Source in church were when no one was singing or preaching or joining in rote prayers. Those most blessed, peaceful minutes for me were before Mass started prior to everyone arriving or sometime during the service when my eyes were closed and the only noise was low instrumental music. It was just me, listening and not thinking. I have since realized my soul can get to this place anytime, anywhere, and especially around less humans who sometimes squash the good vibe.Â
Although this may seem unrelated to a spiel on meditating, stay with me here… I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love running, but I’m not great at it. This past week on the treadmill to my left, I watched as a white-haired lady at least a decade older than me, ran at over a 6 mph speed, for half an hour. I had been smug with my increase from a 12 minute to a 15 minute run before I noticed her. But still, my endorphin release after a run has a 100% success rate of making my whole day better, and so, I do it, regardless of how bad I suck at it. And I probably suck at meditating too but I still do it for the same reason. My days aren’t perfect, mind you, but always better when I participate in either endeavor.
Why not run in lieu of meditating since it at least helps balance my love of cookies? My hips, knees, & ankles – well, let’s just say my entire body, insists that I take a day off cardio here and there. I have to listen because my body pays the bills. Ironically enough, my mind just as readily insists that I make my daily meditation a non-negotiable, no matter how much I need to accomplish. Those 15 minutes of nothing are so easy to weasel out of, too. Every once in a while, I convince myself that I need to rush into my day; I need to take advantage of those extra 15 minutes by charging ahead into Life and action. I plan to meditate when I get back home. I know myself and my weasel-y ways very well, though, so I recently had a meditating figure tatooed on the top side of my wrist and the symbol for Om (Breathe) on the back side. They are right where I can see them all of the time. If I look at that ink and know I didn’t set aside 15 minutes for my soul out of the 1,440 afforded me that day, I feel like a fraud. Nobody wants to feel like that. Just ask Mike on Suits.
And a little more about sucking at meditating. I used to listen to a guided meditation when I laid down to sleep. While this might be nice to my subconscious thoughts, I always fell asleep. Sleep doesn’t count as meditating. Also by ‘sucking’ I mean within the 15 minutes of trying to not think, I had to redirect my brain away from thoughts about 12 of the minutes. I may have that down to about 7 now. Somewhere along the line, though, I heard that Meditation is called a Practice because there’s always room for improvement. That’s why we practice a sport, an instrument, a language…anything, really…to improve. (It might be a good idea to accept imperfection too). Now when my mind just won’t quit, I imagine the dearly departed smiling, or ocean waves spritzing refreshing water while the sun beams down on me and the sand, or the colors of the rainbow. Â
To take the pressure off myself, or maybe to seem less pretentious, when I used to go out to meditate, I would announce “Hey, I’m going to go sit with my face in the sun.” In Indiana, this may often mean I’m sitting inside, in the heat, with the sunshine streaming through a window on my face. That quarter of an hour is Me Time. My goal is to feel good. I stretch. I soak up the sun. I keep my eyes closed so I can appreciate the breeze and the sounds. I don’t plan and don’t remember. I’ve learned it by observing my dog.
As for that other M, I’ve decided the answer to everything is: Massage. Sore muscles? Get a Massage! Stressed? Massage it is! Headache? A Massage helps! The only reason I can find that Meditation trumps Massage is because the latter carries a price tag, a larger time commitment and isn’t as readily available. Out of a whopping 5 things that were Certain in my Life 5 years ago, I named the need/benefit of Massage and Meditation as two. It’s so nice when my absolutes don’t waiver. Exercise, vitamins and instant access to tweezers are all still requirements for a great life in my eyes as well, but sometimes writers have to run with a catchy title when it comes to mind.