When I meditate alone during the weekdays, my tendencies toward OCD aren't apparent. But as I contemplated my first weekend meditation on Saturday morning, I was overly obsessed with the idea that my husband or daughter might come upon the spare bedroom (or as they call it, "Mom's Giant Closet"), see me there with my back to them (like the ending of The Blair Witch Project), and call out, "Whatcha up to?"
So in a bold preemptive strike, the minute I got up I poked my head out of my bedroom, leaned over the stairs and yelled, "I"m meditating for the next 20 minutes so nobody bother me!" (Note to self: Way to go. Perhaps there are better ways that are more in keeping with a mindful practice.)
Apparently that screeching announcement woke my daughter who began her day in ways that have never seemed so loud, so distracting, or so jarring as they did on this day.
Saturday's meditation was like standing in a swimming pool and trying to clear a space by pushing away the water; every time I emptied my mind of thoughts, new ones kept rushing in. It was the mental equivalent of bailing out a leaky rowboat.
Maybe this happened because I was anxious that I was "taking away family time" by concentrating on myself and being selfish instead of joining my husband and daughter downstairs.
Perhaps I felt I had to "meditate" really well so that I was deserving of this time to myself. Stupid thoughts I know...but they were there at the subconscious level.
So anxiety tinged with guilt colored my sitting, and it was a struggle. I was very, very conscious that my brain kept firing and sending thoughts like dance partners lined up for their turn at my attentions; I had to be ultra-vigilant to not get carried away and go waltzing off.
Strangely enough, I have absolutely no impressions of the meditation itself, only the struggle. I felt neutral about the whole experience -- neither good nor bad. But if every day were like today, I'd find it tough going to continue on. I hope tomorrow is better.
Comments
One of the things I found
One of the things I found helpful when I first started meditating with my sangha was, and is, the sharing of our experiences. It was really helpful to hear from other people, who had been meditating for a long time, that they were having a hard time concentrating, the thoughts are constant, or that dog barking was driving them nuts and they just wanted some quiet, or they felt conflicted - they needed to be somewhere else or whatever it was. It helped to know that everyone's mind and attention was similar to mine. I could breathe - life as it is at this moment.
I like what Sharon said in Reflections on Week One....her first meditation retreat where she met Joseph Goldstein and overheard him say about his sit that morning, "I couldn't really conentrate very well, but this afternoon may be better."
Sharing
Tracy, you're right about the sharing. I took a class at my local Zen center called "Deep Presence" and it was for meditation newbies; it was affirming to hear people talk of drifting thoughts, legs falling asleep, back pains and the like. Nobody just plops down and goes into a perfect meditative state.
Just the other day I ran into the remarkable woman who leads that group, Shinge Roshi Sherry Chayat, and told her about being a part of this group online. I confessed to her that when I meditated at the zendo twice a week, I never meditated at home. It was like Catholic confession -- did my time, now I'm good to go. That's probably why I drifted away from meditation. It's not tied to a place or a time -- it should be a part of daily habit, just like brushing your teeth.
But it *was* hard to get back in, probably because of that sharing aspect. Others help to propel us along, and part of it is being responsible to a community (sangha) and being able to compare experiences. Your comment reminded me of that, and I'm glad to have this community here. Thank you.
family distractions
Linda - my husband has the uncanny knack of phoning (if he's out) at precisely the moment I sit down to meditate!
Attuned
Riva, isn't that wonderful that he's so attuned to you? I'd like to think that instead of interrupting you, he's subconsciously desiring to be a part of your thoughts just at the exact moment that you're trying to release yourself from them.
Do you ever get the same urge to call him...and find that the same thing is happening in reverse?