Meditation

At the Milltop Tavern in St. Augustine

 

 Like water scooping into the water wheel and then spilling out, with the present constancy of the wheel's turning, so IS the meditation process.

I, too,  meditate.Everyone who meditates as a daily ritual has a way that works best for them.

Most times,  I can quiet my  mind, being mindful of the well spring of never ending images and feelings, and  letting them go as they appear on my consciousness screen

I meditate more effectively with an initial centering and then spending the quiet time with a voice mantra or activity  - like mindfully walking, expressively dancing, stringing on a psaltrey, -- or eating.

Over the twenty years or so of mindful meditation, I have become aware of our fast paced social patterns and all the mindless activity and interaction in which I have participated. Even into the second year of retirement, I find myself getting anxious about meeting a deadline or being somewhere ON TIME.

Monday of this week, I had to report for jury duty at 8:30 am. It takes 30 minutes to get to the courthouse, parked and into the waiting line to be screened.

At 7:25 am, I was sitting down at the table, mindfully consuming a fuit smoothie and piece of almond bread. I thought I was in a peaceful meditative state, mindfully opening my heart to joy as I ate.

Dick entered the room and casually mentioned that it must be close to the time of leaving,

I panicked and spilled the smoothie on the pill organizer, newly filled with a month's supply of "meds to live by" (!). Then tears welled up in my eyes.

There was no reason to panic and no reason to cry. I quickly cleaned up the mess, got ready to leave and got on the road.

I wasn't among the first 25 whose names were picked, and had to wait in the courtroom with 75 others in case the screening of the 25 meant more names to be drawn.

I spent that half hour or so reflecting on the morning's panic attack and cry. I decided that I had clicked into the old have-to-get -to-work modus operandi and was subsequently angry at myself  for it.

After promising myself an occasional imperfection in my new retirement mode, I let it go, grateful for the gift of mindful reflection and ability to disidentify from my attachment to the event's judgment.

Then, with uncanny synchronicity, a judge entered the room to let us go, announcing that there were enough jurors for this week's trials.

What is your relationship to time these days?

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