Babies, layers and grounding

Two years ago (hard to believe it was really that long ago!) I took my first steps towards healing ... I quit the job with the abusive boss, I signed up for three life coaching sessions, and I went on a seven day meditation (nearly silent) retreat.

Since the meditation retreat, I have wanted to have a daily meditation practice. Just a few minutes every day – 10 or 15 – in silence to center myself – to ground. I also set as a goal at that retreat to find a meditation center locally where I could develop a sense of community. What I miss most about organized religion is the sense of community you find there – not the coffee and donuts after service type, but the energy that flows through a religious or spiritual place. It is such a strong current. In those spaces, where I can empty my mind of the contradictions I feel about religion, I feel held and protected while I open myself to the universe and its messages. I experience my spirituality as vulnerability. As such, it is both a very open and tender experience as well as a scary place. When I am centered and grounded, I am also exposed, necessarily since only open channels can receive messages from the universe.

It was exciting, scary and wonderful, therefore, to be invited to attend a local people of color meditation. It was not necessary to get an invitation since it is open and I have known about it for awhile – sometimes walking by the center and looking longingly at the doors but not going in. For my friend who invited me, it was also comforting to know that she would not walk in there alone.

I hadn’t sat in meditation since a brief visit to the retreat center over a year ago. I was nervous about the pain I might feel sitting, whether or not I would be able to turn off the mind and avoid the distractions. For thirty minutes, I sat in silence, much of the time chiding myself for not having an empty mind, hearing the cars and the emergency vehicles pass on the street, aware of every twinge of every muscle. At times I was convinced that I could not make it to thirty minutes sitting. As some points I had to remind myself to unclench, let go, breathe. I followed my breath, watched the colors dance in my mind, wished some love to thoughts of people who were haunting me, trying to let go and be. When the bell called us out of silence, I was not ready. I guess I had been having a “good” meditation.

I sat open and ready to hear what our teacher wanted to share. She exhorted us to think of the baby -- open and feel, willing to experience life without thinking or analyzing -- just be with the world and discover the joy available.

Then we were invited to share. Many people shared sweet, intimate observances about their practice. Others asked questions about the talk. One wonderful woman shared the poem she had written to herself that morning to celebrate her 58th birthday. As so often happens to me when I meditate, I sat in silence and tears welled in my eyes. This is only significant because I am so tightly wound that I have great difficulty crying. I felt as though I had shed many layers. Think back to that baby -- or small child -- elated to have shed the layers (including diapers) and run around the room ecstatic to be free. I am not saying I was getting ready to flash anyone in the room, but it was a sense of freedom and liberation from those layers that made me feel stronger and yet more open at the same time.

It was a beautiful experience. I am planning another visit to this center in the near future, but up next is a Monday night at Spirit Rock and hopefully some silent meditation at my own house as a regular practice.