Monday morning. When my alarm goes off it interrupts a seemingly interminable dream of the not-so-pleasant variety.
In the dream, I turn up at 7pm prompt ready to sing in a concert. I open my bag to find that everything I expect to take out of it – my music, my concert clothes – are not there. It seems that we are singing with a second choir who have things organised – they are able to offer me a black top with the regulatory below-the-elbows sleeves. I ask if anyone has a skirt or trousers and several people tell me they’ll check – before disappearing into the dream ether. I look around me and find the entire contents of my wardrobe seem to be at hand – except, that is, anything black. 7.30pm comes and I discover the concert doesn’t start until 8pm – I have an extra half hour to fill the gaps. Except that I don’t manage to fill the gaps: I just have more time in which to feel stressed and run around trying to find clothes and music unsuccessfully.
Waking, I notice how some details of the dream are totally true to life (the bag I open at the beginning of the dream is one I’m using a lot right now) and others are strangely off beam (I am always ready for a 7.30pm concert in time for our warm up, which is usually at about 6.40pm). Others are, of course, figments of the dream-state imagination. I also reflect that it’s not surprising to have had this dream at this time. It’s not just that I am returning to work after a break and face the prospect of several weeks of busy-ness at work and in my hobby as a singer. It’s also that in the past week my dreams have indeed been varied and vivid.
This seems to have been a side-effect of my time spent at Oxon Hoath on retreat. This was a brief sojourn – I arrived on Tuesday afternoon and left after lunch on Friday. Still, I have been meditating up to five times a day. In the morning, I have done two full meditation rounds before breakfast, comprising ‘asanas’ (simple yoga exercises – not nearly as stretching as the one shown, though this photo tickled me rather), ‘pranayama’ breathing, meditation and a gentle return. We have also meditated as a group before lunch and then, in the afternoon, I have enjoyed two more meditation rounds.
What does the meditation comprise? After the preparatory asanas and pranayama breathing, I close me eyes and repeat a mantra that has been given to me by my teacher – over and over for a full twenty minutes. The effect is a slowing and deepening of my breathing. As my thoughts arise I simply let them go, returning to the mantra. Sometimes my thoughts are active – a kind of inner chatter. Sometimes, my mind is more still.
In our shared discussions, people get to ask all sorts of questions which range from questions about the experience of meditating to questions about the body of spiritual teaching from which the approach springs. Questions about meditation can reflect or stimulate a certain anxiety (am I doing it right?) which spring from the belief that somehow there is such a thing as the perfect meditation to which we can all aspire. It reminds me of discussions about sex, except that the word “transcend” replaces the word “orgasm”. My teachers have always, however, highlighted that every experience is OK.
My own experience seems quite mundane in the moment – a gentle falling away of inner chatter and an increasing sense of peace. It’s easy to tell myself that in some way I am falling short. My vivid dreams tell me, though, that something is happening – some release of stress, perhaps, or a greater connection with self. And if this is the result of just two days’ meditation, how much more is possible over time? For doesn’t it make sense that, like exercise, the effects of meditating on a regular basis are cumulative, like exercise or gardening?
In truth, even the act of arranging my schedule to make it possible to meditate has an effect. By doing this I am giving priority to a certain way of being, perhaps even to being over doing. For to a greater or lesser extent, the act of meditating brings me to greater stillness within myself, or opens my awareness to the greater stillness that is already within.