The other night I went to a meditation group with my mom. I’ve never been to one before – I always thought meditating was something you did on your own, but I also thought I need a little guidance.
It was a little bit of guidance, followed by 45 minutes of sitting. And breathing. And meditating on your breathing.
What it really is, is an exercise in concentration. And I think my concentration muscles could use a few trips to the gym.
I meditated on my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out.
I contemplated the dharma leader’s T-shirt. It said “Retired XXL Geologist”. He’s a retired geologist, but I couldn’t decide what the XXL meant. He’s really large? He retired in a ‘large’ fashion?
Oh, right. Breathing. I meditated on my breathing.
I pondered my bladder. It seemed to be filling up. Was it rude to get up and go to the bathroom?
Breathing! Breathe in, breathe out.
Did someone just snore? Is that allowed? I could use a nap.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I considered how many synonyms there are for ‘meditate’, and how many I could cram into a blog post.
Argh! I’m supposed to be focused on breathing. Just sitting and breathing.
I reflected on how many other things I could have done in 45 minutes, except that this was the point, that you don’t do them. You slow down. You breathe.
And then the soft gong chimed, and we were done.
I’m still not sure what I got out of it, but I'm pretty sure it was something. I’ll go back next week.
(Even if it’s just for a nap.)