Meditation, Schmediatation!

by C.C. Coburn

Ever tried meditating? I’ve never been successful as I can’t seem to turn off my brain. It’s constantly running on overdrive about things I have to do, buy for dinner, appointments, functions, dates.

Of course I could probably clear most of this out of my mind if I kept a diary. Tried that, kept losing it!

I’ve tried self-meditation as recommended by dozens of women’s magazines and failed. I’ve even tried meditation CDs. In the end, the constant bonging of a metal gong - meant to slow my rapidly beating heart - had me so annoyed that my blood pressure must’ve shot through the roof. I ended up pulling out the earbuds and almost throwing the CD player at the wall in frustration.

I’d even heard of people who claimed they meditated in the car while driving to work. Which made me thankful that, a) I didn’t live anywhere near them and, b) I work from home, so was unlikely to be run over by them on their way to work.

So when my daughter was having difficulty relaxing before exams and asked me to attend a meditation class with her recently, I wasn’t exactly leaping at the opportunity for a mother-daughter-bonding-in-the-lotus-position session.

However, I decided: This was the time to put all my previous failures in this area aside and really work at meditating successfully.

We arrived just as the class was starting. As we crept up the stairs to the meditation room, they creaked noisily. We turned and started to flee, but a man in a sarong beckoned us, indicating with strange hand gestures we should take the only two spare mats in the room.

Everyone was lying down, breathing rhythmically. I thought: I can do this. I can breathe. The easy breathing session was soon replaced by deeper breathing. An older man nearby had some sort of nasal disorder and sounded like a bugle. Someone else started snoring loudly. Not relaxing!

We moved into chanting something that sounded like, “Om, romm, gomma gong.”
It was okay while we were murmuring it, but then it got louder and louder. I was starting to feel distinctly uneasy, feeling as though I was imprisoned in some 60’s Hare Krishna ashram. Everyone lay silently, chanting,Om, romm, gomma gong,” together like automatons. I just felt silly.

The chanting died down and we were urged to concentrate on our breathing again, thinking about our organs as we breathed in and out. This seemed easy and quite relaxing thinking about our pink lungs giving us “lifebreath” and our hearts faithfully pumping, our livers doing whatever livers do. Organs all present and accounted for and even better – happy and relaxed!

Until we moved down to our bowels. Urged to think of our “lifefood” making its happy way through our bodies, someone noisily passed wind.
I wanted to get up and run. I glanced around the room but it was as if everyone else was in a trance and hadn’t noticed this transgression in taste and public behavior. Soon the bowel references had several members making trips to the bathroom, located in the same room. They stepped over me in their haste to use the facilities and then none of them bothered to close the door after using it. Assailed by the sound of flushing toilets and unwanted smells, I had to interrupt my meditation efforts to close the door after them. Not relaxing!

Finally, bowels emptied, the room settled down again. We were urged to assume various positions, none of which I seemed to be able to manage and all the while my mind kept racing with the thought of how many more useful and productive ways I could be spending my time. We tried a breathing technique with fingers and thumbs that totally confused me. The effort of co-ordinating my breathing with my digits wasn’t relaxing.

When sarong-wearing Zen master put on a CD with the sound of a bonging drum, my blood pressure spiked.

There was also this irritating beeping sound in the background. I wondered how anyone was able to relax with all the distractions and noise.
Finally, I realised the beeping was the alarm on my cell phone reminding me I had a dentist’s appointment. I leapt to my feet and ran for my phone accompanied by the death stares of my fellow meditators.

I felt like telling them that a beeping phone was far less distracting than toilets flushing and people flatulating and honking like trumpets, but decided that it was just best to grab my towel and my daughter and run down those creaky stairs to freedom thinking: That’s a whole hour of my life I’ll never get back!

I’m sorry, but I just don’t “get” meditating. I’d far rather take that time to curl up with a good book. How about you?

C.C.