I'm a meditation super novice, so I wasn't really sure of what to expect. Meditation, for me, is one of those things I've always thought about trying but never actually had the follow through to do (along with gardening, learning to knit, and healthy eating).
I entered the zen center (which is right in the middle of a residential area, by the way, so I dithered around outside for about ten minutes before someone politely albeit somewhat passive aggressively informed me that yes, this is the minnesota zen center, and that I should be pushing instead of pulling on the front door).
When I finally found the meditation center, I was surprised to find that there were a large variety of people already there, sitting quietly on cushions scattered around the room. Unsure of what to do, I claimed a cushion in the corner and observed the other meditators.
Next to me, there was a man and a very pregnant woman who appeared to be married. They both looked like they'd just stepped out of an organic farmer's market; the man had a scruffy beard, and they both wore flannel and touted eco-friendly bags. Next to them sat a slightly overweight middle-aged woman with hair dyed a shocking red, who wore a long, paisley dress and who I later discovered had an Australian accent. As I continued to look around the room, I found that the meditators were a truly eclectic conglamoration of people. There were some soccer mom types, clad in yoga pants and sweaters and constantly checking their cell phones, a pale, watery-eyed man in a suit who appeared to have just come off of work, and two young african american men with dreads and clad in sagging, ripped jeans who later revealed their names to be 'Miracle' and 'Mac'.
A while later, the priest entered. He was a mousy, round-faced man with bright eyes and greying, curled hair that appeared to be precariously balanced on his skull. He was dressed in a strange combination of western business attire and oversized buddhist robes, and looked as though he wasn't entirely sure where he was or how he had ended up here.
It seemed as though these people had been gathered here at random- as though someone had stood on the sidewalk of lake Calhoun, calling on every third person: "Okay, I need you, you, and you to come meditate this evening." But it wasn't so. As we went around and introduced ourselves, I soon discovered that everyone present, even if they hadn't been to the zen center before, had a well established home ritual of meditation.
Even though there was such a diversity of people present, I soon felt more and more out of place.
The priest, whose voice had a serene, musical quality, began the guided meditation. He told us to 'get comfortable' in the lotus position. I, being the least flexible person on the planet, couldn't twist my legs far enough to even do that. I settled for awkwardly folding my right leg under myself and letting my left extend out in front of me.
We then engaged in the 'concentrative' form of meditation. The priest asked us to focus on our breathing, focus on being satisfied with the moment we were experiencing, right now.
I tried to get into the meditation. I really did. I tried to focus on my breathing, but that backfired because I was severely congested and could only breathe through my mouth. I didn't know whether to keep my eyes open or closed, and as a result kept compulsively opening and closing them, trying to decide which was better. I nervously looked around at the people around me. I tried focusing on a leaf across the hall.
I quickly discovered what my problem was: I wanted to be good at meditating. I'm aware of the health benefits, and my research on the neurological benefits makes true meditation something I'd really like to experience first hand. After all, one cannot truly know what meditation is without experiencing it; as Mattheiu Ricard said, "when someone sees red or someone feels love, [science] could describe right down to the most single neuron what's going on if you have the power of investigation. But you have no clue what it means to see red, feel love as an experience."
But, because I wanted to succeed at meditation so badly, I ended up focusing too hard, trying too hard, and was too aware of my behavior as a result. The priest said, at one point, "If you have a thought, acknowledge that you had a thought... then let it go. Let it go just like you let each moment go." That was my problem. My brain is like the streets of Tokyo, a jumbled maze of thoughts and observations. As soon as I quash one down, another thought pops up. I try to stop thinking, and therefore I think about trying to stop thinking, and then I wonder what it really means to 'stop thinking anyway', if that's really possible from a neurological standpoint, and then I think about how thinking about stopping thinking is a really bizarre form of metacognition, and how did we become so self-aware anyway, and I wonder if dogs realize that they're thinking, if that's the difference between humans and other animals, and my originally well intentioned efforts at not thinking just spiral downhill from there, and soon I've forgotten all about my breathing and I've gone from not thinking to the evolution of metacognition to the character of Buck in Call of the Wild to what a terrible movie that would make to how bad The Last Airbender was. And then I would realize that I was thinking again and the cycle would start over.
That's my problem, with meditation, I think. I like thinking. I do it a lot. It keeps me from being bored. If you're supposed to live each moment in the moment, and concentrate on one particular thing and then nothing at all, when do you get a chance to introspect or contemplate or all of these other important things? What's the point of Nirvana if it means you can't think about the implications of quantum physics on philosophy, or about how there's no word for 'excited' in french, or about that trashy rom-com that's coming out next week? Besides, isn't letting go of thought and accepting things as they are what every dystopian novel ever has been trying to warn us against? You know, Billy Pilgrim and 'so it goes' and all that?
I think I may just be missing the point.
Anyhow, after the meditation ended the priest gave very nice talk in which he told us about his garden and then it was over.
Pictures!
The priest
the meditation room
the zen center
view of lake Calhoun afterwards!
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