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SPIRITUALITY
Grandfather’s Message
How I found my meditation anchor in the rain
I started meditating daily about two years ago. Last winter, my practice hit a pothole, blew out a tire, and wobbled to the shoulder of a dirt road. Then, I had a uniquely profound meditation experience for no apparent reason. Let me preface that statement.
In my meditation practice, students are encouraged to utilize an “anchor,” or a home base to which the mind can return when it inevitably wanders. For many, the anchor is the breath. Breathing takes us to life’s essence, bringing us into the present moment. For me, though, it never really hit the mark.
I meditate early each morning in a gym converted from a garage. As such, the insulation leaves much to be desired. During the winter, the little space heater compares to putting a Band-Aid on a sucking chest wound. Focusing on the breath led me to fixate on the incoming air. I could never stop thinking about the chilliness rushing past the outer edges of my nostrils. The chilly air, coupled with my meditation pose, made me imagine sitting in a Siberian outhouse. To make matters worse, I occasionally suffer from mild wheezing in the morning. When that happens, I sound like I’m blowing on a cold tin whistle when I meditate. Suffice it to say that my breathing is distracting when I make…
