Fight Meditation with Stress
30 January 2010
Living under constant stress is not any way to live. In fact it’s probably a really great way to die – prematurely. It’s a sad fact that when I am not stressed I feel less alive; actually I tend to fall asleep. Stress keeps me awake, on my toes, alert to possible threats lurking everywhere. For sure, the hostile capitalist universe has made me like this, but the question is not - who’s to blame, but what is to be done about it. Recently, I’ve been trying out ways of relaxing, disengaging, meditating even.
Alas, my history of meditation is not an inspirational tale.
I think of myself at age twenty-five having just signed up for three sessions at the Glasgow Buddhist Centre, sitting as much like a little Buddha as I could, legs crossed listening with eyes closed to the incantatory tones of the instructor. I have to count my breaths - One, two, three and so on . We all get started and I’m dead excited about the possibility of having inner peace. I make it to four and I’m remembering that he said the goal was to empty the mind and not think about work or my sex life or the plumbing or the new album by Dinosaur Junior or whether nuclear war is still possible. So I’m saying four, four, four over and over again to block out all these thoughts.
And breathe out, says the instructor.
Five, so I’m at five, and I’m five-five-fiving it and then I’m suddenly aware that I am actually not thinking about anything at all, and I get this rush of excitement – My God I’m meditating! For real, I can do it! So then I go off on this internal trip, I’m counting my breaths and telling myself I’m not going to fail at breath number eight - which is the usual length of time that first time meditation students can hold out without ‘intrusive thoughts’ - No, I’m doing great, I’m on twelve, I’m on fourteen, and at this rate it won’t be long till I’m as enlightened as the Buddha himself. My head is getting tingly and I’m feeling a little high. Then there’s a hand on my shoulder, and a voice in a whisper.
‘You were hyperventilating.’
‘Really? Sorry.’
‘Just try to let go’
Typical. I got so excited about meditating that I blew it in a blaze of adrenalin. On the second attempt, I got to about number seven and then woke up when my head hit the ground - I had dozed off. In all my subsequent attempts, over the years, I’ve never got beyond eight without a hundred intrusive thoughts screaming at me or finding my face on the floor or next to someone else’s feet.
‘Try to let go.’
I can’t let go. I probably fear what would happen if I did relax for more than eight breaths.
The problem, as I see it, is that if all of the pathways and connections between my mental synapses, through the many states of growth and change, have been formed and forged in states of stress, then what the hell will happen to my brain when the high tension that holds it all together is removed. I imagine a suspension bridge collapsing, or worse.
‘Just let go.’
I’m going to try again this week. I’ve signed up for another mediation class. If you don’t hear from me next week, know that I have become a soft smouldering pile of grey jelly brain matter, relaxed and at peace, but no longer yours truly.
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