“Just ten minutes – you need it.”
I was wrapping up my yoga practice later than intended, which is quite the normality in my house. From people on the outside of the restaurant business looking in I often field the question “what do you DO with your husband working so many late hours?”
“I have a lot of interests,” I’ll respond. An impish smirk no doubt crawls across my face as images of me welcoming the midnight hour blowing on my flute or standing on my head in my yoga room come to mind.
Tonight I can’t sell myself on omitting meditation altogether. I take my seat with myself and the darkness.
I’ve come to relish the infinite black. I never really know what it’s going to reveal – adventure, suspension, neutrality – nothing or everything, nothing AND everything, it’s anybody’s guess.
“Boy, you’re sure active,” I observe as I start to settle in. More than the futile action of a grinding mind, it seems every part of me is in some kind of a protracted vibratory state.
Ok, duly noted. I partner with my breath and continue. Yip yapping thoughts elbow their way in as they always do, competing for attention like needy children.
“That’s nice,” I always tell them once they’ve been identified. “Breath” – I’ll gently redirect myself. I start honing in on that expansive, centered place that watches the thoughts, the vantage point from which your thoughts become but a sliver of all that is you and all that is. Tonight I cannot find it.
“My children were just a dream” – thought floating through.
“YOUR CHILDREN ARE REAL” a voice interrupts in a loud whisper.
Ok, that’s not my thought. Or me at all. The voice continues, in a clear tone this time.
“And building something, building something out of that thing that didn’t get to be something, that’s the hardest thing. That is truly the hardest thing.”
I carry on. Thoughts melt. I seem to lose awareness. What is this? Am I sleeping? No. Did I go further than usual into meditation? I don’t think so. As far as being the world’s deepest meditator, I’m so NOT a contender. And then it dawns on me that I can’t find myself. I can’t feel myself. I am scared. I am somehow….gone.
I open my eyes and slap my hands down on the wood floor with a gasp. I have to. The street light vaguely filtering through the blind reveals what looks like me in the mirror. The meditation timer app rings, my phone is now contributing a haloed glow to the room. I feel as though I’m looking at myself from somewhere else, as if I’m outside of myself.
As I begin to feel more reconciled, I wonder, did I leave my body? I am rattled. I stay in the moment and commence with some alternate nostril breathing as tears delicately slide down my face.
Life’s acerbic atrocities are quite the dissolving agent. The loss of my children was accompanied by the glacial erosion of my need for answers, explanations and universal paradigms. After all, if there is a broader holy reason that my husband and I don’t get to have a child while Osama bin Laden got to have twenty three of them, I am, quite frankly, not interested. My world view and life experience have become too intertwined in open ended-ness and in that which cannot be fixed ever and in the insufficiencies of “why?” and “reasons” to turn back now, especially when I have come to possess a comfort, albeit hard earned, with the non sensical.
I was told by my two grandmothers, via two psychics in quite similar and specific terms, that I would have children. So even of the spirit world I’m not in awe. I may believe in spirits but it seems they are more than capable of blowing their share of damaging hot air.
And so as I sit there wondering if I left my body, I also wonder if that was my ovulation hormones messing with my head, my mind playing tricks or my soul’s way of processing. Wondering, after all, is reality. It’s the answers that are often mere illusions.
That I was clearly touched by something is not to be poked or prodded, however. What I was touched by is likely irrelevant. That I was touched is perhaps everything.
So I do all that any human being really can do. I stay in my moment. I hold my damp face in my hands and surrender, once again, to the mystery.