Attempting Mindful Meditation

Many of you probably don’t know that I recently signed-up to take a course in the practice of Mindful Meditation. I’ve had a number of health issues over the course of my life, and I suppose it’s fair to say that I’m often gripped by anxiety about it. You know, I’m overly attentive to the normal fluctuations of one’s body, and if I get a pain in my side I’m far more likely to assume the worst and speed recklessly into a future of worst-case scenarios than most.

In talking to a doctor about this, it was suggested that I try Mindful Meditation as a way to help ground this impulse, the idea being that I’d learn to live more attentively in the moment and bring some stillness to my life. I should state that that I am the opposite of a Mindful person, by which I mean I barely exist in the moment, possessing an analytic mind that almost exclusively inhabits the future or past, and that slowing down and not thinking—just “being”–is virtually impossible for me.

Before the classes began, I had an orientation session. The waiting room had rugs on the wall, constantly flowing water, plants and little statues of Buddha all over the place, emitting an aggressively, “mindfully” organic ambience. The woman who walked out her office to greet me had a creepy tranquility beaming from her eyes and looked at me with unnerving sincerity. She spoke in an even, robotic voice that never varied. It was creepy, like Nurse Ratched, and it made me nervous, and the more she talked in this manner, the more anxious, almost angry, I felt myself becoming.

Her: What are you doing?

Me: (Hastily putting away my iPhone.) Not being Mindful?

Her: What would a Mindful person be doing?

Me: Experiencing the fabric of the chair I’m sitting on?

Her: That’s good Michael, now follow me.

Me: You know, the music in the waiting room surprises me.

Her: That’s interesting, Michael. What is it about the music that causes you such anxiety?

Me: Well, it doesn’t make me anxious, it was just something I noticed.

Her: (Silently staring back at me, waiting for elaboration.)

Me: With the whole Buddhist thing going on here, all the fountains and enforced serenity, I did not expect AM radio to be playing.

Her: I see. What did you expect?

Me: Maybe Brian Eno, some gentle, distant gongs, perhaps, but certainly not somebody excitedly trying to sell me cars, you know?

Her: Have you started your Happiness Jar?

Me: No, I forgot. I’ve been really busy.

Her: You haven’t been Mindful.

Me: No.

Her; I want you to think of something you’re happy for, write it down on a piece of paper and put it in your Happiness Jar when you get home, okay? Michael, tell me, what are you happy for?

Me: My iPhone.

Her: How about this blue, shining day, this day that just is, are you happy for that?

Me: (An angry sigh, and words now tense) Yes. I am happy for this blue, shining day, dammit.