Tonight saw the
second week of my second term of meditation classes. That’s two twos, which
equals four, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Presumably.
I’m finding the lessons
very useful, though I sometimes struggle to get into the right frame of mind.
Today’s session was a case in point. Most of the techniques we’re using centre
on breathing with awareness: quietly noting your breath as it comes in and out,
without forcing it artificially. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s like
suddenly becoming aware of your breathing in the dead of the night; no sooner
does it enter your mind, than you start to overthink it. This can lead to
panic: “What if I forget to do it and asphyxiate?”
(I may be the only person who worries about this. I am, after all, a bit of a dick.)
It also doesn’t
help that I do a lot of breathing exercises as part of my job. I’m so used to
breathing from my diaphragm that I do it instinctively. Curse my Drama School
training. Curse it to Hell and back.
Another small
problem I have with the classes is they don’t finish at a strict time. They’re
supposed to end at a quarter past eight, but sometimes continue for an extra half
an hour or longer. It’s very hard to find inner peace when you know your wife’s
waiting outside in her car, constantly checking her watch, wondering if you’ll
ever come out.
That’s something
no-one tells you when you start a meditation course: being able to drive is
a bonus.