When the world feels heavier than usual, I put away my Game of Thrones novel or collected short stories by Virginia Wolfe (I want to love her writing, but no) and pick up something lighter. A mystery novel, perhaps, though nothing too suspenseful. Reading about a woman unaware of the strange man living in her attic is just not relaxing.
Unfortunately, I chose a romantic comedy that backfired. Why? In spite of suffering from a serious heart condition, the main character ate nothing all day but candy and pizza. 'What about spinach?' I found myself asking her aloud. 'Or carrots?' (Dear reader, her diet caused heart palpitations in me.) So I abandoned the novel, picked up my phone and found a ten minute meditation on YouTube. My friend Penny had given me one, but I used it the night before and wanted to try something new.
Supposedly, meditation stops our thoughts from bossing our brains around. One can spend so much time worrying about things that may never happen that it can provoke a very unromantic heart condition. So I found a new meditation to try.
A man with a relaxing voice directed me in hushed tones to make myself comfortable. I chose to sit on the sofa, leaning back and pretending that my legs were as bendy as my old yoga teacher's. In reality, I might as well be carved from wood. I closed my eyes when ordered to do so, and let the music wrap around me as I pictured myself standing at the edge of a lake. I was told to breathe, to notice my heart rate and pulse. I opened my eyes to peek at the candle my sister Joni had given me, mostly to distract myself from my heart beat.
Was it unusually fast? I tried to calm myself by closing my eyes again, listening as the man quoted Winston Churchill. 'When you're walking through hell, keep going.' Excellent advice, but I immediately pictured the Gary Larson cartoon where hellgoers repeat endless leg lifts with the devil and his pitchfork on standby. 'One million one, one million two...
Stop it! I scolded myself, focusing once more on the voice. 'Count the clouds in the sky,' he ordered. And you know what? I didn't feel like counting the clouds. When I'm out kayaking, I take in the calm lake, watch for wildlife, stare at the rocks and peek up at the sky. Not once have I counted clouds. Why? It's boring. And dumb. My irritation made me anxious, so I disregarded his instructions, whispered a prayer of gratitude for my life and turned off the meditation.
At first I felt a bit bereft, like a Hogwarts student who couldn't do spells and never got to spend time with Harry Potter. And then I started laughing. And I thought, okay. I feel better.
I'll try another meditation, but not the kind where they aim too high. 'You can do anything!' some will say. I believe it on a spiritual level, but I've already given up on certain aspirations, like my old dream of skating in the Olympics. It was unrealistic anyway since I never took lessons. Besides, such things won't happen no matter how well I control my breathing. Perhaps I could envision myself skating competitively as a form of meditation. But no. My anxious imagination would make me fall, and I'd end up with a Judge's score of five at best. Oh, those Russians!
You never want to meditate on being a loser. So, feel free to offer other suggestions, dear reader. I'm open to any of your YouTube referrals, so long as I don't have to count clouds.
