Monkey Mind

. . . and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do - determined to save the only life that you could save. - from "The Journey" by Mary Oliver

Day Two. Meditate and Blog. Every day. For a year. What the hell was I thinking? And by the way: Thanks, Mary -- Thanks a whole lot -- for writing your lovely poem "The Journey" -- you know: the one that inspired me to take on this ridiculous task. Oh yeah, and I just remembered that I promised to try and write in grammatically correct sentences. This just keeps getting better and better . . . . .

Upon a 24-hour reflection, I have concluded that I am unequivocally the most ill-equipped blogger and meditator to ever lean on a keyboard or perch on a zafu. First of all: my "keyboard" is an ancient computer in the morass of my teenager's bedroom. Simply booting it takes more than the 20 minutes I've alloted to my meditation (do we even say "boot" anymore? I'm not very hip when it comes to cyber-lingo!) I don't own a laptop. I don't drink coffee. I've never read another blog. I don't Tweet, Twitter, BlackBerry or otherwise commune with electronic devices. I've never been the object of a Face Book profile. I rarely look at my e-mail more than once a week. I have no idea what sound my cell phone would make if I ever took it off vibrate, and I even left it in a hotel room once and waited three days before bothering to call and ask that it be mailed to me. When it comes to traversing cyberspace, I am NOT, as they say, in my element.

Second: I don't own a zafu at the moment (though I'm going to order one with my birthday money). So I'm sitting on a couch cushion. Sounds very earthy and Zen, and normally I am all about abstaining from the purchase of a nonessential product, but a zafu is much easier on the lower lumbar of the sitter. Especially when said sitter has a pretty good curvature of said lumbar (thanks, Mom, for passing along that Scoliosis gene). That said (it probably isn't grammatically correct to say "said" as many times as I just did, but it was kinda fun) I shall proceed to a description of the first of my 365 consecutive meditations.

It sucked. I sucked. I have the worst case of Monkey Mind that ever chattered within the folds of a prefrontal cortex. While I sat perfectly still, erect on my sofa pillow, drawing deep breaths which I patiently counted and awaiting my first glimpse of enlightenment, the Quiet Mind I was intent on achieving streamed forth with something like this: Oh my God I can't believe I used to do this daily Oops was that my second or third breath don't know better start over at zero...what? I think my eyes just closed and I'm supposed to have them gently gazing slightly downward while still open...what will I blog gotta blog can't wait to blog wonder what I'll blog about...how long will it take for my blog to be discovered who will play me when they make the movie Meryl Streep is too old and Kate Hudson is too young wonder if Cameron Diaz would be upset if asked to play a 49-year-old...that is so narcissistic you're only doing this because you want to show yourself that you can commit to something that lasts longer than a sitcom ...my back hurts my hips hurt my ankles hurt my cheek itches how can 20 minutes take so long is it over yet?.......

. . . and so on. I could record much more of my stream of consciousness in the midst of attempting to transcend consciousness, but you get the drift. I'm pretty sure that not a second of my 20 minute First Sit was spent in quiet. And I thought cooking your way through Julia Child's cook book was a difficult endeavor. I'm absolutely convinced that there is nothing more difficult for an American to do than Nothing. All I could think about while trying not to think was thoughts about not thinking. My Monkey Mind chattered away with thoughts, opinions, memories, reflections, evaluations, revelations about past meditations. I kept wanting to meditate on meditating. I am a Meta-Meditator. It's like sitting down to blog and discovering that all I'm blogging about is blogging. Great. I'm a Meta-Blogger-Meditator.

So there it is: Day Two and I'm already feeling like a dismal failure as a blogger and a zafu-sitter (make that couch pillow sitter). I wanted to write about American Narcissism and how opposed I am to it and how blogging has to be one of the most self-centered acts ever invented. As though anyone else cares about my stream of consciousness. As though there aren't innumerable alternative acts I could be engaging in other than Practicing Nothing. Thankfully, I had a teacher who helped me internalize the certainty that Practicing Nothing is, in reality, the noblest of pursuits and a most compassionate act. More on that later. I have to go meditate.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc