It’s kind of funny, because I’ve actually directed guided meditations for friends and clients, but I’m not that good at meditating on my own.
The inner manifestation bowl pictured here used to sit on my desk. I always called him my Meditation Dude, and I recently unpacked him as part of changes I’ve been making this year toward–well, all kinds of things. He makes me remember some good or interesting moments. Times with James way back when that included lots of mind expanding discussions. A time right after Tim moved here when he and I went to a meditation–event? ceremony?–on 11/11/01 as part of a nationwide healing effort related to September 11. I also took a class that fall under the guidance of a woman who taught me several Native American ceremonies and rituals. She opened a lot of mental doors that still swing wide and help me so many years later. Those fall months were hard for everyone, and I think all those activities, plus swimming at the gym several times a week, were a huge help in getting me through them.
But still I struggle with meditation, so as soon as I saw that was the title of Timothy J. Lambert’s short story, I was intrigued. And when I began to read his narrator’s humorous struggle with silence and stillness, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit. These paragraphs are near the beginning of the story.
Without moving his head, he allowed his eyes to dart around the room. The tiny winces and small squirms of the people around him as they tried to get comfortable on their cushions confirmed their agony. It was surprisingly painful to sit upright on the floor all day. Luckily, countless childhood hours spent as a practicing Catholic, as well as many years as a violin student and his recent interest in yoga, prepared him well for seventeen hours a day of meditation. He had felt spasms of pain in the muscles around his spine after his first full day, but now he managed to live with the pain. It had become an acceptable annoyance, like traffic noise or a visiting relative. Maybe my enlightened self is a masochist. This thought almost made him laugh and he guiltily looked around to make sure nobody had noticed.
A man six cushions to the left and one row ahead quickly looked forward and resumed a passive state. Had he been looking? Did he see him giggle? Was he gay? He was attractive. Wasn’t he? He tried to get a good look at the man, but he was staring blankly forward again. It was hard to tell. All he could see was a formidable jaw, a well-manicured sideburn, and James Dean hair. He looked like a corn-fed Midwestern guy. His earlobe was detached. Wasn’t that a sign of intelligence? Hadn’t he read that in a magazine once? Did he renew his subscription to Men’s Health last month?
Shut up! He had mastered sitting still all day, but stifling his inner voice remained a problem.
A tinny whine whizzed past his left ear. He stifled the urge to swat at the mosquito as it lazily landed on his leg. Having vowed to follow the Vipassana Code of Discipline, he wasn’t allowed to kill any living beings. He watched as the mosquito bit him; its body ballooned, filling with his blood. Then it stopped drinking, staggered a bit and flew away.
A place like this must be paradise for a mosquito, he decided. You can eat all you want and nobody tries to kill you. I wonder if all the mosquitoes tell each other about places like this. Maybe Vipassana meditation centers are vacation destinations for the mosquito set. But we can’t eat meat, so our blood is probably inferior.
A bump formed on his leg and he immediately wanted to scratch. Must not scratch, must not scratch, must not scratch, became his mantra. He distracted himself by glancing at Corn-Fed Guy.
You can read more about Meditation Man and Corn-Fed Guy in Foolish Hearts: New Gay Fiction, available now from booksellers everywhere in trade paper and ebook format.
Excerpt reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. All rights reserved.
I can hear his voice and see him sitting on the cushion! Soon I will have a Kindle.
Part of my meditation involves a very smooth river rock curved perfectly to fit my hand. Whenever I rub the cool crevices, I feel my stress melt away.
Rocks, stones, and crystals are great helpers, aren’t they?
I love that he has a short story in this collection. =)
I’m looking forward to reading the collection!
I still need to email you. Sorry for the delay.