Of a Mind to Meditate
Memoir of a chattering mind . . . Now, I’m a down-to-earth kind of guy, not given to imaginative extra-corporeal explanations for the mysteries of existence.
Nonetheless, I don’t rule out that human life might have some sort of spiritual component. Accordingly, it seems to me reasonable to explore that which reasonably promises to transcend the din and scramble of everyday life.
Meditation, I think, falls into that category. Some years ago a friend sent me an intelligent little book on how to meditate. I never progressed beyond the simple meditative technique of repeatedly counting breaths to four, and did not do that for long.
Still, I kind of got the picture, and earlier this week decided, in the interest of memory refreshment, to look in on a meditation group that had been mentioned in a newspaper blurb.
The meditation was led by Sumner Davenport, an insistent, gaily attired woman of 47 with long purple fingernails, bright red toenails and blue eyes that fix yours in a full nelson. She has a background in sales and marketing.
Meditators run the gamut from hard-core Zen Buddhists who sit for hours striving for oneness with the universe, to more creative nondenominationalists/ motivationalists who mix meditation with talk of angels, “spirit guides” and other New Age concepts. Davenport is one of the latter.
We gathered, 10 of us, ranging in age from late 20s to mid-60s. We work at everything from business consulting to nursing to being a psychic. Our venue was the Center for Alternative Medicine in an upscale office strip on Via Colinas Road. We sat on the floor in a circle in a dim, carpeted room with a large dancing Buddha in one corner. From the sound system, violins whispered and cellos discreetly sobbed.
“This is a real powerful space,” Davenport assured us. It is the workplace of an acupuncturist. “He does natural healing. He works with herbs. He does a lot of very powerful energy work,” she said.
*
Davenport proposed to lead us in an exercise in “mindful meditation,” during which we would become “very aware of our inner voice, very aware of our spirit guides and our angels, and very aware of the entire energy of the universe.”
Right away, I had misgivings about this inner voice concept. Mine typically says things like, “Sure, you can handle another beer.” And, “How’s the company accountant ever going to know if you didn’t discuss business at that lunch you’re thinking of expensing?” It’s not always such a good idea for me to listen to it.
“Close your eyes,” Davenport instructed, “and take in three really deep breaths. Fill up your body completely, then very easily let it flow through your lips, just escaping like you’re deflating a balloon.
“Now, tell yourself your name is Shirley.”
We did this, silently, over and over. The point was to experience that we can feel untruth as physical discomfort, if we pay close enough attention.
“That’s your body telling you whether you are telling yourself a lie, such as ‘You’re not worthy. You can’t have. You can’t do.’ Those lies don’t work. They don’t serve you.”
Next she had us repeat our real names to ourselves and compare the feeling we had from that with what we felt calling ourselves Shirley.
“Saying my name was Shirley felt like a constriction in my throat,” offered Bryan, a software engineer. “It just kind of stuck there. And saying Bryan, my whole body kind of settled.”
Calling herself Shirley, said Cynthia, the psychic, gave her a feeling that was “peppery at my fingertips and the left side of my mouth. Very peppery. And with Cynthia, I just felt, like, a wave of calm.”
I told them saying my real name I felt a little more relaxed. “I had to try to feel it,” I said. “It wasn’t real apparent, but there was a difference.”
And there was. I mean, me a Shirley?
“If you’re in business with people,” Davenport continued, “you don’t know if they’re telling you the truth. And so, practicing this technique you’ll know from your own body. You start feeling that ‘peppery,’ you know that person’s just leading you down some rosy little path.”
*
Now we were ready for some high-octane mindful meditation. Davenport warned that as we sought to truly listen to our inner voices, “this--[she pointed to her head]--is going to chatter full blast. When you try to quiet that mind through meditation it’s going to chatter. Just let it chatter its little self out.” Our meditation, she said, would “awaken the energy of our own chakras, the energy centers of our body.”
We closed our eyes and breathed deeply. Davenport’s voice became as soothing as a cotton ball soaked in oil.
“Feel yourself surrounded by this white light, which means you’re connecting to your source,” she said. “As you let go of all of those thoughts of today, the voice that is there has dispensed that white light. Allow that white light to find any areas of your body that have pain.”
Then, she urged us to “go to a beautiful place” where we were beside “a beautiful pond, a lot of water.”
“Allow yourself to feel the possibility of where you’re going . . .,” she said.
“Allow yourself to feel the connection between us . . .”
“Allow yourself to feel gratitude for your personal expression . . .”
“Allow yourself to feel gratitude for your personal motivation . . .”
“And express gratitude for your passion . . .”
“And express gratitude for your personal power, your balance, your connection with the planet, all things physical . . ..”
“And, with gratitude, open your eyes.”
The others were smiling and nodding their heads. Me, I didn’t do so hot. I felt like they’d gone on a voyage and I’d been left at the dock.
Davenport passed around a box containing “star cards,” “truth cards,” “miracle cards” and “angel cards,” and invited us to take two.
We read our cards aloud.
JoAnn,the actress, had an angel card that said, “Joy.”
MariAnn, the bookmark-and-journal designer, had one that said, “Clarity.”
Whitney, the voice-over actress, had one that said, “Adventure.”
Mine said, “Responsibility.”
I think this is known as karma.
Not that a down-to-earth kind of guy would ever believe in such a thing.