My mind race to find someting else to do. I don't want
to sit. I don't know why and tonight I really
don't have anything else to do...
I do sit in meditation a few times during
the week. On Tuesday with the meditation cirlce.
Monday in yoga Nidra and Body sensing. Tuesdays
and Friday a short meditation before and after Karate.
Sometime on Saturday with the yoga class, and again
sometime on Sundays for the gong journey meditation.
I seldomly sit alone these days. Althoug everything
points toward sitting, I fight it. I want to make music,
or draw, or write. I often end up wasting time online
doing nothing, looking for the next big who knows what.
Tonight I sit.
My altar hasn't been used for a while. The cedar bugs
have taken over. There is 75 stains covering my altar,
that the bug left being.
It's cold. It hasn't been cold like that for a while.
I use a new prayer shawl. It's 12 feet long and 2 feet
wide. It's a bit of a strange shape and adds to its
charm.
I light an incense stick. Wrap myself in the shawl.
I use two zafu and sit on my zabuto. It's very
comfortable. Soon the cold disapear, my awareness
of the moment sharpens.
As I raise my head to look ahead, I see my reflection.
Earlier today I wrote about the practice for
the month; sit and look at yourself in the mirror.
I forgot my altar is setup right in front of my window.
At night, it becomes a perfect mirror. I should take
a photo. Maybe my daughter can take a photo.
I would need to clean up the place first.
I go back to meditation. Trataka to be precise. I think
of the last time I experienced samhadhi. I was looking
trough that same window, but it was during the day.
I feel that I jinx my meditation when I think about
that moment. I get performance anxiety.
As I look at myself, I see little bright lights moving.
My eyes are perfectly align with the road on the other
side or the lake. Little lights from the car driving
by, end up perfectly align with my pupil. The perspective
changes for a bit, it has a trippy effect.
I remember the first time I did trataka. I was about
8 years old. We lived on the south shore of Montreal.
A cute house in the suburb, with a backyard almost the
same size as the house. At the end of the backyard was
a shed as wide as the yard. In that shed, on the far
end wall, was a mirror prefectly place for me
to see my head. Standing at the entrance at one end,
I could look at myself in the mirror at the other end.
As the shed was about 20 feet long, I saw myself as if
I was 40 feet away. But only my head.
I started staring at myself. My face started to
deform and take different shape. One second I looked
old, another I look like a girl. Different faces
would flood my vision until I got scared and
left the shed running away. I experienced that
a few times.
Tonight again my face start to shift around.
I don't get scared, the different faces move
and melt in a psychadelic dance. Once in a while
my face comes out, "Who is watching who?". When
I am the object, the face that looks at me seems
serious and in profound meditation. When I
am the observer, I dismiss the reflection
of myself.
I want to write my experience. I realize that
writing has been a huge part of my coping
mechanism with reality. Everything has been
about writing lately. It validate my life
experience. It keeps me from spiraling down
in doubts. It create a vehicles which carries
me trough my brittle reality. It also connects
to others, inviting them to question their realities.
