No, really. This time I am actually going to meditate for more than 5 minutes at a time, and for more than 2 days in a row before giving up. To bolster my resolve, I’ve even signed up for a 5-week meditation course offered by the Jesuit center in Munich (it was that or the Buddhists; they’re the next station on my crusade). It’s actually Octoberfest time here in lovely Munich, so at 7:00 last night I found myself weaving my way through the drunken revelers on my bicycle not towards the party tents but towards… the Jesuit center. For meditation. Right. No worries. Perfectly, uh, normal.
Last night was the first session, so there I was, sitting on a remarkably uncomfortable plastic chair in a circle that included several frumpy and oddly angry-looking middle aged ladies and, to my right and far too close for my taste, a retired priest in his 70s whose every breath came with an extremely audible, drawn-out “eeeehhhhhhh….. hhuuuuuuuuh……..”. The entire time. Really, sir. Do you think I can be all “OM” and calm and stuff with you breathing like that?
Do you see why I need to meditate?
Source of irritation #2 (other than the wheezing priest): the class felt like it was geared for people who have never sat still in a silent room in their lives. The two short “meditation” periods were accompanied by the steady drone of “inhale. exhale. focus on the soles of your feet. breathe. breathe. breathe. now think about your toenails. inhale. exhale. now focus your awareness on your ankle bones. breeeeaaatthhhhe.” To which I thought: now listen, lady, I want to meditate to replace my obsessive compulsive worry thoughts with SILENCE, not with your voice telling me to think about my toenails. I am trying to NOT think, NOT trying to bring more meditative mystical awareness to the callouses on my feet.
Again: really, I need to meditate. Although, if my meditation class makes me bitchy, maybe there is no hope.
Well. Here is hoping the next sessions improve. Will keep you posted.
My homework is to meditate on my own every day this week, which I am also determined to actually do. And with no interrupting instructor voice and no wheezer-geezer in a collar at my side, it should go a bit more smoothly… right?
p.s. no, I did not go to the Jesuit center in my bra top.