If you’ve been following, you know that I struggle with creating a meaningful meditation practice. The responses I received from you were wonderful, offering ideas and suggestions to help me get over myself and my self-imposed limitations.
Recently, I had a Thai massage with someone who owns a yoga studio I sometimes frequent. She’s the owner and has been a friend over the decades I’ve been going there. I told her about my “plight,” and she told me about a Zen meditation class that happens every Monday evening. She suggested I give it a shot.
I jumped at her suggestion. This past Monday, I attended the class. I was greeted by the teacher, a man in his late 60s who, with an easy smile and kind eyes, walked me through the setup and suggested I use a chair rather than the cushion. (I already liked this—the arthritis in my left hip sent out a shout of gratitude.)
The class, which included three men and one woman in addition to me and the teacher, consisted of two twenty-five-minute sitting sessions, with walking sessions bookending the last sitting session. As we set up for the second sitting session, he announced that anyone who wished to speak with him during that final session could meet him in a separate room. He nodded to me that he wanted me to join him.
The first twenty-five minutes flew by without discomfort. He had instructed me to keep my eyes half-open, which was important because there were moments when I could have nodded off if I let them close. When I joined him privately, he asked how I was doing and whether I had questions. We spoke about his Buddhist practice and the significance of the vest he wore, and he invited me to continue exploring this practice if I felt inclined.
The rest of the session was good once I was able to focus and settle into counting and breathing. I’m going back next week!
